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Thursday 2:43 am “First load of the night, and many more to come.” “Your hole is damn near perfect, Drew. Look at how creamy my cock is after pulling out. Come clean it off.” Uncle Jack grabbed the back of Drew’s head and directed him back onto the cock that was just inside him. No hesitation from Drew as he takes Jack in his hand, admires how it looks, and then swallows him all the way down, gagging slightly from the size invading his throat. “Yeah, boy, milk the last drops and get it clean. Taste your sweet ass and my cum.” “Fuck, why does it taste so good?” “I know. It’s ‘cause you’re spun, baby. When the cum mixes inside, it makes it all extra tasty.” I watch Drew lovingly lap up Jack’s big cock. The boy is already dickmatized, and I can already tell he’s going to want Jack inside him all the time. That potent mix of cock, cum, and Tina will be imprinted in Drew’s head from here on out. Jack isn’t rock hard anymore, but his dick is still chubby and starting to get floppy, perfect for sliding down a boy’s throat. My dick is longer than Jack’s, but he’s got more girth, especially around the middle. It’s like it gets wider in that section, helping him to stay plugged inside a boy better. I start to massage Drew’s shoulder while I give Jack a deep, sloppy kiss. As I do this, Drew takes my own growing cock and swallows it as well, giving me goose bumps. Drew is riding that great line between high and horny. As much as I want to keep going, I tap Drew’s shoulder to get his attention. Knowing we have a few days means we can take our time, luxuriating in our sleaziness. Though compared to how things usually go, it’s pretty tame so far. Drew smiles at me as he massages his wrists. First time in restraints can be a bit rough, but it’s a great way to keep spun bottoms from constantly playing with their dicks. In the beginning, the bottom needs to focus on their pussy, making sure to get it wide and open so that they can get increasingly bigger dicks and hands. Probably not this time, but it would be good to put Drew’s dick in a cage. We love seeing a caged bottom leaking precum everywhere, or even cumming while he’s all locked up. Drew’s still hard even with all the drugs he’s taken–this boy is a natural. But it doesn’t matter even if at some point he starts to get Tina dick. The important thing is that we train his hole and get him spun this way to Tuesday. Plus, I love sucking on Tina dick. For some bottoms, their Tina dick can be extra sensitive. I also have a feeling that it’s going to turn Drew on to watch his daddy and uncle suck on his soft dick. Maybe he’ll be one of those chem bottoms that cums when they’re soft. It’s important to teach bottoms to not to feel shame about how their body responds. Soft, hard–it’s all fair game. We talk about loads and cumming, but it’s how we get there. We’ll milk Drew of his loads, but mainly for lubing up our own cocks. Nothing goes to waste. “Drew, let’s go into the kitchen and get you hydrated. Your Uncle Jack always has smoothies ready.” “Be sure to keep my load inside, Drew. Let it soak your insides.” I help Drew up and give his fat ass another smack. God, I love men’s asses. The way they’re shaped, the feel of them, parting them to see the hole, planting my face in them. I’m obsessed. Especially when it’s on a smooth bottom boy; it gets my engines revved. I take Drew’s hand and lead him to the kitchen. The fireplace is still going, giving the apartment a nice glow and warmth. As Jack gets the smoothies, I use the time to get to know Drew a little more. “So you started talking to Uncle Drew a month or two ago. Did you already know about partying? “Just from seeing some profiles, but then I started to look for videos online of guys partying and fucking bareback. It was such a turn on to see them. I don’t know what specifically turns me on, but I wanted to try it so badly. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it, and I wasn’t sure I could just trust anyone. So I’m glad I ran into Uncle Jack.” “And how about barebacking and taking loads?” “I’ve been into it ever since I first snuck on my brother’s computer and started looking at gay porn. I was only looking for videos with raw fucking. Or even better, videos where they start with condoms and then take them off. There’s something so sleazy about it.” “Yeah, it’s the only way for men to fuck other men and boys. It’s so fucking intimate and connected, sharing your seed. And especially if you’re poz, it really is a gift.” “That actually makes it even hotter for me. I don’t know where it comes from in my brain or why it turns me on so much, but all I know is that I want it. I need it.” “We’ll give it to you for sure, Drew. There’s no doubt about it.” “Here you go. One for you, Drew, and one for daddy. It’s just fruit and juice, nothing else. It’ll help you last longer, especially as we amp things up.” “It feels amazing to be inside you, baby. Your boy hole wrapped tight around my cock. Cheers.” “The feeling of my cock sliding into a boy for the first time is such a turn on. So smooth, eager, horny for it. Watching it stretch the hole tight, skin on skin, nothing between us. It’s the best.” Hearing that made Drew’s cock jump a little. I down my smoothie and step over to Drew to turn him around. I gently bend him over the counter, and using my right hand, I part his cheeks to get a better look at his hole. “You can keep drinking your smoothing, baby. I just want to see how your boy hole is doing.” I lift Drew’s right leg and put his knee up on the counter. He’s obscenely spread out in the kitchen, naked, and glistening. I can see a line of Jack’s cum dripping down his leg, and the lips of his hole are slightly swollen from being pounded for a few hours. There’s a sheen on his skin from sweat, spit, and lube. I take a finger and scoop up some of the cum from Drew’s inside thigh and lick it. “This is the best medicine, Drew. Your Uncle Jack’s charged load dripping down your leg, marking you.” “Lemme get a closer look.” Jack bends down and plants his face right between Drew’s ass, licking his hole. “Whoa! Your tongue’s cold from the smoothie.” “Yeah! It’s nice, right? Different sensations, changing things up, keeps your hole guessing.” If one of the other guys had walked in on this moment, they would have seen me and Jack on our knees licking every inch of Drew, leg up on the counter, hole exposed to the world. I watch Jack’s tongue lick up and down Drew’s inner thigh, tracing a line of spit from top to bottom. I focus my tongue on Drew’s swollen hole. I dip it in and keep it there, slowly opening it by moving my tongue in ever-growing circles. As I do this, some of Jack’s cum comes out, coating my lips and chin. Drew’s got both hands on the counter, gripping it tightly, sweet moans of pleasure coming from his mouth. In many ways, we’re worshipping this boy as much as we want him to worship us. Every fucking inch of him is ours this weekend, and we’re going to use him over and over and over again until he can’t walk straight. I tap Jack on the shoulder and look over to the fridge. It’s time for the Devil’s Dick. Jack’s got little bullet-shaped ice cubes made from all our cum, and in the middle of each bullet is a bump of Tina to make it extra special. We love sliding one into a boy, letting it melt, and watching them go wild. “Drew, your Uncle Jack has the next surprise for you. I want you to stay in this position. He’s going to get something from the freezer. It’s going to be cold, but it’ll get warm quickly inside your hole. It’s a bullet made of our cum and inside is more Tina. You’re not going to need any lube once this is inside you. All our cum will be lubing you up from the inside.” “Oh my God, that’s crazy. Cum from you guys?” “From us and the other guys you’ll meet this weekend. When we’re over hanging out, we’ll leave a deposit for Jack to freeze. He’s got these moulds that shape them into little bullets, so it’s easier to insert. Inside of each one is more Tina to get you hornier. Maybe we’ll milk you too and add your cum to the next batch. Would you like that?” “I would love that.” “Good boy, I love that you can’t say no to your daddy and uncle.” I stay down to get a close-up view of the cum bullet going inside Drew. I watch as Jack holds the frozen bullet in his hand before gently easing it up into Drew’s hole. The bullet quickly disappears as Jack eases in two fingers to push it up deep into Drew. As he does this, some of his own cum from earlier drips down to his hand. “Oh my God, it’s so cold. But it feels good!” Jack gives a big smile and brings his cum-covered hand to Drew to lick up and clean, which he does eagerly. “I took a bullet from the batch with the bigger dose of Tina. Drew seems to be holding up well.” “That’s ‘cause Drew’s a natural, Uncle Jack.” “He sure is. One of the best boys we’ve had in a long time.” “You can put your leg down now, Drew. I want you to head back into the bedroom, get on your hands and knees. You’re going to wait for us like that. We want the bullet to melt fully.” “Yes, daddy.” Jack and I watch as Drew quickly walks to the bedroom, his ass bouncing pertly. I see him sneak a feel of his hole and slide one of his fingers in there. Probably to make sure the bullet is pushed all the way up. “Make sure to keep that cum in there. And if you get any on your hand, push it back in or lick it up, Drew.” “Let’s give it a couple of minutes to melt fully, and the Tina to do its work. When do you want to slam him?” “Let’s do it when the guys get here. We can slam with him, but for now we can keep him spun with the pipes and booty bumps.” “What about the mask?” “Leave it out for now. Let’s use his mouth as well and make sure he can take our cocks down his throat. We’ll see how well he does with jerking off. No need to restrain him if he can keep his hand off his cock.” “I want to slide in him next, mix my cum with yours.” “Good deal. Let me get a pipe and we can smoke up while we’re waiting for the bullet to melt.” I quickly rinse the smoothie glasses and put them into the dishwasher as Jack walks back into the bedroom to get a pipe. All the guys are mindful of each other’s houses. We may be animals, but we’re not animals if you know what I mean. Jack walks back into the kitchen, pipe in hand, smiling. “What’s he doing in there?” “He’s a good boy. He’s on his knees, and got one of the pipes and is hitting it hard at the moment. I walked in just as he was blowing out a huge cloud.” Jack comes up close, and I play with his nip as he lights up the torch under the bulb. “I put some more in his pipe and this one.” “Mmm, good hit, Uncle Jack.” Jack then puts the pipe in my mouth and lights it up for me. I’m lazily playing with both our cocks in my left hand while I take a big hit myself. I lean in and give Jack a big shotgun. “Ready?” “Yeah.” We both walk back to the bedroom and see Drew on all fours. A pipe and torch on the bed next to him, clouds of Tina wafting about in the room. Without saying a word, I slide up to Drew and start rubbing my hard cock back and forth on his ass. Jack climbs over, gives Drew a quick kiss, then guides Drew’s mouth onto his own cock. I spit on his hole and gently poke it with the head of my cock. I do this for a few minutes, which drives Drew crazy. He’s shaking his ass trying to get my cock to slide all the way in. Meanwhile, Jack is slowly fucking Drew’s mouth. “Hot fucking pussy boy. Yeah, take my big cock in your mouth. Feel your daddy tease your boy hole ‘cause he’s going to slide into your cummy hole bareback.” I spit again on his hole for extra lube, even though I can already see the melted cum covering his ass lips every time the tip of my cock comes out. My whole body melts as I start sinking my cock inside him slowly, inch by inch. This time, both of us moan. “I’m almost all the way in, baby boy.” His hole hasn’t totally warmed up yet, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel my dick hitting something cold–the bullet. At the same time, the smell of potent cum all over the room. “Feel that, boy. That’s my daddy’s dick inside you, pushing that cum and Tina deeper. You’re going to get so high and spun, begging us to fuck you for hours.” All we can hear is Drew moaning even more. It’s hard to speak with a hard cock down your throat. I can see Jack holding Drew’s head steady so that he can’t get away from the face fucking. Jack’s not going fast, but he’s long dicking Drew’s mouth. As he pulls almost all the way out, I see his cock absolutely slathered in Drew’s spit. At this point, Jack tips Drew’s head up and looks directly into his eyes. “Oh yeah, your eyes are huge. You’re getting spun, boy.” Jack then proceeds to spit on Drew’s face, which Jack then smears all over with his right hand while holding Drew’s head still with his left. I start to earnestly slide my fat, raw cock in his hole. I watch as his ass lips grip my cock on the outstroke, some cum dripping out. “Damn, your cummy boy hole is made for this. Open up, Drew. We like it all loose and open, and if you’re really good, we’ll double fuck you later. Your daddy and Uncle Jack raw fucking your pussy.” With that, I can feel the grip on my cock ease up a little. I like the variation, and I like that he’s learning how to control his hole to open up, but tighten up when needed.” I want Drew to feel every inch of me inside, using his hole. “Feel that, Drew? I’m so hard inside you. We’re playing with your holes, baby. Our spun out toy to fuck and breed.” I get up on the bed too to change my angle of attack to get deeper inside him. I increase my pace and start to fuck him hard. I can hear him gagging from Jack’s cock, as he picks up his pace as well. He hasn’t touched his cock this entire time, which is a great sign. I plunge all the way down on him and reach over to feel his cock. He’s not totally hard, but he’s leaking precum. I love the way his cock is flapping back and forth as Jack and I use him. I can feel how creamy it is inside as his pussy gets warm from the friction of my raw cock fucking him hard. Without missing a beat, I feel Drew tighten his hole slightly on the outstroke, as if to keep me inside. This clench sets me over the edge, and I feel that yearning inside deep, the desire to breed this boy with my load, to not pull out. I grab hold of his hips so he can’t move, and keep my dick still inside him as I pump rope after rope of cum inside his pussy. I can feel him try to pull away, probably from instinct, but this small act of defiance turns me on even more. I move my right arm under him to keep him from escaping while I continue to pump my cum. “Fuck yeah, Drew. Take your daddy’s load!” At the same time, Jack pulls out of Drew’s mouth, and Drew lets out a huge moan. “Fuck, daddy, your cock feels so good! Please don’t pull out. Breed me, I want your load” With that, Jack gets up and bends down under us. I slowly pull my dick out, as rivulets of cum flow out of Drew and down his legs. Jack laps up the cum and then takes my cock in his mouth to clean it off. “Uncle Jack, do you want to come in my mouth?” “I’m good, Drew. Maybe later, but for now you’re going to get all our loads inside your amazing pussy.” Since Drew did so well, I think we’re going to try some time trials with the pipe next. See how much smoke he can take while I run a two or three-minute timer.

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

GAME ON (part VIIII) Character review; Alejandro: only toxic stallion Felix: sex worker mare. Ashley: Twink mare. Ali: Iranian Cub mare The bareback orgy broke out in full force. Only Ali, a couple stallions, and four observers rushed out before all holes were not allowed to be off limits. The MC, judges, and even camara men stripped down to at least jock straps to leave their asses open as fair game. One of the judges sported a biohazard tattoo just over his tailbone, which attracted his hairy ass lots of attention and plenty of loads. Felix thoughts: I’d had one fucking fantastic time even if I hadn’t won a prize including the toxic load. I was disappointed but this was tempered by catching hold of my friend, the former trick, that had shown me the advertisement and been so willing to sponsor me as a protected mare. He had every intention of getting out of the bathhouse before the breeding mayhem erupted. I convinced him to stay and just take one load from me. Silly man let me secure him in a vacant sling. I gave him a good long and deep drilling while onlookers fed him a steady stream of poppers. He was finally begging me to breed him and make sure it was deep, so I picked up my pace assisted by a 'skin head' that slid in pumping my sloppy ass. All three of us came simultaneously. I was now up to a soup of 18 guys cum in my guts and set a goal of at least twenty before I left for the night (actually early morning). This would break my record of 19 one night at a gangbang I was hired for with ten hung exclusive tops. As soon as I pulled out of my former trick a massive, long thick cock was thrust into his vulnerable trapped hole. He tried to protest but the huge man reminded him of the rule, ‘no hole off limits’. I reveled to stand beside and watch for a short time and then moved in behind the giant. He gratefully accepted my cock and I helped speed his orgasm deep in the reluctant trick. We both pulled out and backed away and the judge with the biohazard tattoo was in to the tricks stretched and bloodied hole faster than a cheetah capturing its prey. My former trick friend had no idea that he was hosting a raging toxic cock. Recognizing he was trapped he relented and was clearly enjoying this fuck on a smaller cock after being destroyed by the giant. It wasn’t long ‘til he was begging for the judges load oblivious to the danger and risk this put him in; I knew he was not on PreP. I had no trouble convincing a bystander with a sizable erection to slide into the judge and help speed him over the top. As I rushed to unstrap my friend from the sling he was receiving his fourth fuck. I didn’t start ‘til he assured me he did want set free. As quickly as the fourth top blasted away I was asked to assist the bottom from the sling and gethimoutfast. He fled the room assuring me he was OK and would contact me soon. I returned to my natural role as a bare bottom slut and my dripping hole was very popular having been a mare contestant. I left the orgy early hosting 26 loads in my gut. I know you are wondering, yes, one of those was from the toxic judge. However, the toxic stallion from the competition never even entered my hole. Ashley’s thoughts: Ben was naked well before the orgy started. There was a line up of three raging hard ons behind him when the bell tolled the start. Much as I wanted to just flee the place I didn’t want to go home alone. Watching the relish with which Ben received cock after cock and the tops enjoyed flooding him with their cum did lift my spirits a little. He’d made sure that the first guy to breed him was Alejandro. Even though he received 15 loads through the night this was the only one he talked about incessantly for weeks waking each morning desperately hoping he would be sick with the fuck flu. That and the fact he took 15 loads to my 7, more then twice without even being in the competition. He’s such an asshole, I don’t know why I still love him so much. Alejandro’s thoughts: I had such a great time raw fucking and breeding holes during the orgy that it wasn’t until I was Ubering home that I remembered how excited I was to find out if I’d knocked Ali up. The next person I bred was the super cute twink Ben. I blasted a fairly big load in him, so I hope it was enough to add at least two notches in my converting belt. Guys were literally backing themselves onto my erect pole until I couldn’t keep it up anymore. The last three had to give up without even a tiny gift, by then I doubt I even had precum to donate to their cause. I further expect most of these guys were on PreP anyway so a total waste of my toxic DNA and any effort I had left to offer. No, it was now time to wait to hear from the organizers about Ali. Toxic Poz judge’s thoughts: The whole idea of this competition had been my brainchild. It had taken a tremendous amount of convincing to get Steamworks and Cummunion on board. They were quite skeptical about what this would do to their reputations. Knowing everyone barebacks now and promoting a pozzing event are two very different things. But I’m very persistent and they finally came around after a full two years of my badgering. When PRIDE video came on board no one was looking back. Intuition told me to use my first and most toxic load on a guy strapped into a sling by the sex worker mare from the competition had just fucked and bred, Felix. I don’t know why, but I just thought this guy wouldn’t be on PreP. He certainly enjoyed my fuck, and his hole had been torn apart and was quite bloody. He begged for my load and I didn’t need convincing. I’m quite sure he had no idea what all I might be giving him. Both my ass and cock were very popular right up until the orgy shut down. I bred four guys, although I didn’t have much left after my first two loads. Eight more guys had me mount them. I left the bathhouse with 10 loads on board, a pretty good take for a night of play for me. The other judges, MC and camera men weren’t as busy as I was. Although a cute cub camera man was getting well used as he kept right on filming. He told me later he left with 8 loads and a very soar ass.

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

Tbh . I guess I never really had standards . As far as physical look go. But I do have standards when it comes to sex ( like don’t scrape or bite my dick when I’m skull raping you ) , u would be surprised how many guys just do that without making sure you’re cool with it . But other that, I have no standards . I don’t give af about age or weight or any of that . Just have a warm inviting Pussy ,I don’t care if it’s loose or tight, and also have a wet open mouth. Guess Tbh I’ll fuck any and every hole I can stick my dick . 😈🤟🏾

Here is mine

Get a confirmed unmedicated HVL poz cum in my ass for first time where he will tell me that is is converting me.

Licked them or emptied them up your ass?

Lol.... and later it was Bub showing the three boys how to play.

My dick is feeling better each moment, to the point where I'm actually looking forward to fucking every legal gay male asshole in a 100-mile radius. On Day 1.

Somehow I missed some of the replies on this post. @versmetropig, I LOVED Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine! I don’t remember the details of it. I may look to see if it’s available on Amazon or directly from Scholastic. I’ve been fascinated with computers ever since. I likely would have majored in computer science if it had come along a bit sooner. I did get a Masters in technology in about 2000.

Yes, and also puting it in my ass

I was in Amsterdam Sauna a year ago... Ass up on the bench in the dark room and getting fucked big time with another bottom [he was kinda high on dope or so] next to me and we got alternating tops fucking us both and when the guy shot his load - sometimes a little in both our asses, we got the next one, and the next one... I gotten so sloppy and filled up that I didn't really feel the cocks anymore, eve though I tried to milk them of all their cum. In a certain break, my bottom neighbor was still on his knees, ass up and I moved on top of him, backward with my ass on top of his. I cupped my hand into his ass and let all the cum out of my ass flow directly into his. I'm not sure if he knew what was happening even though I told him what I was doing... He was so fucking sloppy and filled up then, that he wanted me to fist him. Even though he was sloppy and loose as hell, I couldn't move my hand in. And I am quite experience as a versa fister... After the first top, if he unloaded his cum into my ass, I often immediately want the next... I am a real cumdump and I get extremely hot and I love the feeling of getting used. But the next cocks and loads I don't really feel... the banging of course, I do feel and love. The best is the sloppy loose feeling of my ass, the wetness and my ass is so open and loose by that time that I hardly manage to keep the cum inside.

Do NOT Do the Blue pills with poppers. An adult theater near me had to haul out a dead body because of that. Lowers the blood pressure too much.

**This is a work of fantasy and fiction. Any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Nothing in this work should be construed as medical advice in any way** Chapter 4: “Uber-pozzing” “Keith,” Dr Matthew Hill began, into his phone as he drove home from LAX “who’s next for me?” For as much as it was frustrating that none of the breeders so far had gotten Matthew over the line to poz status, it was also the hottest, sex-filled period of his life – he had put behind him all his hangups and scolding himself for his thoughts…he would embrace the chase and have fun getting to the destination. Since Matthew was Keith’s employer, he felt it unprofessional to have Keith fuck and breed him, even though Keith was certifiably a hot poz toxic stud. But Keith had a contact list of dozens of hot gifters, some of whom Keith himself gifted into the brotherhood and some of whom he regularly recharged strains with. Keith set him up with Randy, Dr. Matthew’s patient. Any professional separation that Matthew adhered to in not fucking with patients went out the window when Keith forwarded over Randy’s pics. Of course, Matthew the conscientious doctor had seen Randy undressed before, but Matthew the HIV-chasing cumdump had never seen videos of Randy in action, thrusting his pierced pozzing stick inside some chaser’s hole. The couple of videos of Randy that Keith sent over showed Randy with only one X tattooed on his stomach, meaning at that time Randy had successfully infected “only” 10 guys. Yet Dr. Matthew had just seen Randy a few weeks ago and he had 3 Xs inked there, so Randy was a proven poz predator with an enviable conversion record. An established member of “The Ten,” Randy got the special gift from Keith a couple of years ago, and since then has been a prolific breeder and seeder or any neg hole in his path...or any oblivious cumdumps that don’t care if the guy’s shooting live ammo out of his poz cock. They set up their first session for 2 weeks hence. Dr. Matthew had an upcoming medical conference in Boston to attend – something that was set up well before he started on his bug-chasing path. He was even scheduled to give a presentation. In all his recent obsession with chasing the elusive HIV upgrade, Dr. Matthew had totally forgotten he made a commitment to present his research on “Managing and Preventing HIV Peer Pressure Among LGBTQ+ Patients.” He laughed…It was a paper he’d written over a year ago, and had gotten it published in a couple of specialized medical journals – it was all about how his practice had seen an upsurge in patient’s deliberately getting pozzed and what LGBTQ+ doctors could do to work against that mindset. But that was back when he knew about chasers but didn’t approve, well, didn’t approve on one level and was totally obsessed by it on another. Now he was totally going against everything he had written in that paper and he was loving every minute of trying to get pozzed. Still, there was a healthy fee for his appearance and he would be able to see some of his colleagues there, so he resolved to go, give his paper even though he knew he didn’t believe in it anymore, collect his fee and enjoy Boston for a few days. He was sorry to have to delay the start of Randy’s exclusive pozzing opportunity. He had been secretly lusting after Randy just from seeing him as a patient, even before Dr. Matthew began his quest for HIV infection. On the flight to Boston, his thoughts strayed from the presentation he was set to give, and kept coming back to Randy and his poz cock full of beautiful HIV. He knew Randy was a proven poz gifter so he held out hope that after the other guys who tried, Randy would be the one. Dr. Matthew’s own cock strained against his jeans and he shifted a bit in his airline seat to cover it from the prying eyes of his airline neighbor. Arriving at Logan Airport, Dr. Matthew claimed his bag and opened Uber to get a car. Soon, he was outside waiting for Solomon in a blue RAV-4, license plate TXC10. After a few minutes, he sees Solomon’s car pulling up to the curb. Solomon opens the trunk and emerges from the car to help with the bag. Dr. Matthew eyes Solomon up and down, all 6’4” of him, sinewy, with dark skin and a close-cropped hair with 3 small braids on either side of his gorgeous, smiling face. “I will take your bags now, Matthew,” he says in an accent Matthew can’t quite place. “And then off to the hotel,” Solomon adds. “Get comfortable, Matthew,” Solomon says, welcoming Matthew into his car. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation about why Matthew is in Boston, and hearing the reason, turns off the car’s music and adjusts the rearview mirror so Solomon and Matthew can make eye contact through it. “HIV prevention?” Is that still something people are trying to prevent,” asks a grinning Solomon. A provocative question indeed, thinks Matthew. “Definitely,” the young doctor replies, “there are ways to be sure to avoid transmission of it, such as daily or monthly preventive medication…and then there’s abstinence, of course.” “But that’s no fun,” Solomon answers back quickly, “I always believe we men need to spread the wealth,” if you know what I mean, grabbing his crotch for emphasis. “This has a mind of its own,” he said, holding his cock within his jeans. “If you have the time, let me show you what it can do,” the Uber driver stated. Not 10 minutes later, Solomon had pulled off the main road and into one of the alleyways that Boston is known for. Dr. Matthew had succumbed to the thought of Solomon’s big black dick, which he sincerely hoped was toxic, plunging into his ready hole. Solomon unbuttoned the fly on his jeans and let his fuckstick free. Joining him in the back seat, Solomon did not disappoint, with his enormous and fat uncut cock, already hard, presenting itself. And when he pulled off his T-shirt, emblazoned across his mid-section were 2 inked Xs. Solomon was a member of the brotherhood of The Ten – for every 10 successful pozzings, another X gets inked. “You want this toxic cock?” he asked, as if there was even a doubt in Matthew’s mind. The young doctor had pulled off his clothes and threw his legs up, his twitching hole anticipating the pending intrusion of Solomon’s poz monster cock. He didn’t have long to wait. Solomon just spit on his hand, rubbed his expanding pozzing stick and went inside, the near-dryness of the fuck scraping and scratching against the young doctor’s insides. He yelped in pain but Solomon, like all of The Ten, disregarded the doctor’s pain and drove it further up his mancunt. Dr. Matthew bit his lip and closed his eyes and resolved to take the poz man’s cock and load no matter the pain. After a few minutes of brutal fucking, Solomon withdrew his AIDS-dick to view his handiwork. Flecks of red dotted his cockhead which was streaming with pre-cum filled with his toxic HIV. He brought some of the pre-cum up to the young doctor’s lips and Matthew tasted the viral load inseminating him now. Solomon resumed his fucking, at least now the unmedicated precum oozing out of his dick provided some lubrication and Dr. Matthew relaxed enough to be able to enjoy the pounding that Uber driver Solomon was dishing out. “I would so love to be the one to poz your pussy,” Solomon breathless exclaimed as he got close to erupting inside Matthew’s neg hole. “My favorite thing in the whole world is pozzing up twinks like you. I got 22 men and 3 women carrying my poz babies forever.” Gripping the young doctor closer to him, Solomon is pile-driving the viral cock deep up the doctor’s hole and about 10 shots of infected toxic, high-viral, unmedicated cum coat Matthew’s mancunt as Solomon shudders and moans in delight, as Dr. Matthew’s foot pushes and flails against the car window as Solomon finishes emptying his poz bullets into the young doctor, the seed already infiltrating the recipient’s bloodstream. Sweat dripping off Uber driver Solomon and onto the young impressionable doctor the two collapse into a hot wet heap of manhood, Solomon’s poz cock slowly softening inside Matthew. Solomon withdraws it from the doctor and reaches into the seat back pocket and pulls out a small plug and replaces his cock with it in Matthew’s ass. “I keep these plugs here in the car just for this…keep them viral babies inside you so they can get to work,” he says, fumbling for his clothes and then opening the back door of the car to return to the drivers’ seat. Matthew busies with adjusting his clothes back on and sits up, the plug in his hole keeping the HIV gift from Solomon where it should be. Solomon is grinning from ear to ear as he laughs at the debauchery of it all. He’s got the car going again and looking back in the mirror says to Matthew “Any time you need another load of my strain while you’re here in Boston, you let me know.” They arrive at Matthew’s hotel, the young doctor wiped out from travel and from the brutal ass-pounding that the Nigerian Uber driver Solomon just inflicted upon him. But he is happy, for another load of HIV cum is soaking into him. Will this be the day he joins the brotherhood of poz predators? He sleeps soundly that night in his hotel, even if he feels conflicted about delivering an address to a room of fellow physicians about strategies for patients to avoid peer pressure about HIV, knowing he succumbed himself weeks ago. As he drifts off, he recalls remembering Ric and Mateo in college pozfucking dozens of guys with abandon, making a whole brotherhood of poz men to gift and share. And now he knew what they and Keith and Angus and Mack and Solomon knew, the pull of POZ was strong, the brotherhood was calling out to him day and night and nothing would deter him from pozzing up, and having some fun in the process. End of Chapter 4

I know I am more than a bit of a fuck pig, but I'm curious how many of you, who are not performers have hooked up with a gay porn star? I was lucky enough to be fuck buds with 2 guys who went on to become gay porn stars when I was in my 20's, and have hooked up with and fucked several big name porn stars since, the last happen in June of 2025. In my case without hiring them as an escort. Am I an unusually lucky pig?

The elevator opened on the 12th floor, and it was a short walk down the hall to Jack's apartment. I could feel my metal cock ring tighten around my quickly hardening cock. My pulse started racing an hour earlier when Jack messaged me to come over. He had a surprise for me. I never say no to one of Jack's surprises. They usually involve some hot, spun-out bottom that he's smoked out or slammed for the first time. That was Jack's specialty: finding an innocent young thing, usually from one of the nearby colleges. It didn't take me long to get ready. It was a Thursday night, and I didn't have to work until Monday. As soon as I had gotten home from work, I turned up the music and got a freshly bought eightball of Tina out of the safe. My dealer, Henry, always has the best shit. The crystals were usually large and chunky, well-made shit. I break a large, solid shard into smaller pieces and load the water bong before turning on the TV. Frozen on the screen is the face of a beautiful twink, eyes wide like saucers, cum dripping from the side of his mouth. This was an amateur gangbang that I filmed last month, and that boy was memorable. I'll have to get in his hole again soon. I hit play, and the camera pans to Kevin, a buddy of mine. Kevin's a tall, hot, lean, vers guy who loves partying. Kevin's jacking his big cock and eating the twink's pink hole between his spread legs. Kevin then takes his big hands and holds the boy's legs further apart, causing the boy to moan loudly. Kevin's eating that fresh hole like he's never going to eat boy hole ever again. It's so sloppy and wet. I get the torch, the 'click' signals the start of a fucking great evening. Those first few hits are always amazing. I like to let the smoke drift out slowly, in big, white, heavy clouds that you can't see through. My shoulders relax, my cock gets chubby, and my mind starts to go to all kinds of places. Usually involving a hot, smooth hole loaded with loads of cum. I get out of my clothes and lay out a few things for the night: my metal cock ring for my fat eight-inch cock, jeans, a white shirt, and my party bag. In the bag are a bottle of G, a loaded pipe, boner pills, a teener of Tina, and six points ready to go, with .5 of Tina already prepped in each. I take off my clothes and take a few hits before getting in the shower. My skin and body are tingling from Tina. That feeling is delicious, especially with the hot water splashing my body. You could say I'm a muscle daddy. I'm 6'1", somewhat hairy chest, arms, and thighs. I can already see some white hairs. It used to bug me, but the boys love it. And I get off on seeing the contrast between my rough, hairy arms and their smooth bodies. I've worked out my entire life, so I'm fit, but I don't make it my life. Athletic enough so I can fuck for days. I clean up with soap, but don't use anything fragrant. I love the smell of a man, especially a man in heat. It's fucking amazing, and my chem boys are intoxicated by the scent. Sometimes, they'll just lie next to me on the bed or couch for hours, smelling my pits, and making out. At the same time, we smoke each other out, while he rubs his cock against my leg, leaking precum. Before long, we’ve got our hands wrapped around each other's boners, jacking each other off, and edging each other the entire time. Sometimes, I'll just turn off the porn on the TV, and it's just us talking nasty and being connected to one another. Porn is fucking hot, but I love it when it's just me and the bottom, verbalizing everything twisted in our heads, turning each other on, between hits of the pipe. It never fails: I always get spun out bottom boys hard while talking nasty to them in this position. I'm drying off when I get Jack's text. "Dude, I have a surprise for you. Don't miss it! Bring whatever you want, but I've also got us well-covered. Can you admin tonight? I know how much that turns you on when it's a newbie!" Attached is a photo of a hot kid. He must be in his early twenties, fit, with a beautiful, smooth face, pretty dick-sucking lips, and a nice smile. He's sitting at the kitchen table with clothes on, a t-shirt, and a baseball hat, so he must have just gotten there. A can of Coke and an empty glass in front. That's usually Jack's signal that he's about to give a guy some G. Jack loves to share with me. We have the same tastes, and though we like to party hard, we keep each other in check and make sure we’re okay. There’s a time and place for everything, and like me, he loves a ritual, especially when it comes to partying. The fucking is just one part of the entire thing. We’re both generous, and we like to keep the bottom right on the edge. Pliable enough so they’ll want to do everything, but not totally out of their wits, unless it’s something they’ve agreed to in advance. There’s a small group of us who are good buddies: me, Jack, Kevin, Henry, and Dwayne. They usually end up at Kevin’s sooner or later. But usually, Kevin likes to start a little more low-key. Get the seduction going, working the bottom over so they’re twisted and ready for anything. I slide the cock ring on, get dressed, and put my party bag in a backpack. I hit the water bong 8 times in a row, finishing what’s in the bowl. The scene on the TV is a close-up of my big raw rock sliding in the boy’s cummy hole over and over again. Good times. I put the pipe away in the safe, turn off the TV, and hop in the car. It’s just a quick 20-minute drive over to Jack’s place, and I’m buzzing. The walk down Jack’s hallway is such a fucking turn on. My entire body knows this walk so well. My heart is beating so fast, and my cock is full-on chubby and tight in my jeans. I have a key to Jack’s place and go right in and lock the door behind me. The place is dark, with just a few night lights turned on. I turn right and, around the corner, see a light from the big screen TV in the living room. On the couch is the bottom boy, clearly in G heaven. The college boy’s still got his baseball hat on, but this time he’s got a loose tank top on, and is wearing short gym shorts with nothing on underneath. He must have shed his street clothes and changed into this outfit. From the side of his shorts, I can see some hair on his bush and a bit of his cock. He’s sitting in between Jack’s legs, head nodding, with Jack’s left hand holding the tank aside so he could play with the boy’s right nip. There’s porn on, some tweaked out looking guys that I don’t recognize. Must be a new amateur one from one of Jack’s many buddies on Telegram. Jack sees me, but the boy doesn’t. I stay to the side for a minute, watching. Jack takes each of the boy's legs and puts them over his own, so the boy's legs are spread-eagled. The short shorts show even a little more of what’s underneath. Jack then takes his right hand and glides it down the boy’s body, down the shorts. The boy moans a little, and Jack whispers in his ear, “You going to be a good boy for me, Drew?”Jack’s slowly jacking the boy’s cock with his left while his right hand is playing with his nips. “God, boy, you feel so good. You’re going to let your Uncle Jack do what he wants with you? I want you to feel really, really good. Especially for your first time partying. You’re going to want to do it with Uncle Jack and his buddies all the time.” While he’s saying this, I can see Drew grind his ass on Jack’s crotch. Jack’s hand roaming all over his body, but eventually lifting Drew’s tank top a bit so he can access both his nips with his both hands. I see Drew’s taught stomach and a small faint line of brown hair going down his torso to his crotch. “Drew, my good buddy, is here. I want you to meet him.” I step out of the shadow and say hello. “Hi, Drew. I’m glad to meet you. How’re you doing? Feeling good?” “Fuck, yeah, so good.” “I’m happy to hear that. I’m looking forward to spending the weekend with you. You don’t have anywhere to go, right?” “No, I told all my friends I’m going away for a few days.” “Good boy.” I look over to Jack, who’s smiling widely. Jack’s still fully clothed, with his button-down shirt open to show his chest and his big nips. I take my backpack off and set it aside. Jack sticks his tongue out and mouths, “fuck, this is going to be good.” I sit next to them on the couch, and Jack nods to me and looks at the coffee table drawer. This is his signal for me to get out the pipes and bag of Tina. “Drew, baby boy, sit here between us. I’m going to put on some other video, and my buddy is going to prepare a few things. We’re going to try something that I think you’ll like very much. Are you up for that?” “Yes, please.” Jack and I love a polite bottom boy. Drew scootches between us, and I scan his smooth legs—Drew’s pretty hairless, about 5'6”, maybe 135 lbs. I take a good look at his beautiful face and notice his red swollen lips. They must have been making out for the past hour. I could already feel the heat off Drew. I don’t know how much G Jack gave, but it was enough to get the night going for the hot boy. I turn to Drew and smile, and he looks at me and smiles back. I look at his brown eyes, then reach over and gently grab the back of his neck and bring him over for a sloppy make-out. I feel his tongue on mine as he gently moans. I reach over and push his shirt up again so I can play with his nip. As soon as I did that, Drew started to grind his ass on the couch. We’ve found his magic button. I bet his boy hole is already winking open and closed. Oh, this is going to be good. I pull back to let him breathe. “Let’s get you fucked up, boy. Sounds good to you?” “Mmmhmm.” I smile, and then I reach over to pull his shorts open, so I get a peek. Hmm, just a bit of hair around a beautiful cock. He’s semi-hard, which is probably because of the G. That’s okay, later I love getting a spun out boy on his back, shaving all his pubes off, while he’s strapped down, getting ready to get a slam. Drew smiles and says, “God, you guys are so hot. This is great.” “Oh, it’s about to get even better.” I reach down and get the stuff from the coffee table drawer. Drew’s watching what I’m doing closely. I put a clean pipe down on the coffee table, a torch, a bag of Tina, and some silicone lube. “Have you done this before?” “No, but I’ve been wanting to try.” “You hear that, Jack? Boy wants to try! Of course, Drew, we’re happy to oblige.” Jack finds the porn from the drive he can access from the TV, and hits play. It starts with a hot twink looking up, with a disembodied voice saying, “Ever take a man’s raw cock?” Jack then takes Drew’s left leg and once again puts it over his own leg. Drew loves smoking up his bottom boys while they’re straddling him. I take Drew’s right leg and put it over mine. He’s spread wide and flops back on the couch with a laugh. “Hey, Jack, let’s get this party started for real. I can’t wait to taste Drew’s hole"

Your pictures are HOT!

If you have a good relationship with your Dr ….. talk with them. …. Maybe they know a type of ED drug that can be used with poppers ….. or provide alternatives …. but please….. get advice from a professional…. Safer that way…..

Never say never. I never thought even in my widest dreams to earn this status. It wasn’t a goal ever. Okay when I was on the previous level I wanted it. But before that I just was here and read, commented, reacted, shared my widest and dirtiest desires and experiences and met a supportive community. Even though I’m not only-in-a-virtual-space-living person, and I have real human connections and amazing and supportive friends, BZ became an important part of my life. So, it just happened. But it feels fckn good.

Don't give that issue a second thought; if a guy doesn't want to read it, he'll just skip it and go on to the next thread .... You've got a remarkably-filthy mind, and I'm sure plenty of BZ'ers want to hear more ... 😇

POZ: [think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/playlist/16337/pozzing/

Hotloads: thanks for the write up. I registered for the May event as a bronco after reading it. I do have three questions. Can I bring poppers in? Will a 66 year old bear do okay at this event? And lastly, if I’m not able to get a sling or fuck bench, what is the alternative?

The very first time I fucked a complete stranger I came in his mouth and immediately after I dumped two loads in his ass without stopping. After that I needed at least a 20 minute rest before starting again, for a total of 21 loads shot in 30 hours - I was a very fit 18 year old British soldier at the time.

It either needs a hand or a mouth or a hole...

The first time it was my accident. I was with a new fuck buddy. We had talk about anal but hadn't done anything. I was sucking his dick and my jaw needed a break so I gave him an assjob. It did just slip in on its own. Also its the only time I used spit as lube. After that I've used that tactic a few times.

Lots of discussion with Senator Warner on Venezuela.

I don't mind this at all, in terms of a "stick" response back the US. I would hope more Denmark takes Greenland's defense much more serious. Putin has laid (false) claim to Arctic and only due to Trump threats has it or NATO begun to take its defense seriously. Denmark, like most of the Europeans, had been shirking NATO requirements until recently...they had been between 1% and 1.5% of GDP until Russia's invasion of UKR, minimum requirement was 2%. Now they plan to hit 3% - with the updated 5% agreement by 2030. [think before following links] https://apnews.com/article/denmark-defense-spending-nato-russia-ukraine-3b499b12cebd1c09535c03085527f9e3 For myself, if they Europeans don't take their own self defense seriously -- which they are starting to do -- coupled with an expansionist Russia (with support from China) we can't stick our head in the sand.

Preface: my opinion about trump. trump demonstrates the attributes of a sociopathic, narcissistic nihilist. i view him as raping America, i.e., forcing his will on Americans and then telling us we asked for it. i see many of his sycophantic supporters as similar to abused mates who blame their selves for the abuse and end up defending their abuser in Stockholm fashion. Then there are those who truly believe in might makes right. i think the reason he always states that he is friends with people like Putin, Xi and Kim Jong Un is because he relates to them. i think they are all cut from the same cloth. i put these guys right up there with Stalin, Hitler and Mao... to name a few. i do not advocate for using their methods on or with them. But i do not think the answer to peace and prosperity is to add more of these guys to the world stage. The US fucked up in a big way putting trump in control of the most powerful nation on earth, and i believe both the US and the world is paying, and going to pay dearly for that fuck up.

11 with an older neighbor

GAME ON (part VIII) Character review; Alejandro: only toxic stallion Felix: sex worker mare. Ashley: Twink mare. Ali: Iranian Cub mare. Ashley’s thoughts: Fuck, fuck, fuck! I think the other two got bred closer to the stroke of midnight. At least I’m pretty sure I took the one poz load in this fiasco. Much as I don’t want to get pozed, if I do, I’ve got a fat bank account. It’s a fuckin good thing that I love that weasel boyfriend Ben! Felix’s thoughts: Fuckin A! I’m pretty sure I got bred closest to the stroke of midnight. I took so many loads I’m pretty sure I won that contest. I took so many loads’ chances are high I took the charged load, and my ass is so torn up if I did, I’m bound to be knocked up. Now I just need to convert within two weeks and then I get the sweet $20,000. I can get housing of my own and even open a bank account. Fuck yeah! Alejandro’s thoughts: Holy funking shit, what a fucking close call. I was afraid that Iranian cub would never finish in the Iranian mare. A competition like this was no time to take so long making love to your twin! But my raw cock got into the Iranian mare in time. I’m sure we hit the bull’s eye of the stroke of midnight. I don’t think he has any idea I gave him the charged load. I can’t wait to see his face when the truth is revealed. He better fucking convert before the deadline. The 1% would be awesome, but I fucking want to be ushered into the porn industry. That would make all the frustration of holding off tonight so worthwhile. Please. Please, let him be knocked up!!! Ali’s thoughts: ‘Allah, how could I have known what pleasure you had in store for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you … may Allah always be praised’. I was so consumed with uttering this prayer that I didn’t notice my judge holding up his hand for the MC. The MC’s words astonished me, “It looks like we might have a tie for breeding closest to the stroke of midnight. Judges for mares 2 and 3 have their hands up. All three judges were down close to capture the exact moment the breeding started. They’ve texted me their times. Yes guys! This was a close one! Mare three began to be bred at 15 seconds after the start of the bells tolling midnight. Unbelievable as it might seem mare two, Ali is the winner, his stallion started breeding him at the exact moment the bells started, right on the stroke of midnight. Amazing! Wait a minute, this is beyond our wildest hopes and dreams. Watch Ali’s judge.” My judge pulled his shirt over his head, knelt in front of my last breeder stallion and began to suck his cock. While doing so he rubbed above the stallion’s cock with his shirt. Someone produced a spray bottle to assist with the rubbing of the shirt. Cock removed from the judges mouth the stallion turned to the audience and there was a great gasp. The stallion then turned to me and I saw the biohazard tattoo in the shortly trimmed bush over his cock. I still didn’t understand what all the fuss was about until the MC spoke again. “Ali has received the one toxic HIV charged load. If he converts, is knocked up, before the competition timeline he will win the $20,000 prize. Furthermore, his breeding stallion, Alejandro, will get 1% of the profits from the sales of the video we are recording tonight. And we can all be assured this video is going to sell like hot cakes, Alejandro could be looking at a massive take! We will all be waiting on pins and needles with these two men for the next few weeks. Let us assure you we will monitor Ali daily to make sure he has not been bred by any other man until his possible conversion, we need to be sure it is Alejandro that knocked him up. That Ali started this competition as a virgin, and that all the other loads painting his guts were verified negative or undetectable will give us more assurance than ever. This is amazing guys!” (The crowd broke into ruckus applause and cheering before the MC continued) “Quiet everyone, quiet down. I’ve just received the final load count for each of our mares from the judges. Ashley was fucked by 8 guys and bred 6 loads. (polite clapping) Felix was fucked by 14 guys a total of 18 times, and bred an amazing 17 loads! (Much more vigorous clapping and cheering.) Looks like Ali has cleaned up here tonight guys; our virgin was fuck by all 15 guys, a total of 20 times. Clearly, he is a virgin no more. He finishes before midnight with 20 confirmed loads bred into his ass. (The crowd went wild! Only when the cacophony died down did the MC continue.) “So that’s it folks, Ali takes home $500 for being bred on the stroke of midnight, $5000 for taking the most loads! If he converts to poz in the next two weeks he get’s an additional $20,000. (Wild cheering and applause!) Alejandro takes home the $1000 prize for breeding on the stroke of midnight and a chance to get 1% of video sales if indeed he has knocked Ali up. Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion folks. Anyone that doesn’t want to take a chance on getting bred tonight, or bred again, has five minutes to clear the building. The next bell you here, the no holes bared bareback orgy begins.” I was in shock, but clear enough to know I had to get out, and fast!

I know bottoms that do not use poppers. It’s a personal choice. I love them and use them all the time. I didn’t use them when I first started getting fucked though. I don’t think I really knew about them and their benefits. They really help when your top is big and you don’t want to waste time with him easing into you. Most of my hookups are with anon men so they are beneficial in getting to the point. Lol

I love sex like that! Porn theaters / video booths are quickly disappearing and were so great for cum addicts like ourselves. I remember this one video booths place in Brooklyn under the freeway, now closed, but you could get some incredible dick there. I went there once, feeling cocky and hot, I was looking for a hot Brooklynite when this older Jamaican guy goes immediately to me “don’t waste your time, I got what you want” followed him into the booth where he fucked my motherfucking brains out with this mammoth dick. It was one of those times the door swung open and just kept letting him fuck me, didn’t give a shit who saw me. Reminded me not to judge a book by its cover!

PS. I have bookmarked NIFTY on my browser and will monitor gay/incest (I love incest-related romance stories). And as for AI and creativity, I have took the chance of using its mostly conservative stereotypes to create the song's refrain. And guess what? Now I have a far-right, extremely conservative co-worker I everyday argue with, who's singing this all the time. "Biological bond, by family blood, with positive vibe, I'm proud and alive. Let's challenge our fate, embracing our mate, we don't really care about stigma and scare". He assumes I sent him a conservative/far-right catchy, while he's singing a pro-poz fake anthem without even knowing!

I'mI need all the bi top poz guys to message me that are from Georgia especially the ones no taking any meds yet we need your poz toxic loads in our pussies!!!

Sometimes I can feel his cock get super hard before he breeds. Only a few times have I ever felt a cock pulsing. What I really love is how open and wet I am after. This primes my craving for more of the same with him or others.

PART 19 Ron teased my hole with his cock head, rubbing it against my hole but not quite putting in. I can remember clearly thinking of the precum he was smearing all over my hole. I wanted his precum all over my hole, marking me. I wanted to get fucked but i needed that cum. Finally, when i thought i couldn’t take any more teasing, i felt the pressure of his blunt fat cock head pushing into my tight boy hole. The familiar sting as a man’s penis entered me again made me grit my teeth a little as i concentrated on trying to relax my hole. “Your hole is extra tight today Chris. Hit those poppers and don’t stop. You still have about six inches of cock to take.” Hearing that, i obeyed immediately alternating nostrils and holding the hits in. Before i knew it or realized it, i heard Ron telling me “Good boy, you took all of my cock inside you. Balls fucking deep. Do you feel how deep i am in you? After i fuck your little boy cunt, i am going to push this deep inside you and make yoU pregnant. Do you want that? Do you want my poz babies inside you? Is that why you can here, to get filled with a strangers semen?” As he said this he started pulling out and pushing back into me. Long strokes, almost all the way out of my hole before plunging in again. His raw cock was starting to piston in and out of hole, harder and harder, til i was taking all of him over and over punching into my guts, knocking my breath out. And i just completely gave in. I focused on my hole and how good it felt. I looked up and saw this much older man grunting as he tried to destroy my hole. But he couldn’t, i just kept taking it, eyes closed mouth hanging open trying to keep my breath as i took all Man cock over and over. I felt his sweat drip on me as my head snapped back a she punched deeper and deeper. “Here it comes Chris. You want it? Do you want me sperm Deep inside you?” I could barely get any words out but managed “please. Please . I need it” Our eyes locked. “ Gonna give it to you. Fucking poz load. Fuck yeah, her it comes. Oh fuck, fuck yeah. Take. That. Fucking. Cum.” I pulled him into me and held his hips and felt him buck and spasm and knew inside me that his cock was throbbing and spitting out his semen. His hiv positive semen. Coating my guts. Filling me. Soaking into my Body. He didn’t pull out right away and i was grateful. I wanted him in me as his load soaked into me. I wasn’t letting any out. It was going to become part of me. I looked down and saw that my tummy was coated with my own load. The pounding he gave me had me shoot without touching my cock. Finally, he eased off of me and i felt his half hard cock slip out of me. Looking at his cock, i saw a streak of reddish pink and knew he had torn me up a little. It didn’t hurt but my Hole had never been fucked so hard before. I wasn’t scared, mostly i was just feeling euphoric and also proud that i had been able to take it so well. I actually had liked it. That line of being barely able to take it, the mix of pain and pleasure was powerful. And i had made Ron happy and made him cum hard. I grabbed my clothes and slipped into them as Ron laid on ,the bed. “Can i come over again soon?” I asked quietly, a little embarrassed. “Chris you can call anytime literally. I can’t wait to fuck that ass again. And maybe share it with a few friends. If you wanted to...” As i drove home with my asshole buzzing and throbbing, all i could think of was the last thing Ron had said. Friends. Plural. And they were probably all poz like Ron and Tim. And i drove on with a fresh hard on and a huge load of sperm deep inside my guts.

4. 249 Station Street, Flushing, Queens Every breath you take Every move you make Every bond you break, every step you take I’ll be watching you After the massive amount of chem piss Manetti shot into him, there wasn't much more of the night he remembered. He didn't think there was any more filming. Although he was excited thinking he was a star in his first porn video, the actual act of getting fisted and spunked by Manetti was the thing he relished as he woke up. Somehow he'd gotten back to Manetti's apartment. He awoke naked but collarless, a little spaced out about the rest of the evening's events. He rested for a long time on Manetti's futon. A sheet was covering him, but it looked like he had kicked off a blanket. It was already hot in the apartment and it seemed only to be early morning. The VCR clock said seven-oh-three. He felt his butt and found it very wet and greasy. His head felt like shit and he was pretty disoriented, but got up and went to the bathroom. Sitting there, he tried to gather his thoughts. He's pretty sure he got put on a fuckbench and had been ridden by Master Drax and Jamal. His memory was fuzzy. Manetti had opened him up sufficiently for Master Drax to ram his mammoth cock into him, but funny enough he couldn't really remember it. He remembered that Jamal went at him for a long time. He was rough at first but he'd put up little resistance and they soon fell into a hypnotic rhythm that lasted for hours, literally, till the first light of day came into the air shaft. He seemed to remember Jamal pissed in him too. They were like dogs marking their territory, he thought. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but after that things got sketchy. He thought his memory of Master Drax would come back to him, but right now, sitting on the toilet, he couldn't recall anything after Jamal’s pissing. It hurt, that's as much as he could remember of Master Drax. That, and he distinctly remembered Manetti wasn't there. He released a huge volume of piss from his ass, then followed that up with a slew of shit, grease and blood. When he wiped he was alarmed by the multi-colored streaks: red, brown, yellow, pink. But he knew what he'd been in for, so why actually be surprised? His hole felt it was at least twice the size it had been. Actually it felt amazing. He squeeze a couple of times and realized he couldn't completely squeeze it shut. Overall, the lingering thoughts he had from last night was that it was an adventure he was glad he had, especially what he and Manetti shared, but goddamn did he feel like crap now. He staggered out of the bedroom, saw the back of Manetti's head in the kitchen tub, and crawled back in bed. "Hey, Mike," he managed to eke out, talking into his pillow. "Are you coming to bed?" But he was back asleep before he heard any answer. *** The front door erupted with a tremendous pounding. Chris opened one eye and determined, by airshaft light, it was late afternoon. He looked at the VCR: four-ten. The banging began again. "Mike?" he said. "You there?" The third thumping this time was the loudest, longest, and most determined. He pushed himself up and trotted to the front door. He cracked it opened as far as the chain lock would allow to discover two police officers standing there. "Your neighbor called in a complaint about water leaking from your apartment," the older of the two officer said. He was a big, red-headed guy with a flushed face and greying temples. The other officer in back of him had buzz cut and cold green eyes. “He thought the water looked bloody," the officer added. He peered over Chris head and looked alarmed. “What the hell is that?" He pointed his night stick at something behind Chris’ head. Chris turned around and was dumbstruck. Manetti was naked in the bathtub, wrist slashed, lying in a pool of bloody water. "You need to let us in, young man. Unlatch the door," the officer instructed. The buzz cut officer got on his walkie-talkie and called the incident in. They waited as Chris slipped off the security chain. When he opened the door the younger officer said wryly, "You might want to put on some clothes." It took Chris only a second to realize he was standing in front of them naked. His wasn't thinking, obviously. How could he think? He was just now only fully waking up to the horror of the scene. He looked at Manetti, colorless, his eyelids closed. He focused past him and he saw his clothes hanging on the window grate, now dry. He walked woozily over to the window through a puddle of blood-drenched water. No underwear on the grate, he couldn't remember where that was, so he just slipped on his jeans and his t-shirt. He turned around. The two officers had come into the kitchen and the younger one, the buzz cut guy, put two fingers to Manetti’s neck. He shook his head at the other officer. The red-headed officer introduced himself as Officer Bailey. Chris heard words but they were muffled. Mostly he heard he heard his own blood pulsing through his head. He tried to anchor himself by looking intently at what was in front of him. A police officer in his late forties who looked like a little league coach or Scout Master. Open face, a little flabby maybe, but still solid for his age. There was a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. He wondered what the tomato sauce was from. Officer Bailey nodded at the other officer, said his name was Officer Polanski, then he quizzed him, "Mind telling us your name, son, and who this is and what happened?" His question was nothing more than dampened words under a blanket. Officer Bailey saw the blank look on Chris’ face so he slowly repeated the question: "Your name, son, his name, what happened?" It took Chris a second to shake the cobwebs out of his head before he could pull any kind of answer together. "I don't know. My name’s Chris Prior.” He looked back horrified at Manetti. “I just came in from Los Angeles. Last night. This is Mike, Mike Manetti." He stopped in his tracks after saying Manetti's name. He couldn't continue. Didn’t allow himself to think beyond the officer’s question. "You saying you just now seeing this?" Polanski, the second officer, asked skeptically standing by Manetti’s body. Chris put his hands on his forehead trying to process the scene, then said, a half-step behind each word he spoke, "Yeah, I woke up when you knocked.” It was almost as if he was testing the ground with each word to see if they still held up to reality: "I just flew in from LAX last night. I came here to find my brother. This is his boyfriend, roommate. Was his…" He trailed off. Bailey went in the other room to search the apartment putting on latex gloves. Chris heard him responding to his walkie-talkie. Officer Polanski looked around the room. "You here alone 'cept for him?" Chris nodded. "He leave a note?" "I don't know. You know as much as I know. Is there?" They both scanned the room from where they stood. Chris' eyes kept coming back to Manetti. He had no idea what to do, had no clue why this was happening. The wall phone suddenly began ringing loudly making him jump. Chris looked at it as if it was an alien object. He picked it up. “Hello?” he said in a daze. Master Drax spoke to him in a quiet voice, "Are the police with you?" "Yes," Chris said, staring at the ground. "Do whatever they say. Cooperate with them fully. Now say, 'I haven't seen him today.'" Chris repeated, "I haven't seen him today." He gave a sideways glance out the window and saw an outline of a dark figure on the other side of the air shaft. "Don't say anything to anyone. Just keep saying you don’t know anything.” Chris got out tentatively, “O-kay.” “I'll be in touch again." There was a click, then a loud dial tone. Polanski said, "Who was that?" "I think his boss. Wanted to know why he wasn't in." "Why'd you say you hadn't seen him?" Polanski pressed. There was something dark yet familiar about this officer. Chris didn't have many run-ins with cops in Long Beach but Ben had. The area of Long Beach he grew up in was called Dogpatch. It was close to the refineries and the sprawling Los Angeles harbor. It was also an area where convicts were released. The Burger King close to his house was off limits to him growing up. It was a place crawling with ex-cons and their wives and girlfriends, to cops and fights and arrests. Polanski reminded him of the kind of cop that used to harass Ben. Ben had been busted for being underage at a local gay bar when he was sixteen. He was on the cops' radar ever since. Bailey came back in to the kitchen holding Manetti's box of drugs. He had it open, displaying the contents to Chris. He asked if Chris knew anything about it. He said he didn't. He'd just met the guy last night. He just let him crash here but that was all. Polanski scrutinized him. "What are you, kid, fourteen, fifteen…thirteen?" Bailey gave him a back-off look. "What?" he whined to Bailey, "The kid don't have hair down there. So what am I supposed to think? Maybe we need to take him in for a statement then hand him over to Protective Services?" "I'm eighteen," Chris said, trying not to sound indignant, though he was a little embarrassed they saw he was hairless when they caught him naked. "Eighteen, huh," Officer Bailey said, with a raised eyebrow. "And three month, Sir," Chris added, riffling through his wallet to find his driver’s license. He knew officers like the 'Sir' thing, at least that’s what his brother had told him. When Ben was still at home, his brother was always telling him stuff like that. Like always look for an exit, or always have a plan B, which meant nothing to an eight-year-old. Or like always have two answer for any question you’re asked, if you shoot a gun keep firing till it’s empty, don’t ever mix G with alcohol, stay in your room when mom and Carl are high—useless or obvious stuff like that. Hell, for ten years he didn’t even know what G was until last night. "Here's my driver's license. And I don't know anything about this guy’s drugs habits. Maybe he was a dealer. I don’t know." He was emphatic. "I came in late and we went to sleep, and...." "And that’s why," Polanski interjected, "you're just getting up now, at four o’clock. That don't make no sense." "Jet lag," said Chris defensively. Then quickly added, “I guess it’s jet lag. Sir.” "So you come here looking for your brother and you meet this guy..." "We wrote a couple of letters and he said I could stay with them, with him. He told me he was his roommate, boyfriend, whatever." "And he let you stay the night." Polanski had that real prosecutor's attitude he'd seen Ben subjected to in court. "And the next day you wake up, late in the afternoon, answer the door naked as the day you was born, and this guy’s lying in the bathtub with slashed wrist, and you don't know nothin' about nothin'? Come on. You gotta do better than that." Chris looked crestfallen. Things were happening too fast. Last night was a crazy sex party, some of which he couldn’t even remember, and right on the heels of that craziness, this. Officer Bailey saw Chris' consternation. He sympathetically asked how long his brother had been missing. Chris didn't know exactly. Mike, he thought, said something like two weeks. Polanski chimed in, wanted to know if a missing person’s report was filed. Chris didn't know that either. Maybe he should have, he didn't know why he hadn't. He was in California. He looked down dejected, determined not to cry. Officer Bailey watched him carefully. There was something street wise but also pitiful about the kid. "So this guy's boss calls just now," Polanski continued prosecuting his case, "and you tell him you didn't see him today, even though he's sitting in a bathtub dripping blood two feet away. You covering up for something, aren’t ya kid?" "Nick, enough with the third degree. Can't you see the kid's about to lose it? Son,” Officer Bailey squatted down and squeezed Chris’ thin shoulders. “How much money you bring with you?" Chris took out his wallet again, counted out three singles. "When was the last time you ate something. I couldn't help seeing you're skinny as a rail." "Last night Mike made me some soup. Before that I had a cheese sandwich and crackers on the plane. I don't have a plan B. I know that's stupid. I'm a big, stupid moron, but honest, officer, I don't know about any of this.” Chris pointed at Manetti. “It's the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. And I really didn’t even know the guy." Chris felt a crippling heartbreak hiding his true feelings about Manetti, how he so callously pushed aside how he really felt about him so quickly. Like he was talking trash like this, with him in the bathtub, right there. He prayed Manetti couldn’t hear him. What a fake and a jerk he was, how right his dad was about how worthless he was. Tears welled up and ran down his face, but he refused to acknowledge them and simply let them roll off his cheeks. He wanted Ben. He needed him now more than ever. He also wanted to go and throw his arms around Mike, wake him up, shake him, hit him, but instead he felt frozen in place, a sniveling little coward. "Listen," Officer Bailey said, sitting Chris at the kitchen table. Chris stared at the back of Manetti's head. "No, look at me, son." He turned the chair away from the tub. "You're not in trouble, but you are a witness. And there’s at least this stash of drugs in this apartment. Detectives will be here soon and take over the case. They'll do a full sweep, turn everything upside down. The coroner’s also coming and will take out the body. So you can't stay here, see? Do you have anywhere you can go? A relative? Maybe one of your brother's other friends?" Chris looked out the air shaft debating whether to talk about Master Drax. He noticed Polanski wasn't in the room. He decided that bringing up Master Drax or the place across the air shaft would be a bad avenue to go down with someone like Polanski. "Hey, Don, come take a look," Polanski called from the other room. Chris heard his own voice on tape rambling energetically, "And I want to get fucked in the gas station toilet. I want that fat turd, Duke, the owner, to fuck me from behind while I'm licking the urinal. You think I stink, man? You should smell that toilet some time. It's righteous foul." Chris came into the bedroom to see Polanski looking through the camera's viewfinder. Polanski rewound the tape a bit and hit play, and Manetti's and Chris' raunchy sex played out of the tinny speaker, no visuals needed. Polanski shut it off. "Doesn't look like you went to sleep right after you got here, pal," Polanski said. "Care to revise your story?" *** Chris totally bailed on Manetti. Said he tricked him to take drugs he didn't want. It wasn't entirely untrue, and he pressed how he was tied up and not at all into it until the drugs kicked in, and then he kind of went crazy. Bailey and Polanski could see that if they looked at the whole tape, which would be really humiliating, but at least it would show he wasn't a willing participant. Polanski wasn't buying it, but with Bailey, there at least was a strand of sympathy. "That why you don't have any hair? He did that to you in the sling when you were tied up?" Chris nodded. "Shitty pervert. So Nick," he said to Polanski, "look what the kid went through. He's out here by himself, don't know where the hell his brother is, run's into this dealer who tricks him, gets him high, ties him up, does God knows what else to him besides shaving him, and wakes up to find the guy who tied him up dead. The perv probably knocks himself off in some last act of conscience for what he done, and you're ready to lock the kid up for trusting this low-life scum. Anyway, look, it’ll be the detectives’ problem in a couple of in a half hour. All’s I'm saying is the kid's been through enough without us piling on him." Polanski frowned. "Yeah,” he looked the kid up and down, “well, maybe there's something to his story." He seemed a little ashamed. "But where does that leave the kid?" Bailey thought for a long moment before he said, "Well, I'm helping you out while you and Molly work things out.” Polanski looked embarrassed. “You're camping out in Tony’s room while my spoiled kid’s off in Europe. He could stay with us for at least a day or two since Kitty and Eddie are at the shore with her ma. He can have Eddie's room. Boy,” he said to Chris, who looked back at him with a spark of hope, “hate to say it, but you look like could use a bath and a couple of hot meals. I don't see how that puts us out any, Nick." Chris looked at the two men expecting Polanski to reject the idea flat out. He looked the type who’d be a real douche bag. "What about the tape?” Polanski asked. “It's pretty incriminating.” "What tape? I didn't see no tape," Bailey said innocently. He looked at Chris, who finally cracked a smile, "Did you see any tape, son?" Polanski pursed his lips, then gave in, shrugging his shoulders. He definitely let Bailey do the thinking. That suited Chris just fine. Bailey seemed like the first nice guy he met in New York since he got here. "We're square then. So, Chris," Officer Bailey said bringing out his wallet, "Here's ten bucks. Go to get some pizza down on Saint Marks or whatever.” He added conspiratorially, “But I'm telling you, Saint Mark’s pizza is the best pizza in New York. Then you catch the seven train out to Flushing. Here's my address." Bailey wrote out the address on his notepad and handed it to Chris. "I’m right across from where the train lets you off. Me and Nick, that is, Officer Polanski, we get off duty in an hour. We should be wrapped up here and back at my house by seven. Think you can get to us around then?" Chris nodded, he definitely could. He thanked Bailey, gratefully pumped his fleshy hand. He even shook Polanski's hand. He found his shoes and began putting them on. He still felt like a fuckhead betraying Manetti, but what was he supposed to do? He certainly didn't have a plan once Manetti offed himself. As he was tying his shoelaces, he wondered why Manetti did it, wondered if something happened after he blacked out. The drugs really fucked him good. As he picked up his gym bag, he flashed on the fact that even the small amount Manetti first slammed him with, he couldn't recollect when Manetti putting a dog collar on him. That was fucked up shit. He swore that was last time he’d ever slam. He saw keys on a hook next to the door, pocketed them, and then left the officers to do whatever they do in these types of incidences. He look back one last time at Manetti who, lying there in the tub, looked almost peaceful. *** Saint Mark's pizza was probably the best pizza he'd ever eaten. He ate two slices and drank a soda, then ordered a third slice. He downed it all while sitting on a stool looking out the window at all the people go by. In one corner of the pizzeria, a TV blared a local news station running a clip of President Reagan giving a speech at the U.N., followed by a traffic report about all the gridlock the president was causing, then ran a local news item about a manhunt in progress upstate. It was just noise that he easily ignored, and instead watched the spectacle out the window. What a bunch of freaks! Punk rockers were all over the place with their spikey Mohawks and safety pins in their noses. Tourist would come up and take pictures of them, then they’d chase the tourist and demand money. Most of the time the tourist paid except one guy in a cowboy hat refused and a fight broke out. A cop came over and broke things up. On the subway, the New York circus continued. An old man in an ascot held onto a subway strap in one hand and clutched a blind Chihuahua in the other; several ladies were touching up their heavy makeup in compacts; grannies in scarves with full shopping carts jabbered away in a foreign language; a group of drunk sailors in white sailor suits piled in and got off when he did at Forty Second Street. He transferred to the train to Flushing. There was graffiti all over everything, the connecting tunnels, the trains, even every single support beam had initials or a little drawing on it. The sailors reminded him of the graffiti in the abandoned building, then he thought of Manetti and started feeling low. After two stops on the Flushing train, a group of homeboys boarded the subway car with their boombox playing earsplitting rap music and started break dancing. They were really good. Spinning on their heads, using the poles in the middle of the cars to swing around, doing complete flips in the moving car. Before they got off they passed around a cap and he put a dollar in it. The boy who passed around the cap said thanks, bro, and held out his hand for a high-five. He high-fived him and that made him feel good. A couple of stations later four older black men got on and started harmonizing a familiar Motown song. Their harmonies and phrasing were perfect. The man he gave a dollar to blessed him and put his hand on his shoulder. Boy, New Yorkers, at least the brothers he saw, were really talented and super nice. As the train went on, fewer people got on. He followed the stops on the sign over the windows, counting down to the last stop. There was only maybe a dozen people when the train finally pulled in. One older Spanish lady was talking to herself vacantly looking out the window. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Chris guessed she was probably homeless, clutching her paper bag of valuable. He slipped two of his last dollars into her hand. She stopped talking for a second, looked up at him and said, Dios te bendiga, then went back to talking to herself. Or maybe she was praying. The platform clock pointed to a little after nine. He knew he dawdled coming here, and the train ride was much longer than he expected, but he was still surprised how late it was. The quiet street was dark, but finding the house was easy, especially because there was a hand-carved sign on the corner of the garage that said “The Bailey’s.” The big two-story house with little basement windows he guessed was a typical house for the neighbor, but he wasn't used to staying in anything so nice. To Chris it seemed like he was walking up to a mansion. He rang the bell and Officer Bailey answered. It was strange to see him in yellow boxer shorts and no shirt, but of course it was a warm night and he wouldn't always be walking around in his uniform. “Really nice house, Officer Bailey,” said Chris, as the older man ushered him in. Chris tried to keep his eyes up, but there was definitely a big packages swinging in those boxers. Bailey was a big bear of a man, not really muscly, but very solid. He had a large pillowy chest covered in reddish-brown fur, a tattoo of a lion on his shoulder, a cobweb sketched on his elbow, and a barbwire band around his left bicep. Chris tried to steer his mind away from how sexy his thought this daddy-type cop was. They entered the living room where a Yankees-Red Sox game was playing on a huge TV. He thanked the officer again for letting him stay, but Bailey interrupted him saying to call him Don, and pointed at Polanski sprawled on the sectional sofa in his boxer shorts too, saying “and that cocksucker is Nick.” "Yo," Polanski said curtly, and went back to watching the game. Polanski shirtless was a real piece of work. Both of his arms were covered in full sleeves, and there was very little that wasn’t inked on his chest and legs. His neck too was covered. What bothered Chris was that almost all of the ink, beside a few motorcycle-riding skeletons and smoking devils, was about white power and swastikas. He had to acknowledge, though, Polanski’s body was hot. He was built like a boxer, not huge, not particularly tall, but also not an ounce of body fat on him. His head was dark from short-cropped black hair. He lounged with one arm cradled behind his head showing off a sprawling pit of black hair. He smoked a cigar and scratched his shorts a lot revealing, Chris thought purposefully though he never looked at Chris, his big pecker. Several empty beer cans litter the coffee table. Both the men look well on their way to getting pretty sloshed. Don and Chris stood behind the sectional and followed the game for a couple of minutes. A warm night breeze came in from sliding glass door and the vertical blinds slapped together noisily under the din of the game. Don asked him if he wanted a beer, and Chris cheerfully accepted. Don said there was Popeye’s Chicken on the counter and plenty of beer in the fridge, that he should just help himself, that they were very informal here which was pretty obvious as he pointed to himself and Nick. Chris put down his bag and strolled into the kitchen. He’d never seen a kitchen as nice as this. Expensive looking pink marble was everywhere, rich redwood cabinets lined all the walls, and recessed lighting lit the room dramatically like it was a movie set. There were fluorescent lights but they weren’t turned on, just the spot lights over the marble counter and little lights under the cabinets. Big copper refrigerator and stove matched each other, as did the copper dishwasher. Even the sink was copper. It didn’t seem to fit Don, but maybe his wife was in charge of decorating. He piled his plate with chicken and a big heap of warm fries. He came back with his plate and beer, happily sitting crossed-legged at the coffee table, watching the game with the two men. Through a couple of innings, his opinion of Polanski didn’t improved, because as the game went on Polanski kept swearing racial names at the black players. Chris was too familiar with these kinds of asshole that grew up around him and did his best to only pay attention to the game, the food, and how nice Don was. At the end of the fifth, Don picked up Chris' finished plate. When he bent down he noticed Chris’ stink, and suggested he should probably wash up before bed. Bailey said his room—Eddie's room—was in the middle of the hall. Nick was in Tony's room at the far end, and the master bedroom was at the top of the stairs. The guest bathroom was right across from his room. Chris chugged that last of his beer, got up and thanked Don again for letting him stay, and also for the ten bucks. He said he had a couple bucks left but Bailey waved him off. He thanked him also for the beer and also for the chicken. Don interrupted, said enough with the thanks. Thanks enough, he kidded him, would be not to have a stinky bum in the house. Chris was a little embarrassed, but scurried excitedly upstairs with his gym bag to find Eddie’s room. His jaw literally dropped open when he entered the room. He looked around, thinking, what a life Eddie must lead! Soccer, swim, and baseball trophies were everywhere; posters of race cars and football players lined the wall; and a big Madonna poster was taped to his closet. The kid even had his own cassette stereo system with huge speakers and tons of neatly filed tapes. He didn't think cops made so much money. Eddie was so lucky! This rich kid even had his own color TV, a VCR, and Atari console, with Super Pac Man and Donkey Kong boxes stacked on the TV. He hoped he'd have some time to play them. On Eddie’s dresser, a framed Little League picture showed him holding a bat over his shoulder. He looked a little shorter than Chris and a whole lot younger, twelve maybe. He had blond hair like he did, and striking blue eyes, but what stood out the most to Chris was that he had a smile so confident and winning it literally beamed out of the frame. There were other pictures of him along the walls: him on the pitcher’s mound, mid-kick in the air making a soccer goal, him and his older brother with their ski masks up at a ski lodge, him and his family at the castle at Disney world. This guy had it all. The only thing that was weird was that the man in the Disney photo sort of looked like Don, but not really, but the photo was taken from far away so the family was really small. Mainly the picture was of the castle. Chris set his faded green gym bag on the dresser next to the photo. Looking around the spotless room, with its royal blue shag carpeting, and purple high gloss walls, and white wooden shudders, he felt his gym bag was probably the dirtiest, dingiest thing in here, well, except for maybe himself. Chris crossed the hall, dropped his jeans and t-shirt on the bathroom floor. The shower was all glass and polished metal. He got the temperature to where it was nice and hot, then relished the multiple jets washing over him. It was probably the best shower he was ever in. Jets sprayed him not only from the top, but also at his sides. He was sure he stank and was grateful Don made a joke out of it. He took up the soap and really scrubbed himself down. There was some shampoo in the stall and he used that too. When he rinsed his hair he saw the soapy water turn yellow, and that made him think of Manetti. He put his back to the jets and just hung there for a while as the water flowed over him. There was a knock on the door. He called out, “Yes?” He climbed out the shower feeling not only had he washed his last month of California off his skin, but also the last twenty-four hours as well. Don rapped again and came in. He looked Chris over while Chris grabbed a bath towel off a hook. Don closed the door behind him, and said he was going to start a load of wash before the game ended. The crystal glass he held showed he had switched over to drinking whiskey, and as the man swayed, Chris smirked to himself thinking the cop would never be able to pass a sobriety test. Chris ran the towel over his legs, feeling a little self-conscious being stared at naked, but the man already had seen him that way, and besides he was a dad and policeman, so he just continued wiping himself off with his towel. The cop said he couldn't help notice Chris' clothes could use a wash, hoped he didn't mind, but he'd already thrown the clothes from his gym bag in the washer and thought he'd just pick up these and toss them in too. "What'll I wear," Chris protested as he towel dried his hair. He saw Don looking at his pits and crotch. "Boy that perv shaved you within an inch of your life,” he said. He ran a hand over Chris’ shaved pit. “Truth is, without the wife and kids here, me and Nicky walk around naked most of the time.” He winked, and wobbled unsteady out the door with the last of Chris’ clothes. Chris quickly scoured Eddie's room and realized, even though he was small, he wasn't going to fit in some twelve-year-old’s clothes. He didn’t relish the idea of being naked. Maybe around Don he would, but Polanski was a turn off. He didn’t have many options though. He slinked down the hallway to see if there was something to wear in Nick/Tony's room but it was locked. He creeped to the staircase and saw the lights were off, and the sliding glass door was shut. Don’s bedroom door was ajar with blue TV light seeping through the crack. “Hey, kiddo,” Don called out, “we’re finishing the game in here.” Chris went in and found Don and Nick lying completely naked on the king size bed. They both sat up against the headboard, each with a glass of whiskey in their hands. Don certainly had a massive package. His reddish-brown fur extended to a dark brown swath of pubic hair, with a large semi-erect boner pointing straight out. "Bottom of the ninth, New York’s up by two," Don summarized, as if it were perfectly natural two grown men to always watch a Yankee game naked together on a king size bed. "C’mere, tiger, sit by your ol’ man.” “Yeah. C’mon, sport,” said Polanski, padding the space between them. His Polish sausage hung over two large smooth balls. The cock had a distinctive bend to it, like a large banana. His body was smooth but his crotch was covered, hip bone to pronounced hip bone, by the most substantial amount of the long, black public hair he’d ever seen. “Uncle Nick’s not going to bite.” He paused a beat. “Unless you want him to. Rarrr.” The two men laughed, then as a full count was announced, their attention drifted back to the game. “Swear to God, if that spade lets him walk I’m throwing my fuckin' drink at the fucker.” The umpire called a final ball, and the batter tossed his bat, trotting to first. Polanski, true to his word, flung the glass at the TV. The shattered glass broke violently with whiskey running down the screen. It made Chris flinch, but Don didn’t seem to care. The man again gestured to Chris to come sit next to him. Chris climbed over Polanski’s tattooed legs, and Polanski put a hand on his smooth young ass and gave him a sharp slap. “Woo-ee, who’s not stinky boy anymore? Swear to God boy, you were as smelly as a sewer pipe, and we’re pretty familiar with sewer pipes, ain’t we Donny?” “There he is,” said Don, as Chris settled next to him. The man draped his arm over his bony shoulders. “Fresh as new born baby. Boy, you do clean up nicely, doesn’t he Nicky?” He ran his hand through Chris’ wet hair. “Sure does. Fresh as a daisy.” Nick leaned to get close to his skin and inhaled deeply. “Fresh as a sweet Sunday morning.” "Give your old man a hug like you do when your ma's not home." Chris looked briefly from man to man, deciding whether to play along. He decided. "That's it, kiddo," Don said wrapping his thick arms around the boy. "You're too skinny, except in some new places." He reached down and grabbed Chris' cock. Chris jumped a little, was weirded out but still kind of getting excited. The man was a big furry bear, and his fleshy chest had surprisingly hard muscle underneath. He felt Polanski creep up behind him. His hand went between Chris' butt cheeks and started pressing against his hole. Polanski said, "Eddie sure feels like he's growing up, don't he Daddy Don? Feels like he might even turn out to be a man someday." Polanski stopped as his finger slipped easily into Chris’ anus. "Ah, man, you gotta feel this pussy, Don. That don't feel like virgin pussy, does it to you Officer Bailey?" They both put a finger in Chris' hole. "That most definitely does not feel like virgin pussy." Both men laughed. Chris was actually getting hard, but then there was the sharp crack of a ball being hit. Both men looked over at the game, completely abandoned Chris' sphincter, and leaned forward in bed, crying, No-no-no-no. The batter sent the ball to center-right and it went over the wall. Three men came charging around the bases and the game was over. Don exasperated, got up and went to a fancy bar cart next to the TV and refilled his drink. "You're cleaning that up in the morning," he said to Polanski pointing at the broken glass on the carpet. "Nother one?" Polanski asked if there was another glass. Don went in the master bath and came back with one. He poured Polanski his drink, and said to Chris, "I'd give you one, Edward, but I have a bone to pick with you, young man.” He looked at Chris with mock seriousness. Chris couldn't tell if Don was just drunk or if he was into some serious role play. He guessed role play but wasn't one hundred percent sure. "Eddie, Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti," he said in mock consternation. "I want you to tell me and Uncle Nick about this". He picked up Chris' gym bag that had been sitting on the carpet next to the bar cart. He reached inside and brought out Manetti box of drugs and set it delicately on the cart next to the whiskey and vodka bottles. "Edward Hunter Bailey, I want the truth now. Where did you get these?" he asked, flipping the lid and pulling out three loaded needles. Chris was taken aback. He'd taken that from Manetti's? Was he serious? What kind of cop was he? And was he supposed to be Eddie responding to this, or himself, Chris? He ad-libbed innocence, "Wh-what is that, dad?" "You tell me, son. It's in your bag." "I've never seen them before. What is it?" "Good question, Eddie. Let's see. Officer, please restrain my son." With that, Polanski grabbed Chris' arms and pinned him face down, ass up, in the bed. "Now, boy, don't struggle or Uncle Nick is going to seriously send you into a world of pain." Chris felt his right arm being forced agonizingly up his back. He stopped moving and let Bailey pull out his free arm. The man flipped over his forearm, and he felt the needle go. In less than a minute he felt his body become flush again with heat. Polanski let him go and he rolled to his side, letting the drug roll over him. Fuck, it wasn't fair, was his last fully conscious thought, but then he was horny all over again, and he knew he was totally going to give into these men. As the drug took him over, he wanted them to. More and more he wanted daddy bear and the nazi to corrupt him. While the crystal coursed through his body, igniting his groin, he ran his hands over his cock and inserted fingers in ass. There was a wash of background noise, but he was solely focused on his hole and how empty if felt. He heard Don ask Polanski if he want it in the arm or neck? "Neck," said Polanski, "it's been a long time." Chris was feeling really energized. He popped got up and paced a little holding his arm in the air, then sat against the headboard to watch Don shoot Polanski up. A new, bent fascination had been born in him. Rather than shying away from needles, he became riveted by them. He’d never seen or even imagined someone shooting up in their neck. He couldn't even conceive of how that must feel, but he wanted to see Polanski do it. Polanski laid on his side at the edge of bed and Bailey knelt beside him. Between two zigzag SS's on Polanski’s neck, Bailey found a thick vein, stuck him, registered some blood, then slowly sent the liquid directly into Polanski's brain. When Don pulled out, Polanski pressed his neck with his finger and rolled onto his back. The man said nothing but his eyes popped open and rolled back in his head, his bent cock drool a shitload of pre-cum. Only the whites showed in his eyes and his lids fluttered. He was spasming slightly. Chris ran his hand through the man’s field of black pubes. It was like silk, yards and yards of fine silk. Polanski breathing was rapid and he responding to Chris’ touch with deep moans. He guided Chris’ head to his cock and Chris started working on it, adjusting his angle so he could deep throat the man’s massively curved cock. While Chris sucked the incapacitated man, Don prepped himself with a tourniquet around his thick bicep, found a suitable vein on the front of his forearm, rocked the needle till blood flooded the chamber, then slammed. He fell back on Chris’ hip and, through heaving breath, pulled Chris off of Polanski and crushed him beneath his weight. Chris was pinned but the heavy body actually felt erotic. Pinned, he squirmed obscenely, all skin, no hair, against all hair and rolling flesh. With enormous effort, Bailey rolled to his side bringing Chris along with him. They faced each other running their hands along chests and cocks, a study in opposites, Bailey pressing his fur against the boy, Chris rubbing his smooth skin across the man. Polanski rolled himself to the side was again sticking a finger, then two into Chris' hole. Chris pushed back against his hand and wiggled his ass till he had three fingers in him. "Baby boy, go down on daddy," Bailey said pushing Chris' head down to his crotch. Bailey was a big bear in every way. His fleshy dick was half hard and as Chris went down to suck it, Polanski had his mouth all over Chris' hole, getting it wet and ready to be fucked. The scent of wet cock sent Chris into a frenzy. It was difficult to differentiate what he wanted more, to give head to Bailey or get fucked by Polanski. Bailey decided for him. He rolled on his back and said he wanted baby bear to ride daddy bear's Big Bad Cock. Chris straddled the large man and fed his cock into his wet hole. Polanski was quick to follow the hole he desperately wanted. After Bailey had penetrated Chris, with Chris making obscene noises of pleasure, Polanski set his cock against Bailey's and with every stroke Bailey took, he got his cock in to double dick Chris. Chris' noises of pleasure turned to distressing pain, but again, somehow he enjoyed the distress. He quickly learned to stay stationary as the two men simultaneous pushed in and pulled out. By staying still they could go deeper, and did. At one point with too much motion, Polanski fell out. He immediately pushed himself back in and punished Chris by smacking ass. Chris cried out but pushed his ass deeper onto the men’s cocks. It felt precarious, that they had to work so hard to sustain the position, but it was a position that pleased everyone. Bailey and Polanski were sexually aroused rubbing their cocks against one another, and Chris relished the feeling of being torn apart by the girth of two men at the same time inside him. Their passion built on one another, as the drugs wiped their minds, they became feral animals clawing at each other, rutting in pleasure, nails going into backs, pelts of brown and black fur pressed into a smooth, hairless hole. Bailey and Chris made out while they fucked, and Polanski slapped Chris’ ass with increasing violence. Polanski rambled in Chris’ ear how he was going to take is night stick and rape his with it, ram it up the kid’s ass, how he’d take his gun and make Chris give it head. He started fingering Chris’ the tip of Chris hard dick, trying to get a finger down his piss slit. He said he was going to arrange to have Chris sent to prison to be gang raped. “Would you like that, would you like that, boy?” he breathed into Chris’ ear. Chris readily agreed. Whatever Polanski wanted he’d submit to him. The flow from Polanski’s imagination was unceasing. Somewhere during his description of being his prison bitch, it triggered something in Bailey and he nutted. Polanski was on another level entirely, rutting and heaving, not anywhere on this planet, just a mass of sensations and vile thought, desperately wanting to tear Chris apart. After Bailey emptied the last of his spooge, he started going flaccid and with Polanski pile driving into Chris, his dick soon fell out. Chris also settled down and let Polanski fuck him with ever increasing intensity. He laid on Bailey's chest while the big man stroked his hair. It was an intense combination. Bailey running soothing fingers over his head while Polanski tore angrily into his ass. Polanski had kept up smacking the shit out of the kid's ass, and as the beating became harder, the cracks louder, the more Bailey cooed and shushed Chris' stifled grunts and cries. Still, through it all Chris remained hard. Welts were forming on his ass as Bailey pulled his face down into his neck. Chris felt the bristles on Bailey's neck, and heard Bailey telling him he was alright, that it would soon be over. Chris let himself go limp falling onto Bailey, and in the background the white noise of the post-game wrap up morphed into the local Eyewitness News. The manhunt continued, said the anchor, for two convicts who had escaped from upstate New York four days ago. Bailey kept stroking the boy's hair. The men had escaped through the facility's sewage treatment center dressed as workers. Polanski slipped his arm around Chris' neck. Bailey’s mind drifted off, he repeated his cooing words to Chris. The two men were believed to have crossed into Canada. Canadian officials had cordoned off an area near the border where the two men were believed to be. Polanski wrapped his arm tighter against Chris’ throat, cutting off his airway. Chris started struggling on top Bailey and bucking against Polanski's body. Polanski mindlessly fucked the kid's hole edging closer to cumming the harder Chris struggled. It was a nasty cycle: the more Chris struggled, the harder Polanski increased his hold around his neck. Chris' hole was clenching like crazy trying to spit out Polanski, but instead is was making Polanski cock engorge larger every time it was squeezed. Chris flew into a frenzy to try to get him off and to break his hold. He rasped audibly, and in one long final lunge, Polanski was set free. He spewed ropes of cum deep into the quaking boy. He pulled Chris' head as far back as it would go. The boy's tongue lolled out, his eyes bulged, and he involuntarily released an enormous orgasm spilling buckets of cum onto Bailey pubes. His eyes rolled back in his head, his eyelids fluttered, then all movement ceased. Everything went black, his body went limp, and Chris no longer struggled. Weather with Frank Fields, announced the TV anchor, was up next.