Leaderboard

Chapter 1 12 men were sitting around each other in a stale grey room. The youngest looked about 18; the oldest, no more than 30, maybe 35. A judgmental man might've called them twinks. A big banner was hanging up in the corner of the room: WELCOME BACK FORMER BUGCHASERS A few men had already spoken, talking about how much easier it was to resist "the temptation". One man had made the mistake of saying the word "poz". The leader of the group interjected: "As you know, we try not to use that word. There's nothing positive about a life-threatening condition. We just say "bug". Because that's what it is—a virus that infects not just our bodies but our brains." His words seemed to have the opposite effect. The youngest man rose to give his speech. "I know I'm new here... My name is Mason. I'm 19, and I've been a bugchaser for... a month... "I don't know where it came from. I've always been a slut; I hit the bathhouses as soon as it was legal and tried to take every dick I could see. I managed to take every load in the entire house, once, on a slow weekday. I was proud of that. "I went on a weekend once. A man leered at me as soon as I got in the locker room to change. He was buck naked. God, when I think about him... he must've been 6'3", sheer muscle, hairy as Bigfoot. He had big feet, too, which..." Mason trailed off with a shiver. His speech had caused a lot of the men sitting there to switch their legs uncomfortably. The group leader said, "try not to give too much detail. We don't want to get riled up. We're here for the opposite purpose." "Sorry! Anyway, he stared at me the whole time. Once I was naked, he introduced himself and invited me to his room. Just like that! I said yes right away. We walked up to the third floor—he had some pretty wild porn on the screen and a red gel cap over the light. I felt like a prostitute! He offered me some poppers and a little beer, and of course I accepted. I probably shouldn't have trusted him, but oh well... "He started, um... touching himself. He asked if I would help him with my mouth. I said yes. When he lowered me down I saw this weird tatoo on his abs... like a radiation symbol or something. It was hot—I like dangerous guys, and this one made him look dangerous. I took the whole thing on the first go, even though he was huge—and THICK. Sorry! Sorry, forgot the thing you said about details. He lasted, like... 15 minutes and then he just said, 'I'm going to come in a few seconds. Just so you know, I have AIDS. Is that cool with you? You willing to take an AIDS load, boy?' I freaked out! Of course I wasn't. I felt lied to, like I'd been trapped. I double-tapped and he let my head up. He stroked his cock until he finished on his chest. Um... I know you'll probably judge me, but..." "It's okay," said the group leader. "You can say it. This is a judgment-free zone." "When I saw how big his load was... how it covered so much of his huge torso... I wanted to lick it up anyway. Despite the risks. Oh, I feel so dirty when I think about that..." "No, it's natural. You have a condition. We all do. But we're all HIV-negative. Some of us have been tempted for 15 years!" "Okay, good... I can really make it fifteen years?" "You can make it all your long, long life. There's safe ways to have sex!" "Yeah... safe... right." Everyone left; meeting adjourned. They grabbed cookies or bottles of water or whatever on their way out and left. Mason had repressed that memory for 4 straight weeks. He'd managed not to think about it; to avoid remembering the details that made him feel like his whole body was burning up. But now that he'd told them, saw how some of them even got hard when he mentioned the man who was going to breed him, he couldn't stop thinking. For 6 hours after he got back to his apartment he tried to cope, but by the third time he'd cum thinking about saying "yes" to that dangerous man, he felt the last ounce of willpower leave him. He was at the saunas within twenty minutes. He paid the fee, got a bottle of poppers, and began changing. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if the man would show up in the locker room, but he didn't. "That's alright," he said to himself. He was fine—no, better off sleeping with someone else. Someone safe. He decided to walk around, make small talk with the others, see if he could find a connection. The other man's figure possessed his imagination. Finally, he just went up to the room where that awful man had almost given him AIDS, just to see if he was... safe from him. The door was open a crack. The same man from last month was inside with a new, younger-looking boy bouncing his hips up against the other man's cock. "Happy birthday, baby," said the man. "Ungh, thank you..." "I'm gonna cum soon," he said. "But just so you know, I have AIDS. You cool with that? You cool with taking a raw AIDS load? "AH! No!!! Oh god, why did I come here? I just turned 18 this morning!!!!" Mason wondered if this was something he did often and felt a pang of jealousy. The other boy pulled himself off and, again, the older man finished himself onto his own chest with a sigh. The image of ropes and ropes of vile, disease-ridden cum pooling on the older man's chest that had been playing in his mind for a month straight was right in front of him, past the crack in the door. The 18-year old cried and ran out of the room, exposing the voyeur in the doorframe. "I remember you," the older man said. Mason tried to think of something to say. He didn't. He closed the door behind him, knelt down, and began licking the massive load off the older man's body. He felt sparks crackling in his brain as the smell of sex and sweat wafted up through his nose. He reached back toward the older man's dick and felt it grow to its full, monstrous size. "This time," said the older man, "you don't get to run." Mason kissed the biohazard tattoo on his waist deep. "You better not let me," he said, as the older man beckoned him onto all fours on the floor.

FUCK! That is a hot chapter.

The motel's parking lot was a sea of cracked asphalt under the harsh glare of sodium lamps, the air thick with the hum of distant traffic and the stale scent of rain-soaked dumpsters. Jake, barely 19 and hailing from a nowhere town where dreams went to die, had scraped together bus fare on a whim, chasing whispers of quick money in the city. The online ad had promised 'discreet companionship gigs—no experience needed.' He'd figured it meant posing for photos or light flirting, not this. His palms sweated as he clutched the room key, the brass tag for Room 12 biting into his skin. Inside, the space was a time capsule of despair: yellowed walls with water stains blooming like bruises, a lumpy queen bed sagging under its own weight, and a bathroom door that hung crooked on rusted hinges. Jake paced, his sneakers scuffing the threadbare rug, rehearsing lines in his head. He was slim, boyish—5'9" with tousled brown hair, clear skin, and wide blue eyes that screamed innocence. Tight jeans hugged his narrow hips, and a simple white tee clung to his flat chest. The wired half-payment sat heavy in his pocket, a reminder that backing out wasn't an option. The knock came at exactly 9 PM, sharp as a gunshot. Jake's stomach twisted. He cracked the door, peeking out before swinging it wide. There stood Marcus, a wall of a man at 6'3", his frame packed with muscle from years of manual labor and gym sessions. Late 30s, with a square jaw shadowed by dark stubble, cropped black hair, and eyes like chipped emeralds—cold, calculating. He wore a fitted black polo that strained across his pecs and cargo pants that did nothing to hide the bulge snaking down his thigh. A faint scar ran along his left cheek, adding to the air of quiet menace. "You Jake?" Marcus's voice rumbled, deep and edged with authority, as he shouldered past without invitation, the door thudding shut behind him. "Y-yeah," Jake stammered, locking it out of habit. "Marcus, right? Make yourself comfortable. There's... uh, water or chips if you want." Marcus's laugh was low, predatory, echoing off the thin walls. He dropped a duffel bag by the bed and turned, sizing Jake up like prey. "Cut the small talk, boy. I didn't drive two hours for snacks. You read the profile? Know what I expect?" Jake nodded too quickly, cheeks burning. The messages had been vague—'mutual fun, safe play'—but the cash had blinded him. "Sure. We can ease into it. Maybe talk first?" Marcus closed the distance in two strides, his cologne—a mix of leather and spice—overwhelming the room's mustiness. He grabbed Jake's wrist, yanking him close. "Talk's for shrinks. Strip. Now. Or I walk, and you keep that half-payment as a lesson." Jake's breath hitched, but he complied, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons. It fell open, exposing pale skin unmarked by anything but a faint freckle trail across his collarbone. He toed off his sneakers, then shoved down his jeans, stepping out in plain gray boxers that tented slightly from nerves and unwanted arousal. Marcus watched, unblinking, then peeled off his own polo, revealing a torso carved from stone—broad shoulders, ripped abs dusted with coarse hair that arrowed down to his waistband. "Kneel," Marcus commanded, voice dropping an octave. He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather whispering through loops. Jake sank to his knees, the rough carpet scraping his shins. The zipper's rasp was deafening in the silence. Marcus hauled out his cock—monstrous, at least ten inches of girthy meat, veins bulging like ropes, the uncut head already flushing purple and leaking a fat bead of precum. It bobbed heavily, slapping against his palm as he stroked it to full hardness. "Open wide, rentboy," Marcus said, gripping Jake's hair and tilting his head back. The cockhead smeared across his lips, salty and musky, forcing Jake's mouth apart. He pushed in, the thickness prying his jaw to its limit, filling his mouth until his cheeks bulged. Jake gurgled, eyes watering as he tried to accommodate. His tongue pressed flat against the underside, tasting the bitter tang of skin and arousal. Marcus didn't wait, thrusting forward to bury half his length, the head bumping his tonsils. "Suck harder. Use that tongue like you mean it." Jake hollowed his cheeks, slurping messily as he bobbed, saliva bubbling at the corners of his lips. Marcus's hips rocked, fucking his face with increasing force—short jabs that made Jake choke, throat convulsing around the invading shaft. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the drool that dripped onto his chest. "Gag on it, boy. Choke like the slut you are," Marcus growled, yanking Jake's hair to control the depth. The room reeked of sweat and sex, wet glucks punctuating each plunge. Minutes stretched into agony, Jake's jaw aching, lips numb. Marcus finally withdrew with a pop, strings of spit connecting them. His cock glistened, throbbing angrily. "Bed. Ass in the air. Time to earn the rest." Jake crawled onto the mattress, knees sinking into the thin padding, heart hammering. He'd fooled around before—a fumbling handjob in a dorm, a quick suck in an alley—but nothing like this beast. Marcus rummaged in his bag, pulling out lube and a condom packet. He slicked his fingers, then knelt behind Jake, who was on all fours, boxers yanked down to his thighs. "Ever taken it up the ass?" Marcus asked, one rough finger circling Jake's virgin pucker. "N-not really," Jake admitted, voice muffled in the pillow. Marcus snorted. "Tight little hole. Gonna ruin you." He shoved a finger in dry first, ignoring the yelp, twisting it deep. Jake clenched, burning pain flaring, but Marcus added a second, scissoring brutally, stretching the ring without mercy. Lube followed, cold and slick, but the prep was cursory—three fingers pumping fast, hooking to graze the prostate and draw involuntary moans. "Please... go slow," Jake begged, trembling. "Slow's for pussies." Marcus rolled on the condom, the latex straining over his girth, then positioned himself. He gripped Jake's hips with bruising force, nails digging crescents into flesh, and rammed forward. The head breached with a pop, tearing a scream from Jake as inches forced their way in, splitting him open. "Fuck, it's too big! Stop!" Jake clawed at the sheets, body locking up. Marcus didn't. He thrust harder, burying to the balls in one vicious shove. Jake's hole resisted, then gave, a sharp rip of pain as the dry friction caused micro-tears. Blood welled, warm and slick, mixing with lube to ease the slide—but not enough. Marcus pulled back, the condom smeared red, then slammed home again, the bedframe rattling. "Take my cock, you whiny bitch," Marcus snarled, setting a punishing rhythm. Each thrust was a battering ram—deep, grinding, his hips slapping Jake's ass cheeks until they reddened. Jake sobbed, the burn intensifying as blood trickled down his thighs, staining the sheets. His hole pulsed around the shaft, torn and inflamed, every withdrawal tugging at the raw edges. But pleasure twisted in amid the agony, his prostate hammered relentlessly, forcing his cock to leak onto the mattress. "It hurts... oh god, it's bleeding... pull out!" Jake gasped, but his hips bucked back on instinct, chasing the fullness. Marcus laughed, sweat flying as he pounded faster. His balls swung heavy, smacking Jake's taint. He reached around, fisting Jake's dick roughly, jerking it in time—twisting the head, squeezing the base until Jake whined. The room was a cacophony: skin slapping wetly, Jake's cries, Marcus's grunts, the metallic tang of blood in the air. Deeper into the rut, Marcus's control frayed. He hooked an arm around Jake's waist, flipping him onto his back without exiting—legs shoved up, knees to chest, exposing everything. Blood smeared Jake's crack, the hole gaping slightly, puffy and wrecked. Marcus drove in again, the angle brutal, cock spearing straight to the core. Jake's eyes rolled, tears carving paths down his temples. "Look at you, bleeding for my dick. Pathetic." Marcus spat on his chest, then leaned down to bite Jake's nipple hard, drawing blood there too. His thrusts turned feral, hips pistoning like a machine, the condom's base chafing the torn rim. Jake's protests weakened, body betraying him as orgasm built unbidden. "No... don't... it burns so much..." That's when Marcus struck. Mid-thrust, his fingers pinched the condom's rim, tearing it with a sharp rip. He yanked the shredded latex free, flinging it aside, and plunged back in bare—hot skin sliding through blood and lube, raw and intimate. Jake felt the shift immediately: the loss of barrier, the increased glide, the danger. "What the fuck? The condom—stop! You're not wearing—" Jake thrashed, but Marcus pinned his arms overhead with one massive hand, the other clamping his throat just tight enough to restrict air. "Shut your hole," Marcus hissed, choking him lightly as he fucked harder. The bare cock dragged against every nerve, blood lubricating the assault. Jake's vision blurred, panic surging as he realized the risk—unprotected, this stranger's seed about to flood him. "Please... cum outside... I beg you," Jake wheezed when the hand eased, legs quivering over Marcus's shoulders. Marcus's eyes burned with dark triumph. He was loaded with HIV, viral count raging from skipped meds, and this naive kid was his perfect vector—young, fuckable, forgettable. "Beg all you want. You're getting bred raw." The pace became savage. Marcus hammered down, cock swelling, veins pulsing against Jake's walls. Blood squelched with each plunge, the hole a ruined mess—swollen, torn, leaking crimson trails. Jake's body convulsed, unwanted ecstasy ripping through him as his prostate was abused. He came first, untouched now, spurting ropes across his stomach with a broken cry, ass clenching like a vice. That triggered Marcus. He roared, burying deep, and unleashed. Cum jetted in thick, forceful blasts—hot, viscous, painting Jake's insides white. Pulse after pulse, overflowing the battered channel, mixing with blood to ooze out in pinkish rivulets. Marcus ground in circles, ensuring every drop stayed buried, marking the boy irrevocably. Finally spent, he pulled out with a obscene squelch, a flood of cum and blood following, soaking the bed. Jake curled fetal, sobbing, his ass throbbing in agony, hole twitching and gaping, unable to close. Fresh blood seeped steadily, the tears deep enough to sting with every shift. Marcus stood, cock softening and streaked red, wiping it clean on Jake's discarded shirt. He tossed the remaining cash on the nightstand. "Worth every penny. Clean up that mess—might wanna see a doc for the bleeding. Or don't. Your call, slut." "You... you did that on purpose. The condom... and you're... sick, aren't you?" Jake whispered, horror choking him as the warmth inside turned to dread. Marcus zipped up, smirking. "Who knows? Life's a gamble, kid. Enjoy the ride." He grabbed his bag and left, the door clicking shut like a final nail. Jake lay there for hours, body wrecked, mind fracturing. The clinic call came days later: positive, as expected. Scars lingered—not just the physical ones on his ass, still tender and scarred from the tears, but the invisible kind, twisting his desires into something darker. In the dead of night, fingers would probe the healed but sensitive ring, memories flooding back: the rip, the flood, the inescapable pull. Tricked, raped, infected, bleeding... and hooked.

good luck with this. If I were nearer, I'd happily donate some unwanted toys. I'd be boned up knowing my plugs and dildos were stretching out another pig's hole

I think there's an important place for older men mentoring younger men, with the "Campfire Rule" being in full effect. (The campfire rule is where you leave everything and everyone in better condition than you found it.) I wish I'd had that kind of man in my life as a young man.

The neon lights of the truck stop flickered against the night sky, casting long shadows over the gravel lot filled with rumbling semis and weary travelers. It was well past midnight, and the air hung heavy with the scent of diesel and stale coffee. Inside the dingy restrooms, 18-year-old Alex leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on his face. He'd hitched a ride from the city, dreaming of adventure on the open road, but now exhaustion clawed at him. His slim frame, toned from high school track, was clad in a tight white t-shirt and faded jeans that hugged his pert ass. Unaware, he dried his hands on his pants, glancing at his reflection—innocent blue eyes, tousled blond hair, and a boyish face that screamed vulnerability. Outside, Big Jake eased his massive rig into a spot near the toilets. At 45, he was a hulking figure, 6'4" with a beer gut straining his flannel shirt and arms like tree trunks from years of hauling freight. His cock, a thick nine-incher, throbbed in his jeans at the thought of fresh meat. Jake had HIV, a secret he carried like a loaded gun, passed on from a rough encounter years back. He didn't care about protection; in fact, he got off on the risk, the power of infecting some naive kid. Spotting Alex through the grimy window as the boy exited the restroom, Jake's lips curled into a predatory grin. The kid looked lost, perfect for what he had in mind. "Hey, kid," Jake rumbled, stepping out from behind his truck, his voice gravelly from cigarettes and whiskey. "You need a lift? Looks like you're stranded out here." Alex hesitated, eyeing the burly man. The trucker seemed rough but offered a ride, and with no other options, he nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Heading east, anywhere's fine." Jake clapped a meaty hand on Alex's shoulder, guiding him toward the cab. "Hop in. Got some buddies meeting up later, but we'll get you moving." As Alex climbed into the passenger seat, Jake's eyes lingered on the boy's tight jeans, imagining how that ass would feel clenching around his raw dick. The cab smelled of sweat and leather. Jake fired up the engine, but instead of pulling out, he reached into the glove compartment for a couple of beers. "Here, loosen up. Long night ahead." Alex took a swig, not noticing the bitter aftertaste as Jake watched him closely. The drug—roofies crushed into powder—would hit soon, making the kid pliable, forgetful. Minutes later, Alex's head lolled against the window, his eyelids heavy. "Wha... what's happening?" he mumbled, his body going limp. Jake chuckled, shifting the truck into gear and driving to a secluded pull-off behind the truck stop, hidden by overgrown brush. He killed the engine and hauled Alex's unconscious form into the sleeper berth at the back. The space was cramped, with a mattress stained from past conquests and chains bolted to the frame. Jake stripped the boy roughly, yanking off the t-shirt to reveal smooth, hairless pecs and pink nipples. The jeans came next, exposing Alex's slim legs and a small, uncut cock nestled in blond pubes. The boy's ass cheeks were firm, pale, begging to be spread. "Time to break you in, boy," Jake growled, shedding his own clothes. His thick cock sprang free, veined and heavy, already leaking precum. He didn't bother with lube; spit would do. Flipping Alex onto his stomach, Jake pried the boy's cheeks apart, spitting a thick glob onto the tight pink hole. He pressed his cockhead against it, forcing inch by inch into the drugged teen's virgin ass. Alex stirred faintly, a whimper escaping as his body instinctively clenched, but the drugs kept him from fighting back. Jake thrust deep, groaning as the tight ring gripped his shaft. "Fuck, you're tight. Gonna ruin this hole for good." He pounded relentlessly, his balls slapping against Alex's taint with each brutal stroke. The boy's body rocked on the mattress, his small cock trapped beneath him, rubbing against the rough fabric. Jake reached around, jerking Alex's dick roughly to mix pain with unwanted pleasure. Sweat dripped from Jake's brow as he hammered away, feeling his HIV-positive load building. No condom—why bother? He wanted this kid marked, infected, carrying his virus forever. After twenty minutes of savage fucking, Jake buried himself balls-deep and unloaded, ropes of hot cum flooding Alex's guts. He pulled out with a wet pop, watching his seed leak from the gaping, reddened hole. Alex moaned incoherently, the drugs wearing thin but leaving him dazed. Jake wasn't done. He flipped the boy over, shoving his cum-smeared cock into Alex's slack mouth. "Suck it clean, bitch." The teen's lips parted weakly, tongue lapping at the bitter mix of ass and jizz as Jake face-fucked him, skull-fucking until he came again, shooting down the boy's throat. By dawn, Alex was chained to the berth, wrists and ankles secured with rough metal. The drugs had him in a haze, but awareness flickered as Jake climbed back in, dressed and ready to move. "You're mine now, kid. Got some pals joining the convoy. They'll love breaking you." He tossed a rag over Alex's naked body and drove toward a rendezvous point—a deserted lot where three other truckers waited, engines idling like hungry beasts. The mates were a rough crew: Tank, a bald brute with a pierced cock; Rusty, lean and tattooed with a sadistic streak; and Bull, the oldest at 50, his gut hanging over a girthy seven-incher. They'd shared loads before, passing around hitchhikers and lot lizards, but a fresh 18-year-old? That was prime. Jake pulled up, honking once. The men gathered at his cab, peering into the sleeper. "Got a present, boys," Jake announced, unlocking the chains just enough to drag Alex out. The boy stumbled, naked and cum-streaked, eyes wide with confusion and fear. "This little slut's all ours. Fresh ass, no mileage." Tank grinned, grabbing Alex by the hair and forcing him to his knees on the gravel. "Look at that pretty mouth. Bet it sucks like a vacuum." He unzipped, his pierced dick—eight inches with a thick ring through the head—slapping against Alex's cheek. The boy gagged as Tank shoved in, the piercing scraping his tongue. Rusty and Bull circled, stroking their cocks while Jake watched, his own dick hardening again. "Drug him up if he fights," Jake said, handing over a vial of poppers. But Alex was too weak to resist much, his body betraying him as Tank skull-fucked him deep, balls smacking his chin. Saliva dripped down Alex's chest as the trucker grunted, flooding his mouth with cum. "Swallow it, boy. That's just the appetizer." They hauled him into Bull's trailer, a larger setup with a makeshift sling in the corner. Alex was strapped in, legs spread wide, ass exposed and still leaking Jake's load. Bull went first, rolling on a condom but smirking as he positioned his fat cock at the boy's hole. "Gonna fill you proper." He thrust in, the latex stretching around Alex's abused ring. The teen cried out, bucking against the restraints, but Bull just laughed, pounding hard. Midway through, with Alex whimpering, Bull reached down and pinched the condom's base, tearing a small hole with his nail. "Oops," he muttered, but kept slamming, ensuring his pre-cum—and whatever else he carried—seeped in. Rusty took over next, no condom from the start. His tattooed body glistened with sweat as he rammed into Alex's sloppy hole, the boy's ass now a cum-filled mess. "Feel that? Raw and real, kid. You're gonna catch something from this." He clawed at Alex's nipples, twisting them red while his hips pistoned, cock dragging against the inner walls. Alex's own dick twitched traitorously, leaking pre as unwanted arousal built from the relentless friction. Tank flipped the sling, positioning Alex face-down so his ass jutted out. He lubed up with spit and plunged in, the piercing adding ridges of pain-pleasure. "Tighten up, bitch. Milk my load." Alex sobbed, but his body clenched, drawing groans from the brute. Tank fucked like a machine, breaking a sweat, then yanked the condom off mid-thrust—another one sabotaged earlier—and went bare, flooding the teen with thick spurts. "There ya go, infected now." Jake joined the rotation, taking Alex's mouth while Bull reclaimed the ass. The boy was double-teamed, gagging on Jake's HIV-laced cock as Bull's bare dick churned the cum inside him. The truckers rotated for hours, each breaking or ditching condoms to ensure the virus took hold. Rusty jerked Alex off during one round, forcing the boy to cum shamefully onto the floor while getting railed. By afternoon, Alex was a wreck—body bruised, hole swollen and gaping, cum oozing from every orifice. The truckers lounged, smoking and drinking, passing the boy around for quick fucks. Jake unchained him briefly, making him crawl on all fours to service each man, licking boots and balls before getting bent over the tailgate of a truck. "You're our cumdump now," Jake said, shoving Alex's face into a puddle of jizz on the ground. "Ride with us, or we leave you here leaking. But you'll want more." The drugs and abuse had broken something in the teen; he nodded weakly, body craving the twisted release. The convoy rolled out, Alex secured in Jake's sleeper, ready for the next stop. More mates would join, more loads to take, the infection sealing his fate in this endless road of depravity. Tank drove point, Rusty and Bull flanking, all knowing the kid was theirs to share, to ruin, to infect forever. As the sun set, Jake pulled Alex onto his lap in the cab, impaling him on his cock while steering one-handed. "Feel it deep, boy? That's your new life." Alex moaned, grinding down, lost in the haze of cum and submission. The truck stop faded in the rearview, but the nightmare—and the ecstasy—had only just begun. The days blurred into a haze of asphalt and ass-fucking. At every stop, the truckers added to the roster: a grizzled vet named Spike with a curved dick that hit Alex's prostate just right, making him squirt unwillingly; and Marco, a younger hauler with endless stamina, who tied Alex spread-eagle and edged him for hours before dumping raw inside. Each man knew the score—Jake's whisper about the HIV spread like wildfire, turning the sharing into a deliberate breeding session. One night at a remote weigh station, they parked in a circle, building a bonfire from scrap wood. Alex was the entertainment, stripped and oiled up, made to dance for the six truckers now gathered. His slim body glistened, cock half-hard from the poppers they'd forced on him. "Shake that ass, slut," Spike barked, and Alex obeyed, twerking until hands grabbed him. They took turns in the firelight, bending him over logs, against tires, even hoisting him between two men for a spitroast. Condoms appeared sporadically, only to be ripped or filled with holes. Marco went last, flipping Alex onto his back and folding his legs to his chest, pounding so deep the boy's toes curled. "Take my seed, poz boy," Marco hissed, erupting without barrier, his load mixing with the others in Alex's battered guts. By week's end, Alex's body ached constantly, his hole never closing fully, a constant drip of cum marking his jeans when they let him dress. Fevers came and went—early signs, Jake said with a laugh, slapping the boy's ass. "You're one of us now." The infection took hold slowly, but the truckers didn't care. They drove on, Alex chained and used, his innocence shattered on the road's endless ribbon. In the sleeper, as Jake fucked him slow and deep one night, the boy whispered, "More... please." The virus bound him, but so did the cock, the cum, the brutal brotherhood of the highway.

My favorite fuckjoint ... will again tonight .... Fri/Sat nights belong to my Lusts.

Don’t feel guilty about fucking young men. I’m early 50s and my Boy, Drew is 24. I’ve been training him for 5 years. I was the first man to cum in his mouth, breed him balls-deep up his arse and shoot loads deep down his throat. When I started training him he was an inexperienced lad, now he’s an insatiable cock hungry fuck pup. He’s also an experienced top and breeds my arse. I love taking his loads

Rick walked in. I tried to use the towel to cover me but I didn't have any full bath towels. It was more like a half towel. For some reason I had it more at my chest so it was barely covering my cock that was still hard and poking out. He looked at me trying to cover my cock which was still kind of hard. "Have a nice time with your gf", he said smiling "It was ok. Why do you ask", I replied "Looks like someone had a good time...or not", he smiled back with a feeding look. He was clearly checking out my body. "We fought so no not that good", I said. I couldn't believe i shared that with him. "Sorry about that. What you fight about", he asked. I could see his turgid cock poking thru his sheer shorts and looked. He clearly saw me looking. "That I was late and she wanted to hook up but i told her she couldn't come back here so she got mad.", i told him "Thank you for following the rules", he said smiling. I could see his cock growing hard. Again I tried not to stare. "I also forgot we were supposed to go out tomorrow but told her I had to clean the pool tomorrow." i shared "If you need to be somewhere else thats fine. We didnt say it had to be tomorrow. Its ok.", Rick told me "I know I just wanted to do it for you. I am thankful for you allowing me to stay for free and wanted to show my appreciation.", I said "And she was in a mood and didnt want to hang out with her. I just needed some space.", I continued He moved closer and put his hand on my shoulder. I could smell his scent again. "Thank you. I am glad you appreciate it. You are always free to have choice around here. Once in a while I will have strict rules but generally i believe in free choice. Ok?" he said squeezing my shoulders. "Yes thank you", I replied "Your shoulders are tight, turn around", he said He spun me around and started to rub my shoulders. It felt good. I was tight from packing and stuff and just stress. He kept massaging me and could feel something touch the small of my back. He stepped in closer massaging me. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and suddenly feel his cock poking the small of my back. His scent was strong. I was starting to feel so relaxed and my head spinning a bit. "You ok", he asked "Yeah feels really good", I said moaning "Yeah your tight", he said while massaging harder. I was relaxed but could feel his now hard cock poking me. "Thank you that was great im good now", I said stepping foward and turning around. It was the first time I really looked at his face. He was handsome with his moustache. His face looked a little tired and like he has loss weight over time. We were no more than 18 inches apart. He squeezed my shoulders a couple times and the asked can he take a piss now. We both laughed and I said sure and moved past him. We both faced each other and I was trying to keep cover and my cock brushed up lightly against his leg. "Ohh sorry about that", I said blushing "Not a problem at all. We are both men and have our needs. Our cocks sometimes have a mind of their own", he said pulling out his cock to take a piss. It was huge and turgid. It looked at least 9 inches and thick. He pulled it out and started to stroke it and looked at me. He clearly wanted to show it off to me. I couldn't help but stare in awe of it. I heard him talk but couldn't hear as I was focused on looking at his mammoth meat. "Hello", Rick said "Oh yes sorry", I replied "See something you like", he said stroking his now hard cock "Uh no just never seen one that big", I said back defensively "Really you have a decent size meat. Show me", Rick said "Uhh I don't think that's right", i said softly "Cmon we are just guys. Show it to me now", he said in a nicely but sternly I dropped the towel and showed him my also now hard cock. I had a descent cock. It was just under 7 inches. (yes I measured) with average thickness. My gf always raved about my cock and couldn't get enough. "Hmmm that's a nice cock. Your gf like it?, he asked "Thanks. Yeah she does" I replied "I bet you make her crazy with that thing. Your a hot guy", he said still stroking his cock. My eyes watching "Yeah she does. She creams all over it and cums hard on it", I shared. Again not sure why as i was saying it out loud. "I bet. She just enjoys being fucked. Enjoys your cock in her making her cum over and over", he said rhythmically "Yeah", I said stroking my cock He started to pee out of his massive meat which snapped me out of it. "I better go its been a long day. Good night", I said. "Good night and pleasant dreams", he said.

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

Older here, the older I've gotten the younger I've craved. I love young tops and wish more young guys were wired that way. Porn is skewed toward daddies doing all the topping. There's a whole lot of us good looking inscape dads craving young men using us for their pleasure.

It's an incredible feeling, both physically and mentally! Knowing that you pleased all the men that came and took their load in you, but also the fact that you hole is overflowing with cum, the sensation of you puffy hole, a reminder for a day or two of that experience. For me It also a feeling of wanting MORE right after 🐷

my goal is always to be more of a nympho, with every passing day.

it’s all i know from day 1. condoms was never a option