Hotanthony

The industrial warehouse on the edge of the city loomed like a forgotten relic, its brick facade scarred by graffiti and years of neglect. Inside, Studio 7 buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the faint echo of moans from adjacent sets. Tyler, an 18-year-old fresh out of high school from a sleepy suburb, had answered the online ad on a lark. 'Entry-level adult film extras wanted—no experience necessary. Easy money, quick shoot.' He'd lied about his age in the application to make 18 sound more seasoned, but his boyish face and slim, untouched body screamed virgin. At 5'7" with messy blond hair, smooth pale skin, and wide hazel eyes full of naive hope, Tyler dreamed of escaping his dead-end life. He wore faded jeans that hugged his narrow hips and a plain gray hoodie, his sneakers squeaking on the concrete floor as he clutched a crumpled resume. The receptionist, a bored woman in her 40s with a cigarette dangling from her lips, barely glanced up. 'Tyler? Director's in back. Sign this waiver—standard stuff.' The paper blurred under his nervous fingers: releases for nudity, penetration, group scenes. He skimmed it, heart pounding, and scribbled his name. She buzzed him through a heavy door into a dimly lit space that smelled of stale sweat, lube, and industrial cleaner. Cameras on tripods flanked a raised platform with a stained mattress, flanked by folding chairs and scattered props—handcuffs, bottles of oil, a duffel of toys. Director Vance, a wiry man in his 50s with a ponytail and a perpetual smirk, waved him over. 'Kid, you look fresh. Virgin? Perfect for the 'innocent twink' vibe. We're shooting a daddy-dom scene today. You'll pair with Big Ron—our star bear. Lights, camera, action in ten. Strip to your undies and wait.' Two cameramen—burly guys named Mike and Luis—adjusted lenses, chuckling under their breath. A sound guy fiddled with mics, and in the corner, a producer typed on a laptop. Tyler's stomach flipped. 'Wait, like... full penetration? I thought it was just posing.' Vance laughed, clapping his shoulder too hard. 'Read the fine print, boy. This is pro porn. You back out now, no pay. But finish the scene, and you're walking with five hundred. Ron's hung like a horse—gonna make you a star.' Tyler swallowed, peeling off his hoodie and jeans, left in white briefs that did little to hide his soft cock. He sat on the edge of the mattress, knees bouncing, as the crew prepped. Then Big Ron lumbered in, a mountain of flesh at 6'5" and over 300 pounds. Late 40s, with a greasy beard streaked gray, rolls of fat cascading over his belt, and hairy arms like tree trunks. His gut hung heavy, straining a stained tank top, and sweat beaded on his forehead from the short walk. He reeked—unwashed body odor mixed with old cum and something sour, like days-old cheese. 'Fresh meat,' Ron grunted, eyeing Tyler like a meal. He stripped without ceremony, tank top hitting the floor to reveal sagging moobs dusted with coarse black hair, a belly that jiggled with each step. His cargo shorts dropped, unleashing thighs thick as Tyler's waist and, finally, his cock: a monster, twelve inches soft, thickening to fourteen erect, as girthy as a wrist. The foreskin clung tight, packed with yellow-white smegma that crusted the head and shaft, the stench hitting Tyler like a wall—cheesy, rancid, making his eyes water. 'Action!' Vance barked. Lights blazed hot on Tyler's skin. Ron grabbed him by the hair, yanking him to his knees on the hard platform. 'Suck it, boy. Clean daddy's dirty dick.' Tyler gaped, the cheesy cock slapping his cheek, leaving a sticky smear. 'I... I can't—it's filthy!' But Ron shoved forward, the bloated head forcing past his lips, smegma flaking onto his tongue—bitter, gritty, like spoiled milk. Tyler retched, but Ron held his head firm, thrusting shallowly to coat his mouth. 'Lick it clean, virgin slut. Taste what a real man's packing.' Tyler choked, saliva mixing with the cheese as he lapped tentatively, tongue scraping the folds under the foreskin. The flavor burned, acrid and overwhelming, but Ron's grip tightened, fucking his face deeper. Inches slid in, stretching Tyler's jaw until it ached, the girth bulging his throat. Gags wracked him, tears streaming as Ron's balls—hairy, sweat-slick—smacked his chin. 'Deeper, bitch. Gag on daddy's cheesy meat.' The crew filmed close-ups, Mike zooming on the drool bubbling out, Luis capturing Tyler's flushed face. Ron's hips bucked harder, the dirty shaft pistoning, smegma dissolving into a slimy froth that dripped down Tyler's chin onto his chest. After minutes of brutal face-fucking, Ron pulled out with a wet pop, his cock now slick and semi-hard, cheese residue clinging to Tyler's lips. 'Bend over the bed, ass up. Time to pop that cherry.' Tyler scrambled onto the mattress, trembling, briefs ripped down to expose his smooth, pink hole—virgin tight, untouched. Ron rummaged in the duffel, grabbing lube and the largest condom they had, extra-thick magnum size. He slathered his cock, the rubber straining as he rolled it on, the latex creaking over the veined length. But it barely fit, the tip peeking out, material taut. 'Please... be gentle. I'm scared,' Tyler whimpered, face buried in the sheets. Ron snorted, spitting on his hole before jamming two thick fingers in dry. Tyler yelped, the intrusion burning like fire, his ring clenching futilely. Ron twisted them roughly, scissoring to stretch, adding a third without warning—knuckles deep, probing the walls until Tyler sobbed. 'Tight as fuck. Gonna wreck this boypussy.' He yanked his fingers free, positioned the head at Tyler's pucker, and shoved. The breach was agony. The condom-sheathed cockhead popped past the rim, tearing a scream from Tyler as three inches sank in. 'Stop! It's ripping me!' But Ron gripped his hips, fat fingers digging bruises, and thrust harder—half his length burying in one go, the girth splitting Tyler's ass wide. Blood welled immediately, the virgin hole resisting the invasion, micro-tears forming from the sheer size. Ron pulled back slightly, the condom slick with red streaks, then rammed forward again, bottoming out with a grunt. Tyler's body jerked, ass clenching in pain, the burn radiating through his core. 'Fuck, you're bleeding already, kid. Take daddy's fat cock.' Ron set a merciless pace, hips slamming forward, his belly slapping Tyler's back with wet thuds. Each plunge dragged against the torn walls, blood lubricating the slide but amplifying the raw friction. Tyler clawed the mattress, crying out, 'It hurts too much! Pull out—please!' The condom stretched thinner with every thrust, latex groaning under the strain. Ron's cheesy cock—now buried deep—pounded Tyler's prostate, forcing unwanted sparks of pleasure amid the torment, his own dick leaking onto the sheets. Sweat poured off Ron, dripping onto Tyler's skin, mixing with the metallic scent of blood. The crew cheered softly, cameras rolling. Deeper in, Ron's rhythm turned feral, grunting like an animal. On a particularly vicious thrust—full force, balls-deep—the condom gave with a sharp snap. Tyler felt it: the sudden bare heat, the loss of barrier, Ron's raw skin grinding directly against his ravaged insides. 'What— the condom broke! Stop, you're bare!' Ron laughed, a deep belly rumble, not slowing. 'Oops. Guess you're getting daddy's load raw now.' He pinned Tyler's shoulders down, fucking harder, the broken latex shreds scraping inside. Blood squelched with each pump, Tyler's hole gaping wider, torn edges inflamed and bleeding freely down his thighs. 'No, no—cum outside! I don't want it!' Tyler begged, voice breaking into sobs, but Ron's weight crushed him, cock swelling thicker bare. The orgasm hit Ron like a freight train. He roared, slamming balls-deep, and unloaded—thick ropes of cum blasting into Tyler's guts, hot and forceful. Pulse after pulse, flooding the battered channel, overflowing to mix with blood in pinkish drips. Ron ground in, milking every drop, his cheesy seed marking the virgin deep. Tyler shuddered, his body betraying him with a weak spurt of his own cum, ass milking involuntarily around the invading shaft. Ron pulled out with a obscene slurp, a gush of cum and blood following, Tyler's hole twitching open, unable to close—puffy, wrecked, leaking steadily. He curled up, weeping, ass throbbing in fire. 'Cut? Nah, keep rolling,' Vance said, grinning. 'Crew, you earned a bonus. Gangbang the twink—bareback only. Poz that boy good.' Tyler froze, eyes widening in horror. 'What? No— I didn't sign up for this! Stop the cameras!' But Mike and Luis were already stripping, cocks hard and out—Mike's seven inches cut and veined, Luis's thicker with a curve. The sound guy, a lean twink named Alex, joined, his dick average but eager. Even Vance unzipped, revealing a modest shaft. Ron stepped back, stroking his spent cock, watching. They swarmed him. Mike grabbed Tyler's arms, pinning them behind his back, while Luis flipped him onto his stomach, knees shoved wide. 'Please... no more. It hurts so bad—I'm bleeding!' Tyler cried, thrashing weakly. Luis spat on his cock and rammed in bare, no prep—the cum-slick hole offering little resistance but reigniting the agony. 'Shut up and take it, slut. We're all poz—gonna load you up.' He fucked rough, hips pistoning, cock churning the mess inside, blood and cum frothing out. Tyler screamed, tears soaking the mattress, begging, 'Stop! I'll do anything—just stop!' But Mike forced his cock into Tyler's mouth, face-fucking him while Luis pounded his ass. The thrusts were brutal—Luis's balls slapping the torn rim, drawing fresh blood, each plunge tearing deeper. Alex knelt beside, jerking off onto Tyler's back, then swapped with Luis, his slimmer dick sliding in easier but no less vicious, hammering the prostate until Tyler's cries muffled around Mike's shaft. They rotated relentlessly. Vance took a turn in Tyler's ass, gripping his hair and yanking his head back as he thrust—short, angry jabs that made Tyler's body jolt. 'Cry all you want, kid. This is the industry.' Cum leaked from every load: Luis first, grunting as he bred deep, hot seed joining Ron's. Then Alex, whining as he unloaded, pulling out halfway to let some splatter Tyler's cheeks before shoving back in. Mike flipped Tyler over, legs hooked over shoulders, and drilled down—bare cock spearing the bloody hole, making Tyler arch and sob, 'Mercy... please, it burns! I'm gonna break!' Vance finished last, barebacking with clinical efficiency, flooding Tyler's guts while choking him lightly on the neck. 'One more for the road.' Cum overflowed, pooling under Tyler's ass, the ring swollen to twice its size, raw and lacerated, blood trickling in steady rivulets. The men were poz—viral loads high, intentional breeders in this underground scene—ensuring Tyler's infection with every bare thrust and deposit. Finally, they stepped back, zipping up, laughing as Tyler lay wrecked—body shaking, face streaked with tears and spit, ass a ruined, gaping wound leaking a cocktail of cum, blood, and shame. 'Good take. Kid, you're hired if you want round two,' Vance said, tossing a wad of cash that bounced off Tyler's thigh. The cameras stopped, lights dimmed, but the pain didn't. Tyler curled fetal, sobs wracking him, the warmth inside turning to dread. Days later, the test confirmed it: positive, poz from the raw gang load. Scars etched his hole—physical tears healing slow, psychological ones festering. In quiet moments, the memories replayed: the cheese, the break, the endless begging ignored. Broken, bred, forever changed.

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

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

Love this story

Amazing story why did u stop???