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To everyone who has read and commented—thank you! Your feedback has been incredible, and it’s a huge rush to know you’re feeling this journey right alongside the character. I want to be direct: this story is about me. While I've written it as fiction, every single encounter and feeling in these chapters is something I have experienced myself in one way or another over the years. I've simply woven them together into a new narrative to tell the story. At its heart, this is about my life as a gay man torn between two worlds. On one hand, the life I‘ve built—the stable, loving marriage, the successful career, the respectable facade. On the other, a deep, gnawing craving for something that threatens to burn it all down: the raw, dangerous, and transformative act of being pozzed. I move between periods of seeking safety and plunging into sleazy, bareback sex. It's a simple, brutal math: the greater the risk, the harder I cum. But it's never a straight line. It's a messy, back-and-forth battle, and I hope that's what comes across in the ups and downs of my experience. It is mindblowing to read that some of you can relate to this, feeling like I was in your mind writing about your own longings and desires. The realization that I am not alone in this is the greatest source of my courage and the reason I must continue, and for that, I thank you for coming on this very personal ride with me. I've already started writing the next chapters, and I hope you're ready for what cums next.

Got new ideas for my hole lately

@Knightfalconer: Like @leatherpunk16 said, you are both correct and completely incorrect. I would suggest reading the source material if you'd like (linked at the beginning), as it might give you an idea of what's going on. But, this is also meant to be a one off, so nothing in this should be considered canon, and instead just a fun side project... so it should enjoyable on its own if you don't feel like reading the novel (quite literally) we have posted there. Both the one-off and the main story have been a fun project to write. This is only meant to tide people over until we can post again, as well as help drive people to checking out our full story. Also, it will only be about 7-8 Chapters long. Anyways, without much further wait, here is chapter 2... -------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: Up the Chimney He Rose The storm outside had grown vicious enough to make the old fraternity house groan at every gust. Snow slapped hard against the windows, blurring the world beyond into a white, swirling void. Inside, Phi Alpha Gamma had settled into a warm, chaotic mess: blankets draped over sagging couches, empty cans scattered across the coffee table, the air thick with the mingled smells of popcorn, sweat, and cheap beer. Die Hard lit the room in flashes of gunfire and Christmas lights—Derek’s official “holiday classic” and the one time of year no one bothered arguing with him about movie choices. The boys were loud, half-buzzed, and fully invested in watching Bruce Willis crawl through air ducts. Until Bran paused the movie. The sudden stillness felt unnatural, leaving only the sound of the storm beating against the house. Bran didn’t explain; he didn’t have to. His gaze had drifted toward the basement door, expression tightening in that way that said he’d been thinking about something for longer than he let on. “Noah’s been down there too long,” he finally said. A few groans circled the room, but nobody contradicted him. Even in their half-drunken state, they all knew the unspoken rule: if a pledge disappears for more than fifteen minutes, someone checks. And if you’re the one who brought him in, that someone is always you. Derek exhaled heavily into the couch cushion, reluctant to move. He’d just gotten comfortable—blanket over his legs, beer warming his hand, the best part of the movie queued up. He tried half-hearted excuses, joking attempts to pawn the duty off on someone else, but Bran wasn’t budging, and everyone knew it. Responsibility. The one downside of being VP. And the dipshit’s cousin. With a dramatic sigh, Derek peeled himself out of the blanket and pushed to his feet, cracking joints and stiff muscles protesting the movement. The room laughed at him for being over-the-top, and he tossed back a lazy middle finger as he headed toward the hallway. The warmth of the living room faded with each step. The house felt different here—quieter, cooler, the kind of silence that seemed to listen back. Derek paused at the basement door, hand on the knob, feeling the faint cold radiating through the wood. The storm rattled the glass panes in the living room behind him; the floor creaked under his weight. “All this for family,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He opened the door. A draft of cold air spilled up the stairs like a warning. Derek descended anyway. Derek reached the bottom of the stairs and let the basement swallow him. The door creaked shut behind him with a hollow sound that seemed too loud for the space, muting the movie and laughter upstairs until it felt like a different world entirely. Down here, the air was heavy with the scent of dust, old cardboard, and the faint mineral tang of cold concrete. He swept his phone flashlight across the basement. The clutter was familiar—bins stacked haphazardly, half-deflated holiday inflatables, strings of lights tangled like abandoned vines. Nothing out of place. Nothing disturbed. And still no sign of Noah. A part of Derek relaxed at that. No crisis. No broken limbs. No fainted pledge for him to drag upstairs like a responsible older cousin. He’d been gearing himself up for a lecture, a report, maybe even a call to campus security. But the basement was just a basement. “Of course,” Derek muttered, rubbing a hand over the tense muscles of his neck. “Kid probably flipped the breaker and sprinted upstairs to crash like a little gremlin.” He turned back toward the stairs and called up with an unnecessarily loud voice, “NOAH WENT TO BED! HE’S NOT DOWN HERE!” The boys erupted into laughter—muffled by distance but still carrying their usual rough affection. Someone threw in a sarcastic cheer. Someone else shouted a joke about Noah already hibernating. It was exactly the kind of idiotic chorus Derek expected from them, and despite his irritation, it loosened something in his shoulders. He let out a breath and scanned the room again. The storm slammed against the house with renewed force, rattling the small basement window. A sharp gust knifed through the old frame, sending a sweep of cold air across Derek’s bare arms. He shivered and shook out his shoulders, then crossed the room to push the window open just a few inches. The icy wind sliced through the basement’s stale warmth, refreshing in a way that made Derek inhale deeper. Perfect for smoke. Perfect for clearing his head. Perfect, honestly, for ignoring Noah for another ten minutes. He moved toward the tarp-covered crate tucked behind a pile of unused folding chairs. The tarp lifted with a soft rasp, revealing exactly what he’d hoped to find. The cedar cigar box gleamed softly under the flashlight beam—rich wood, smooth finish, the one nice object he owned that hadn’t been ruined by frat life. The cigars inside were arranged neatly, nestled like small luxuries among the clutter. Next to them sat a trio of half-functioning lighters, a cutter, and beneath those— The stack of glossy magazines he definitely didn’t want anyone else finding. He thumbed through the pile. Old issues with worn corners, kink mags he’d bought in out-of-town gas stations, a few things salvaged from older brothers who’d graduated. He stopped when he reached the leather daddy spread—the one with the broad-shouldered biker gripping a femboy’s jaw with an expression that promised absolutely filthy things. A slow, amused smile tugged at Derek’s mouth. “Yeah… you’ll do,” he said quietly. He selected a cigar, clipped it, and lit it with practiced ease. The end glowed orange, and the first inhale filled his lungs with warm, earthy smoke. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the nicotine smooth out the tension of finals week and the annoyance he’d felt climbing off the couch. Down here, away from the noise, the cold, and responsibility, the cigar felt like a small oasis. Dragging over the battered folding chair, Derek unfolded it beside the cracked window, settling into it like a man claiming a throne. He unzipped his jeans, pushed them down enough to get comfortable, and angled his phone’s flashlight downward toward the magazine on the cement floor. The glossy page lit up beautifully in the beam. “Variety’s the spice of life,” he murmured to himself with a smirk. “And these guys upstairs would die if they knew how spicy I’ll go.” He took another deep pull from the cigar, savoring the burn in his throat. Smoke curled from his lips in slow, luxurious streams as he leaned back into the metal chair, letting the cold air kiss his bare skin while the heat of the cigar warmed him from within. He lowered his gaze to the magazine. The leather daddy stared back, smug and powerful, the twink kneeling between his boots. Derek couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him. “Goddamn,” he whispered, and began. Expertly, he spit into his hand and slowly began to to stroke his uncut cock as he drew hard on the cigar, enjoying the rush as he began muttering at the twink on the page. “Yeah, you wanna getting fucked by daddy, don’t you boy? Gonna be daddy’s good little boy and suck every drop down? Bend over and hold that prettly little ass apart and let me fuck you raw?” He stoked hard and fast, occasionally drawing hard and blowing out a cloud of smoke at the page, letting his mind pretend it was that little cocktease of a TA in his English lit class at his knees. He took a deep inhale, enjoying the feeling of the smoke billowing out of his nose. Suddenly, a strange idea floated into his head, not of fucking someone, but being fucked. Wondering what it might be like to be the one under the biker, feeling as someone suddenly started to fuck his ass, fill it with their cum. Derek laughed and shook his head, immediately telling himself that he was a top. And that there was no fucking way he’d bottom for anyone, forcing his mind firmly back to his mental assault on the TA. Minutes drifted by unnoticed. The storm’s howls softened into background noise. The boys upstairs were distant, irrelevant. Down here, Derek was alone with smoke, cold air, and the steady rhythm of his pleasure—soothing, familiar, private. He only stopped when a sound broke through the quiet. A low, dull thud from behind the locked maintenance door. Not the furnace. Not the house settling. Something else. Something that didn’t belong in the basement at all. Derek was just settling into the rhythm of it—warm cigar smoke in his lungs, the cold wind from the cracked window brushing against his overheated skin—when a dull, heavy thud rolled out from the far side of the basement. The sound came from behind the old maintenance door, the one nobody ever opened because it led to pipes, storage, and decades of dust. Derek froze, his hand still wrapped around himself, head tipped slightly as he waited for it to repeat. For a moment the basement sat completely still, empty except for the rattle of the winter storm battering the window. Then the second noise came—a dragging scrape across old stone, slow and uneven, like something heavy shifting its weight in a room that shouldn’t have contained anything heavy at all. A cold prickle crept up the back of Derek’s neck. He lowered the magazine and tried to listen past the thump of his own pulse. He wasn’t scared exactly, just thrown off in the same way he’d been the night Ty insisted the house was haunted after getting drunk on peppermint schnapps. Still, the sound was wrong enough to get under his skin. He let out a frustrated exhale and quickly zipped himself up, the motion abrupt and irritated. The warmth in his body hadn’t faded, but now it competed with a creeping annoyance—of course Noah had found a way to make this simple errand complicated. Derek jammed the cigar back between his teeth, grabbed his phone, and stalked across the room toward the maintenance door, muttering under his breath about clueless pledges and avoidable concussions. As he approached, the cold coming from beneath the door brushed over his ankles like a draft from an open freezer. The handle felt even colder when he wrapped his fingers around it—a sharp, metallic chill that didn’t match the rest of the basement at all. He hesitated only long enough to grumble a final complaint about getting stuck with responsibility duty, then gave the door a firm shove. It swung open with a long, low groan. A wave of stale, icy air drifted out, carrying the smell of damp stone and something faintly chemical that stung the inside of his nose. Derek stepped inside cautiously, lifting his phone so the flashlight beam cut through the darkness. The light washed over rusted pipes, coils of forgotten wiring, and an uneven stone floor slick with moisture. The entire room felt older—deeper—than the rest of the house, as though it belonged to a different building entirely. He tried to steady his breath, forcing a cocky tone back into his voice more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. “Noah, if you wandered in here and knocked yourself out on a pipe, I swear—” Something slapped across his face with sudden, shocking force. A thick burst of warm slime splattered over his mouth, nose, and eyes. The shock of it made him stumble backward, grabbing blindly at the air. The slime burned cold for a split second before turning hot—unnervingly hot—like someone had poured liquid fire along his skin. When he wiped at it, the chemical taste hit immediately, bitter and electric against his tongue. The heat rushed downward into his chest and limbs so fast his knees buckled. His phone slipped from his fingers, bouncing across the stone with a clatter that sounded strangely far away. Derek tried to suck in a breath, but the air felt thick and syrupy, his thoughts dissolving into static as the warmth spread down into his spine and stomach. He dropped to one knee, then the other, hands braced on the cold stone that now felt distant beneath him. Another wave of heat rolled through, stronger, heavier, pulling his muscles into a loose, unreliable tremble. He forced his head up, blinking through the blur distorting his vision. That was when he saw them—massive, inhuman feet standing just inches in front of him. Not boots. Not shadows. Skin. Obsidian-black, glossy like wet leather stretched over raw muscle. The ground seemed to tilt under him as he stared, barely able to process what he was seeing before another hot surge pulled him sideways into the dark. The maintenance room swayed around Derek like it was being viewed underwater. The cold stone under his palms should’ve grounded him, but the heat spreading through his veins made everything feel distant and unreal. He tried to lift his head again, struggling against the syrup-thick fog gathering behind his eyes. His breath hitched. The figure in front of him wasn’t a trick of the light. It was enormous—taller than any human he’d ever seen, muscles carved in deep, shifting ridges beneath pitch-black skin that gleamed like oiled leather. Curved horns rose from its skull, thick and heavy, sweeping backward in a shape that made Derek’s chest seize with a primal, instinctive dread. Drool slid from the creature’s sharp teeth in thin ropes that glimmered faintly in the dim red glow pulsing somewhere further inside the chamber. A low growl rumbled through the stone floor and into Derek’s bones. He tried to scramble backward, but his limbs barely answered him. The chemical heat coursing through his body made his muscles feel detached, like something else was controlling the signals before they reached him. His hands slipped on the damp stone as he attempted to push himself away, his vision swimming harder with every movement. Another shape shifted in the dark beyond the creature—then another. More footsteps echoed from deeper in the chamber, slow and deliberate, like predators circling a stunned animal. Derek’s gaze flickered sideways, catching only brief impressions: the glint of more horns, the ripple of massive chests, the dull glow of reflected red light sliding across slick skin. His phone, lying several feet away, flickered once before the screen dimmed. The tiny glow made the rest of the chamber feel impossibly vast, the shadows unnervingly alive. Derek tried to speak—maybe Noah’s name, maybe a curse—but the word dissolved into a thick, breathless sound as another pulse of heat rolled through him. His chest tightened; his stomach clenched; his thighs shook beneath him. The cigar he’d been clinging to slipped from his mouth and hit the floor with a soft hiss, the ember smearing against the wet stone. A clawed hand—massive, warm, impossibly precise—reached down and closed around his jaw, lifting his head. Derek choked on a startled gasp as the creature tilted his face up, forcing him to meet the dark, hollow places where its eyes should have been. Another growl vibrated from the creature’s chest. This one felt almost… amused. Derek’s vision flickered in and out, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could feel his body giving out, the chemical warmth dragging him deeper into helplessness. He fought to stay upright, to stay conscious, to make sense of anything— Then another splash of wetness hit him across the cheek and temple, more slime catching the heat of his skin instantly. The chemical burn intensified, spreading down his neck and shoulders in a sizzling wave. Derek’s arms buckled; his breath stuttered; the world tilted sideways. He collapsed fully onto the stone floor. The cold should have shocked him awake. Instead, it barely registered against the feverish overheating of his skin. His vision dimmed at the edges, shapes blurring into dark smears. He heard the heavy footsteps closing in, the low chorus of growls echoing through the chamber, the slow exhale of something enormous drawing nearer. Through the haze, he caught a single, horrifying detail: Noah was lying on the ground a few feet away. Naked. Motionless. Glowing faintly under the red light. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, a dazed half-smile on his lips that made Derek’s stomach twist. Derek reached toward him instinctively, fingers dragging across the stone. “Noah—” The whisper barely left his throat before the darkness tightened around the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw was the towering creature leaning over him again, its silhouette blotting out the flickering glow like a closing door. Then the floor rose up to meet him, and everything went black. — A thick, rumbling vibration pulled Derek back up from the dark—like the sound of a distant engine or an animal too large to imagine. The noise crawled up through the floor and pressed against his chest, coaxing his eyes half open. The world swam, then steadied just enough for him to comprehend the shape looming above him. The creature was kneeling now, massive shoulders hunched, horned head tilted with an unsettling calm. In the red glow pulsing from the sagging Christmas lights strung deep in the chamber, its obsidian skin gleamed like lacquered leather pulled taut over dense muscle. Drool slid in long, viscous ropes from its sharp teeth, pattering onto the stone near Derek’s cheek. His stomach lurched. He tried to push himself back, but his limbs barely twitched, the lingering chemical warmth numbing half his strength and scrambling his senses. The creature’s claws moved with unexpected gentleness as it plucked Derek’s fallen cigar from the floor. It inspected the half-burned end, then leaned forward and slipped it between Derek’s lips as though returning something he’d dropped at a dinner table. Derek inhaled reflexively. Heat filled his lungs again, thick and smoky, pulling a shiver from somewhere deep in his spine. Another vibration echoed through the room—footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Derek forced his blurry gaze upward just in time to see more shapes emerging from the shadows. One by one, they stepped into the faint red glow: A second monster, then a third. A fourth, fifth, sixth. Seven in total, each massive, horned, and dripping with saliva, their bodies built like sculpted nightmares carved from obsidian. All of them carried themselves like soldiers. And they weren’t alone. From the far end of the chamber, barely visible, another presence lingered—larger, stiller, watching with a slow-burning patience. Derek couldn’t fully make out its form, only the faint ember of a cigar glowing like a solitary red eye in the dark. The Alpha. Even through his haze, Derek felt it—an instinctive tightening in his chest, a pressure at the base of his skull. The air grew heavier, charged, as if gravity itself thickened in the Alpha’s presence. Derek’s gaze drifted, searching through the blur, hunting for an anchor in the panic— And then he saw Noah again. His cousin lay curled on the opposite side of the chamber, skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in shallow, rhythmic breaths. His eyes were open, but unfocused—dreamy, dazed, still caught in a fog that made Derek’s throat tighten. “Noah…” Derek tried again, but the word melted into a rasp. The monsters responded to the sound with a chorus of low growls, the tones layered and resonant, vibrating through the chamber like a ritual drumbeat. Their horns caught the dim light in quick flashes—curved, jagged, imposing—each pair slightly different, each head bowing subtly toward the Alpha’s distant glow. Derek blinked hard, fighting the pull of sleep or blackout. The heat in his chest bloomed again, spreading through his limbs in slow, molten waves. Every breath seemed to thicken the haze around him. The creature holding his jaw rumbled softly, as if pleased by his attempt to stay conscious. The others closed in, forming a loose semicircle—silent except for their deep breathing and the soft drip of saliva onto stone. Their presence crowded the air, heavy and unyielding, a wall of muscle, horns, and furnace-hot breath. Something important was about to happen. Derek felt it—not in his mind, but in his body, in the way his skin prickled and the heat inside him swelled as though anticipating command. He wanted to move. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up. But all he could do was breathe smoke and stare helplessly as the eight monstrous silhouettes surrounded him like a ritual coming to life. The creature crouched nearest to Derek shifted, angling its massive frame so the dim red bulbs overhead struck its features more clearly. The others seemed to still in response, adjusting their posture, their growls lowering as though they were making room for something—someone—important. Derek blinked through the haze, forcing his vision to stabilize long enough to really see the one holding him. This monster was different. Its horns were thicker than the others’, curling backward in heavy, sweeping arcs like ram’s horns coated in black tar. The ridges of its shoulders were broader, its chest heavier, its posture confident in a way that felt almost… deliberate. Not just monstrous. Commanding. The kind of presence that walked into a room expecting obedience before it ever spoke. In the flicker of the failing Christmas lights, its skin gleamed with a deep, leathery sheen. Not slick like the others—more matte, almost textured, like worn black leather stretched tight across muscle. Derek’s drifting, chemically-fogged mind made a jolting connection: It looked exactly like the biker from his magazine. The leather daddy fantasy he’d been jerking off to fifteen minutes ago was now crouched in front of him as an impossibly tall, horned, drooling demon. The realization hit him so hard he almost sobbed. The monster leaned closer, head tilting with eerie curiosity. Its horns cast long curved shadows across Derek’s trembling chest. The humid breath rolling off it smelled faintly of cedar smoke, stone, and something darker underneath—something old. Behind Derek, the other monsters shifted subtly, their stances widening as though giving this one more space. Every movement, every growl, every ripple of their massive bodies deferred outward from this central figure. Even in his fogged state, Derek sensed the hierarchy: Not the Alpha. But close. Second-in-command. The creature’s claws tightened around Derek’s jaw—not painfully, but with a sense of ownership, of evaluation. It studied him in a way that made Derek’s ribs feel too small for his lungs. From the back of the chamber, the Alpha’s ember glowed brighter for a moment. A voice Derek couldn’t place—deep, resonant, vibrating more in his skull than in the air—rolled through him like a slow thunderclap: “Gravestone. Give me your opinion of this one.” The name wasn’t spoken aloud so much as delivered. A designation. A command. A recognition. And in that instant, Derek knew without question that this was the creature’s name. Heavy. Unyielding. Final. Gravestone. The creature rumbled in acknowledgment of the Alpha’s call, a deep sound that shook Derek’s bones. It dipped its head once, almost ritualistically, and the circle of monsters responded with a collective shift—lowering their posture a fraction, deferring to its authority. Derek felt the pressure of Gravestone’s grip increase just slightly, an unspoken signal that he was now the focus of the second-in-command’s attention. The thought should have terrified him. It did. But tangled in the fear, beneath the chemical heat crawling through his limbs, was something Derek didn’t want to name—an involuntary pull toward the creature staring him down like he was something meant to be claimed. Gravestone’s cigar ember glowed as the monster drew in a long, resonant breath. Smoke curled from its nostrils in thick ribbons that drifted lazily downward, brushing Derek’s face with a warm, smoky veil. The creature leaned in closer, its voice rumbling through both the air and Derek’s mind—low, gravelly, and almost amused: “Derek Vance… Hmm… This one will not break easily like the other. If we push, he will fight and not break. Like… The one who hunts us, Alpha.” Derek’s pulse jumped violently. He wasn’t sure if it was fear. Or something far more dangerous. Gravestone’s grip shifted, his claws spreading along Derek’s jaw to tilt his head upward with a deliberate slowness that felt more like examination than restraint. The monster’s enormous frame blocked out nearly every trace of red light behind him, leaving only a faint glow outlining the heavy curl of his horns and the dripping points of his teeth. Derek tried to jerk his chin free, but the attempt was sluggish, weakened by the chemical heat humming through his bloodstream. His breath shuddered out in short bursts, smoke leaking from his lips with each trembling exhale. Gravestone watched him with unnerving stillness. Then the monster leaned closer. The leathery sheen of his chest flexed beneath the dim bulbs, muscles shifting like coiled stone. The scents of cedar and smoke and something darker—something primal—rolled off him in thick waves. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a layered growl, vibrating through the chamber and through Derek’s ribs: “Easy now, boy. If you behave, I will make it enjoyable. This can be pleasurable if you agree to it.” The words weren’t shouted. They weren’t gentle either. They landed with the finality of a hand on the back of the neck. Derek’s heart seized. “I—I’m not—” But the protest fell apart halfway, tangled in smoke and fear. Gravestone’s thumb traced the line of Derek’s jaw, a slow, possessive drag that made Derek’s breath catch despite himself. The monster’s eyes—if he even had eyes—felt like they were inside Derek’s skull, sifting through his scattered thoughts. Another low rumble. Amusement. “You came down here,” Gravestone growled, the cigar ember glowing as he spoke, “with a cigar in your mouth. Played with yourself looking at smut.” Derek swallowed hard. His pulse hammered against the monster’s grip. “I—just needed some air—just needed to—” He choked on the next inhale, the smoke thickening in his lungs as though responding to Gravestone’s voice. The monster leaned even closer, so close Derek could feel the humid heat of his breath against his ear. “You walked into my master’s chamber tasting of smoke,” Gravestone murmured, the sound crawling down Derek’s spine, “almost like you were asking for this.” Derek’s body tensed. “No—no, I didn’t—this isn’t—” Gravestone cut him off with a deep, dark chuckle—half-growl, half-laugh, wholly unsettling. The vibration rolled through Derek’s chest like an invisible hand pressing him deeper into the stone floor. The monster’s clawed thumb slid to Derek’s chin again, tapping lightly once—an oddly deliberate gesture, as though assessing how much fight was left in him. Then Gravestone spoke again, this time both aloud and pulsing in Derek’s skull: “You like smoke, don’t you boy? You claim to want to be in charge, but you wish to serve someone as well.” Derek’s breath hitched, his lungs flaring with another involuntary inhale of the lingering cigar haze. His thoughts scattered like dry leaves in the wind. He didn’t answer. Gravestone didn’t need him to. A slow, satisfied rumble rolled through the chamber, echoed faintly by the other monsters. Their heavy footsteps shifted, stances adjusting as if they could feel Derek weakening—feel the tremor in his chest and the subtle drop of his shoulders. Gravestone’s next words curled around Derek like heat: “You love to smoke. To shoot your load as you flood your lungs. To fuck in public places, and provide pleasure to other men already. These are good traits I look for in a boy. You would make a suitable new cigar pig for me.” The phrase slammed into him with a force that made his stomach drop. Derek flinched, confusion and panic knotting in his throat. His instinct was to snap back, to deny it, to push the creature away—but the chemical warmth pulsing through his blood dulled the edges of resistance, spinning his thoughts into loose, heavy loops. He managed only a broken exhale. Gravestone’s grin widened, drool slicking down onto Derek’s chest in slow, steaming trails. The other monsters stepped in closer, forming a tighter semicircle—horns gleaming, breaths heavy, bodies shifting with a predator’s anticipation. They were waiting. Watching. Listening. Gravestone dragged one claw down the center of Derek’s sternum, gently caressing the soft skin under the mat of fur on Derek’s chest, slow enough to make every nerve spark under the heat. Then, with a voice low enough to feel more like a command than a question: “You will breathe smoke for me, boy. I will take you on personally and help you learn. I will help you see how you wish to bend over and be filled. I will not force you. I will make you want to come to me willingly.” Derek’s resolve wavered. For the first time that night, he felt something inside him tilt. Not break. Not yet. But tilt—dangerously, undeniably. As if Gravestone had found the first crack. And was widening it with every breath Derek took. The moment Gravestone spoke his command, something shifted in the chamber. The other seven monsters responded like a single organism—horned heads rising, bodies straightening, their massive frames aligning around Derek in a slow, deliberate formation. The air thickened with heat and breath and a faint chemical tang that clung to Derek’s skin like a second layer. Gravestone didn’t release his jaw. He didn’t need to. With one steady motion, he guided Derek’s head upward, forcing his gaze toward the circle closing around him. The creatures’ cigars glowed like scattered embers in a dark forest, each inhale a slow flare of orange-red light that reflected off drool-slicked fangs and lacquer-black skin. Derek tried to pull in a breath—any breath that wasn’t smoke—but Gravestone tightened his grip until Derek’s lips parted, taking Derek’s cigar and putting it in his mouth. A nearby creature locked lips with him, and exhaled. A thick, heavy cloud of cigar smoke poured over Derek’s face, sinking into his lungs before he could stop it. The heat hit him instantly, flooding his chest with a molten rush that made his ribs shudder and his limbs tremble. He coughed once— Then inhaled again, deeper, without meaning to. The warmth in his bloodstream responded immediately, blooming outward in a dizzy, spiraling wave that loosened his thoughts and softened the edges of fear. His muscles slackened. His breath slowed. The floor beneath him felt distant, his limbs disconnected, like he were floating just above his own body. Another creature stepped forward. Another set of lips locked with his, sharp teeth teasing his lips and tongue. Another plume of smoke washed into him—sweet, heavy, numbing. Derek’s eyes fluttered. His jaw sagged slightly even before Gravestone pulled his head back into position. “There you go,” the monster rumbled, pleased. “Breathe our smoke in for us. Be good for us and we will make you happy.” Derek wanted to argue, to push back, to keep some piece of himself intact. But every breath was a fresh rush of heat and fog, dissolving his resolve in increments. His thoughts felt syrup-thick, drifting from one to another too slowly to hold onto. A third creature leaned in, its horns casting jagged shadows across Derek’s chest. It exhaled directly into his mouth—hot, dense, overwhelming. Derek inhaled instinctively, his chest expanding against the pressure, the taste of smoke coating his tongue so completely he couldn’t imagine breathing anything else. By the fourth monster, Derek wasn’t resisting. His head tilted slightly forward, lips parting in anticipation of the next exhale, finding himself willing its tongue into his mouth, licking and sucking, groaning as he felt the chemicals in the saliva give him a head rush and the smoke flooded his lungs. The realization horrified him for a split second—just long enough for the chemical warmth to swallow the thought whole. The circle tightened. Red light pulsed overhead, flickering in time with the slow rhythm of the monsters’ breathing. Their shadows shifted across Derek’s trembling body like markings in a ritual, each movement purposeful, each inhale followed by a deep rumble of satisfaction. Then the spitting began. Warm droplets—thick, chemical, tingling—splattered onto Derek’s chest and shoulders, dripping down his ribs in slow trails that made his skin prickle. Each drop sent a pulse through him, echoing outward from the point of contact until his entire torso felt like it buzzed. He shuddered involuntarily. Gravestone noticed instantly. “Good boy,” he growled, voice curling into Derek’s mind like smoke through a cracked door. “That’s it. Take what we give you. Ride the rush of our spit and smoke filling you, letting your mind break gently.” Another monster spit. Heat spread. Derek’s breath quickened. He felt detached from himself—like the version of him who smoked cigars by the storm window, who joked upstairs with the guys, who insisted he wasn’t into submission—was slipping backward into some fog he couldn’t pull himself out of. The monsters continued their slow, ritualistic circle, filling his lungs with smoke and his mind with warmth. Each exhale pushed him closer to that tipping point, the place where resistance became too heavy to carry. Gravestone’s claws tightened around the back of his head, steadying him. “You’re breathing deeper now,” the creature observed, voice thick with approval. “You want this… even if you don’t know it yet.” Derek tried to deny it. But when the next plume of smoke washed over him, he inhaled without hesitation, diving in for more when one of the creatures took another deep inhale on its cigar. Gravestone chuckled—a low, indulgent growl that shook the air around them. “Good,” he murmured. “Be my little cigar pig. Show daddy how much you love fucking your lungs with smoke.” Derek’s pulse stuttered. His chest expanded. His resistance cracked—not broken, not shattered, but splintering under the weight of heat and breath and Gravestone’s relentless presence in his brain. Suddenly, the images started to trickle in. Derek, in a sling, smoking a fat cigar as Gravestone ushered men to feed him their smoke, to fuck him and fill him with their cum. Derek smiling happily and feeling Gravestone tell him how happy he was, how proud, how he wanted to see him please every man there. He barely felt as his jaw slowly fell open, drool slowly dripping out as Gravestone placed the cigar back into his mouth and closed his mouth for him. And Derek’s world narrowed to smoke, heat, and the feeling of something inside him leaning—slowly, dangerously—toward surrender. With one last puff, he felt it finally give, and he smiled, knowing exactly what he was meant to do next. Without a word, Derek crawled over to Gravestone and pulled the cigar out of his mouth after inhaling hard and deep, and let Gravestone begin to fuck his mouth, his massive cock worming its way down his throat and making his neck bulge. He felt as the copious amounts of tainted cum mixed with the cigar spit in his mouth, greedily gulping it down and smiling as he felt Gravestone gently begin to run his clawed fingers through his hair. With a growl, Gravestone shot his first full tainted load into Derek, watching as he moaned and gulped it down greedily. With an audible pop, he pulled out of his mouth and moved to behind Derek, sending countless more images mentally into his brain, smiling as he felt it start to stutter and shut down. The chamber seemed to hold its breath the moment Gravestone moved behind Derek with clear intent. The other monsters shifted outward in a wide, slow ripple, giving their second-in-command space. Their cigar embers glowed brighter, a ring of red eyes circling Derek’s trembling, smoke-flooded body. The Alpha watched from the shadows, silent and immense. Gravestone’s claws slid down Derek’s spine, steadying him with a grip that felt both possessive and inevitable. Derek’s breath trembled in his chest, lungs full of heat and smoke that made it difficult to think in straight lines. Every inhale fed the softness in his limbs; every exhale made the world blur a little more. “Easy,” Gravestone murmured, voice thick as molten rock. “You’re ready. It’s time for Daddy to convert you himself.” Derek shook his head weakly, but the protest dissolved into a thin, breathless sound. The warmth coursing through his veins tangled with the weight of Gravestone’s hands, drowning out what little clarity he had left. Gravestone positioned him, gently drooling out his potent saliva, smoky from the cigars. Gently, he slowly forced his massive cock deep into Derek, calmly running his sharp claws along his back, letting him tremble and puff hard on the cigar in his mouth. Slowly and steadily, he watched as Derek became more and more docile, before finally taking his chance and speeding up, quickly getting to a jackhammer speed, jabbing hard and fast. He smiled as Derek began to beg for Gravestone to claim him, to flood his insides, to make him his son. Letting out a groan, Gravestone shot his first load deep inside Derek and watched as it quickly flooded his body and began to take control. Derek gasped—shocked, overwhelmed, disoriented. Smoke rushed from his lips in a trembling plume, his fingers curling helplessly against the stone. His mind reeled, trying to cling to the last scraps of who he thought he was— I’m a top. I don’t— I’m not— But the heat flooding through him crushed the words before they could fully form. Gravestone growled with slow, brutal satisfaction, the sound vibrating through Derek’s spine. The other monsters echoed the sound, a low chorus that filled the chamber with ritualistic approval. Smoke drifted downward in swirling ribbons as they watched, bodies shifting in restless, anticipatory hunger. Derek’s thoughts thinned. Bent. Then bent further. Gravestone leaned close to Derek’s ear, his breath hot and thick with cigar smoke. “Good boy…” A rumble. “You take what you were meant for well. I am proud.” Derek shuddered, his resolve buckling under the pressure of sensation, heat, and Gravestone’s overwhelming presence. Every breath felt heavier than the last, weighted with smoke that pulled his mind deeper into that soft, pliant fog. He began to smile when Gravestone removed both of their cigars and locked lips, shoving his tongue down Derek’s throat and exhaled his smoke into him, growling as Derek clenched his hole down on his cock. From the shadows, the Alpha rose. The temperature seemed to drop and rise at once, the air tightening as the Alpha stepped into the dim ring of red light. His horns were longer than Gravestone’s, spiraling upward with jagged, ancient symmetry. His body dwarfed the others, every muscle carved like obsidian monoliths. The glow of his cigar burned fiercely. The monsters immediately lowered their heads. Even Gravestone’s rhythm slowed, his posture tightening in deference. The Alpha approached Derek with slow, devastating certainty. “He resists so much less now,” the Alpha observed, voice echoing in the air and in Derek’s skull simultaneously. “Well done, Gravestone. He bends beautifully. He will be yours to own and consume now. Just remember to share.” Gravestone growled, pride evident even in the rumble. Derek tried to lift his head—to pull away—to salvage something of himself—but the Alpha crouched beside him, one massive hand settling on Derek’s chest with terrifying gentleness. Derek froze. The weight of that touch wasn’t just physical. It pressed into his mind. Into his breath. Into the place where his resistance used to live. The Alpha tilted his head, studying him like a rare specimen. “You still breathe like one pretending to hold on,” he said softly—almost kindly. “But you came to us already wanting this.” Derek’s heart raced, panic surging—but it drowned instantly under another rush of smoke and heat. The Alpha raised one clawed hand, resting it on Derek’s cheek. The touch was warm. Heavy. Commanding. “Gravestone has opened you,” the Alpha murmured. “But I will finish it.” Gravestone growled low in agreement, tightening his hold on Derek—stabilizing him, presenting him. Derek’s mind flickered, desperate, frightened, overwhelmed— and then the fog swallowed the flicker whole. The Alpha leaned closer, cigar ember glowing like a miniature sun. Derek mindlessly let himself be positioned perfectly by Gravestone, rolling onto his back and quietly taking Gravestone’s still hard and dripping cock into his mouth and nursing gently on it as Gravestone rested his knees on his shoulders, giving the Alpha fully access to Derek’s and wrecked and dripping ass, and slowly began to suck on Derek’s cock, ready to slurp down the remaining load of cum from his cock as his master claimed him. With gusto, the Alpha firmly gripped Derek’s firm ass and slammed hard and fast, hauling on his cigar and growling as he furiously began to slam as hard and fast as he could, grinning as he could hear Derek’s muffled cries around Gravestone’s cock, feeling as the walls of his guts readily moved out of his way, legs spreading further and allowing him access to begin spanking Derek as he fucked him. Each smack made Derek’s ass clench and after just a few short minutes, he felt the Alpha let out a deep, guttural growl and begin to shoot volley after volley of black thick jizz into his ass. The sensation and sudden mental praise flowing through his mind suddenly made him shudder and with one last firm suck from Gravestone, he choked out a cry and began shooting uncontrollably, his cock shooting over and over in an attempt to please his new cigar daddy, to feed him and nourish him, not even caring when his cock continued to shoot, with nothing more coming out be a few feeble drops and a painful ache in his balls. His final strands of resistance curled inward, melted, and vanished as the Alpha’s voice echoed inside him: “There. Now you belong to us.” Derek sagged entirely, consciousness wavering, breath ragged and smoky. Gravestone rumbled with deep satisfaction, his claws sliding supportively along Derek’s sides as he helped him sit upright. Almost on instinct, Derek stuck both cigars into his mouth, greedily sucking the smoke into his lungs as his mind began to change, craving the changes about to occur in his body, wanting to speed up his infection, to change, to transform. “Good boy, that’s Daddy’s good little pig. Make sure to take all these nice men’s loads in your tight boyhole and you’ll become perfect,” he growled. “Fuck, I want every one of them to infect me,” Derek groaned around the cigars, already wanting to crawl over and offer his ass to each and every one, to memorize the shape of their dick in his ass, to swap smoke with them and feel each one add their own potent load to his guts, making him change even faster. He now knew his true purpose. To feed the virus now consuming him and to provide comfort and a warm nourishing place for their Alpha’s strain. The Alpha nodded once, pleased. He gently ran his clawed hand through Derek’s hair, like one would pet a dog. “Yes. Let the rest of your new brothers share their loads in your firm ass to aid my seed and then you may sleep. You will remain smaller and not show the signs like the others, but will be better equipped to take our loads and draw in our prey with your pretty face and splendid features. A perfect pet for me and my commander.” His hand pressed gently to Derek’s forehead— and the world folded into grey, a pleased smile on his face.

I have no clue who pozzed me, I'm such a slut. It could be anybody.

Pretty much all bugs I’ve gonno many timeS, syphilis 3 times and heo C a year ago Comes with my slamming and the guys I hook up with. I usually don’t tread them straight away. If I get them I want to breed them. After a while I get them treated. Long long raw sessions with sleazy guys and irs a given you’ll get STDs every so often, it doesn’t bother me . Risky raw feels so good

I always thought BBC was a myth until the first time I saw a group of black guys showering in the school gym locker room. I finally had my first black cock in my late 20's after my fag buddy had his BBC buddy "showed up" during our play date.

Not only does rimming a man make me so hard, I love it so I don't need lube. Without lube, I can go from fucking to rimming to kissing without tasting lube. It also makes fucking less messy. No lube and all of our fluids are shared either in an ass or mouth.

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

At the very 1st CumUnion party by LAX, there were probably 75 guys in front of me in line that night, and absolutely nothing happening yet when I got in and naked. I proceeded to shove my dick up the 1st 3 bottoms lined up offering their holes, and had the 2nd bottom shove his dick up my hole while I was in the 3rd, before the crowd took the hint and started fucking each other and got too distracted to pay attention.

50 men in an apartment building, I was the center of attention on a mattress in the middle of the living room

I can easily get double digits at an active CumUnion party or similar event in Palm Springs or LA. My personal best was 14 confirmed breeding in one night at a bear event at CCBC. I also bred 4 holes that night, the last after my 14th breeding and a couple hours after I thought I was finished for the night.

After my shenanigans the other day, I thought "I'm now at the age where I need to stretch before and after" and I wasn't referring to my hole. lol Two days later and my back is still achy. My personal best is not a number I know. I have a video of the aftermath, but it was 5 hours, facedown ass up at Cumunion in the dark room at Steamworks Seattle. Probably 14 years ago. I don't have a clue what the number is but it was a lot. I still have the nasty pig jock I was wearing that night though....

At this point I would be in the 40’s for loads. I would have to take a nap. Lol

the rest stop is real, everything else is... I’m a senior in college, play baseball and am deeply closeted. For a few years, I’ve stopped at a rest stop near the airport for some under the stall fun, knowing I’m far away from anyone who’ll recognize me. On a few occasions, I’ve even gone to a truck with a trucker to suck him off in privacy. I’ve never gone further then sucking, even when some of the truckers have wanted my ass. Some have even offered me money, but I’ve been too scared. One Sunday afternoon, I was fooling around on a cruising/hook-up app when a message popped up. I looked at the picture and the guy had no face pic, but the body picture was nice. I opened the message and was kind of shocked by what it said. “That was a really hot blow job you gave me a couple nights ago.” I looked and reread the message again, shocked that a message this direct and revealing was coming to me. I responded back, “Think you got me mixed up with someone else.” Few minutes went by with no response, and I was thinking the guy had been too ashamed to respond. Finally, just as I had put the message aside, I got another notice of a message, from the same guy. Thinking it’d be a simple, “My bad” response I opened the message. The words in the message chilled me to the bone. “No, you stupid punk. You sucked my cock, in my truck at the rest stop on I-5, near the airport. We started under the stall, you in the middle one, me in the handicap stall.” I again read and reread the message, thinking to myself that I had sucked a guy off in his truck the other night, and it had started in the restroom. I had never had a public/anonymous hook-up find me online. I tried to play it off and replied back that he might have mistaken me for someone else. Few minutes later, another reply. “No boy, it was you. Gray sweater, Cal Bear logo front, hoody. Jeans and green running shoes. We went to my truck where you sucked my cock. You begged me to let you swallow my load. When I touched your ass, you shoved my hand away and said you don’t get fucked. Sound familiar yet? Or do you need to see your lips wrapped around my cock?” The fear jumped from a six to about 12 when he described exactly what had happened, down to the color of my shoes. What terrified me most was that he implied there was a picture of me sucking him. I responded back, “What the hell is going on?” Ten minutes of silence and I was in a panic. Finally he responded, “What’s going on is I want a piece of that hot boy ass you got or the video of you sucking me, begging for my load and swallowing it like it was the last drink you’d ever get accidentally pops on Xtube.” Immediately after the message came an image alert. I accepted the picture and I see my face, very clearly, with my lips wrapped around the cock. A second file comes through, this one of an audio file. My stomach turns to rock as I hear myself begging, “Give me your load. Let me swallow it.” I’m almost in tears, terrified of what this means. I respond back, “What do you want?” He replies, “I told you I want that ass of yours. I want those tight ass lips stretched around my cock. It’s your choice boy, your ass is mine either way.” I looked at his response and tried to figure out what I could do. After realizing there was no way out, I responded back. “When?” The response was immediate, like he knew he had me. “You’ll be at the rest stop tonight, 9:30 sharp. Wear a jockstrap. Go in the handicap stall. There will be a bag with a couple of items and instructions. Follow the instructions and wait for the next step. Remember, if you’re not there at 9:30, the video goes to Xtube and maybe your coach will get a copy of it also?" End part 1. let me know if you want part 2.

Sometimes, you just want to make him squeal in exchange for your load. Lots of micro-tearing is guaranteed, but you have to go quite slowly lest you really slash his gash.

I thought for sure he was going to empty that opened up condom directly into his relaxed open hole....

Chapter1 - The Dallas heat was a physical presence, pressing down on the manicured lawns of the Preston Hollow neighborhood. Inside the sprawling, glass-walled house that served as his home, Geoff felt a familiar, restless energy. It had been a month since graduation, a month since the state championship trophy was placed on the mantle, and the accolades already felt like relics from someone else’s life. At eighteen, he was a king without a kingdom, his body a coiled spring of muscle and ambition with nowhere to direct it. He found his father and uncle by the pool, two mirror images of masculine perfection. Nate, his father, was on a lounge chair, scrolling through his phone, the sharp lines of his suit from a morning meeting replaced by the relaxed ease of designer swim trunks. Brandon, his uncle, was in the water, executing a flawless, powerful butterfly stroke that cut the turquoise surface like a knife. They were identical twins, both forty-one, both devastatingly handsome with the same dark hair, square jaws, and powerful builds honed by their respective professions. Nate’s power was financial, a quiet, commanding authority; Brandon’s was physical, a vibrant, kinetic energy that had always drawn Geoff in. “Get in here, you lazy punk!” Brandon called, shaking water from his hair like a dog. “Your old man’s going to turn into a fossil over there.” Nate didn’t look up from his phone. “I’m managing our portfolio, not turning into a fossil. There’s a difference. It involves making money, something you two should consider.” Geoff laughed and dove in, the cool water a shock against his sun-warmed skin. The three of them fell into their familiar rhythm of roughhousing. It was a language they spoke fluently, a mix of wrestling holds, dunking contests, and verbal jabs. Geoff, the state champion, was a formidable opponent, but the combined strength and experience of the two men was overwhelming. They were a tangle of muscle and laughter, the water churning around them. Brandon would grab Geoff in a playful headlock, and Nate would join in to tickle his ribs until he gasped for air, surrendering with a splash. It was horseplay, but it was also intimacy, a way of touching and reaffirming their bond that was as natural as breathing. After nearly an hour, they collapsed onto the plush, sun-drenched lounge chairs, chests heaving. Nate, ever the provider, produced a bottle of expensive, coconut-scented tanning oil. “Alright, you animals. On your stomachs. You don’t want to burn.” Geoff and Brandon complied, lying side by side, their faces turned toward each other on the padded arms of the chairs. Nate knelt between them, pouring the cool oil into his palms. He started with Brandon, his strong hands working the oil into the broad expanse of his brother’s back, his movements practiced and efficient. Then he moved to Geoff. His touch was gentler on his son, a paternal caress that still carried the memory of rubbing sunscreen on a small boy at the beach. He worked his way down Geoff’s back, over the sculpted ridges of his wrestler’s lats, toward the small of his back. As his thumbs swept just above the waistband of Geoff’s black Speedo, they froze. Nate’s hands hovered for a second, then he leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice low. Geoff twisted his head to look back, a smirk playing on his lips. Brandon, propped on his elbows, watched his brother with an unreadable expression. Nate’s gaze was fixed on Geoff’s lower back, just inches above the stark white tan line. There, inked into the skin, was the unmistakable, stark symbol: a black and yellow biohazard trefoil. Without thinking, Nate’s eyes flicked to his brother, who was still lying on his stomach. He reached over and hooked a thumb into the waistband of Brandon’s Speedo, pulling it down just an inch. There it was. An identical mark. A perfect match. He sat back on his heels, the playful atmosphere evaporating, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. The air felt thick. “Brandon?” Nate’s voice was tight, a mix of confusion and alarm. “Geoff? What is this? What is going on?” Brandon finally rolled over, sitting up. He looked at Nate, his expression calm, almost serene. He reached out and rested a hand on Geoff’s still-oiled back. “It’s a symbol, Nate. It’s about a choice. A community.” “What kind of community uses a symbol for toxic waste?” Nate shot back, his voice rising. He looked from his brother to his son, his face a mask of paternal concern. “Geoff, you’re eighteen. This is… this is permanent. What kind of influence is this?” He glared at Brandon, the accusation clear. Brandon stood up, his powerful body glistening in the sun. He looked down at his twin, his brother, his roommate. There was no anger in his eyes, only a profound certainty. “Stop worrying, Nate. It’s not what you think.” He paused, letting the weight of his next words land. “You want to know what it means? You want to understand?” He gestured towards the house with a nod of his head. “Then you need to come with us tonight. The Midtowne Spa. Everything will be revealed there.”

Yeah, it’s taken me some time to train Drew to take loads in his throat. I’ve been shooting loads in his mouth for years and he loves that. It helps that he enjoys the taste of my sperm. I’ve been face fucking him for a while but it’s only recently that I’ve been able to cum in his throat. Sometimes he chokes a bit when I cum and he coughs up some of my sperm over my balls but I enjoy that. That last session was his first with one of my mates. I really wanted to get in close to get a good look of Steves cock going deep and his balls on Drew’s nose. I stood beside Steve to watch his cock go balls deep. I could see Drew’s throat stretch as Steve went in. I was behind Steve when he shot his load. Drew looked so fuckin hot. Eyes wide open, tears in his eyes as he swallowed. Steve’s load. Some his splashed out over his balls and I licked them clean. Next time I'd like to watch all our mates throat fuck him.

I was sent an invite to a BB gangbang in London and jokingly showed my now wife. To my suprise and joy, she suggested we go. She took one Prep pill and I watched her get fucked by all the guy 13 cocks in total and many gave her multiple loads in her cunt. I know realise the one prep pill was useless and she was fucking totally unprotected. Unfortunately no poz but what an amazing night. I dream about her getting poz and being an Eve to loads of chasing guys including me.

I have 2 regular fuck buds who are bottoms and always take my load. I make sure they are satisfied in the end by sucking them off and swallowing their loads. The most intimate thing men can do is share their semen.

Folsom street fair is on my bucket list because of the same reason that the OP mentioned. This was one of my intentions when I visited Folsom Berlin where public sex was strictly banned as I had to experience unfortunately. However, I love to have sex public and outdoor. In bars or saunas, I usually have audience, sometimes more then 10 people but I never take notes. 🤣 Once I participated in a home orgy around 20 guys. I was fucked continuously in the middle of the room. I don’t know how many of them watched me, but their majority fucked me. I suppose we are talking about the on-site audience. If online matters my many videos are available on X and mostly on Bluesky. Or if realtime online watching matters only, I was watched once when in Gran Canary a well-known Chaturbate or something similar couple (Pablo and Sebas) streamlined their outdoor sex. One of them sucked me off live. 🙈🤣 One of my friends watched it and it was followed by many guys, around 50

21 men with 22 loads on my 21st birthday. It was set up for me by a friend that either did porn or knew porn actors? Something like that. The men were mostly hot and everyone blew inside me. One guy went twice. That was the big hurrah in my life. The most since then has been around 4 or 5. lol nothing spectacular.

Part 8 I walked out into the quad, my first time outdoors in over three hours. I felt a trickle of cum slide out of my ass and the disgust of what I had just done really hit me. Every other fuck, and every other load of cum dumped in me was forced. This time, I was not forced, I stripped for another man, I gave him my ass and let him fuck me. I heard laughter, but there was no one laughing. I felt my stomach rumble and realized I hadn’t eaten anything in a day and headed to the nearby snack shack to get food. I saw people staring, people pointing and people checking me out. I grabbed my food and found a quiet table. I sat there and stared at my food, hearing words in my head about being pozzed and taking AIDS loads. I lost my appetite as the fear of getting sick and dying became all I could focus on. I heard my father’s voice saying, “Queer’s deserve to get AIDS and die horribly.” I took out my phone and google’d HIV infection. I learned that there was a medication that could be taken to prevent getting infected. I also learned about PrEP and how to get it. I thought maybe I could get it at the health center so I ate my lunch and walked over. I got to the clinic and checked in. A nurse called me back in and took my vitals. She asked what I was here for and I told her. I could see the disgust in her eyes as she shamed me with her look. I heard her mumble, “You need to pray.” I waited in the room for the doctor. I heard a knock and the door opened. The doctor walked in and he looked to be in his early 40s. He sat down across from me and looked at a clipboard. “Hi Joey, I hear your looking to get some medication?” I said, “Yeah, I need to get medication to…” I couldn’t finish the sentence and broke down in tears again. How the hell did I have so many tears in me? The doctor sat with me and said, “You want to prevent getting HIV? Is there a particular reason you think you need this medicine? Have you done something that would make you think you’ve been exposed?” I nodded and cried more. “Tell me what you did Joey. Tell me why you want this.” He stared at me and I told him what happened, about the night at the rest stop, the bathroom and the incident with my professor. When I finished, I could see a look of awe, lust, and disgust on the doctor’s face. He moved his clipboard and I saw a huge bulge in his pants. I dropped to my knees and crawled over to his legs and reached to his bulge. I tried to fight it and could not. The doctor put the clipboard down and just watched me. He slapped me across the face and told me, “What do you think you’re doing Joey? This is highly inappropriate.” I sat at his feet, the pain from the slap still burning. I looked up at him, not moving. “You’ve taken how many loads?” “91 in the ass and one in the mouth.” “In less then a day.” “I can give you the prescriptions. But, I think you’re going to earn it aren’t you?” I looked at him and nodded. He stood up, and grabbed me by the hair. He pulled me over to the exam table and told me to take off my pants. I did as was told and before I could do anything further, he pushed me down on to the table, and put my ankles in stirrups. He looked down at me and slapped me hard across the face again. “You’re going to lay there and not say a word. I’ll be right back. If I hear a sound, you’re going to regret.” I nodded my head as he turned and walked out of the room. The door was left open after he walked out. I could see people walking by the door, and caught a couple of people looking in at me. One guy, an older guy who looked like he was a custodian, stopped and stared at me. I saw him look both ways to the side, and he slipped in the room and shut the door behind him. I started to say something and he put a finger to his lips. He walked up and took his cock out of his pants. It was already hard and had a ring at the end. He lifted his shirt up and I saw a tattoo of a bio-hazard symbol. He smiled and again placed a finger to his lips. “This hurt, you stay quiet or make trouble.” I pleaded with him, silently. He smiled more and I could see teeth missing and sores on his tongue. “Shh, baby. Papa going to make you hurt.” He put his dick to my hole and shoved in. The pain was excruciating and I struggled to remain silent. I failed and squealed loudly. The old man smiled and punched me hard in the guts until I quieted down. He ripped my ass apart, pulling all the way out and slamming back in. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine being somewhere else. I didn’t hear the door open or close again, but I was brought back to reality when I heard the doctor’s voice say, “Open your eyes Joey.” I did and saw him watching me. “This is why you’re here, because you can’t keep your legs shut and let any man fuck you. Hector here, he’s a regular patient of mine. He’s infected half the campus with one bug or another over the years. Right now, he’s got every thing. Syphilis, gono, herpes, and AIDS. You didn’t even stop to ask him to put a condom on did you? Just let him shove his filthy dick in you. Did you even ask him if he was clean?” I looked at the doctor and shook my head. Hector sped up and looked at the doc and said, “I finish?” The doctor nodded, “Yes Hector, finish in him.” I pleaded with them, “Please don’t do this to me.” Doc simply slapped me in the balls and said, “Shut up Joey. You’re a whore, you want this.” Hector grunted and I felt the burning as he dumped his cum in me. Hector finished shooting and pulled out. He looked down and grinned, “You bleed like bitch.” I looked at his cock and saw streaks of my blood on him. He smiled and said, “Thank Dr. D.” he put his dick, blood and all, back in his pants, zipped up and walked out. The doctor stepped between my legs and told me, “Close your eyes, Joey. You don’t want to see what is coming.” I closed my eyes and as soon as I did, a memory tore my mind apart. I saw a face, but not a human face. It was red, scarred, and horns rose from out his forehead. He grinned and his teeth were fanged. I tried to scream but no sound came out. A voice came to my ears, “You have done me proud Joey. You have taken almost 100 loads in your hole. Some neg, but they can’t all be winners. Are you learning to enjoy being a whore? I’ve watched you. You’ve brought a new boy in to the fold. And you even willingly used your cunt to get ahead.” I shook my head. A low chuckle, “Oh Joey, you’re going to fight until the bitter end aren’t you? Resist you’re true nature as a son of my seed.” I just stared ahead at the face, the demon. He continued, “You haven’t put all the pieces together yet have you. Who you are, why you were chosen for this? I will tell you one thing, although when you wake up from this, you may decide to forget it. Your end is coming soon; I won’t tell you when exactly. But know that it will be an epic ending to your journey. Until then my son, open your eyes and see the next step on your journey.” My eyes snapped open, just in time to see a huge cock at my ass. I opened my mouth to scream, but the doctor’s hand slammed over my mouth and his wrapped around my throat. “You had to open your eyes? Why boy, why did you have to look?” The head of the cock, the monstrous thing extending from the crotch of the Dr., began to stretch my hole open. “Open that little pussy for me Joey. Let me push Hector’s disease further into you.” I tried to squeeze my hole tight, which only caused the Dr. to become angry. “Oh Joey, I really wish you hadn’t done that.” He pulled his cock out and I felt him slather a cold gel on my cunt. The gel soon turned warm, then hot. My eyes snapped open completely at the fire on my hole. “That should just about relax you. Don’t fight me this time boy. It’s only going to get worse for you.” He again pushed into me, this time I tried to squeeze but I couldn’t move. I felt my hole stretch, then stretch even more. “If it helps you to relax, I’m only 7” long, shorter then Hector,” he said with a wicked grin. I remembered the feelings of Marquise at the rest stop and Sir #2 in the bathroom. They were both smaller then this. The closest I could compare was Marquise and Coach double dicking me. This was still bigger. “Oh, Joey. I don’t think you’re hole is going to be usable after I’m done. It’s going to be destroyed. You ready?” I tried shaking my head, but he held me firm. “1…” I shut my eyes “2…” “God, please help me. I am sorry for my sins.” Laughter, and the face appeared again. “You call out for him? He’s not taking your call right now. I hear you though Joey. You’ll survive this and your hole will too. Don’t worry, your hole will be fine.” “3…,” I opened my eyes as he slammed, full force, into my cunt. “Oh Joey, I haven’t felt a cunt around my cock in years. Everyone sees it and then refuses to let me near their cunt or their ass. I’ve paid hookers and they give me back the money.” He pulled out a couple inches then pushed back in. “I need a picture of this. You’re not going to scream if I move my hands are you?” I shook my head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started taking pictures of my cunt wrapped around his cock. He recorded video of him pulling out and sliding back in. “God that’s beautiful. Want to see what your ass looks like wrapped around me?” I shook my head, and then nodded. He turned the phone around I could see it. My cunt looked like it was spread 8-9 inches wide. I could see drops of white and red on the cracked ring. He continued to fuck and then said, “I’m going to shoot in you now.” And I felt again, the burning of my colon by a load of cum. It took almost two full minutes for him to slowly remove his dick, telling me he did not want to cause me any permanent damage, even though he thought my hole would stay distended. He snapped a last picture of my hole gaping then gasped, “What the…” He quickly fumbled with his camera, switching to video to record my hole tightening back up. “How the hell are you doing that Joey?” “It’s my… gift. From the ma… from Him.” The doctor looked at me as if I was insane. “Get up, the nurses are due back any minute.” He helped me out of the stirrups and my legs collapsed downward as if stone. I watched the doctor shove is soft cock, larger than many hard cocks, back in his pants. He threw my pants at me, “Hurry up.” I dressed and he handed me a brown bag. “The directions are in there for both the meds. Good luck with it Joey.” I started walking out, stopped at the door and I don’t know what came over me. I turned to him and said, “Thank you Sir.”

Part 2 I sent back a response begging for another way out, but only received one response, “This account has been deleted.” I sat there starting at the message, thinking this was just some really disgusting joke, or that I was having a nightmare. But it seemed to be too real for it to be a joke. I saw the picture again, and the audio file. I tried negotiating with myself, trying to figure out any other way out of this. I couldn’t think of anything that would work, that would prevent the video from getting out. I also knew that if my coach found out, I’d be kicked off the team and lose my scholarship. The coach was a real right-wing freak and he’d drum me out faster than I could beg for a chance. As the minutes dragged by, I came to the realization that my only option was going to be to show up at the rest stop and beg the guy face to face to not do this. I had no desire to get fucked, to lose my virginity to some random guy in a smelly restroom at a freeway rest stop. I looked at the clock and it was almost 6:00pm. I knew that, from reading stories, I needed to clean my ass out, so I went and got an enema kit, and spent the next hour cleaning my ass out until my guts hurt, but the water was clear. Putting on my jockstrap, I dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and slowly trudged to the car. The thoughts going through my head were words to use to beg the guy or to think of how much money I could scrounge up to try and buy my way out. Neither of those seemed to be a viable option. Without really noticing the drive, I was pulling into the rest stop at 9:25 and parking in the last available spot. There seemed to be more cars tonight then I had ever noticed before and all the truck spots were filled as well. At 9:30, I walked in to the restroom and found two urinals occupied, and one stall open. The guys at the urinals looked at me as I walked in, then looked back down. I walked to the handicap stall and saw a brown paper bag in the corner. I closed and locked the door, and leaned back against it. I had not seen the guy from the other night, so knew there was no way out. It seemed like an hour, but in two seconds I had picked up and opened the bag. On the top was a slip of paper, which I took out. Typed and printed on the paper was the following message: “Hello you little fucking prude. I see that my earlier message was something you chose to follow directions on. Did you like the picture and the audio? Trust me when I say that the audio is even better when it’s on screen cumming out of your mouth. Now, I hope you followed my instruction and wore a jockstrap, because it will really make getting into that fine hairy pussy of yours a little easier. In the bag you will find three things, which you will be wearing for the next few minutes: a blindfold, a ball gag, and a pair of handcuffs. All three will be so that you don’t do anything stupid while you’re earning your way out of this. First, you’re going to strip down to your shoes and jockstrap and put the clothes in the bag. Next, you will insert the ball gag into your cocksucking mouth which I’ve already learned is very talented. Next, you will attach one of the cuffs to the wrist of your choice. You’ll then unlock and open the stall door all the way. Finally you will put the blindfold on and face the wall with the hand rail, so that hot ass is facing the doorway. Once that is all done, you will stand like that and wait for further instruction.” I heard guys come in, piss and leave while I was reading this. For a moment, I thought about putting the bag down and leaving, willing to take my chances. But something kept me from leaving. Fear? Or excitement? I set the bag down and stripped out of the sweats and t-shirt. I took the items out of the bag and put the clothes in. I looked at the ball gag and was disgusted by the site of teeth marks in it. Apparently this sick fuck has used it on other guys, guys who probably were into this kind of shit. I opened my mouth, put the ball in and strapped it behind my head. I looked at the cuffs and they looked like real police cuffs. I put one on my right wrist, fastening it at the first click I heard, leaving it loose. I slipped the blindfold on, placing it on my forehead for the time being. Deep in my head, I heard a voice screaming at me to stop this and get the hell out of there. I wish I had listened…

I dunno. My dog expects one-on-one personal time on our walks, not to watch me get fucked. 😆

That's what I said he thinks having hair is unhygienic like for real I told him I usually sweat a lot so I take shower 2 or 3 times in a day and it's just I'm hairy you can't expect me to shave every 3 to 5 days everyone has their own preferences i accept that fact , but just because you don't like something doesn't mean i will change it i said to him you know he said we still have time go to a shower and when you are showering just shave it , and i will come to you room then . I asked did you already taken a shower he said no ,well he wants me to take a shower and then he wants to come to my room without any cleaning lol

Chapter 1 – The Setup Where the fuck am I? Zak and I had spent a wild weekend together a few weeks ago. We were smoking and bumping T and got lots of different things into each other’s hole. While we were talking during a break, I shared my fantasy about being abducted and taken to a place where I had to submit to multiple men. It seems he took me seriously since shortly after I showed up at his place for another session, a masked guy came in, put a bag over my head, pulled me out, and shoved me into the back seat his car. I was forced (OK, maybe forced is too strong a word) to suck another guy’s dick while we were driven to another destination. His cock was thick, but not that long. It was nice since I could easily accommodate him in my mouth, sucking down to the root and burying my nose in his pubes. His cock pumped out a steady stream of precum that I happily swallowed. I massaged his hairy balls while I was sucking him and felt down to his hairy hole. He pushed his legs together though, preventing me from going any further. I kept sucking his cock and playing with his balls. He was moaning, I was moaning, and then he blew his load down my throat right before we arrived at our destination. Next, I heard the car door opening and was dragged out of the car. They cut off my shorts and ripped off the t shirt I was wearing. I was naked, except for my flip flops, somewhere with people I didn’t know. My cock started to plump up at the excitement of this, prompting one of them to grab it while saying, “That’s not gonna be needed now.” Then, one of them forced my cock into a cage and locked it in place. “Walk!” I was led into a building of some sort. It seemed that we were in a sort of industrial space since I could sense a high ceiling and lots of open space around us. I heard a roller door close. Even with the bag on my head, some light got through and I was now adjusting to the surroundings. I smelled a spicy, grassy smell and thought maybe were in a warehouse that processed herbs of some sort. They walked me across the floor, feeling my hairy ass and occasionally slapping it as we went. “Oh yeah, this is gonna be good,” one of them commented. There were some grunts of assent, and I figured out that there were at least three other guys there. Maybe one of them was Zak, but I know it wasn’t his cock I had sucked, and I didn’t think he was the driver. We stopped walking and they turned me around. “Get in the sling.” I felt behind me and found a leather sling, ready and waiting for me. It’s tough to get into a sling when you can’t really see but I just went with it and laid back into it. Someone grabbed my foot and placed each one in a stirrup. I was naked, cock caged, spread open in a sling, in a room with guys that I didn’t know. My heart was pounding, more from excitement than fear, but it was weird to have no idea what was going to happen. One of the guys started rubbing my ass and hole. I instinctively moved down a little in the sling to open my ass for him. I heard him chuckle when I did that, then felt him starting to add lube to my ass. He must have been using Slam Dunk or something like that since it felt like chunks of lube being shoved in my hole. He was also smearing the lube all around my ass and hole. I reached down to spread my ass even more, but he slapped my hands away, telling me that my ass was in their hands and I was to keep my hands away from it. I heard the click of the torch and the bubbling sounds as he prepared some T. I could smell the acrid scent as the chemicals melted and then a cloud was blown into my face. I eagerly inhaled. “Don’t worry, pig. We’re gonna get you flying high.” They forced me to take a couple of hits off the bubbler. Again, forced might be too strong a word, but they were in control of my intake, and I was going to go along with whatever they wanted. I was well into the clouds when I felt some fingers penetrate my hole. The accompanying burning sensation told that they were giving me a booty bump too. My ass was becoming needy now and I wanted something in it besides a few fingers. I was handed a rubber tube with a nozzle at the end that I was told connected to a bottle of poppers. Whenever they told to me to inhale from it, I was to put the nozzle in my nose and breathe in. Poppers mixed with T would make my ass even more receptive to whatever was coming my way, and I was happy to comply to this. The burning had stopped and someone was playing with my hole. He was circling it with his well lubed fingers, sometimes sticking one or two fingers in and rubbing them around. I was enjoying the feelings and began to pulse my hole on his fingers. “This fucker is ready for more.” Soon, I felt something larger than a finger at my hole. It wasn’t a cock so it must be a dildo. I only hoped they would start out with something I could comfortably take since I had the sense that my ass was about to be seriously worked over. The dildo was dragged up and down the crack of my ass, grazing over my yearning hole. Each time it passed near my opening, I would flex my ass, trying to capture it in my ass. Soon, the guy placed the head of the toy at my entrance and began to push. The initial insertion was easy. My ass and the dildo were both well lubed and my hole was needy. It became apparent that this toy got thick quickly as I felt my hole expand around it as it was pushed into me. The guy driving the dildo knew what he was doing, pausing occasionally and sometimes twisting it around in my ass as he plunged ever deeper into me. This toy must be long since it felt like he had inserted a lot into me when he stopped pushing and just let the dildo sit inside my ass. The pulsing of my ass muscles made it move up and down and let great feelings course through my tunnel. Then, he began to pull it back. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he moved the toy, rotating and shaking it as he moved. He’d pulled it out almost all the way out when he abruptly shoved it in deep again. I moaned and spread my ass more. He chuckled and said, “I think he’s primed for you.” With that, he pulled the toy out. I immediately felt a hand at my ass, feeling around my hole and poking some fingers in. Two became three, three became four, and then I felt his thumb circling my hole. It stopped as he flexed it back into his hand and then his whole hand was sliding into me. Fuck, I love getting fisted. I love anything to do with ass – mine or another guys. Touching, stroking, rimming, fucking, fingering. But fisting is a special treat. When you get fisted, you’re literally opening yourself up to another guy. When you’re doing the fisting, it is so intense to feel the other guy’s heartbeat with your hand. It is a profound and amazing experience. This guy slid his hand into my ass up to his wrist. He just held his hand there for a while so that I could get used to the sensation. Occasionally, he’s twist and turn it, but he was taking it easy on my ass. Then, he growled “Poppers” at me. I grabbed the tube, put the plugs in my nostrils, and inhaled deeply.

I've never understood people who dislike pubic hair and hair around dicks. This is the way some people's dicks are. When the dick is inside you you can't see it so who the fuck cares? As an aesthetic thing, sure, we all have preferences, but once you're fucking? Makes no sense to me. Frankly, you're well rid of this princess.

Executive theatre in Houston a few years back I don’t believe it is open anymore I stripped naked in the theater and had 4 guys breed me there was around 30 in the theater at the time

It is not AI. All original ideas from my dark brain. I will say I am experimenting with "large language" for the reader's immersion experience, so, that could be a bit clunky.

My ex and I had 16 tops at home one party, but I have been fucked and bred in front of at least 50 at various sex parties. The bigger the audience the better my mancunt performs.

50 Different men and loads in one session, all night in a rundown apartment , guy i met on grindr hosted, and I was there all night .

I’m a taste expert when it comes to a certain product. Taste perception can often be influenced by aroma and visual cues. Most of the time I suck cock and swallow, it’s been with popper usage. So the poppers, smell of the top’s bush and body, heightens the strength of his cum’s taste for me. I love that it’s tangy, sweet, salty, creamy and sometimes a little bitter in the finish as his swimmers are dancing on my tongue. When I’m tasting his load from my well-bred ass, it’s much the same flavors plus my sweet pussy juices mixed in with his semen.

I went to Buff at the Bunker City Road London last week. Another bottom and I got fucked by a Duracell Bunny of a top who moved from hole to hole. His cock was soaking with arse juice and I for one needed no lube but juice from the other bottoms hole. Superb

His uncle needs to poz him before someone else does

I just emptied my bladder into a glass and gulped the whole load down. Mmmmmmmm!!

God are I wish someone would come poinT me in the right direction for a good time.

Part 3 I turned to the stall door and placed my hand on the lock. I knew that if I opened the lock, there was no turning back. I was giving my ass and my virgin asshole over to the whim of a guy who I had only seen once two nights ago. A guy whose name I didn’t even know. My only hope was that after he got what he wanted, he’d let me go. Slowly, but with what sounded like the tolling of a death bell, I turned the lock and swung the door open. I saw a guy walking out of the bathroom and he turned and looked at me as I opened the door. He looked at me and spat, “faggot” and walked out. I became even more disgusted with myself as I turned around and walked to the opposite stall wall. I pulled the blindfold down and tightened the strap. I stood there for what felt like hours, but was probably only seconds when I felt a hand brush my ass. I jumped at the touch but was immediately shoved into the wall. “He was right about your ass. He’s gonna have a lot of fun breaking you down boy.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but I could smell cigarette smoke and sweat on him. I felt the guy grab my cuffed wrist and lift it up. He chuckled, “I see you think you could get away with a fake cuffing. Let me help you with that.” He tightened the cuff slowly, click by click, until it was just tight around my wrist. “We don’t want your throwing wrist to get hurt now do we, Joey?” I turned in the direction of his voice, realizing that whoever set me up for this knew a lot more. I tried to say something, to beg for him to let me go, but all that came out was a muffled gurgle of words. A sharp slap to my right cheek, and the direction, “Face the wall, bitch.” I felt tears in my eyes, from pain of the slap, fear of what I had gotten myself into and the humiliation of being called a bitch. I felt my wrist get pulled back down and I was told, “Take hold of the railing,” which I did. My left wrist was grabbed and the second cuff was attached, one click looser than the right one. “Try and pull away,” the unknown man told me. I tried and discovered that cuffs were locked in around the handrail, leaving me nowhere to go. I felt hand at my waist and was directed to step backwards. I stepped back until I was as far as my arms would let me go. I also realized that my ass was touching something rough and hard which was soon shoved forward. Realizing what it was, the guy just grunted, “Damn I wish I could fuck you. My dick is hard, but I’m sure you realize that.” A chuckle and a smack on my left cheek, the guy reached down and grabbed the paper bag that had my escape in it. “I’ll be holding on to these for you. I’ll let him know you’re ready, but I’m sure he’s been watching.” I heard him walk out and warn someone, “ No touching. That bitch in there is His property.” Who the fuck is this guy that I’m somehow so low that I am property of? I heard guys walk in and they’d make comments like, “Damn, love to dump in that ass,” or “Disgusting queer.” All the comments made me cry more and wish that I had left earlier, or never came here years ago. Finally, there was a sound of a guy walking in that sounded different, like boots or a commanding walk. There was no comment made, and the sound got louder and louder which made me realize the wait was over. The hell was about to begin. “Spread your legs you little faggot. Let me see that cunt you wouldn’t give me.” I took a few steps apart, and he only said, “Wider faggot.” I stepped further apart, starting to get sore. “Stupid punk, you’re gonna learn the hard way.” I felt his foot touch my right foot and with more ease than should be possible, he moved my right foot another foot away my left, leaving me precariously balanced. “There’s that little pussy. I’m going to love wrecking it. How many times you been fucked queer? That hot ass is probably pretty popular with the guys at your school.” I shook my head and tried to say something. “What do you mean? Your ass isn’t popular or, wait. You’re not a virgin are you?” I slowly nodded my head. “Holy Jesus Fuckin Christ. You serious? You never taken a cock up that fine hole?” On saying that, he put a finger on my hole, causing me to try and pull away. A hard slap on my ass, and a warning, “Don’t you ever pull away from me bitch. It’s only gonna make it worse for you.” I squealed around the ball gag and nodded my head. “That’s a good little bitch. By the way, you can scream as loud as you want with that ball gag. It’s kept many sluts quiet while I destroy their holes.” I felt his hands reach up and touch the back of my head. “let me tighten that up, don’t want you letting it out of that fine mouth of yours.” “Now, let’s get down to the real reason you’re here. You came here tonight because you know you need to get fucked. You know you’ve been fighting this need for years. I’ve seen you here, showing that hot little ass of to all the truckers. Teasing them with it, but never letting them break you in to the little faggot cum dump you know you really are. Isn’t that true?” I shook my head vigorously, denying his accusations. “What do you mean no? Then why did you ask me Friday night, no beg me, to do this? You hit me up online, begging me to set this up? Make me get the handcuffs from a cop, to lock you up so you couldn’t change your mind again? Beg me for the blindfold so you could pretend you didn’t know me? And the ball gag, since you said you were gonna scream when I rammed my dick up your ass?” I shook my head again. “And you asked me to record this so you could have a video of you being turned out like a little whore, taking my raw cock in your boi pussy?” Oh god, what had I gotten myself into? He was recording this? Cum dump? I love swallowing cum, but that’s it. I was never going to get fucked without a condom and never take a load in my ass, even with a condom. I wasn’t that kind of guy.

Jaeger fucked Tanner without cumming for a good fifteen minutes, exploring the depths of his hole with his massive cock until he had Tanned screaming into the palms clasped around his mouth. Jaeger had found Tanner's prostate, and was angling his thrusts to hit it violently till tears ran down Tanner's perfect, jock face. Jaeger reached around to Tanner's captive sack, it was heavy with his unspent sperm, painful to even the slightest touch. Jaeger felt Tanner's hole tighten as he grabbed the boys super sensitive, cum filled balls. "Yes. Good boy...full of sperm" Jaeger said through more sharp thrusts, biting the boys ears. He pulled his dick out from the vacuum of the kids ass. It was coated in thick cum and ass mucus. "Suck me clean" he ordered Tanner immediately complied as one of Bruno's house twinks came out "Everything is ready sir" he said, trying not to make eye contact with his Spanish master. "Good" Jaeger said. "Baby boy, you step in my house you are mine...Yes? You understand? Yes" He gently slapped Tanner who nodded eagerly, mouth still sucking his own ass juices of Jaeger's cock. "Fuck him up" Jaeger said pulling his glistening dick away from Tanner 30 minutes later, Tanner was trussed up in a sling in Jaeger's dungeon. A cocktail of drugs pumped into his veins, a gold collar on around his neck and his perfectly shaved hole exposed and pulsing with heat and desire. As the men of the party filtered into the dark room, I couldn't help but take up a position near the back, I was excited to fuck our prize when he was good and loose and full of sperm. There was thumping music playing as one by one Tanner took cock after cock...no one pulled out and any drop of cum that wasn't deposited in his belly was fed to him from fingers or dicks. He must have had the potent seed of about 30 men before he started to look tired and another dose of Jaeger's special cocktail of drugs hard wired were administered to hard wire him awake. I took up position, and slid without resistance up my conquest's hole. The walls of his ass were thick with cum, it was glorious, no more friction or tightness but perfect, warm folds of jock ass stretched to delight so that you could feel the boy shuddering with every breath. I grabbed his hips, ground up into him and unleashed another hot load up him. "Too fucking good boy" I moaned as Jaeger sauntered through the crowd, smiled at me and motioned for his turn. I pulled out, happy to oblige. No sooner had he got up to the boy then I saw the massive dildo in his hand. This must have been a good 12 inches long and 5 inches thick. He pushed down on Tanner's tight abs and shoved the toy home. Tanner moaned deeply as inch by inch vanished into his teen cunt. Jaeger was pleased and as the final inch disappeared smiled evily. Slowly, he fucked the boy long and hard with that impossible dildo whilst Tanned moaned for more. "Ok" Jaeger said finally He ripped the cum soaked toy out the boys now gaping hole and directed someone near the kids head to shove it down his throat. As the Tanner tried to accommodate the toy in his throat Jaeger did something that nearly made me cum. Before Tanner's gaping pussy could wink itself shut, he casually starting working his fist up the boy, it didn't even take a minute before I swear we all heard the pop as Tanner swallowed the fist...first gay experience and the boy was being fisted, hard! I was so proud. 30 minutes of fisting passed...not once did Jaeger pull out. Finally, when he did, Tanner's gape was so beautiful...like a blossoming rise pulsing with white cum. Jaeger shoved his dick into the warm flower and fucked it back into place until he deposited his own load. Before the night was over Tanner dropped cum from every orifice and glistened with hot sperm. In fact the only person who hasn't cum was Tanner. Having taken eveeone at least once...Jaeger released the boy's clamp, located his prostate in his wrecked hole and milked the boy for neg load after neg load till he was spent. "Next time you shoot boy, you'll be family" Jaeger said...as I watched I couldn't help but hope he'd share my genes...but we wouldn't know who was the lucky daddy for a while...