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I live near Union Station downtown so there are a fair amount of junkies and homeless around. I was walking my dog this morning, totally tweaked and filled with cum already, and this junkie asked me for money. I told him I didn't have any but if he gave me a load I'd give him a slam. He came back, fucked me on the floor. I felt his hole and it was loose as fuck and had some loads in it so clearly I wasn't the only one he'd fucked around with....

I was cruising sniffies the other day when a familiar profile/photo of a sexy ass appeared. It was a cumdump I used to breed regularly about five years ago. This guy is a sexy man, handsome AF, tall, lean, muscular, and has an ass made for taking cock. We stopped connecting as I moved out of the area for a couple years. I immediately got hard thinking about breeding him again. I was at the gym last night and messaged him if he was taking dick. He got back to me right away like a cock starved bottom and said yes. I left gym all sweaty. Got in my truck drove over and parked. He was ass up and ready for my cock. He didn’t remember me, I didn’t mention that we fucked before. Funny how a cumdump takes so many cocks that they lose track of cocks they’ve had before. Anyway, I lick his hole, taste the previous loads he had inside him from earlier in the day. I slide my cock in and do long slow strokes, pulling out to see his gaped hole and cum on my cock. I keep pounding away like that and finally get ready to cum. I hit the poppers right after he did and told him I’m going to knock him up with my 7 day load. I let my orgasm take over and my cock busted a huge load. It pumped so much cum up inside his guts. I came down from my orgasm. Gathered my stuff and left. There was another car parked outside waiting, another car driving past looking for a spot to park. He was getting some cock last night. He is a sexy dude so I can see how he’d be getting lots of action. As I drove home I passed a former fuckbud’s house where I’d breed him good. He is a sexy porn star that lived there awhile ago and has since moved. Real bummer I can’t breed him anymore. The guy was extremely hot, beefy, muscular, beard, 9”uncut cock and a hungry hole. Anyway, hope the last night’s dude doesn’t disappear on me. It’s be really convenient to have a local cumdump to keep my balls drained.

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

This is my cock pumping my seed into his sweet fuckhole

After it was dark and I could reduce the chance of people truly realizing the state I was in (looking like a total cumslut and partier), I had to walk the dog again. I didn't want to be out long mostly because it's windy as fuck and I'm tired from the fucking and partying. But regardless I do the same loop twice each day which passes by where I found the junkies yesterday. Come to think of it it's where I've noticed this every day, but just not thought anything of it. There they were again - at least two of them. The first guy that fucked me and the third guy who was too high to finish. I looked ridiculous with a giant puffy coat, baseball cap, face mask...but I walked over thinking "round two could be a good way to close the day." I walked up to them and started speaking semi quietly telling them I could give them more stuff if they wanted to go for round two. They looked at me like I was insane and then I realized they probably could recognize me (despite the dog). I took off the mask and cap and they realized what was going on. Let us go find our friend though so we don't leave him behind (they said he was off picking something up...). We agreed they'd text when they were ready to get in to the building. They indeed found their friend, showed up, I've got them a small baggie, and I got two quick, transaction, no bullshit loads back to back. This time it was #1 and #3 who came. #2 wasn't feeling it. IF THIS WORKS OUT and they hold their post in the small park in front of Whole Foods, I could have 1-3 built in loads whenever I want them for a very small price. 🙂

Chubby cumdump hosting Black Friday. Starting at 8am, no load refused, ass up & ready for you. Visiting family in the Orlando area for Thanksgiving, getting away Friday morning for a cumdump session. Come by and drop your load off 🥵

Goals for 2026: continue with the hunky young stud who's fucking me several times a week and encourage him to bring friends more often. Get invited to (daddy) sex parties.

Always been a fan

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

I'm a cum slut bottom who is selective about hair. I don't suck full on pube guys, trim up and I'm all over it, I hate a mouth full of hair ... don't rim guys unless I find a smooth bottom... To each their own, we all have our wants, I like trimmed... not a fan of total shaved, but nice trimmed patch. I don't want pubes in my teeth, nose etc... there are plenty of guys that are into that, just not me

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.

This is a position you'll never win. You'll find people who love body hair and people who don't. You do you, and let them find someone else if they're not interested.

Hairy is always better... shows higher testosterone.. embrace it! Id someone else doesn't like it, move on. Their loss.

He probably likes your cock, but doesn't like the bush. I'm not a big fan of real bushy junk either, especially ballsack.

Freshman Project: Jason (Part 9) Blake woke up on Sunday afternoon and reached out to wrap his arm around Jason, but the bed was empty. Conflicting thoughts ran through the jock’s head. He remembered almost everything that happened the night before and he was both excited and a little concerned. Ecstasy always made him a little emotional, but he had never before told anyone he loved them, not even Coach. Coach was the man he had devoted his life to and done whatever the man had ordered him to do, but he loved Coach like a father, not someone he loved as a partner. Blake had a bond with Aiden, but he didn’t love the sophomore. The boy had been fun to take under his wing and turn into a slut, but it was not the same connection he had developed with Jason. Did he actually love Jason, or had that just been the drugs talking he wondered. Did Jason love him, and would the boy still feel the same way this morning about taking multiple toxic loads from him last night? Had Jason run off this morning in regret as soon as he woke up? So many questions were running through Blake’s mind, and many of them were new territory of him. The jock got up and exited his bedroom. He heard some noise from the kitchen, which did not take much in his small one bedroom apartment to notice. Apparently Jason had not fled. Blake wiped the sleep out of his eyes as he entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Master. Coffee is ready, I’ll get you a cup, and the bacon and eggs will be ready in just a few minutes,” said Jason. The boy was naked except for his chastity cage as he slid along the counter to the coffee pot and poured a cup of coffee for Blake. He added just a small amount of cream, which is how Blake liked his coffee, then turned and brought the cup to Blake. Blake grabbed the coffee and took a drink. He hoped it would jump start his mind and allow him to figure out what was going on. “Good morning, Jason,” he finally managed to get out. “Did I put your cage back on last night?” he asked. “No Sir, but I when I work up this morning, I figured you would want it back on since you only took it off me last night so I could play with myself on the E. Thank for that Sir. I’ve gotten used to the cage and I like it on because it reminds me of my place as your Boy, I hope I didn’t do anything wrong Sir?” said Jason, hoping he hadn’t done anything wrong. “No Boy, it is fine. I’m glad you put it back on, you saved me the effort,” said Blake trying to cover for his surprise at finding it on Jason. “I’m going to go take a shower, have breakfast ready for me when I get back and we’ll talk more over breakfast,” said Blake as he tried to regain control over the situation. “Yes Master,” responded Jason as he turned back to the stove and tended the eggs. Blake’s eyes lingered over the V of the boy’s back as it joined his ass. He shook his head to break the spell this twink had apparently cast over him and headed to his shower. He entered his bathroom then warmed up the water till it was comfortable, then jumped under the spray. As he stood under the spray of the shower he thought about why he had gotten so attached to Jason. He was self aware enough to know to that he had a strong connection with each of the college boys he had converted, but none had been like this. He still occasionally saw Charlie and Ian as he supplied them with drugs to sell and collected their proceeds, but both young men had gone on to be sluts in different ways. While they still worked for Blake and Coach as dealers and whores under Blake’s direction, Blake was not fucking either one regularly. They both had found older Daddies that were their focus sexually. Aiden was still someone he would consider his Boy, but as Blake showered and got that clarity that sometimes come with shower thoughts, he realized that Aiden would be just fine without him. Jason on the other hand needed him in a way the others never had. The boy was just so naturally submissive and there was something that appealed to Blake in that regard. He had been unlocking the inner slut in boys these last few years, but he had been doing it because Coach told him to, now though, there was something about Jason that just hit differently. “Master, your breakfast is ready,” called Jason from the kitchen. The boy’s call broke Blake out of his deep thoughts over the Jason and the other boys. He quickly finished rinsing off then dried himself off with a towel. Before heading out to the kitchen naked, he went back to his room and pulled two bottles out of his nightstand. There were eggs, bacon, buttered toast, a fresh cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice sitting on the table for Blake when he entered the kitchen. It was set for one person, even though there was enough food on the plate for two. Blake sat down in the chair. As soon as he was seated, Jason knelt down beside him, “I hope Sir likes.” Blake set the bottles down on the table, then looked down at the twink that was on his knees next to him, “Yes, I do like it Boy. I could get used to waking up to this. But we need to talk, please sit at the table with me and grab yourself a plate. We need to talk about last night, not as Master and Servant, but as friends, hopefully.” Panic flashed across Jason’s face, his first instinct was that now that Blake had fucked him, he was going to dump him. He tried to regain his composure as he pulled himself up off the ground, grabbed a plate from the cabinet and then sat in the chair opposite of Blake at the small table. He couldn’t bring himself to speak and stared down at his empty plate. Blake grabbed the two pill bottles and pushed them towards Jason. “We touched it on last night, but I feel we need to talk about this now, when both of us aren’t rolling. I’m HIV positive and I haven’t taken any medications in a few months, so I’m infectious. I care for you and I want to make sure I am not pressuring you into anything you don’t want. So these pills, which Charlie got me from the health clinic, are a full course of PEP, post exposure prophylaxis. I remember putting at least two loads into you last, and there may have been a third. You said you wanted them at the time, but now in the cold light of day, I’m offering you the opportunity to treat yourself, just in case I infected you last night and you’ve changed your mind.” Jason gave Blake a confused look, “I knew what was happening last night, I wanted it. Do you no longer want me?” “I want you, I want to be with you, but I don’t want you ever regretting your decision. I don’t want you, years from now blaming me, and saying I took advantage of you while you were high, I never want you to ever regret what we did,” explained Blake. “Blake, I will do whatever you say, including taking every toxic load you will give me, but I want you to know, I’m doing so because I want to. I want to obey you, it makes me feel like I’ve found my purpose in life. I’ve spent my life obeying my father, his Pastor, my mother, my teachers, basically anyone with authority. I know what it feels like to obey someone when you don’t want to, with you it feels different. With you I’m not just obeying you, I’m submitting to you, willingly. It feels right for the first time in my life. I feel like I’m no longer pretending to be someone else. I’m my true self finally. I don’t just not care that you are infecting me, I want it. I want to belong to you, I need it. Now, being honest, if you are just using me and want to make me another mark on your scorecard, if you don’t care about me the same way I care about you, if you don’t want to own me, now and forever as you said last night, well I’ll take those and we can go our own ways. I hope you will still by my friend and maybe help me find someone that will want me to be theirs. If you do want me to be yours though, now and forever, then go ahead and dump those down the drain cause there is nothing more than I want, than to have a part of you inside me forever, even if it is a potentially deadly virus. I want to be yours, now and forever,” said Jason, as he fought back tears in his eyes. Blake’s cock was rock hard. “Boy, grab those bottles, open them, and take out one pill from each bottle into your hand,” said Blake, his voice clearly indicating he was back in ‘Master’ mode. “Yes Sir,” answered Jason still not sure exactly what Blake’s answer was. Even though he wasn’t sure what was going on, he obeyed. He opened the bottles, and took a pill from each in his hand. His mind was racing, was this Blake’s way of dumping him, was he going to order him to take today’s dose of PEP instead of just coming out and saying he didn’t want him. “Now go over to the sink and turn on the water,” Blake commanded. Jason did as he was order. As soon as the boy got up, Blake grabbed the bottles and followed Jason to the sink. Jason turned on the water, the pills in his hand. He was devastated as he felt that Blake was about to order him to take the pills as the older boy’s way of letting him know that he had just been using him. Instead, Blake used his left hand to push Jason’s torso down, bending the boy over the sink. He set the bottles in his right hand down on the counter next to the sink, then used the hand to line his cock up with Jason’s hole. He roughly shoved his dry cock into Jason’s asshole. “You’re mine Bitch,” growled Blake as worked his cock all the way into Jason’s tender ass, which was still a bit sore from last night. Still it had the remains of Blake’s cum and the lube from the night before which helped a bit to ease the passage of Blake’s thick nine and half inch cock into the Jason’s ass. Once Blake had bottomed out in twink’s ass, he leaned in so his mouth was next to Jason’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you slow so that you have enough time to drop a round of pills into the garbage disposal each time I bottom out. I’m going to fuck you until both those bottles are empty. You understand me Bitch Boy?” He asked. “Yes Sir,” said Jason as he wiggled his ass, doing his best to adjust the position of his ass to accommodate Blake’s thick cock. He dropped the pills in his hand down into the drain with garbage disposal. “Good Boy! Here I’ll help you,” said Blake as he reached over and knocked over the pill bottles, spilling the contents over the counter. “Now grab some more and watch your chance at avoiding becoming positive go down the drain,” said Blake as he slide his cock almost all the way out. As soon as Jason grabbed a handle of pills, he started slowly thrusting back in and timed it so that he bottomed out with a hard extra little push as he saw Jason drop his handful of pills down the drain. “You are going to stay here the next couple weeks, only leaving to go to your classes, you’re quitting that shit cafeteria job; you’re my Boy now,” said Blake as he pulled back and waited until Jason had grabbed more pills off the counter. “Dump those,” he said as he started sliding back in the twink’s tight but no longer virgin hole. When Jason dropped the pills into the sink, Blake finished his thrust with a hard push, making sure all of his thick hard cock was up inside the twink. Jason was enjoying the rough slow fuck. Sure Blake was ordering him to drop the pills into the sink with each thrust, but Jason realized he was actually in control of this fuck. While his first handful had been whatever he could grab, by his third he was only grabbing a couple pills to drop with each thrust. By the fourth thrust, it was obvious to both of them what was happening and who was now driving this fuck as Jason was quickly grabbing one pill at time and throwing it into the sink as fast as he could. “Please Sir, give me your toxic load, poz me, convert me, make me yours forever,” begged Jason as he did his best to quickly drop pill after pill into the sink. Blake for his part was enjoying trying to time his thrust with Jason feeding pills into the sink. Eventually both young men gave up on the pretense of the scene as Blake started thrusting hard and fast into Jason’s ass. Jason for his part just swept the rest of the pills off the counter and into the sink. While Blake had come a few times last night, Jason had not. He had enjoyed himself and felt ecstatic bliss while getting fucked while rolling on ecstasy as he had several anal orgasms, but he didn’t have a true ejaculatory climax. This fuck though was doing it for him now that he was no longer tripping. Every time Blake thrust in he was hitting the boy’s prostate. The whole scene was so hot for both of them and Jason soon realized he was about to cum. “Sir, please permission to cum, please Sir,” he begged. “Yes Boy, cum for me, shoot that load, show me how much you want to be mine and carry my virus in you. Shoot for me Boy,” responded Blake as he started thrusting harder into the twink. It wasn’t long before he felt Jason’s asshole spasm around his cock as cum started pouring out of the boy’s caged cock. Blake reached down and grabbed the boy’s cock as soon as he started to feel the boy’s ass contracting around his cock. The chastity cage was on and keeping the boy’s cock from expanding outward, but the boy’s cock was firm and pushing the cage outward with most of the boy’s erection still inside the boy’s crotch. Blake collected the rest of the boy’s load into his hand. Once he was sure the boy was done cumming he brought his cum soaked hand up to Jason’s mouth. “Here Boy, eat one of your last negative loads. I’m going to be there and make sure you eat all your last negative loads before you are truly pregnant with my babies,” growled Blake as he place his cum covered hand over Jason’s mouth. Jason did his best to lick up as much of his own cum as he could. Soon though he felt his real reward as Blake grabbed his hips and thrust hard into him then held his cock there as the older boy started cumming. Jason smiled as he felt his Master’s cock unloading another toxic inside his unprotected ass. As Blake grunted and ground his crotch against his Boy’s ass, Jason reached over and turned the garbage disposal on to destroy the PEP pills.

And I don't find this a shocking thing to do because It's absolutely not the first time I've given up something of value for a fuck....hahaha

Just in a habit recently of fucking my wife hard and being caught or one of my sons catching us and coming in mid way. I’ve not stopped for any reason. I carry on if not harder than before. I show off and flex. I just love it. Can anyone advise me how to handle this please? thank you

I get it. I suppose I was just saying that hair doesn't elicit THAT strongly a response for me either way. But I also have very few preferences when it comes to physical attributes...

Welcome to The Master Pathogen Christmas Special. While our main story is on hiatus until next year, @leatherpunk16 and I decided to post a short aside piece as a fun one-off to tide everyone over until we start the story back up. I hope everyone enjoys the short series and feel free to comment and share your thoughts. We will be posting each day until it's finished on Christmas Eve. Below is a link to our original story and source material... The Master Pathogen And without further ado, here is a teaser of what's to come: --------------------------------------- Prologue: Twas the Snowstorm Two Weeks Before Christmas... Snow drifted in gentle spirals over the Merrydale Christmas Tree Farm, settling on the endless rows of evergreens like powdered sugar. The lights strung along the pathways glowed a soft gold, illuminating smiling families carrying bundled trees toward their cars. Laughter chimed through the crisp winter air, warm and bright despite the cold. Grace Turner stood at the end of the main lane, watching the final visitors depart. She breathed in the scent of pine, her chest lifting with a feeling that was almost too big to contain. Everything around her felt peaceful—settled—as though the world had finally aligned in exactly the way it should. She turned toward the man standing beside her. Cole Henderson waited with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, a shy, contented smile on his face. Snow dusted his shoulders and dark hair, giving him a quiet, gentle glow. His presence was as steady as the old farmhouse behind them—solid, dependable, safe. “Today was perfect,” Grace said softly, her voice touched with wonder. “I—I didn’t know it could feel this right. Staying here. Being here.” Cole stepped closer, his breath visible in the cold. “It’s because you made it that way.” He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You brought life back to this place.” Grace let out a shaky, emotional laugh. “I thought I needed skyscrapers and boardrooms to be happy. But… standing here now, I realize I was always running in the wrong direction.” Cole smiled, warm enough to melt the snow between them. “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing until you come home.” She looked up at him, eyes shining. “I ended things with Andrew,” she whispered. “For good. I’m not going back. I don’t want that soulless corporate life anymore.” The words hung in the air—not dramatic, just true. Cole touched her face, gentle and sure. “You deserve a life that feels like yours.” Snow swirled around them as she leaned into his touch, emotion thick in her throat. “I want to stay,” she said. “Here. With you.” Cole’s forehead rested against hers. The background lights blurred softly, turning the world warm and golden. “Then stay,” he murmured. “Stay, Grace.” She closed her eyes. “I will.” Their lips drew closer—slow, inevitable, filled with quiet certainty. The world around them seemed to hold its breath. Rows of trees whispered in the wind as the last light of evening glimmered over them. Grace stepped forward, heart full, ready to— — Grace Turner’s frozen, love-struck face lingered on the TV screen for barely two seconds before an avalanche of popcorn and empty beer cans pelted the image. Groans erupted from every corner of the room. “BOOOOOO!!! TURN THAT SHIT OFF,” someone yelled. But it was Bran Coletti, Chapter President of Phi Alpha Gamma, who truly commanded the chaos. Towering over the others even from the couch, Bran had a voice that operated at only two volumes—loud and louder—and both were currently in full force as he pointed accusingly at the screen. “Who in the holy hell requested we watch this?” he demanded. “Seriously. Whose emotional support movie is this? Stand up. Confess.” The rest of Phi Alpha sprawled around him in varying states of drunken festivity. Evan Marsh hovered near the window like a nervous bird, mumbling about the storm. Ty King, already shirtless for no reason anyone could identify, lay half-asleep on the floor. Zach Dempsey, eternal skeptic, looked personally offended by the movie’s existence. Derek Vance lounged with a smug smirk, clearly proud he’d thrown the empty beer can that hit “Grace” between the eyes. And Paul “Porkchop” Carter—adorably sentimental and two drinks past capacity—was sniffling into his sleeve. “Oh my god,” Zach muttered. “Is Chop actually—?” Porkchop shot up, cheeks flushed. “Shut the fuck up guys,” he snapped, voice thick with emotion. “She… she should be able to spend her life how she wants, okay?” Dead silence. Then the entire room detonated with laughter. “CHOP IS CRYING!” “Bro’s fuckin’ HAMMERED.” “Oh my god, someone take his schnapps away.” “He’s got a fuckin hard on too!” “I am empathizing,” Porkchop insisted, with all the dignity of a man slurring. Bran—President, tyrant, self-appointed god-king of the house—clapped his hands sharply. “Alright! That’s enough. We are NOT ending the night on emotional tree-farm drama.” He pointed at Noah Vance, Derek’s younger cousin, the pledge, who was trying to disappear into his too-tight children’s Christmas sweater. “Rookie. Up.” Noah froze. “Uh… what?” Bran waved him forward with the authority of a drill sergeant who’d been given a candy cane and too much power. “Pledge task. Pick the next movie. And don’t fuck it up or you’re on toilet duty for the entire next semester.” Noah stumbled toward the huge mixing bowl on the coffee table, filled with folded slips of paper—the frat’s chaotic holiday watchlist. He stuck his hand in, swirled, pulled something out. Bran snatched it before he could read it. “KRAMPUS!” he yelled triumphantly. “Hell. YES.” The room exploded. “FINALLY!” “Murder time!” “Christmas is SAVED!” “Play it, Rookie!” Noah hurried to cue up the movie while Ty grabbed another beer and Derek mock-wiped tears from Porkchop’s face. As the opening music of Krampus started, Evan drifted to the window again, tipping aside a tangle of pathetic garland. “Guys… the snow is getting, like… really bad.” Zach didn’t look away from the TV. “How bad?” Evan pressed his forehead to the glass. “Like… campus-shuts-down bad. I bet classes get cancelled tomorrow.” A triumphant roar shook the room. “FUCK YEAH! SNOW DAY!!” “No exams!” “Long live Phi Apha!” Behind them, the Christmas lights blinked twice, then once more… a faint, hesitant flicker. No one noticed. Not yet. — Krampus was barely ten minutes in before Phi Alpha Gamma descended into the predictable chaos of a winter-night watch party. Bran Coletti, Chapter President and self-declared Emperor of Christmas Movie Night, lounged in the center of the couch like it was his throne, barking commentary at the screen every few minutes. Ty whooped every time something vaguely violent happened, and Derek yelled back alternate lines he thought the characters should’ve said. Porkchop, miraculously recovered from his emotional meltdown, shoveled fistfuls of cinnamon popcorn into his mouth at a rate science would consider dangerous. Noah, the pledge, sat wedged between two couch cushions, trying not to look like a frightened woodland creature. Outside, the storm still raged—but the power in the neighborhood hadn’t so much as flickered. Through the front window, rows of houses remained warm and bright; the streetlights glowed steadily beneath the snowfall. This, unfortunately, did nothing to reassure Evan Marsh. “Guys,” Evan muttered, forehead nearly pressed to the glass, “the snow is really piling up out there. Like, uh… aggressively.” “No one cares, Evan,” Zach said flatly. “No, seriously, look—there are weird footprints in our yard. Like… big ones. That’s not normal, right?” “Footprints?” Ty perked up. “Like Santa?” “No,” Evan whispered. “Like… not human.” Before anyone could mock him further, the movie hit a tense beat: a child screaming, Krampus bells jingling ominously. And then— Every light in the frat house died. Instant. Total. Silent. The TV blinked out. The Christmas tree went dark. The heater cut off with a dull, defeated sigh. But through the front window, all the neighboring houses remained lit. And the streetlights still glowed. For a moment, no one said a word. Then Bran’s voice tore through the pitch-black living room. “OH, WHAT THE HELL? Why is OUR house the only one out? This is bullshit!” Ty yelped, “My beer— I can’t find my beer!” which was approximately the least helpful observation possible. Zach groaned. “It’s a blown breaker, obviously. This dump is older than Porkchop’s browser history.” “Hey,” Porkchop sniffed defensively, “my history is— is tasteful.” Someone bumped the coffee table. Someone else tripped over a plastic reindeer. The house filled with the sounds of chaos and mild suffering. Derek launched an empty can in Bran’s direction. “Nice job plugging in that sketchy space heater again, Prez.” “It was COLD,” Bran snapped. “Now shut up. We just need someone to flip the breaker.” As if on cue, a faint whistle drifted through the room. A cold draft crept up from the hallway leading to the basement—icy and damp, like something breathing from below. No one noticed. Not even Evan, who’d pressed closer to the window again and whispered, “Guys… I’m serious. Those footprints are really fucking weird.” Noah lifted his phone, its flashlight cutting a small pale circle through the dark. Zach’s voice came from somewhere near the tree. “Pledge. Basement. Breaker panel. Go.” Noah froze. “Why me?” “Because you’re the pledge,” Bran said, as if that were the entire explanation, the law, the universe. “And because someone needs to fix this before my toes freeze off.” Derek added, “Basement’s right there, buddy. Don’t scream too loud. Krampus might getcha.” Laughter rippled around him—forced, shaky at the edges. Noah swallowed. He turned toward the basement door. A stronger gust of cold rushed up as he pulled it open—unnaturally cold, like winter had carved itself into the earth beneath the house. He hesitated. Behind him, Bran barked, “Go on, Rookie. We believe in you. Sort of.” Noah stepped down the first creaking stair, phone flashlight trembling in his hand. The basement swallowed the light. The whistle echoed again—just for a moment, just enough to raise goosebumps. But the guys upstairs were already resettling themselves, arguing about whether they should start where Krampus stopped or restart it entirely. No one paid any more attention when Noah disappear into the dark, each guy grabbing their cellphones to kill the time. — Noah descended the basement stairs with steady, reluctant steps, one hand gripping the railing, the other holding his phone high like a makeshift lantern. The narrow beam of light pushed weakly into the darkness below, illuminating dust motes that drifted through the cold air like tiny, suspended particles. The further he went, the more the warmth of the frat house disappeared behind him, replaced by a chill so sharp it felt as though the temperature dropped several degrees with each step. His breath fogged immediately, a thin white cloud that startled him—this basement shouldn’t have been that cold. The space opened before him in a low sprawl of clutter and neglect. Cardboard boxes marked XMAS DECOR leaned crookedly against the far wall, their corners softened by years of damp. Tangles of old Christmas lights were piled in plastic bins or strewn carelessly across the concrete floor like discarded serpents. A cracked inflatable snowman sagged in the corner, deflated and slumped over as if defeated by time. The air smelled of mildew and something sharper—an acrid, chemical bite that made Noah’s throat tighten when he inhaled too deeply. He swallowed and tried to focus. The breaker panel sat near the furnace, its metal face dull with age. Noah forced himself toward it, trying to ignore the uneasy sensation that someone—or something—might be watching him from the darker corners of the basement. The feeling wasn’t entirely new; the basement had always felt strange, but tonight the atmosphere seemed charged in a way he couldn’t explain. There was a stillness to the air, a heavy, waiting quality that made him quicken his steps. A cold draft brushed the back of his neck as he reached the panel. It wasn’t the casual chill of an unsealed window or a poorly insulated wall—this felt like a long, icy exhale. Curious and unnerved, Noah turned and swept his flashlight toward the far wall. That was when he noticed it: a narrow door he had never seen before, partly obscured behind a stack of storage bins. The wood was warped and discolored, the frame cracked, as though it had endured decades of neglect. The door hung open by perhaps an inch, swaying subtly with the draft that flowed from the darkness beyond it. A soft, wavering whistle escaped from the unseen space behind the door, a hollow sound that pricked at his nerves. He didn’t investigate. His instincts urged him to turn back to the breaker. With fingers that trembled despite his efforts to steady them, he flipped the tripped switch. The house above him responded instantly—lights came back on, voices erupted in cheers, and the muffled thump of resumed movie sound reached him from the ceiling. Relief washed over him so quickly it made him dizzy. He let out a shaky laugh, raking a hand through his hair. He headed back toward the stairs, eager to rejoin the brightly lit world upstairs, but halfway up he paused abruptly. Something in the corner of his peripheral vision tugged at his attention. He turned, hesitant, and his flashlight swept across the basement floor. The tangled string of Christmas lights he’d seen earlier was no longer sitting motionless. The entire strand was shifting, inching slowly across the concrete floor like a living thing. The bulbs flickered irregularly—green, red, green, red—in a pulsing pattern that reminded him disturbingly of a heartbeat. The sight rooted him to the stairs, caught between disbelief and a rising sense of dread. Before he could convince himself he was imagining it, something struck him across the face. It wasn’t a physical blow so much as a wet impact, a sudden splatter of warm, viscous slime that hit with enough force to make him stumble back a step. He gasped as the substance slid down his cheek and jaw, its sickening chemical odor flooding his senses. His eyes burned from the sudden contact, and he instinctively wiped at his face, only smearing the slick fluid across his skin. Behind him, from the direction of the warped basement door and the creeping lights, a low growl rolled through the darkness. It was deep and resonant, carrying a weight that vibrated in the air around him. Noah froze on the stairs, heart pounding wildly in his chest. The growl shifted, curling upward into a sound that was unmistakably a chuckle—wet, guttural, and inhuman. His phone screen flickered violently as it crashed to the ground. The flashlight dimmed. The last coherent thought Noah had was that he needed to run. But his legs were already buckling beneath him as the world went black. — For the first twenty minutes after the power returned, none of the Phi Alpha Gamma brothers gave Noah a second thought. The movie was back on, the lights were on, the beer was flowing, and the living room had snapped right back into its rowdy rhythm. Bran restarted Krampus “properly, from the beginning, because cinematic excellence deserves respect,” and everyone groaned but went along with it. Ty sprawled across the rug with his head on a pillow shaped like Santa’s ass; Porkchop got emotionally invested in the opening scenes for reasons no one understood; Derek heckled the movie nonstop; Zach critiqued the pacing; Evan sat close to the window, flinching at every rattling gust of wind. Noah’s absence barely registered at first. He’d only gone to flip the breaker. A two-minute job. Maybe he’d stopped to check the Wi-Fi. Maybe he’d taken a leak. Maybe he’d found a dusty treasure trove of weird old frat history down there. And the movie was good. So good they didn’t notice how long it had been. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five. By the time the movie hit its midpoint, the guys were laughing, shouting, deeply engrossed—and Noah had been gone long enough for a quiet unease to slip into the edges of the room. It showed first in Evan, whose nervous habit of glancing at the basement door had become more frequent. Between flickers of lightning outside, he kept pressing his forehead to the glass, watching the snow pile into white drifts that swallowed the yard. Streetlights still glowed; nearby houses were still brightly lit. Their house remained the odd one out. The storm grew louder—wind scraping at the siding, rattling the gutters—and still the pledge hadn’t come back. When Ty finally muttered, “Damn, Rookie’s been down there forever,” it broke the spell over the room. Zach paused mid-sip of beer. “Huh. Yeah. He really has.” Bran frowned at the screen, though his gaze wasn’t quite focused anymore. “He’ll come up in a sec. Probably wiping cobwebs off the porn stash Derek keeps pretending isn’t his.” “They aren’t mine! I wasn't even alive to have that old of Playboys, you jackasses!” Derek barked, because that was the law of the universe. The laughter was weaker this time, the timing off. Another ten minutes passed. The snow outside grew deeper. The storm howled harder. The movie played on. And Noah remained conspicuously absent. Eventually, Porkchop sat up, frowning blearily. “Guys? Seriously. He’s usually back fast. Like… puppy-returning-with-the-ball fast.” Zach scoffed, but it didn’t carry the same confidence. “He’s fine. Probably went down a TikTok rabbit hole.” “Noah doesn’t even have TikTok,” Evan said quietly. The room went still again. Bran shifted forward on the couch, elbows braced on his knees. He looked toward the basement door, the only completely dark spot in the entire house. Something about it—the angle, the stillness—felt wrong, as though the darkness there was heavier than natural shadow. “How long’s it been?” he asked, voice lower now. Ty checked his phone. “Uh… like an hour? Maybe more?” An uneasy silence rippled through the room. “That’s… not normal,” Porkchop mumbled. Evan swallowed hard. “If he slipped or passed out or something—we’re gonna be in so much trouble. You know campus security already thinks we’re on probation even when we’re not.” No one argued. The paused Krampus frame stared back at them from the TV, claws raised mid-swipe, frozen in a way that made the air feel suddenly colder. Bran stood, breaking the tension with a crack of his knuckles. “Alright. Enough. Someone go down and get him.” The others looked at one another. No one moved. Not a single person volunteered. The basement door loomed in the far corner, a dark rectangle swallowing the soft glow of Christmas lights. And for the first time all night, even Bran didn’t bark an order.

Just go outside at 4am looking like you're carrying a bunch of loads in you and are completely thwacked. You might be surprised lol. Actually headed out now to walk the dog again (now that its' finally dark and people won't be able to see what a trashy whore i look like as easily) and see if I can't snag another couple loads.

Adding another to this. My own son’s birthday. 3 year birthday. I was too busy being fucked in my car to give a shit! Wife was calling me I paused to answer and hear my sons daddy voice whilst sucking on a black cock

I was away for a week or so because I had a really bad flu. Just a standard flu everyone around me seems to be getting, but for the purposes of my fantasies, I'm gonna call it a second fuck flu

The homophobia calls coming from inside the house is always wild to me lol.

It's your body hair....so if you like your stuff hairy then fuck anyone who said it needs to be otherwise!....I, personally trim the shit outta mine but, I do like hair....I'm a friggin man and it's, in my opinion, sexy as hell!

I’ve crossed into intimacy with people at bathhouses in moments of lust, but I wouldn’t say I was making love. Every encounter is different, and everyone has their own threshold for what feels too intimate in a hookup. For some men, kissing is off the table; for others, it’s essential. While both are physical acts, it’s simplistic to treat “making love” as purely innocent intimacy. Sex is something you do with someone; making love is something you share with someone. My bathhouse motto tho: "I'm into havin' sex, I ain't into makin' love" - 50 Cent - In da Club

Just literally took a load, he fucked me rough and shot deep inside me, even made me bleed! Love tasting my ass juice and blood mixed with a little bit of cum on his cock!

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

Last weekend I was out of town, went to a nearby-ish location where I've been many times to just unwind for a couple days, and you know... Usual stuff, enjoying the surrounding areas, bars, and I usually end my getaway going to a good old bathhouse I know there. I think I've posted about it before, it's a place targeted mainly to mature (+45 and older) men, and well... Usually when I go there I take a whole afternoon to enjoy the place, maybe some beers, maybe some cocks, some holes... Whatever the day brings. Most times you can see mostly workers, as there are some construction sizes nearby. I've sucked and swallowed loads from many industrial men there, I've even swallowed a couple piss loads in the past, I also started receiving loads deep in my guts months ago as well, and fuck! The kind of men you may find there are one of the main reasons I always go back everytime I'm in the area... This time I went a bit later than usual, and to my surprise it was somewhat packed... Saw a couple men I definitely wanted to do smth with as soon as I changed into a towel... Got a room, and went walking around to hunt something... Then, there was this dude... 20something, maybe 23? 25? kind of... Face too cute, and a bit too young for what I usually find there... You could tell he pumps some iron, had a decent cock as well, and fuck... Why not? Took him to my bedroom, and started deeply tongue kissing, he then started licking my armpits and FUCK! I knew that was a good catch... Sucked his nipples till making him moan like a dog in heat... Licked his pits as well, and he definitely loved it! Fuck! Good to find out a young dude with hairy armpits, he had the right amount of hair and the right amount of sweat, took my time to lick him clean while also pinching his nipples or grabbing his cock, and then I got on my knees and started deepthroating him. Good size, not too thick, but had a delicious mushroom head I enjoyed sucking, licking, kissing, and deepthroating. His balls were massive and completely shaven so fuuuck... Licked and sucked those as if my life depended on it... That dude was oozing gallons of precum. Hehehe he even asked me where I learned to suck it that way. When he was about to cum he stopped and started sucking my cock. I forced mine straight to the back of his throat... Hearing him gagging and trying to breathe was so fucking perfect. I ordered him to lick my balls, and fuck! I enjoyed spitting on his face while he was doing it, and slapping him as hard as possible... He was delighted as he thanked me every time I slapped him. Even made him kiss my feet, and you could easily tell that dude has a kind of submissive side, as he asked me to put one of my feet on his back while he was kissing the other one... He stopped for a sec and asked me if I had an issue with him smoking a bit of weed, I said no, and he took out of a tiny handbag he had on a little. little pipe, lighted it and took a couple puffs, I took a couple from that pipe as well, and then he asked me if he could rim me... Hadn't been rimmed in a long time, so, yes! FUCK! That dude rimmed me like a true professional... His tongue was flat at first, and then with the tip of his tongue he did like circles around my hole before tongue-fucking me... I was in a cloud. That dude took turns between rimming me and smoking his pipe... He was indeed getting high, something that doesn't bother me though, I couldn't ask for something better... Till he started rubbing his cock against my bare hole... He told me he had poppers in case I needed it, and he didn't have to ask me twice. He tried to put a condom on but I told him that if he was going to fuck me, he had to either breed me or feed me his cum... Same if I was going to fuck him. He agreed, so, I assumed the position, and once he put his cock in my hole, huffed from that fucking bottle as hard as I could and FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! That dude felt amazing deep in my guts. Hadn't been popperfucked in a while and that felt like if it was the very first time... He was enjoying it as fuck as well as he loved to take it all out and shove it back in all at once... Feeling how his balls hit mine was tremendous. My ass was already in sweet, delicious pain when he said he wanted to cum... Told him not a problem... He started pounding me really hard, and when he started cumming, HE PULLED OUT! Fuck! I made him go back in, fortunately I could get some of his cum inside, then I made him get on his knees and cummed on his face. When we were recovering I asked him why did he pull out at first, he said "he had a bit of a panic attack" when cumming because "you know man... you may catch something..." I chuckled and couldn't help but thinking how you may rim, kiss, suck, fuck, lick another man, let him slap you, let him spit on your face, actually swallowing his spit, getting high in front of him before fucking him... but somehow you draw the line as actually breeding the guy even when you're fucking him raw! ... Anyway, exchanged numbers, went to the showers to clean myself up a bit, and went back up to my bedroom to take some rest before hunting another one... Sucked a couple more, swallowed one, the other one cummed on my chest but I tasted his cum anyway, and then when I was finally leaving I saw my first dude kissing another man down one of the hallways... Pretty sure he stayed there for a while that night. Not sure if texting him, but I'd like him to fuck me some more. Opinions? Comments?

Is this for real?

Sharing my personal experience and thoughts: I started barebacking from the very introduction into and the beginning of my escapade to the world of relentless sex activity - I was underage at the time and have fucked quite a few holes ranging my age to late 40's before I came of age (16 years, here - in Israel). This was in the late 90's to early 2000's. At some points I have been on and off with condoms. I'm a total top, but had given bottoming 4 chances - two of which were condom sex and the other two were bare - just to find out I didn't like it (my personal taste only! I love you all, my fellow BB bottoms!) Since about 2006 I started leaning more towards bareback sex, and starting 2013 I decided to go bareback only. The arrival of PrEP in Israel - in 2017, and its rapid adoption by the sexually "promiscuous" populations here, has made barebacking significantly more available, as the use of condoms among PrEP patients started to become very rare. In Israel, we get sex-ed at school and at community clinics, and everyone is aware of the potential consequences of barebacking, despite the elimination the risk of HIV infection, but the pleasure of skin on skin, and for me, personally, the bare connection with my bottoms as I slide my dick in and out of their holes, and eventually shoot my loads inside them, is worth the risk of catching STD's. I believe most barebackers in Israel feel the same about barebacking. I'm not on PrEP, and never have been (please, no judgement and no lecturing. I have the right to make my own decisions as an adult of 40 yo), and my STD tally, after having fucked hundreds or more different holes) only stands on one case of throat Gono (I'm a big fan of giving rim jobs and blowjobs, and swallowing cum), and one case of penile Gono. This might be one reason I'm so promiscuous. Until early 2020, sexual health and PrEP habits were discussed before most of my sexual encounters, even at the baths, but after CoVid-19 restrictions were removed - around mid 2022, I noticed that these discussions were also removed off the table. To me it was the understanding that even if what the parties to the encounter disclose is 100% true and reliable, there is absolutely no way to eliminate the risk of catching STD's, so I just go ahead and find bottoms I feel I can connect to, and have my fun time with them. I also attend more anon action at the backrooms of the baths. I know that I can only rely on myself, and that I have to take care of my own health - get tested regularly and if I happen to catch something - treat it, knowing the risk I am taking as I fuck around - the risk of catching STD's, not excluding HIV. I do believe, however, that on the back of my mind, I assume that many bottoms I fuck nowadays are either Neg on PrEP or U = U, thanks to the availability of HIV treatment here. And, while some bottoms disclose their Poz status after I breed them, the assumption that in the 2020's I am less exposed to HIV infection, makes it much more comfortable for me to slide it in no questions asked. So, to conclude my own experience - PrEP did make bareback sex more available, for me, and even made it feel safer, although, as I already mentioned, I am not on PrEP.

Really don't care for it is them who 🤣shoot it in my ass.. When I occasionally shoot it, it is into boys ass/mouth. So no worries at all. (FB is probably shooting blanks, cause he pumped buckets of load in me and I'm not pregnant.. 🤪)

Probably 15 years or more ago I went to a sleazy motel room in Berkeley for a random hookup with a young skinny black kid with a long and skinny dick to match. About halfway through, he started to pull out, saying he had to piss. I told him he didn't need to pull out, so he didn't. Filled my fuckhole. So fucking hot!

Chapter 6: Full on infection and Control Machete Shows me What They Got - “I think you now have my AIDs Little Papi, mi mujer. I am always inside you now, always with you. I want you to have more AIDs dick, and there is not better time then when you are sick. So I am going to make sure you get fucked as much as possible while you are sick. You want my AIDs forever don’t you mi mujer? You going to be my AIDs mujer? OH FUCK PAPI….” Santos was true to his word and I got fucked more when I was sick, then even before, but I’ll come back to that in a minute. I did not have to worry about things getting dirty. I had diarrhea like out of some Stephen King novel, whoosh, splat, and that first day I spent more time on the toilet then in my bed with it coming out of both ends. After that, there was nothing left in me to give. I was still wicked nauseous and just the thought of food made me feel worse. Santos sent Miguel to the Mercado along with one of the enforcers who came back with two bags full of bottled water for me to drink. The worse, the absolute worse part was the fever. Santos had the A/C turned off in our room as he said the fever was showing us how the virus was moving in my blood through my body and the A/C would just make me catch pneumonia or something. I was so hot! I did not care if Miguel saw me naked, or anyone else, as I lay drenched in sweat on the bed, miserable and aching. By day two I had a big fever blister on my lip, which made me even more self-conscious, but to Santos it was a sign, a sign that this truly was the fuck-flu and that I had HIV and more. After it felt like I had shit myself to death, the first man Santos brought after he had fucked me again was a total surprise, Sagastume Fajardo, the palabreros or leader of MS-13. I tried to sit up, but Santos pushed me back down onto the bed as he sat beside me and began rubbing my forehead. That always made me feel better. The MS-13 leader pulled a chair over, sat down, set a box with several bottles of Guaro on the floor, then lit up a cigarette and smiled. “You are right mi hermano,” he said to Santos as he used the hand holding his cigarette to gesture my way, “Our gringo mujer looks like shit! Looks like this one is marked for sure, marked for death by MS-13 cum!” He laughed at that and I just moaned, from feeling miserable and not seeing the humor as the sweat continued to run from my body like rats from a sinking ship. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be here?” I asked. The leader of MS-13 leaned closer, “No worries muchacho. Much has changed. One of our errors in the past was leaving El Capo alone too much without seeing us. Now, now each of us will come visit often, and others from our gangs as well to show we are united in this……this new way of conducting ourselves and our business. So mi hermano, I know you have much to do and our mujer here and I are old friends, so I thought I would stay and visit for a few hours and see what I could do to make him feel better, well me feel better!” Once again he laughed and I began to realize what he might have in mind. Santos rubbed my forehead, gave it a good-bye kiss, then said, “I’ll make sure you are not disturbed. I’ll be back later,” and then left. The leader of MS-13 stood up, locked the door, took off his Chicago Bulls t-shirt and pants, and once again left on his black boots while he said, “Ahh, that feels much better.” He sat back down in the chair, the wood creaking as he scooted the chair right up to the side of the bed so that he was now sitting parallel to me, lit up another cigarette and while holding it between his teeth, reached down and opened one of the bottles of Guaro that he brought. After several large swigs, he handed it to me and said, “Here, this is the good shit we had before and in your condition it will not take a lot for you to feel it.” I pushed myself up onto my right arm and with my left hand shakily took the bottle and put it to my lips. The first swallow made me gag, choke, and cough as he laughed, the second burned going down and felt like a flaming tire in my stomach. The third gulp put out the roaring flames, so that now just the slow steady burn of embers remained. I handed the bottle back to him, plopped back onto the bed and closed my eyes, feeling the liquor kick in and the first little bit of relief from the fuck-flu misery. “Let’s talk a little, do you mind? Here, put your head in my lap, nurse on my polla, he has missed you and I know it will make you feel better,” the MS-13 leader said. He turned his chair a little so I could scoot up and drape myself across his thighs while guiding his dick into my open mouth. The raw and hardening dick responded to my tongue and I knew he had not washed in days. I loved the smell of him and the taste of his salty, sweat and funk covered dick. It did not taste of old cum, or like he had been fucking, just that his dick has been nestled against his body, waiting, waiting for a chance to be appreciated. The leader of MS-13 continued talking as I gently nursed on his dick, “Mi hermano has told me that all is well with you and him and how you stayed, how you have taken care of him and his men. You know his enforcers are like his family. He also told me more and as I said to you the last time I saw you, you had my blessings.” He took his left hand and began rubbing my forehead like Santos had done. “I owe my life to mi hermano, many times, many times, and recent events have shown me even more how important he is to me. You know he could have been El Capo? Yes? At first I thought he was crazy for not taking it, for not taking the power that we were willing to give him. But this new set up is much better, I see that now, and it was all his idea. No matter what, he still has great power and I know you worry about him. Do not worry, he is mi hermano, we will watch out for him – they all will watch out for him, for if they do not – well, you saw what can happen. And we will watch out for you as well mi gringo mujer. You are part of the family now and I like you, I really do, but remember, NEVER BETRAY us, or………” All this talk of power and retribution had made the mammoth dick I had been nursing stand at full attention and wanting to fight. The blood pulsed through the veins up and down the shaft, his balls priming the pump with a steady flow of thick and shiny precum. Even in my current state my ass wanted to be bred by him. “Let me see,” the leader of MS-13 said as he grabbed my face, turned it towards him and up as he leaned a bit to the right. “It will take several days for your lips to heal from your blisters. I have to tell you, it feels pretty fucking wild when you run your lips along my shaft, I can feel them. You know what they mean? They mean my other infections have taken in you as well, here, open your mouth like you’re putting on lipstick, let me rub my dripping dick around those nasty lips, give you some more of my bugs, aaahhhh mi mujer, aaahhhhh.” That was pretty weird, but sort of hot at the same time. This man was going to throw down some dirty sex!! I continued to rub my blister covered lips on his dick and the leader of MS-13 pushed my face hard onto it, making one of the sores on my lip crack and open up. He pulled my face away, looked and confirmed that had happened, then rubbed my lips and down his dick even harder, working the infected seepage all over his shaft and head. “So, how did you enjoy your visit with David? I know he could not give you what I did, but did you enjoy it? Did he shoot inside that gringo pussy? Tell me, did he give you some filthy Calle 18 leche? Yeah, see you are learning. In here there are many types of power, many ways to get power, share power, and dispense power, and sex is one of them. Santos knows this better than anyone and you mi gringo mujer, you now have power too. See? My polla is at your wish and command.” He laughed again at his own words, as I thought about what he had just said. I did not really think before that I could help Santos, but I guess I was, and knowing that I had even a little bit of power made me horny. The leader of MS-13 was squirming in the chair bit time now and I knew he was not going to be satisfied with just my mouth for much longer. I pulled away, grabbed the Guaro, and emptied the bottle. He was smiling a knowing smile when I handed it back to him and said, “I may want some more, so I hope you are not planning to use all of those other bottles on my ass.” He laughed hard at that, put his cigarette out on the floor, stood up and guided his dick into my waiting my mouth and throat fucked me. When he had gotten his dick nice and wet in my throat, he pulled out, said something in Spanish I could not understand, reached down, grabbed one of my legs and spun me around so I was kneeling on the floor, my torso and chest on the bed and ass out and waiting to be bred. He grabbed one of the pillows off the bed and had me put it under my knees for a little cushion. “How do you want this banger dick mi mujer, my AIDs slut? ” he asked. “I want a no mercy fuck, no stopping, no mercy for my culo as I get bred and my pussy gets infected with gangbanger dick. You little dicked fucker, will have to find me some real dick from Calle 18, don’t know why I’m wasting my time with some boy dick from MS-13.” The leader of MS-13 was not used to anyone mouthing off to him like that and I think I shocked him, but at the same time he realized he liked that shit as his dick bounced and twitched. He reached forward, cuffed my head and said, “What the fuck did you say? You think I got a little dick? Huh? You nasty little gringo cunt!!” He spit on his fingers, drove them deep into my waiting hole making me yelp, pulled them out, positioned his dick at my hole and pushed in just enough so he was lodge in my ass ring. He then leaned forward wrapping his fingers around my face, covering my mouth and resting his arms on my back and he pressed me down and growled, “ONLY MS-13 CAN GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT – ONLY MS-13 CAN FUCK YOU WITH NO MERCY!!” I cried out into his hands as he ripped my guts open with his mammoth dick, the sound muffled by his angry grip. “Tell me again fresa, tell me again what you want,” he demanded. “I want some big Calle 18 dick, a dick I can FEEL!” I gasped out as he temporarily loosened his grip, then immediately clamped his fingers tighter, covering my airways, squeezing my head as he bloodied my hole. “YOU DAMN AIDS SLUT, YOU JUST A FRESA NOW, JUST A FRESA FOR ME TO USE!! You like that? Huh? That’s what you want? FUCK! Look what you’ve made me do, damn it, fuck that ass is bleeding.” The leader of MS-13 pummeled my torn hole, angry, confused, and hornier then he had ever been. Sweat was now pouring off of him as he drove deeper into my ass and he shifted his hand from covering my face to around my neck, “Make me you mujer, give me that MS-13 dick!” I gasped, “No limits, no mercy mi marido, no marido, I give myself to you anyway you want, I want to be your AIDs wife, make me bleed for you, that’s it, I will always be yours, always be your pussy, your AIDs pussy, FUCK ME!!” He clenched my throat harder, the bed was banging against the wall as he slam fucked me, tearing his way in and out with every thrust. “That’s it, rape my culo, rape me marido, infect me, rape me!!” His gangbanger dick buried itself as deep as it could as his fingers tightened on my throat and his body convulsed in wave after wave of ecstatic bliss. The MS-13 dick jumped in my guts as it unloaded a hot, steady stream of satisfaction. He slowly pulled his dick out of my ass, a stream of blood and cum splattering the concrete floor before he reached down, swung my legs up, and rolled me onto my back onto the bed. He was still rock hard as he pushed my legs back and dropped down into my gaping and waiting hole. “There’s no running from me,” the leader of MS-13 said as he used his body weight to keep my legs up and back, while he moved his arms under each shoulder and wrapped his hands back around my neck. “Carojo mujer! THAT was a fuck. You know me I see, you know what to say to bring it all out, you know just how to please me. Did you like that my AIDs slut? Did you like your husband raping your pussy, making your gringo pussy bleed, having no mercy? Hmmm……I can tell by your hole clenching on my dick you did. I did not expect that. Hmmm….. I think I need to find someplace a little more private so that next time I can show the fresa what a real prison rape is like…..hmmmmm……yes…….see what you do to me mujer. Would you like that? I held way back the first time, and some today too. But I don’t want to hold back. No, I want to take you….ahhhhh, but not today. Today we will make love mi mujer. Dime lo que quieres! Tell me what you want!” I got two more loads with him on top of me like that before he rolled off. He chain smoked a couple in a row, we had some more to drink, he stared in awe and wonder at the remnants of our first fuck on the floor beside the bed before he wiped it up so not a trace was left, before he gently washed my ass of for me and using his fingers made sure the only thing coming out was more of his buried cum. The most powerful man in the prison was sitting back in the chair, smoking, rubbing my forehead when Santos returned. “Mi hermano, there you are. Thank you for being so kind and allowing me to visit this afternoon. It is time for me to go.” The leader of MS-13 bent down, rubbed a finger around my lips and said, “I look forward to see you again.” No sooner was he out the door then Santos was dropping his pants and crawling onto the bed, fumbling to get my legs up and said, “Little Papi, I know he fucked you, I can smell it, and I can see that your ass is bruised and swollen, damn I want to cum in you. Can you take some more, please? Please Little Papi?” I had to laugh as he looked too funny with his pants around his ankles and that look on his face. I of course agreed, but did feel some shame as I wondered about the next time with MS-13, I wondered what he had planned. Several days later I was feeling much better, my lips had healed, and life had returned to normal, well as normal as one can get in a prison. Santos had brought several other men by to fuck me, including the Goat and Oscar and the infected ones I had met in the room before, and of course some of his enforcers stopped to check on me and take my temperature in their special way. I think they were happiest of all once I was better as I started cooking for them again and felt good knowing they got at least one decent meal a day. I was down on the second floor helping sort some business product when Santos came in, looking tense. I followed him upstairs and he said, “In about 10 minutes the new leaders of Control Machete will arrive for a meeting. Can you just make sure we have something to drink? I do not trust them, and would have you stay downstairs, but everyone must understand this is my life, so…” I was concerned and offered stay downstairs with Miguel and the guys, but Santos shook his head and before we knew it Miguel was on the stairs saying they had arrived. The two men who came up the stairs looked impossibly young. They were both cut, had long wavy hair, dressed like the Burro in nice shirt and pants, and no tattoos that I could see. These guys run a gang? Santos made introductions, we sat at the table, and Santos poured drinks. The two guys did not acknowledge my presence, and seemed tense in the discussions they had with Santos. Before long their voices started to rise, one of them flicked his hand towards me, Santos got very tense, and I did not know what was going on. I was ready to go get the guys down stairs when the two from Control Machete stood up, one knocking his chair over in the process, and stormed out. Santos quickly returned to his calm, cool demeanor and said, “Do not worry. They are young, and new to being in charge. We just do not always agree, that is all. Not like when their Uncle ran things. He felt it was time to pass the torch, and so the cousins are now in charge. Control Machete, at least here, is mostly one big connected family. They call come from the same region of the country and one way or the other seem to be related. While they may be from the country, they are no less dangerous, and some of the most famous death squad members were part of their family. I also believe – but we found no proof – that they were far more involved with El Capo and his plans than we know.” The evening ended quietly, and the next day seemed like all the rest. It was late in the afternoon and Santos had said he would be back late and as he left said, “I am always nearby Little Papi.” That had become I think his way of saying he loved me and helping me not to worry, but I still did. Anyways, I had cleaned things and had just unbuttoned my jeans and sat in the chair to take off my sneakers when I was surprised by someone knocking on the doorway. I looked up, and there was a man about 60 or 65, bald, with a gray goatee. I did not recognize him and said, “Sorry, Santos has gone out. If you go downstairs I’m sure one of his men can help you.” The man smiled, clasped his hands together, shook his head, and said, “Please forgive me for the intrusion, but no. I am not here to see Santos, I am here to see you.” I got a little nervous at that and stood up to button my pants and I don’t know what. The man stepped towards me and said, “No, no, please, sit, I have been rude. My name is Elder Sancho Romero, I believe you met my nephews yesterday?” Oh, so this must be the Uncle. “Yes, yes, of course, please come in and sit and let me get you something to drink. What would you like?” I asked. He said he liked brandy, so I brought a bottle of that for him, Guaro for me, and joined him at the table. “I have already spoken with Santos,” Sancho said, “My nephews, they have much to learn, and in here, here we must all work together to make the life a life, you understand?” I shook my head yes as I emptied my first glass as he continued, “And so I wanted to come to see you too. To apologize on behalf of Control Machete. Sometimes the young ones think they are so progressive and know so much – BAH! I am sorry for the way my nephews behaved and hope that the next time you meet them you will not hold yesterday against them.” I assured him I would not, refilled his glass and mine, and enjoyed the next several minutes of general conversation about his family, the prison, and ways he thought things could be made better. “May I be honest,” he asked me, “My nephews, they have a difficult time making sense of the Santos they know with the Santos they see here – with you, you understand? They are too new to prison and to life to understand that just because you may fuck a man does not mean you are a fresa. Especially in here, sometimes you just fuck whoever is available, and sometimes your friend is just whoever is available, and sometimes even, your mujer is whoever is available, you understand?” I shook my head yes as he continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I have spoken with Santos and I can see it in his eyes. Whatever is going on with you is not just because you are around, you understand? I say so what. It does not change the work Santos has done, and frankly I think he and his men are all the better for having you around from what I hear.” I tilted my head in curiosity at that, Sancho laughed and said, “Just because an old man is not out fighting with the young ones anymore, does not mean that I still don’t ask questions and listen, listen to the guards and listen to others. I must say, for a gringo you sure have stirred things up around here!” I laughed along with him at that one and had not realized I guess. My world is so small in these few rooms. “You must be careful though, you understand? There are some who will never accept, but for the rest of us, we do not care and as long as you are making life here better, you are welcome! So on to another reason why I am here. I wanted to bring a peace offering of sorts – well two - if you will let me. Again, an old man listens, Erazo! ERazo! ERAZO!!!” I turned and into the doorway stepped a man about Miguel’s age, buzzcut hair, big ears, pencil thin mustache, no shirt, so I could see he had a few prison issued tats on his chest. Erazo stepped in, looked at Sancho who nodded, and Erazo unbuttoned his pants and let them drop. FUCK! His dick looked like it could be as big as the leader of MS-13s. Sancho said, “Erazo is my grandson, my daughter’s son. My poor girl came to the city very young, got hooked on drugs, contracted AIDs, but before she died she gave us Erazo, and gave him her AIDs too. My pardon if I am wrong, but I have heard that you like men such as my Erazo?” I looked at him again and got hard thinking about him fucking me, wow what a dick. Sancho nodded at Erazo who stepped back, reached around the doorway and pulled on someone’s arm, bringing them into view. “This is Armando. He is like Erazo’s brother as they have been together since they were babies being taken care of by the nuns. When I found Erazo, Armando came too, so he is family. But like Erazo, he too was born to a mother with AIDs and as you can see, it has been harder on him in some ways.” I looked at Armando who was clean shaven, his hair a little longer, and while Erazo looked healthy, a little meaty even, Armando was very skinny, gaunt, his skin had a grayish tinge. He took off his t-shirt and what few tats he had looked distorted as his skin clung to his ribs. Armando then unbuttoned his pants and my eyes got wide as clearly what meat he had lost on his body had gone to his dick. DAMN! From the waist down the guys could have been twins. I grabbed the Guaro and took several big gulps and looked back at the boys still standing there with their pants down, then to Sancho. A weak smile came from Sancho’s lips as he said, “Los chicos have not had an easy life as you might understand, but family – blood – blood is everything. No one knows, really, but there are always whispers, rumors, and it does not help that they cannot stop trying to fuck every boy they can get their hands onto. The whores won’t touch them and los chicos are not interested anyways. If they would just fuck each other, but no, they tried to explain how such things work but it was all a bit more than I could understand. They need some guidance, and an outlet, a proper outlet, to learn how to behave. I know after the way my nephews acted I have not right to ask this of you, but I do ask for your help and for a favor. Would you help my boys? Would you let them be with you sometimes? I trust Santos, and he trusts you, so….I know it is a lot to ask, but they need someone to teach them about such things and I know of no one else who could be their friend. Please?” Of course my ass said yes, but then I began to think of what all this might entail and what all he might be expecting. I was NOT going to share Santos, but this might be a way in which I could use some of that power my MS-13 marido talked about. “Do they understand English?” I asked. Sancho said, “So so, and Armando can speak it a little, but Erazo not so much.” “Please guys,” I said to Erazo and Armando, “Come have a drink, join us.” The guys looked at each other, then to Sancho who nodded, and the hiked up their pants and took seats across from me at the table. “I am honored you would ask this of me, Senor, I would be pleased to be their friend – and yours – but I of course must speak to Santos first about all of this. This is his world,” I said, making both of the guys smile, and Sancho sigh in relief. “But, there will have to be some ground rules and we need to discuss a bit more what all this means. There is one condition I do have immediately before anything else. I need a business, someway that I can generate extra money for Santos and I for the future. I know my options are limited and my movement’s restricted, but there still must be something, and I want your help, and that of the other leaders to secure it – and then the boys here can help run it, or work for me, or whatever. I am not looking for charity, just an opportunity to contribute to life here with more than just my ass. Deal?” Sancho smiled wide at that, laughed, held out his hand and said, “Yes, deal. You are as good of a man as Santos and others have said you were and I already ran my idea past him before coming to see you. He said it was your decision and he would support whatever you decided. Also, you will have no need to worry about my nephews. They will support this and more, we will make sure of that, and besides, they both have a weakness for good tequila, so I say let’s get them drunk and horny and see if they can resist fucking you then. Once they do – what can they say?” This caused all of us to crack up laughing, and it actually sounded like a good plan. We spent the next 30 minutes or so discussing more details of the arrangement and drinking and I was frankly enjoying his company. The guys, but since I was older I just started calling them chicos even though they were technically men, would continue to live with Control Machete, although they might stay in our area from time to time. While we worked out the specifics of my new business, they would come do other work for me with the understanding that Miguel was my number one chico, and I was not looking forward to explaining all this to him. I would spend some time each day teaching them English, basic math, and a few other skills that would help with our business, and of course, the sex, but then I raised the point to Sancho that they might not even like me, I may not be their type and all. Sancho said something to the guys in Spanish, they both smiled, looked at me with eager and hungry grins, and Armando got his machismo, tough look on his face and tone in his voice when replied. Sancho laughed and said to me, “I do not think you have to worry about that. It seems they have already been fighting over who gets to go first and how often, and Armando here said that as soon as you realize Santos is not the marido for you and that Armando is, you will be a much happier mujer.” Erazo interrupted him and Sancho added, “Umm, yes, he says that they will both be your husband.” I blushed at that, which seemed to make the guys even more anxious to get things started. Sancho said something else to them and los chicos took their glasses, grabbed one of the liquor bottles, and went back into El Capo’s old bedroom and closed the door. Sancho refilled our glasses and said, “Thank you again. I was beginning to wonder how I would ever help them. Things are difficult enough here, but then with…. Ahhh, does not matter now. May I ask, have you met David and Sagastume from the other gangs? Yes? You got along OK? Good, good. I do not need to know specifics of course, but that does make things much much easier for us. We will need to find a business where we are not stepping on anyone else’s toes – well no one who matters. I also do not want them to think I am overstepping either by having my family work for you. I suggest that we ask each of them to offer someone for you to hire and train for your business too, so that it is truly a non-aligned endeavor and no one can say one gang is trying to get something over on another. Do you agree?” The guy’s voices rose and laughter could be heard from behind the closed door. “I do have one more small favor,” Sancho asked looking almost sheepish, “While I think I might enjoy, hmmm… uhhhhh….well to be blunt, while I think I would enjoy fucking you, I frankly would need more to drink and a little more discretion. But, I do enjoy watching and the boys have let me watch them before, so if it is alright with you, may I sit in the room and watch?” I smiled, nodded, and confirmed that was not a problem with me, adding, “Feel free to do more than watch if you want. I would be happy to suck you or whatever.” Sancho smiled, handed me the Guaro and said, “I think you may need a few good shots. From what I have seen in the past, the boys like to get right to it.” I hit the bottle, grabbed a new one, and then thinking what if someone comes up turned to go to the door to try to figure out a way to get someone to guard. “No need,” Sancho said, “My men are at the bottom of the stairs, and Santos left orders with his not to let anyone up.” With that we both went to the bedroom to find Erazo on his knees sucking Armando, who was nice and hard. Armando pushed Erazo away as soon as we stepped in, making Erazo land on his ass and burst out laughing. Maybe they were too drunk to fuck? Not a chance, as Erazo’s dick was hard and at a 45-degree angle pointing up the minute he stood up and started to stroke. Sancho eased the wooden chair back into the far corner, sat down, opened a new bottle of liquor and settled in to watch the show. Los chicos were already naked, so they stood side by side, stroking their hard dicks, impatiently waiting while I got undressed. The second my pants hit the floor Erazo was on his knees with my dick in his mouth and Armando was trying to milk my right nipple. I pushed them both back off me, “Easy boys, easy. Take your time. I’m not running anywhere, we’ll both get what we need, or want, or whatever.” They both gave me their little shit-eating grins as I think they could see my curly pig tail sticking out. Their smell was so different than anyone else, and their energy and rawness – OINK! I was so horned up, but I had to mind my own manners as well. I sat in the other wooden chair making sure Sancho had a good view, the guys stood in front of me, and I slowly began to lick first Erazo’s dick, then I would switch and lick on Armando’s. These were raw dicks in their most natural form. Never been tainted by rubber, never been anything but AIDs filled sperm injectors their whole lives. Fucking amazing. I soon had them both fully erect, a hand wrapped around each, as I ate their meat like it was my last supper. Sancho had abandoned just watching and was now jerking on a nice size dick of his own. I see that it ran in the family and made a mental note to get his too someday. I stood up, pushed the chair away, and bent over and started deep throating Armando’s dick. His fingers squeezed my shoulders and he threw his head back and started to speak rapidly in Spanish. Erazo’s voice was muffled as he had immediately scrambled behind me and buried his face in my ass and was making me moan with how he ate my hole out. I came up for air, glanced over at Sancho who was wide eyed and had a huge smile on his face. Good – we were all happy, back to the show. Los chicos were young, so I believed cumming a few times would not be a problem, so I showed Armando how it felt to be sucked balls deep and to have my tongue flicking out and coating his balls while his dick filled my throat and my mouth milked his shaft. His head was still thrown back and his Spanish became faster and louder. Was he praying? Asking me to stop? It didn’t matter, I knew he was getting close as his fingers duh harder into my shoulders and his balls were no longer low hanging fruit, but were high and tight and ready to explode. One last pulsing suck and I edged Armando’s shivering dick back onto my tongue so that I would taste every drop. Armando got on his tip toes and did a little ballet step as he shot into my mouth – thick, creamy, infected cum. His nutt tasted wonderful and was like the best frosting ever! He let go of my shoulders, and I turned and sucked down Erazo’s dripping dick and gave him the same deep throat treatment while Armando recovered by eating my ass. Erazo did not disappoint either and I was startled and impressed when he shot at least twice what Armanda had. I looked at Sancho while licking my lips and he gave me a knowing nod as if to say, “I know, can you believe how much the kid shoots?” I pulled Armando up off the bed, pushed Erazo onto it, straddled Erazo doggy style and began kissing him, while Armando got behind me and with no pretense he shoved his dick up my spit slick hole making me yelp and sit almost straight up. HOLY FUCK! HIS RAW DICKFILLED ME UP!! I had expected at least a finger or some foreplay and Erazo said something to him with a look of anger on his face. Armando went to pull out, but I flung my hand back and said, “NO, please don’t pull out. I’m OK, you just surprised me that’s all. You’re a fucking big boy, so take a little to get used to. Senor, can you make sure he understands?” Sancho relayed my message and maybe added his own as Armando did small, soft, slow strokes while I leaned back over and started to lick and chew lightly on Erazo’s nipples. I don’t think he had ever had that done before as we started to buck his hips, and his hole body moved trying to run and get more at the same time. Once I felt open enough I put my hand back on Armando’s torso, he slowly stopped, I then eased off his dick, rolled off Erazo, lay on my back and pulled my legs back, making my hole wink in invitation to Armando to enter. Armando then angled himself over my ass and dropped down into my hole making me gasp in wonder and fulfillment. I smiled wide as I looked up into his eyes, put my hands on his side and pulled him back into me. He had that same cocky, shit-eating grin on his fun, so took it he was enjoying himself. Erazo was not to be left out so he got doggy style over my face and worked his dick into my mouth so that I was stuffed on both ends. I was sucking Erazo’s hard dick when Armando suddenly stopped and yanked his dick out of my ass. I pushed Erazo off to see what was wrong and Armando was looking at, holding his dick, which was leaking precum from his gaping piss slit. “What’s wrong,” I asked, “Why did you stop?” he did not answer so I turned to Sancho and asked again. Sancho asked Armando in Spanish then said to me, “He is close to cumming, but is afraid – for you. He is afraid you do not know he has AIDs, and he does not want to make you sick. It took his mother from him.” I turned to Sancho, my heart breaking a little for Armando, “Tell him it is OK, I know, and I want it. I am already POZ so he cannot hurt me. Can you make him understand?” As Sancho repeated what I said, I pulled Armando close to me, kissed the tip of his dick, looked up at him and smiled, then laid back and raised my legs again while pulling Armando back to me with my right hand. When Sancho finished, Armando still looked a little confused and unsure when he looked at me. “Por favor,” I said, “Cum in me, Si, Si, in my culo, por favor, si si. It’s OK, cum in me, please fuck me, I WANT your cum, I want your leche!” Erazo seemed to understand and said something too. Armando smiled wide, grabbed my ankles and sank his dick back in my ass. He held my legs wide as his pace picked up and he began to unload in my ass. His dick swelled and he gyrated his hips with every spurt, working his cum into my gut walls. As soon as he was done, Armando pulled out, Erazo slid in, and I motioned Armando up onto the bed so I could suck him clean. Erazo seemed to really like fucking me with a load already in my ass and he quickly flooded me with more AIDs cum as he mixed his and Armando’s into a thick, wonderful sex pudding. I sat up, licked Erazo clean, wiped my hand on Armando’s sweaty chest and smiled at them both. Yeah, this was going to be fun. I looked over and Sancho was wiping up his own load, so I would not press it, but I wanted him to fuck me to. He was sexy for an older guy. We all got dressed, went and sat back down at the table, Armando filled out glasses and we all toasted the night. Sancho said they should leave and told los chicos to go ahead and to be back here the next day first thing in the morning. They smiled, nodded and left. “I hope you enjoyed the show,” I said to Sancho, “and that it is what you hoped.” Sancho laughed and said, “Well it sure was not like what I had seen them do before and just affirms this is the right plan. You can teach them and you know, I don’t think they have ever felt what it was like to cum in someone before, or at least not being terrified while they did it and full of guilt and fear. Thank you for giving them that.” I laughed and said, “Oh it was all my pleasure for sure. I hope next time we have a chance to do this that you will hold your cum until they go. I would love to feel you cum in my ass too.” Sancho was not expecting that and just mumbled a little before getting up and leaving as well. I was still horny as hell, but also tired, so grabbed a tortilla and some rice and beans, then went and laid down on the bed to wait for Santos. I awoke facedown to someone pressing their naked body onto mine, my legs being spread, and a hard dick working its way into my cum filled ass. “Little Papi has been busy tonight I see,” Santos whispered into my right ear, “Your ass is glistening from the cum and OH I CAN FEEL IT as I slide into you. Oh Papi, that feels good. I wanted to be here to see you take their AIDs dicks so bad, but I think we will have time for that. For now Little Papi, be a good mujer and open those legs wide because I have some more cum to give you.” Stay tuned for Chapter 7: My family and life at San Pedro Sula Prison