norubbers

Brock felt as though his virus was leaching the life from Dr. Shah. Brock understood the headspace the doctor now occupied. He had been there himself two months ago. It simultaneously felt like an eternity ago and also yesterday. What Brock didn't expect was the sense of power he felt. In a way he had just taken a man's life. No. That wasn't quite right. A man had given him his life. Willingly offered it. Demanded that Brock take it. Not directly, mind you. HIV was more survivable than ever and getting more so every year. But Dr. Shah now faced a lifetime of monitoring and medications with serious risk of side effects. Not only was the doctor fully aware of this, it was his career - his entire life's work. Brock had been holding Dr. Shah tenderly and savoring the moment while he processed all of this. That tenderness faded gradually as Brock's virus locked it away in the back of his mind. It was time to go back to work. Brock became acutely aware that his prick was still turgid. And that he was wearing too much clothing. Brock turned the doctor to face him. "I guess we are in uncharted territory here," he said to the crowd as much as Dr. Shah. "While the Society may never have another succession, in the event we do, let's begin a new tradition. "Uncle Dale, the doctor should receive your original strain as well." Brock spotted his uncle in the crowd. He had stripped down to nothing but a metal cock ring. Knowing his uncle, the cock ring was more for aesthetic than anything. His uncle nodded and began making his way toward Brock and the doctor. "And for all those who remained gathered - those Jarls who voted for the survival and furtherance of the society - let us baptize our newest member and wash him in as many of the first generation strains as we have gathered here," Brock barely recognized the confidence and command in his own voice. Maybe it was the virus speaking. A murmur of excitement shot through the crowd. Most everyone seemed excited about the idea. Uncle Dale and some of the crowd cleared way for a large, padded platform that had been pushed out of the way for the meeting. Dr. Shah, still looked a bit bewildered, but he also appeared very content. Brock led the doctor over to the oversized platform. By the vinyl upholstery, brock suspected this was specifically made for such a purpose. Brock laid the doctor down and confiscated the doctor's white briefs before moving out of the way so his uncle could have his turn. Brock brought the doctor's briefs to his face and inhaled deeply. The doctor's natural musk was intoxicating. Not a high like the amyl, this invoked desire. Brock's virus helped him sort through the mixture of pheromones. It was like a litmus test of the doctor's thoughts leading up to tonight. Lust. Fear. Excitement. Anger. More lust. Brock was vaguely aware of his uncle beginning to penetrate the doctor. "Kiddo, you stretched him out so much! It's like throwing a hot dog down a hallway over here," he chided. Brock could only smirk. Brock surveyed the crowd of Jarls. The majority of them appeared to be his uncle's age or older. Builds ranging from "Peter Pan" perpetual twinks up to burly, ball-gutted bears. The cocks on display were equally varied. Brock felt a flash of something else through the haze of power. Community. Despite being half the age of the youngest guy here, Brock felt a powerful sense of belonging. Brock glanced back over at his uncle. He seemed to be having a good time. He had no difficulty sinking his 8" cock into the doctor. Some of Brock's jizz oozed out around his prick. Like some kind of donut filled with coconut milk. "My god, bud! How much cum did you shoot in the good doctor?!" His uncle joked some more. Brock selected the first Jarl and guided him over to the side of the fuck table. "Introduce yourself to our friend the doctor and me, then christen him with your load," Brock commanded. "Brian. Baton Rouge nest," the man said shortly. He had a delightful accent. Brian looked to be in his 50s. He was was athletically built and nearly hairless. What caught Brock's attention was his height. Brock wasn't great at judging the height of people shorter than himself. By his approximation Brian stood 5'3". In contrast to the size of his body, his cock looked huge, but it was a good 3" shorter than Brock's. Brock watched as Brian easily pushed himself to orgasm. Where Brock had always been a powerful shooter, Brian's orgasm seeped from the tip of his circumcised dick like a thick syrup and dropped onto the doctor's furry chest in a puddle. Seeing his fellow Jarl's load drove Uncle Dale into a brief frenzy. To be fair, Brock felt a surge of feral desire from his own virus recognizing itself in the spill of Brian's precious reproductive nectar. Every depraved fucker in the room perked up a bit. Brock had to stay focused, though. Brock took another deep inhale of the doctor's briefs and began working his way through the crowd. David from L.A. was an unexpectedly femme bear who looked like he could break most of them in half. His short, fat prick shot for distance. Most of his load missed the doctor entirely, but some thin drops landed here and there from the doctor's neck to his shins. The moment of frenzy ripped through the crowd as the scent of his cum filled the air. Brock raised the briefs to his face again. Alex from Brooklyn. Tall. Skinny. Hairless. His cock was like himself in penis form. Probably 10" long, below average girth. His ejaculation was one medium force shot of thick, white cream. Anthony from Atlanta. Medium height, built like a linebacker. His gorgeous, uncut black cock contrasted nicely with his pearl-white load. After each load, the frenzy built a bit more in the crowd and the doctor's scent went further and further to Brock's head. Uncle Dale's moans caught Brock's attention. He had the doctor's knees on his shoulders and was ready to explode. Dr. Shah was notably quiet. Some grunting and heavy breathing, but otherwise he seemed to be in a trance. His olive skin was streaked with at least 20 loads of cum of all manners of size and viscosity. "You're going to have to tag in again, kiddo," Dale said after he caught his breath. If Dr. Shah's hole had looked like a donut filled with coconut oil before, it now looked like someone had smashed that donut in a fit of lunacy. "I'll trade you." He smirked.

Brock ripped Dr. Shah's white Calvin Klein briefs open, exposing his furry hole. Dr. Shah whimpered a bit. Almost on instinct, Brock buried his face in the doctor's ass. He sensed the doctor was ready for this. Brock buried his tongue as far in Dr. Shah's guts as he could. He found himself prying the doctor's olive cheeks apart and working his fingers in to help his tongue burrow that much deeper. Dr. Shah had been prepared, like a lamb headed for the alter. He was freshly showered, immaculately groomed, and eager. He seemed to be enthralled by the crowd that was assembling around them to witness Brock sacrifice him to the virus coursing through the veins of every other person in the room - the very virus the doctor had spent his career researching. When Brock felt the doctor eagerly fucking himself on Brock's tongue, he knew it was time. He straightened himself behind the doctor, slicked his middle finger with a generous film of his precum and probed into the doctor's guts as far as he could. The velvety warmth sang a siren's call to his member. In contrast to the beasts of myth, though, it sang for its own death. Brock curled his finger as he withdrew it, his fingernail tore into the fragile mucosa. Like Achilles's heel, that wound would be the doctor's downfall. Dr. Shah's sharp gasp suggested he was well aware of it. Both Brock and his virus delighted in the sight of blood under his nail. Brock lined his uncut member up behind Dr. Shah's hole, his venomous slime beginning to seep into the doctor. Slowly and steadily, Brock slid the first bit of his cock in. For both of them, time stood still. It was clear that Dr. Shah didn't have much experience playing with his own hole. His ring clamped immediately, trying to halt Brock from penetrating him any further with his venom-tipped spear. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a kinder side of Brock felt bad for the doctor. Dr. Shah was the only person Brock had ever met whose girth came close to Brock's own. When the doctor fucked Brock, Brock was shocked at how difficult that girth was to take. Now the table was turned, and the world renowned, tenured professor and virologist was bent over a chair, with a fresh sample of Brock's virus being injected slowly, directly into him. Prior to meeting his uncle, Brock had no idea that producing the amount of precum and cum that he did was unusual. Now that every bit of it carried a deadly payload, Brock considered it one of his greatest gifts. Between his precum and the doctor's concentrated effort to relax his hole, Brock felt the way deeper beginning to open - and the monster living in Brock's blood was eager and giddy. Brock began to work his hips very slowly in a shallow gyration. He was trying his best to imitate the doctor's movement when he'd fucked Brock. With every rotation, the head of Brock's 9" prick drilled further into the doctor's eager guts. Brock was vaguely aware of the eyes transfixed on him. More than anything, he was focused on the warmth and pressure of the doctor's rectum gradually accepting more of his monster shaft. This rhythm continued until Brock was a little less than halfway in and Brock felt the wall of Dr. Shah's second hole. Brock slowly backed his cock out of the doctor's guts. He could see a pink tinge to the precum he'd churned to a froth inside the doctor. Brock's virus let out a cry of victory, knowing it was already infiltrating the doctor's veins. He plunged his cock back into to press on the wall deep within Dr. Shah. Brock fished an ampule of genuine amyl out of his pocket and crushed it. He inhaled deeply before he wrapped his muscular forearm around the doctor and pulled him up against his chest. The warmth of his dose spread quickly through his body, allowing Brock a moment to lose himself in the cacophony of sensations. He sensed some resistance in the doctor as he offered the aroma, but it wasn't really an offer and he wasn't taking no for an answer. Brock's hold on the doctor quickly became a restraint for the struggling doctor. The viper between Brock's legs waited patiently, its toxic secretions pooling...patient. finally the doctor gave up and inhaled deeply. The tension in his body crumbled as Brock felt every muscle relax - including his second hole. Brock's cock slithered gleefully in. As he lowered the doctor back over the chair. Brock faced much less resistance the deeper he pressed into the doctor. In what seemed like no time, Brock felt his own auburn pubes mingling with the doctor's jet black fur. He paused a moment. He savored this welcoming new temporary home. His virus had started measuring for furniture and picking out window treatments - eager to close the deal and move in. And then Brock began to move his hips again. He was doing his best to emulate the wave-like dance of Dr. Shah's fucking. The sensations of the doctor's hole felt very different from the feelings when he'd fucked Uncle Dale on the tail end of his conversion. Perhaps his imitations were successful. Perhaps he just wasn't as delirious this time. Brock could feel the pressure building in his testicles. The exuberance of his virus manifesting in the deep longing Brock felt to ejaculate. Like the fussy parent he never had, his virus reminded him that reproducing was the most fundamental purpose of life. He didn't feel like he had much of a rebuttal, but he wanted to enjoy this a bit longer. Dr. Shah's grunts became more rapid and insistant by the moment, which only encouraged Brock. Little by little, the smooth motion he'd been using broke down, giving way to harder and more forceful thrusts. The slap of his skin on the doctor's rang out over the crowd. He kept a very even, deliberate pace. Brock could feel his ability to restrain his orgasm slipping. Brock pulled out completely. "Tell me what you want," he growled, barely audible to the assembled crowd. "I want you to breed me," Dr. Shah whispered in response. "Tell me what the fuck you want," Brock demanded, he placed his dripping stinger just inside the doctor's puffy, inflamed hole. "I want in! I want to join you!" The doctor shouted in response. "Chi mikhāhi," Brock shouted! "Mikonam POZ!" The doctor pleaded. Brock sank himself to the root and released the built up flood of his DNA. Ropes of Brock's semen threaded with millions of copies of his virus coated the depths of Dr. Shah's guts. Dr. Shah's entire body went tense with the realization of what had just happened. Brock once again pulled him against his furry, muscular chest. This time in more of an embrace than a restraint. Brock held Dr. Shah for what felt like an eternity. Gradually, the tension eased as the doctor melted into Brock's strength. Brock began to gently nuzzle the doctor's neck and the doctor gradually regained himself. He came to an abrupt realization that he was still impaled on Brock's rock hard shaft. "Ready to go again?" Brock asked.

For almost a year exactly, yeah. I had a lot of stuff explode in my personal life and stuff. But I am back for the time being.

You binged the entire story in a few hours lol. But yes, more will be coming. I finally have time and the willpower to do some more writing.

The vote was close. Like, razor close. 47 in favor, 45 opposed. Rod and a man who looked old enough to be Brock's great grandfather were the deciding votes. After the succession was approved, Uncle Dale called Walt up. Walt brought out his tattoo equipment. Brock chose the inside of his left bicep and Walt set to work. While Walt worked, many of those who had voted against succession left. Those who remained seemed to be eager from the break from official business. Many stripped down to underwear or less and began "socializing." Brock had never seen so many dicks in one room before. It was honestly hot. After Walt wrapped up the orange scorpion tattoo, Uncle Dale called the room back to their seats. It was customary for every Jarl to poz one last time in celebration of their lifetime of work. Dale, however, had a different plan. He wanted instead to celebrate with Brock's first pozzing. Brock was very okay with this plan. Especially when he realized the only negative hole in the room was Dr. Shah. The crowd gathered around as Dr. Shah approached Brock, lust in his eyes. Brock peeled himself out of his too-tight v-neck. He grabbed Dr. Shah behind the neck and pulled the doctor's face to his chest. Dr. Shah's wiry black beard mingled with Brock's reddish chest hair as Dr. Shah's tongue lapped at brock's skin. He made a brief stop at Brock's nipple before continuing on. Brock realized he had never had anyone play with his armpit, but Dr. Shah seemed hell bent on it. Brock raised his arm and without hesitation, Dr. Shah buried his face in the darker hair. He alternated lingual worship with deep inhalation of Brock's natural scent. Brock trembled a little at the new sensations. His prick was straining against the jock he'd selected for tonight. He twisted his fingers in Dr. Shah's shaggy black hair and pressed him deeper into his musky pit. Dr. Shah eagerly took in all that he could before Brock tugged on his hair, breaking their connection. "Labas cpeheit ra dar biavar" Brock commanded. He had been practicing for the next time he saw Dr. Shah. Dr. Shah's shock was evident on his face. Even Uncle Dale looked impressed. Dr. Shah began to peel his clothes off as ordered until he stood in front of Brock in nothing but his white Calvin Klein briefs and his calf-length socks. His coarse black body hair and olive skin contrasted nicely with the white. Brock unbuckled his belt and began unbuttoning the fly of his jeans. Dr. Shah fell to his knees before the second button was undone and took over. Brock's generous member was crammed in the pouch of his jock, limiting how hard he could get, but that didn't stop Dr. Shah. Like a newborn kitten mouthing blindly for its mom's teat, he tried in vain to get at Brock's cock. Brock once again twisted his hand in Dr. Shah's hair, but this time he wrenched the man's head away from him firmly. Dr. Shah gulped. Brock pulled the pouch of his jock to the side and his cock immediately swelled to its full size. Dr. Shah was like a rabid dog trying to get at the haunch of meat between brock's legs. He pulled hard against Brock's grip on his hair, but to no avail. Brock picked up a generous glob of his precum - his confirmed poisonous precum - on his thumb and offered it to Dr. Shah. The nearly naked man devoured it eagerly. Brock eased his grip just enough that Dr. Shah could inch closer to his hooded prick. Dr. Shah's moans gradually became whimpers the longer he was denied his prize. Brock placed just the tip of his dick on the doctor's tongue and Dr. Shah went feral, lapping every inch of his dick he could reach and swallowing every drop of virus-laced precum. While the doctor was blissfully sucking whatever parts of Brock's cock he could reach, Brock was gradually forcing his dick further and further in. It wasn't until Brock's member hit the back of Dr. Shah's throat that the doctor realized how much cock he had in his mouth - or how much more there was to go. Panic set in on Dr. Shah's face as the realization struck him. As soon as Brock saw his demeanor shift, Brock forced the rest of his cock in. Dr. Shah's eyes bulged and watered as he gagged. Still Brock held him there - until all the doctor could do was plead with his eyes for air. Brock withdrew his cock slowly and as soon as Dr. Shah could he began gulping as much air as possible. He suspected Brock wouldn't give him long to breathe. And he was correct. Brock was already steadily forcing his his member in again, his iron grip on the doctor's hair unflinching. They repeated this cycle three more times. The last time Dr. Shah thought he was going to pass out before Brock eased his prick out of his throat. Everything Brock did was very slow and deliberate. As the doctor panted, Brock retrieved a chair and turned the back toward him. "Khodat ra kham kon," Brock commanded and Dr. Shah eagerly bent over the back of the offered chair.

Brock was practically vibrating as 9:00 PM Saturday approached. He had dinner with his mom before she went to bed and made a plan with her to get the rest of his school clothes the next day. Coming off night shifts always wore her out. He put on the most flattering jock he had and his clingiest jeans. He rooted through his dresser until he found a v-neck shirt from his freshman year. It was at least a size too tight and way too short. His pelt of dark red body hair sprouted generously over the v-neck. If he raised his arms even a little bit, his furry abs and the band of the jock were clearly visible. It was perfect. ---------- Brock arrived at 8:30. Dale, Walt, Rod, and Dr. Shah were all waiting for him when he arrived at the 'Block. They were a Burger King Kids Club of emotions. Dale looked stoic. Dr. Shah was beaming with pride. Walt looked indifferent. Rod was harder to read, but Brock was pretty sure he was ecstatic. "Are you ready, kiddo?" Uncle Dale asked him. The irony of how many people in his life called him 'Kiddo' when he stood six inches to a foot taller than them brought a smirk to Brock's face. "Ready for what?" "My retirement party..." Uncle Dale smiled and a sparkle of mischief lit up his eyes. Brock's confusion was obvious. Dale chuckled and led the procession of depraved men back to his office. The dark curtain that separated Dale's office from his 'studio' was wide open. The furniture was all missing. In its place was somewhere between 60 and 70 chairs that appeared to be on loan from the convention center. They all faced the far end of the room. A handful had occupants already sat in silence. Dale and Dr. Shah walked up to sit up front. Rod took a seat in the front row. Walt walked Brock over to a pair of chairs in the back on the side of the room "Wait here. Don't say anything unless Dale asks you a question. If he does, answer succinctly and truthfully." Brock was a bit taken aback. His first impressions of Walt were not those of a man who would throw the word "succinctly" around. Brock also couldn't help but notice he'd "cleaned up" for the evening. He had shaved his head down completely, trimmed up his gray beard, and wore dark denim and a white t shirt that actually fit him. His tattoos stood out beautifully against the contrast of the white. Brock did as he was told as more people filed in and the seats began to fill. At 8:00 sharp, Dale stepped up to a rented podium and welcomed everyone. Seemingly for Brock's benefit, he identified the crowd before him as the council of Jarls. He introduced himself as Jarl of the Midwest Nest. A few people among the crowd cheered. A few shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Dale announced his decision to retire and to start ART. Whispers shot through the crowd. He then explained his intent to break with tradition and to name a Jarl as his successor. There were a variety of responses. Outcries of anger. Gasps. Excited murmuring. Uncle Dale quieted the crowd. "Of course I plan to put it to a vote. But first I want you all to hear from my friend Dr. Shah. He researches viral heredity. And he discovered our little club all on his own." Dr. Shah stepped up to the podium, the image of professionalism, and spoke about how he had put together the existence of the Scorpion Society in the course of his research of HIV in the local MSM population. He talked about seeking out Uncle Dale to discuss what he found. He had a tremendous amount of respect for Uncle Dale and all of the Jarls for their efforts to preserve genetically pure strains and how much that could help with research and treatment. Then he moved on to talking about his more recent work: horizontal transmission without mutation. With a transmission recipient of similar enough DNA to the source, he theorized that minimal mutation would occur. Because of HIV's unique qualities, some mutation was virtually guaranteed with every transmission. Dr. Shah brought up Rod and how he'd be the ideal specimen, since he and Dale were twins. Unfortunately Rod and Dale were pozzed by patient 0 the same night. Genetic offspring would be the next best thing. A son - or in their case a nephew - and it had worked. Dr. Shah showed his tables proving that there was zero mutation between Dale's strain and Brock's. Dale called Brock to the front. Brock tried to exude confidence as he walked the length of the room. He felt every pair of eyes on him. Some eager. Some curious. Some furious. Dale introduced Brock to the crowd, then turned to face him. "Brock, we have already established your status and the purity of your strain. If the vote is approved, will you promise to keep your strain pure until it is a threat to your life?" "I will," Brock's answer seemed to be coming from far away. "Will you uphold the responsibilities of a Jarl to protect The Society and revel in the debauchery expected of the rank?" "I will." "Will you make me proud to have you as my successor?" Dale's eyes twinkled again. Brock got the impression that question wasn't on the script. "I will." "Then we put it to a vote!" Uncle Dale declared.

Brock stared out the third floor window at the cloudy, rainy sky. He had tuned Mr. Bryant out a while ago. They were reviewing limits. Brock could do limits in his sleep - or, as he recently learned, gooned out of his mind on poppers with a raging erection. Not even Mr. Bryant's thick ass in his khakis could hold Brock's attention today, though. It was Wednesday. Brock had hoped to hear out of Dr. Shah first thing this morning. With each passing class period, he got more and more anxious that he wouldn't get the call. Had the virus not taken? Had all this new sexual confidence been a hallucination? A placebo? Brock's member pulsed in protest. Like hell it was. Brock could feel the virus pulse through him with every heartbeat. He could feel its desires every time a stiff breeze stirred past his dick. This was real. It had to be. His phone vibrating sent a jolt through him. His hand shot into his pocket, but the damage was done. Having finished writing the next problem on the board, Mr. Bryant's eyes locked onto him. He must have heard the vibrating. "Mr. Baird, since you seem to have more important things going on, what is the limit of this equation?" Mr. Bryant was pissed. No, not pissed. Disappointed. An anvil of guilt settled in Brock's stomach. Mr. Bryant was the one teacher Brock actually liked at this school. Brock hated this feeling he wasn't living up to Mr. Bryant's expectations. "There is no limit," Brock said, withering sheepishly under Mr. Bryant's steely gaze. "Correct. Now show us how you got there. And leave your phone on my desk. You know the rule. You can have it back at the end of the day." "But, Mr. Bryant...!" Brock started to protest. "But nothing Mr. Baird. Show all your work, please." Brock died a little inside as he worried he'd ruined his rapport with Mr. Bryant. As he placed his phone on Mr. Bryant's desk, he saw the voicemail notification from a university phone number. If he'd died before, that buried him. Brock worked through the problem, including the tricky substitution Mr. Bryant had been fishing for. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Bryant and he dismissed Brock back to his seat. "See me after school, Brock," he added, his tone had softened a bit. ---------- Brock shambled through the rest of the day in a zombified stupor. He eventually found himself with the key in the door of his Ford Probe when he remembered he was supposed to see Mr. Bryant. His head snapped up with the realization and he turned to head back into the building. His brain short-circuited a bit as he saw Mr. Bryant walking toward him already. "Uh...sorry, Mr. Bryant. I just remembered...I was about to head back in..." Brock stammered. Mr. Bryant held his phone out to him. "It's okay. I saw you at your locker and could tell you'd forgotten. What's going on, Brock?" His inquiry was beginning to feel like an inquisition. "You're very distracted the last couple of weeks. I get senioritis. I mean, hell, mine drove me off to join the navy and to be a nomad for two years before I knuckled under and got a big boy job. But this looks like more than senioritis, bud." Brock's mind swirled and he felt very light headed. Some part of him wanted to talk to Mr. Bryant. About EVERYTHING. "Mr. Bryant, I have been under a lot of pressure lately. My mom is working all the time, my class load this year is insane, and my uncle and dad..." Logic held just tight enough to the fringes of his mind and clipped that last thought before it could bloom out of his mouth. A wave of empathy swept over Mr. Bryant's face. "Brock, you can talk to me about anything..." Brock gave up trying to sort the tangle of emotions he was feeling and let it settle as a knot in the back of his throat. "I really appreciate that, Mr. Bryant. I need to sort some stuff out, but I'll tell you soon. I promise..." Mr. Bryant pulled Brock into a very tight hug. "I mean it, Brock. Anything." The hug lasted just a beat too long, which Brock and Mr. Bryant seemed to realize at the same moment, pulling away simultaneously. Mr. Bryant turned silently and headed back in the building. Brock dropped into the driver's seat of his car. ---------- Brock pulled into his driveway. He flipped open his phone and saw two voicemails and a text from Uncle Dale. The first voicemail was from Dr. Shah. "Hello Mr. Baird, this is Dr. Shah. I am calling you with some recent test results..." Brock thought he sounded very professional and by-the-book. The second voice mail was also from Dr. Shah. "Brock, your results came back even better than we could have hoped. I will see you on Saturday." His tone was very hushed and excited. The professional tone was gone and he sounded...almost giddy. Confused, Brock opened the text from Dale. "Meeting. Saturday. 9pm at the 'Block. Do NOT be late."

Disclaimer: there is condom sex in this chapter. It serves the plot. Sorry in advance if you're totally opposed to that. "The last thing I need is a sterile semen sample, Brock," Dr. Shah explained as he took off his pants. His white Calvin Klein briefs stood out against his darker complexion, and Brock could see that his chest wasn't the only part of him that was hairy. "After I prep you, you cannot touch your dick until after I have the specimen," he continued. As Dr. Shah took his briefs off, Brock nearly lunged off the exam table to get at the doctors cock. Dr. Shah had the shortest dick in the room by at least an inch, but he was a very close second behind Brock for thickest. Brock had never encountered another penis even close to as thick as his. His uncle' dick was amazing, but only a bit thicker than average. Even the guys he had seen in the lockerrooms or changing at the pool fell short of Brock. As he held it, the girth felt very familiar. Brock moved to take the doctor's member in his mouth, but was stopped by Dr. Shah's firm grip on his shoulder. "Business today, Brock," he scolded. He nodded at Rod and Dale, who moved to restrain Brock. Dr. Shah had taken a condom wrapper from his pocket. "I'm going to clean your penis and then I am going to fuck you until you ejaculate, Brock. I will collect your semen directly in this specimen cup. It is imperative that after I clean you, nothing touches your penis. Is that clear?" Brock nodded. The doctor proceeded. When Brock was undressed and prepped, Dr. Shah slathered a generous amount of sterile lube on and in his hole. Again, the doctor's experience was on display. Dr. Shah's intention and confidence was putting Brock at ease. And turning him on. Finally, Dr. Shah rolled the condom down his erect cock. Brock started to make a noise of protest, but was stopped by his uncle. "Dr. Shah is negative -" "For now," Rod interjected. "- and engaged," Dale finished pointedly. He is one of very few people outside the Society that knows it exists." Brock reluctantly nodded his understanding. Dr. Shah positioned himself at Brock's hole. With firm, even pressure, he began to slowly insert the head of his dick into Brock. Brock couldn't tell if it was his inexperience or the doctor's girth, but something made this process intense. Dr. Shah didn't stop until he had his full length inside Brock. By the time Dr. Shah had gotten all 6.5" of his member inside, Brock was panting and straining against Dale and Rod's restraint. "FuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUCK!" Brock was nearly shouting. Dr. Shah had taken a brief moment of pause when he was fully inside Brock. Brock continued to breathe heavily, desperately willing his guts to relax to accommodate Dr. Shah's thickness. Dr. Shah began to move in and out of Brock. Thrusting wasn't quite the right word. His movements were more fluid, like waves rolling in and receding. Brock's entire body felt like he had been hit by lightning. The thrill of ecstasy pulsed from deep within. He tried to take notes on how Dr. Shah moved his body. This was a skill. A skill he needed to have. Dale had done a number on Brock's prostate when he took Brock's virginity, but this was something else entirely. This was like his prostate was being massaged - almost milked by the doctor's smooth, constant rhythm. Insertion flowed seamlessly into withdrawal. Brock was bewildered by the sensation of it. He could only differentiate the two by the occasional slap of the doctor's thighs against Brock's muscular cheeks. Dr. Shah was speaking Farsi and Brock had no idea what he was saying, but the tone suggested he was telling Brock what a great hole he had. Brock managed to moan in response. Brock and Rod simultaneously realized that Dr. Shah had only forbidden anyone touching Brock's dick. Brock turned to his father and engulfed the 8", precum-slick member his father had been stroking moments before. His uncle, meanwhile, was busily extracting his own identical cock from the confines of his precum soaked jeans. Brock alternated between the matched pair of cocks on either side of him. He would have to chuckle later at the fact that they truly were identical. Brock was already overwhelmed by the sensations in his hole and the confusion of the duplicate dicks when Rod pulled a small ampule out of his pocket. Brock was intimately familiar with poppers already. They had featured in all of his sexual encounters thus far. He liked them so much, he used them most of the time when edging, too. But what he had used were a pale imitation of what Rod had pulled from his pocket. Rod cracked the ampule and inhaled deeply before holding it under Brock's nose. Brock had a glimpse of a thought that his poppers smelled different. That flicker of a though fleeted away as something primal took over. Brock experienced the next few minutes like it was being explained to him via PowerPoint. Dissociated from everything with lucid flashes as each new slide was shown. He deep throated his father and uncle in turn, swallowing every drop he could of their virus-laced precum. His own virus resonated with a kind of camaraderie. Dr. Shah had picked up the pace as he continued his gyrating exploration of Brock's insides. Intense pulses of pleasure from his prostate were a metronome keeping time for Dr. Shah's dance-like fucking. Brock wasn't sure how much time passed before his head cleared. He looked around to see the older men also regaining their composure. "The fuck was that?" Brock asked hazily. "The benefits of being in a big city," Rod replied, offering another hit, which Brock eagerly took. He sank slowly back into the gentle, warm haze where the only things that mattered were his pleasure and the pleasure of the men around him Brock suddenly became aware of the pressure building both in his balls, and in his prostate. He started to say he was about to cum, but it came out as a gutteral moan as he began shooting veritable ropes of cum. Brock was a distance shooter and typically shot very thick loads. And in quantities that could only be described as copious. The doctor's fucking and whatever his father had dosed him with dialed all of that up to 11. In the aftermath, Dr. Shah was screwing a lid on a specimen container that was full of pearly white semen. That was less than half of what Brock had shot. The rest was on his chest and abdomen, the exam table, the floor, and the wall behind the exam table. At least two spurts had hit the celing above the bed. Once the specimen container was sealed, his father and uncle pushed themselves over the edge within a second of each other. Their poison seed shot across Brock's hairy body from either side. When they had finished, Dr. Shah stepped up beside Brock's face and removed the condom. Without touching his dick, he began oozing the brightest white cum Brock had ever seen. It smelled like someone could get pregnant just by looking at it. Like distilled virility. It was as viscous as his dick was thick. It was incredible. Dr. Shah's leaked his concentrated cum all over Brock's face and beard. Brock eagerly licked what he could out of his facial hair and used his fingers to ingest the rest. His father and uncle eagerly helped clean up. Mostly with their tongues, but some towels were used on the floor at least. Dr. Shah went back to processing the samples. "We should have results by Wednesday," Dr. Shah said as they finished cleaning up and Brock got redressed. They each shook Dr. Shah's hand as they prepared to leave. Brock chuckled a little. "Dr. Shah, aren't there easier ways to get a sterile semen sample?" He asked in a voice equal parts entertained and incredulous. "Yes," Dr. Shah responded. God his accent was sexy. "So why..." Brock gestured around indiscriminately, "all of this?" "This was more fun," Dr. Shah replied matter of factly. He had a mischievous glint in his light brown eyes as he smiled genuinely at Brock. "I'll call you with your results."

Well thank you for the compliment 😁

Not familiar with any of these, so I'm not sure if this is positive feedback or not lol.

In what seemed like a blink, Dale entered the room and decked the lookalike that Brock had met at the entrance of the building. The man Brock had thought was his uncle. The man who had been so eager to get Brock's dick in him this morning. The imposter crumpled to the floor clutching his nose, which was bleeding profusely. Brock was caught off guard and shrunk back from the two men. Dr. Shah stood on reflex, seemingly more to protect his supplies than to intervene in the altercation. Dale turned to Brock and winced at the look on his nephew's face - watching someone lose trust in you in real time is never pleasant. "Sorry I'm late, bud." Dale offered. "What. The fuck. Is going on?" Brock asked with icy pointedness, still distancing himself from Dale and his doppelganger. "Brock, meet my brother Rod. My twin brother Rod," Dale said with an unamused dryness. Dale nudged Rod with the toe of his boot, rolling his brother a bit onto his back. As he rolled, his shirt rode up in the front and Brock noticed the conspicuous absence of a scorpion tattoo where Dale's was on his lower abdomen. "I'd planned for you to meet your dad a little differently," Dale said. The statement seemed more intended for Rod than Brock. "What is he doing here? What's going on?" Brock's brain itched a little when Rod was referred to as his dad. As though he couldn't figure out where to comfortably put that information in his brain. "The fuck did you tell him?" Dale's attention was back on Rod. Something was seething under the surface of his tone. Brock was pretty sure they crossed the line of "dysfunctional" long before this moment, but he got the impression that even if the brothers' sexual proclivities were "traditional," this family wouldn't even approach the realm of functional. "We just got in here, I was telling him about Dr. Shah," Rod forced out around his potentially broken nose. Dale looked to Brock, seemingly for confirmation and Brock nodded back tentatively. "We're here to get you tested, bud. To be absolutely certain the virus took. And if it did, to ensure it's my strain that you've got." Dale said matter of factly. Dale shot a withering glance at his brother. "As for why he's here, i suppose he thinks this is about him." "I got sick. I haven't had sex with anyone but you. Of course I got your strain," Brock sputtered. Realizing that wasn't quite true as of a few minutes ago. "Of course this is about me!" Rod shouted incredulously. "He's my kid!" "We have to be 100% certain," Dale said with a tone of finality, "because..." "Because you're dying," Dr. Shah finished for him. "Unless you start meds." A somber silence sat on the room like a lazy cat in the sun. Brock sat down on the exam table. Dale broke the silence by beginning to explain about the Scorpion Society. The basics, unbeknownst to Dale, Brock already knew. "The society was founded by the viral descendants of the first known case of HIV in North America. We have tasked ourselves with preserving the purity of the first strain. We do that by enforcing a strict hierarchy based on how far removed a person is from that strain." "The current Jarls are direct recipients of that first strain. Their role is to convert others by passing their strain along and coaching those who receive it. Those who keep their strain pure and unmedicated are eligible to be Thanes. Those who go on meds are welcome as citizens. Those who receive their strain from Thanes are also welcome as citizens regardless of meds. Anyone converted by citizens or outsiders is too far removed from the first strain and is not welcome." "Dale and I are both Jarls," Rod chimed in. He pulled the collar of his muscle shirt down to show off his orange scorpion tattoo on his left pec. "Dale runs the local nest. I run a nest up in Chicago." "So, what happens if a Jarl has to step down?" Brock asked, the gears beginning to turn. "Normally, the Thanes keep the nest running until everyone can be re-homed," Dale replied. "But in the case of my nest, the power vacuum left in my absence could threaten the entire Society." "So, where do I factor in?" Brock realized this question still had not been answered. Dale turned to Dr. Shah, who had finished prepping supplies and was wheeling a metal table over toward Brock. "I research viral heredity, Brock. In theory, infection under the right circumstances could result in a viral strain that is substantially similar enough to the existing Jarls that we can make a case for succession," Dr. Shah explained, "circumstances like if the strain passed to a close relative of an existing Jarl." "You want me to be in charge!?" Brock's heart was pounding in his temples and his ears were ringing even before he was consciously aware of the implications. "One step at a time, bud," Dale reassured him, "first things first, we need to confirm you're poz. But eventually, yes. That is the general idea." Dr. Shah was putting on exam gloves. Brock was unfazed by needles. In fact, he'd kind of always been fascinated by them. When he was younger he used to delight in watching his veins pop up distal to the tourniquet. His favorite nurse at his pediatricians office had always made it a a race, commentating on them like it was NASCAR or something. Dr. Shah had no trouble finding a suitable vein. Brock had been so wrapped up listening to the three men in the room talk about this undertaking that he'd been oblivious to the fact that he was well on his way to a raging erection. He blamed the sudden attention from the handsome doctor. Dr. Shah talked Brock through every step in the process as he sanitized his arm and prepared to insert the needle. The doctor's experience was evident, as Brock didn't even feel the stick. He only knew it happened because he watched it. Despite the lack of sensation, the whole thing felt very erotic to Brock. Brock observed as his blood - his presumably extremely viral blood - crept its way from the needle to the waiting vials. Brock's erection was now full mast, even beginning to throb. He could already feel his precum soaking through his briefs and making his jeans damp. When Dr. Shah had the blood he needed, he quickly placed samples in several places. Brock looked around the room and could see that his uncle rock hard and also making a mess of the front of his jeans. Rod had pulled the waistband of his shorts down and pulled his dick out of the pouch of his jock and was openly stroking, his precum making excellent lube. Dr. Shah returned to the side of the exam table, his own bulge very noticeable in his khaki chinos. "Now, let us get to work on the other sample," Dr. Shah said, a thread of lust running through his voice as he began to unbuckle his belt.

So is Brock. Sorry for the extended cliffhanger. Next part will be up soon. Meant to have it up the next day. Life got in the way.

You'll have to stay tuned hehehe. I will tell you we have only seen the beginning of Aaron's story. And Aaron is probably going to be the twink you're looking for heheh, but if he's not to your liking, there are at least 2 more twinks in upcoming installments.

Brock returned from his run to an empty house. His mom had already left for work, it seemed. He stripped off his shorts and jock on his way to the shower. He was fully hard by the time he ducked under the hot water. Images of Leon fucking the unknown man flashed between thoughts of what it felt like to have power over the anonymous man - the anonymous man desperate for Brock's cock. Brock was certain that if the man had been allowed, he would have swallowed Brock's entire cock until Brock blew his load. Brock wondered if the man would be able to swallow his entire load. His entire venomous load. His phone chirped from the edge of the vanity and Brock snapped back to reality. He'd been stroking his cock slowly and was getting dangerously close to blowing his load down the shower drain. His virus had made it very clear that was no longer acceptable. Where Brock had previously been able to jerk off and cum nearly on command, he found himself now reluctant to cum. He'd jerked off multiple times a day in the week since he had fucked his uncle. The day he lost count of how many loads he shot, when he fucked his uncle until he couldn't physically cum anymore. The day he blew his last negative loads and his first positive loads. The day, he was quite certain, he converted. But despite his efforts, he had been unable to get off from jerking off since. He turned the shower off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. His phone chirped again. It was his calendar reminder for his date with his uncle. He dried himself off, tied his hair back, and threw on briefs, jeans, and a flannel shirt. He was out the door a few minutes later. ---------- Brock pulled into the parking lot at the address his uncle had given him. He was slightly confused. According to the sign, the building housed the University's public health department. Brock had just grabbed his phone to text his uncle when a message popped up from him. "Front door is open. I'll meet you inside" When Brock got inside, Dale gave him a very tight hug. His uncle was dressed in some loose fitting athletic shorts and a muscle shirt. He must have come from the gym or something. "How was your week, bud?" his uncle asked. Brock gave Dale the highlights, leaving out his fantasies about fucking his scholar bowl coach and his excursion this morning. It slowly dawned on Brock that they seemed to be waiting for someone else. "Who are we waiting for, uncle Dale?" Brock asked. "Someone who's always late," Dale responded, annoyed. "Come on. He knows where he's going." Dale led Brock through the building, which was a bit of a maze inside - thank you brutalist architecture. After several corners and hallways, they found themselves in a dead end that appeared to be set up as a lounge with a couch and a couple chairs. Dale didn't hesitate. He walked straight over to the sofa, pulled the waistband of his shorts down to show his jockstrap-clad ass, and bent over the arm to present his hole to Brock. Brock's member stiffened instantly and within seconds, precum was soaking into his briefs. Dale reached back and spread his cheeks wider. The blood had rushed from Brock's brain to his 9" dick which made it very difficult to make good decisions. Before he could give it a second thought, Brock had his jeans and briefs around his muscular thighs was sinking his granite member into his uncle's hole. Dale was pre lubed. Pre loaded, maybe? Dale's hole welcomed Brock's invading prick readily for the first few inches. Dale groaned as more of his nephew's length entered his guts. "Holy fuck that's a great dick, kiddo," Dale panted. After Brock's dick found resistance, Dale gritted his teeth and pushed back against his nephew. With ample help from his nephew's generous flow of venomous precum, Dale impaled his second sphincter on the poz rod between Brock's legs. When Dale could feel Brock's thick mat of pubic hair against his ass, he stopped, just enjoying the incredible girth stretching his viscera. Brock could feel the days of unintentional edging coming to a rapid boil in his overfilled balls. Just the heat of his uncle's hole was enough to drive him toward the point of rapture. His virus wanted out. It yearned for freedom - to spread. Multiply. Just as quickly as Dale had accepted Brock's member into him, he was sliding off of his nephew's cock and pulling his shorts up. Brock was screaming inside and an ache set into his balls. "We are going to be late, bud. I just had to feel that cock in me." Dale said longingly. He set off down another hallway. Brock fumbled his briefs and jeans back up and set off after him, leaving behind the veritable puddle of biohazardous precum his uncle had left behind on the floor. A few turns later they stopped outside of an office. The placard read "Fahrad Shah, MD." Uncle Dale knocked and a man with a thick accent beckoned them in. Brock followed his uncle into the small office. It was set up like a doctor's office. Dr. Shah sat at the small counter with an array if vials and supplies in front of him. He looked to be in his early 30s and about 6' tall, average build. He had dark hair and light brown eyes. He had a tuft of coarse chest hair visible under the open collar of his shirt. His lab coat was embroidered with a biohazard emblem. The Scorpion motif Brock had become so familiar with was embroidered inside it. Dr. Shah turned from the supplies on the table and extended his hand, first to Dale and then to Brock. Dr. Shah turned back to the supplies and Brock turned to Dale. "What's going on, uncle Dale?" Brock asked. "Dr. Shah is one of the top virologists in the country. He specializes in viral DNA and virus genealogy." Dale responded. His tone was cool and level with an undercurrent of something Brock couldn't quite identify. Excitement? Anticipation? "Dr. Shah is going to test you to ensure you converted and didn't just have a bad flu. And if you're positive, he's going to run some additional tests." Dale hesitated here. Dr. Shah continued meticulously preparing supplies. Brock began to feel uneasy. This was very different from the second video he had seen of Zeke. He had questions, but he couldn't ask them without Dale finding out he snooped that first night. His thoughts thoughts were busily spiraling when there was a sharp knock on the door. Dr. Shah beckoned the newcomer in, again with his thick Iranian accent. Brock's Gaze snapped to the door in time to see Uncle Dale entering the office. And he looked pissed.

Brock had never really been a morning person. It was common on weekends for him to be in bed at noon. Saturday was different. He felt like the virus inside him had set an alarm of its own. He woke up with the most profound case of morning wood he could remember. And the sun wasn't even up yet. He tried a few different positions, but he just could not fall back asleep. He finally resigned himself to getting up. He briefly considered a wank, but his date with his uncle seemed a good enough reason not to waste any of his potent cum. He decided to go for a run instead. He put on one of his new jockstraps and gym shorts. He had been unsure about the shorts initially, but they finally won him over. They had, by teenager standards, a very short inseam and were snug around his muscular butt and thighs. They showed off enough bulge he could probably be charged with indecent exposure. Honestly, he looked fucking hot in them. They truly were an homage to the short shorts that were popular decades ago, at least if vintage porn reflected actual fashion trends. Brock's usual run was down to the park, then following the trail along the creek, and then loop back through the country to home. The little voice in the back of his head told him today he should pick a different route. He had come to associate that voice with the virus circulating in his veins. It's will. It's desirs. He set off toward the upscale subdivision they were building on the outskirts of town. Once there, he found himself running past a dozen houses in various states of construction. Only half a dozen completed projects had occupants. As he came to the last cul de sac, he stopped cold. Parked in the first driveway was a dark Volvo with a Park Village High School bumper sticker. He was nearly certain it was the car he'd seen leaving the Block the night his uncle Pozzed him. After the shock of seeing the car wore off, he realized the garage door was open. He crept up the drive until he could see in the garage. In the middle of the mostly empty garage, he saw the man he had seen in the basement of the porn store. He was wearing the same hat. He stood in his garage in an tank top and pajama pants. Brock only knew the man by reputation. His name was Leon Smithe. He was on the school board. And his daughter was in band with Brock. Kneeling in front of Leon was a completely naked man who was enthusiastically swallowing Leon's dick, which he had pulled through the fly of his pajamas pants. Brock didn't recognize this other man. Neither man had noticed Brock's presence. Brock watched as the naked man's eager cock sucking gradually changed into him being viciously throat fucked by Leon. The naked man didn't appear to have any form of gag reflex. He seemed unfazed by the fervor with which Leon was filling his throat. Around the third or fourth time Leon slammed his cock all the way down the stranger's throat until the stranger's lips started to turn blue, Leon noticed Brock. Brock froze like a deer in the headlights and considered making a run for it and pretending nothing had happened. That was when he caught sight of Leon's green scorpion tattoo on his left bicep, near his shoulder. His eyes slid from the tattoo to meet Leon's eyes and something was shared between the two of them. Brock wasn't sure how, but he knew he had permission to watch Leon make use of the stranger he was skull fucking. Leon looked to be in his early 50s. His dark hair and goatee were shot through with white. Brock had never in his life seen brown eyes that he would describe as cold. That was until he got a good look into Leon's. He was trim and fit. About 5'10". And from what Brock could tell, his dick was a bit over 6" and cut. Not especially thick through the shaft, but a sizeable mushroom head. Leon watched from just outside the garage as Leon pulled the stranger up by his hair and spat on him. The he shoved him toward a saw horse and the stranger seemed to get the message. He bent over the sawhorse and offered his hole to Leon. Brock wondered if the stranger knew about Leon's affiliation with the Scorpion Society. If he knew that, while Leon was likely on meds, he was HIV positive and proud of it. That he was part of an organization which thrived on infecting members to induct them into a world of sexual freedom and depravity. All of Brock's questions were answered when he saw the stranger's own scorpion tattoo on his right inner thigh. Well that was anticlimactic, Brock thought. Brock watched as Leon fucked the stranger with the same fervor and malice that had driven his earlier throat fucking. Brock was pretty sure he now understood what true sadism was. At least he had a better idea. Through all of this, the stranger was unfazed. In fact he seemed almost oblivious...dissociated from it all. And that seemed to only make Leon work that much harder to get a reaction out of him. Leon pounded his hole. He pulled out completely and then slammed back in as far as he could. He fucked him so hard the saw horse the stranger bent over was creaking in protest. Leon choked him. Spat on him. Ravaged his hole with his fingers when he wasn't brutalizing it with his cock. Brock watched in equal parts awe and horror. At some point. He had fished his dick out of his jock strap and begun to stroke it. By that point, the stranger had noticed Brock's presence. It was apparent that the stranger wanted Brock's dick, too. Brock moved just out of reach of the stranger, teasing him with the thought of getting Brock's dick inside him. The stranger began to whimper. Brock sampled his own precum slowly as the stranger watched helplessly. The stranger licked his lips. "Restrain him," Brock commanded. He was a bit surprised at his own confidence. Leon maneuvered the stranger into a modified arm bar. For the first time, the stranger looked legitimately uncomfortable. He tried to squirm against the hold. Brock stepped closer to the stranger, his hooded cock head just out of the reach of the stranger's tongue. Brock began to smear his precum all over the stranger's face. Each time getting close to, but never quite close enough to the stranger's mouth. After he'd put a generous coat of his poisonous slime on the stranger's face, he stuffed his dick back in his jock and returned to watching, feigning disinterest. The stranger looked defeated. And that seemed to be exactly what Leon was waiting for. His face was contorted and nearly purple with effort as he began to unload in the stranger's guts. When he was done spraying his medicated load, he pulled out, tucked his dick back in his pajama pants and headed for the door into the house. "Security system comes on in 15 seconds. Don't be here when it does." Leon said to both of them. Brock resumed his jock out of the neighborhood and headed back home. He needed to get ready for his date with uncle Dale.

Brock returned to school the next day. His first week back was pretty uneventful. Everyone believed Brock had been out with the flu, but he found himself wishing he could tell some people the truth: that he had been out because he was seroconverting under the care and attention of his uncle, who had infected him with HIV. That he had begged his uncle to do it without a second thought. He realized he was rock hard. His massive member stretched across his left thigh. The precum was beginning to flow. His new clothes did nothing to hide his anatomy. He knew uncle Dale had picked underwear that would specifically accentuate his bulge and leave nothing to the imagination. But it seemed his new jeans wanted to do their part, too. "Earth to Brock!" Mr. Bryant called. Brock had never been happier to be sitting at a desk. He'd had a hardon for Mr. Bryant since he started last year. At the present moment that was quite literal. "Does next week work for tryouts, cap-ee-tan?" "Oh. Um. Yeah I think so..." Brock responded pulling his attention away from his dick and out of his daydreams. Mr. Evan Bryant had taken the advanced math position at Park Village High School as his first teaching gig. He was a bit older than most first year teachers at 28. Rumors circulated about what he had done before becoming a teacher. He'd been Spec Ops in the military. He'd been training to be an astronaut but dropped out. He was a CIA analyst. He was in witness protection. He was touring in a band but they broke up. The sheer variety was comical. The truth was much less exciting than any of the rumors. He'd grown up in the next town over. He did spend 4 years in the navy and he had spent a couple years after touring the country, camping and backpacking. After a couple years of that. He decided teaching was his calling. And he was likely right. He was a damn good teacher. His AP Calc class last year had 95% pass the exam for credit. He stood 5'4" and was about 180 lbs of muscle. He had sandy blond hair that he grew out just a bit past his old navy crew cut, perpetual stubble that often was bordering on a scruffy beard, and dark blue eyes. His shoulders were broad, tapering to a narrow waist. You could tell he was muscular, even under his Oxford shirt and chinos. "Where's your head at today, Brock?" Mr. Bryant looked so kind and a little concerned. "I know you were out all last week but if we are going to make nationals, we need to start now." Brock chuckled. He couldn't exactly tell his teacher that his head was already swimming with the possibilities of what his uncle had in store for him tomorrow. He also definitely couldn't tell him that for the last 20 minutes he'd been picturing every position he could fuck Mr. Bryant in using the desk he was currently sitting at. His dick throbbed, oozing a large glop of toxic precum which quickly soaked into his new boxerbriefs. ----------- Dale sat in his office. On the big screen TV played the recording of his session with Brock - the video of him pozzing his nephew. His 8" cut cock was standing straight up out of the fly of his jeans. He was leaking a constant flow of precum while he watched himself fucking his nephew on screen. It dripped slowly over his hand as he stroked his member. "So that's him, huh?" the man beside Dale asked. He had the waistband of his athletic shorts pulled down. His 8" dick stood painfully hard, precum flowing freely and pooling in his bushy pubes. He seemed to be too distracted by the video to stroke his dick. Part of an orange scorpion tattoo was visible on the exposed part of his thigh. "And your certain you got him?" "We see Dr. Shah tomorrow afternoon." Dale responded coolly. "But if he comes back negative, we will just have to try again." Dale fished a coin out of his pocket and casually flipped it. "Call it in the air." "Heads." Dale revealed the coin heads up. "Fuck you. You always get to go first, Rod." Dale sputtered. The two of them exited the office and headed toward the stairs down to the basement

Sorry for two long chapters with only a little bit of sexual content. Promise more sex in the coming chapters, just needed some exposition to set up Brock's beginning to change from bullied and suppressing his sexual gifts to embracing and flaunting them. If any of you are familiar with "Be More Chill" I was struck by the idea of "what if the HIV virus worked like a S.Q.U.I.P. for gay debauchery. That was one of the inspirations behind these two chapters. I'm also sure you will see my own kinks and preferences emerge in my writing. I really like clothing and probably go into way too much detail about it. I also really like the sexual community dynamic, so most characters are going to be connected in some way. If either of these start to get boring, let me know and I can try to mix it up a bit. Enjoy.

Moments later, the door opened again and it was not Iain who walked out. The young man looked vaguely familiar but Brock couldn't place why. He was about Brock's age, though. About a foot shorter and skinny. He had short, sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He was cute. "I'm Aaron. Iain said you needed some help picking stuff out," he offered. "What kind of stuff are you looking for?" Brock gestured back toward the flannel and denim. "I'm looking for school clothes. Stuff for senior pictures. So something formal, too, I guess?" Aaron led Brock around the store pulling some jeans and flannel, some gym clothes that looked way too...revealing, and some chinos and button up shirts. As he was leading Brock back to the fitting rooms, realization struck Brock. "Aaron, what's your last name?" He asked. "Bryant. Why?" Aaron replied. "Are you related to Evan Bryant?" "He's my half brother, yeah." "He's my scholar bowl coach. I had him for calculus last year," Brock said. "I think I saw you at a match or two." "Probably. I was trying to make varsity at Century High, so he was letting me help out to get a feel for it." Aaron kept talking, but Brock's virus reduced it to a droning white noise in the background. Evan Bryant was the definition of a faculty crush. He was in his late twenties. Short, like his half brother, but where Aaron was skinny, Evan was muscular and stout. Like the difference between a gnome and a dwarf. There was that inner nerd again. Brock snapped out of it as Aaron was explaining, "Try everything on. If it fits and you like it, hang it here, fits but want a different color or something here, and if it doesn't fit or you dont like it, here." Brock worked his way through the pile of stuff Aaron had pulled, throwing them into the various piles. Pretty much everything fit perfectly. A handful of things he wanted in different colors. He had tried on everything except the athletic shorts, which he was 100% convinced were not going to fit. He was correct. Sort of. When he pulled them up, his hooded cockhead hung about an inch past the hem of the left leg. He heard Aaron's voice as the door to the fitting room opened. Aaron's jaw drop as he quickly closed the door to the fitting room. "I think they're just the right length," Brock called over the partition sarcastically. Aaron apologized profusely. "No big deal, man. Sorry you had to see that," Brock replied. Then he heard his uncle's voice. "They would probably be just right if you had on underwear, bud," Dale chided. Brock opened the door again to see his uncle standing next to Aaron. Aaron was trying to avert his eyes, but Brock could swear he caught him stealing glances a couple times. Maybe that was just his virus playing tricks on him. Dale, on the other hand, stared openly. To the point Brock began to feel his dick stirring beyond his ability to control his erection. Dale seemed to sense his nephew's predicament. "Wait here, I'll be back," Dale ordered. He walked away, pulling Aaron along with him. He sent Aaron to retrieve the requested changes in color and such and asked for his nephew's sizes and headed for the underwear wall. By this point, Brock was completely hard and leaking copious amounts of pre cum. Not knowing what else to do about it, he stripped off the shorts. He tried not to get any precum on them. He failed. Aaron returned first. Thinking it was his uncle, Brock opened the door to see what he'd brought back. Aaron's eyes locked onto Brock's full mast dick and he fumbled half of what he was holding. Brock resumed stroking his dick under Aaron's lustful gaze. Without a word, he paused and gestured as though offering his dick to Aaron to touch. To stroke. Perhaps to taste. Aaron got the message and took that offer he wrapped his hand as far as it would go around the soda can thickness of Brock's shaft. He seemed transfixed by the velvety movement of Brock's foreskin. His eyes hungry for the pearly drops of precum running like sap down a tree trunk. Aaron started to drop to his knees and abruptly stopped when someone cleared their throat. Dale and Iain both stood at the entrance to the fitting rooms. Aaron yelped and began picking up hangers and organizing them. Brock looked at his uncle Dale and saw he had returned with a variety of underwear. "Try these on, bud," he said as though this was the most normal circumstances possible. There were three different styles. A vintage style jockstrap with a 3" band and a very stretchy pouch. A brand of boxer briefs he'd never heard of that hit him just above the knee like his compression shorts, but these were a much more flexible material that accentuated his anatomy rather than compressing it. Lastly a brand of briefs he knew was popular with porn stars. Both he and his virus approved of the choices. He tried the shorts on again with the jockstrap. All he could think was that he looked like he was trying to smuggle a ferret out of the store. He felt conflicted. On the one hand, he looked like he'd been taken directly out of some homage to 80s porn. On the other, there was no way he could wear this for gym. He opened the door to tell Dale as such and stopped mid sentence when he realized all three men were staring agog at him. Even Iain, who Brock had yet to see aroused about anything, had a bit of a bulge in his pleated khaki chinos. Brock decided he could get some actual gym clothes next weekend with his mom. He had other ideas for these. Dale made conversation with Iain while Aaron bagged everything up. As they were headed out of the store, Brock realized he hadn't gotten anything formal. Or paid for anything. He expressed his concerns to his uncle. "That's all taken care of, kiddo," Dale reassured him. "Next weekend, you have your appointment with me on Saturday. On Sunday, go up to the mall with your mom and get gym clothes, then come back downtown. A few blocks over is Iain's tailoring shop, Loki's Thimble. I commissioned a couple pieces for you and he should have mock ups ready to try on by then." "Dale, my mom can't afford custom formal wear. Are you insane?" Brock asked incredulously. "Iain owes me a favor. Actually, he owes me a lot of favors. He'll make up something about a back to school special or promotional offer or something. He's actually the most discreet professional I know," Dale said reassuringly. Brock remembered the scorpion branded into the backroom door. He wanted so badly to ask questions, but knew he couldn't without giving away how much he knew about the Scorpion Society. ---------- Back at home, Brock laid on his bed with his junior yearbook. He had been staring at the "meet the faculty" page for Mr. Bryant for the better part of an hour. He'd been rock hard for the better part of an hour and a half. He'd been edging himself and had nearly blown his load at least three times. Poppers were doing a great job postponing that inevitable release. He heard his mom's car pull into the drive. He kneeled over the yearbook, Evan Bryant's bright-eyed innocent face staring back at him, immortalized in full color. He pushed himself over the edge and blew rope after rope of fully toxic cum all over his bedspread. Three huge shots plastered across the yearbook page his and his viruses dna seeping into the page. He cleaned the last drops of cum off his dick, pulled on sweatpants and a t shirt, and headed downstairs to hug his mom, move his laundry along, and serve dinner.

By Sunday morning, Brock had fully recovered. In fact, he felt better than new. His virus was like a Marvel Comics symbiote, feeding off his own life, but lending him its own strengths and will. God he could be such a nerd sometimes. He stepped out of the shower wrapped his towel around his waist, and began working his way through his morning routine. He couldn't help but feel like things were off every time he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. Like he was looking at someone else's reflection. Brock couldn't shake that feeling as he threw on some sweatpants and went downstairs to grab some breakfast. As he sat down at the table with his cereal, he found a note. "Working a double. There's money in your account if you want to go shop for some clothes for senior pictures. If you want to go together, I will keep next Saturday open. Hope you're feeling better. Love, Mom" For the first time in the last 5 weeks, Brock felt a pang of guilt. His mom would lose her mind if she knew what he'd been up to. She was just starting to come to terms with him being gay. Everything else would probably break her. She just wouldn't understand. He shot a quick text off to Dale to say he felt better and would be headed up to the mall in the late morning. He finished his cereal and went back to his room. He put on compression shorts and jeans, his usual, and checked himself in the mirror. Something still felt off. That was when he felt it. He felt like his dick was struggling against the compression shorts. Thoughts of symbiotes returned. He rummaged through his underwear. He found a couple old pairs of regular boxer briefs and an old jock. He tried them on. Well, tried to. None of them fit him anymore. Brock had always been a big guy. Always tall for his age, but he had also been pretty husky until last year. His last big growth spurt - combined with two years of at least five hours a week of lifting and cardio - had turned him into something of a hunk. Broad, muscular shoulders and arms, muscular chest. From there, his body tapered to a narrower waist, followed immediately by his firm, muscular ass and thighs and calves. He tossed his older, too loose underwear aside and started to put his compression shorts back on when inspiration hit. He tossed those on top of the pile of things that didn't fit anymore as well and pulled his jeans on over his bare skin. He stole another glance at himself in the mirror. Hard, his dick was about 9" and uncut. Soft, he Ranged from 5"-6" depending on the weather and how horny he was. The thinner, well-worn denim left little to the imagination. Today was pleasantly warm and he was very horny despite his marathon fucking of his uncle. His bulge was prominent down the left side of his jeans. His reflection didn't feel as "off" anymore. As he was pulling on a henley, his phone chirped. His uncle Dale had responded. "What's bringing you to town?" "School clothes" "2128 Main St. South. Tell them I sent you. Might see you there." Brock grabbed his keys and headed out the door. ---------- "Valhalla Outfitters" the signage read. There were no display windows and the windows to the interior were tinted darkly enough Brock couldn't see inside. For a moment, he thought about getting back in his car and driving up to the mall to buy the two pairs of jeans American Eagle would have in his size and some shirts from the gap. However, he was outvoted by the virus and his dick. If his uncle had recommended the place, there had to be a reason. When he walked in, he felt like he understood a bit better. The sales floor looked like a Hollister run by someone with all the apparel fetishes. The sales floor had everything from men's "Daisy Dukes" to bespoke suits. He spotted an entire wall of designer underwear but stopped himself short of making a B-line to it. Forcing himself to take a detour to what he could only describe as the lumberjack emporium. He was browsing a rack of summer and fall weight flannel when he heard someone clear their throat nearby. He looked over and did a double take. "What can I help you find today, young man." The man speaking to him was the man with glasses he'd seen in the basement of the Block that fateful night. The man didn't appear to recognize him. "Um..I'm looking for back to school clothes. My uncle Dale recommended this place." The man's demeanor shifted a bit at the mention of my uncle's name. "Let's get your measurements, then, and I'll have someone pull some things to try on. I'm Iain. Baxter." He walked Brock back toward the fitting rooms. Brock had only been measured once before when he was the ring bearer in his cousin's wedding. He was 6. He expected the process to be more uncomfortable. Other than the ridiculous number of measurements, it was uneventful. Iain walked Brock out of the fitting area. "Wait here," he said and disappeared behind a door marked "employees only" on a brass placard. Branded into the wood next to the placard was the stylized scorpion he had watched tattooed onto Zeke. The same tattoo his uncle had on his abdomen. Brock could feel the blood rushing to his member and knew that if he had any stimulation of his penis - even a small flex of his erectile musculature, the dam would break and he would have a raging erection.

For what felt like an hour, Dale sat on the futon, holding his nephew in a strong, warm embrace. Their naked bodies radiated heat to each other. Dale sampled a healthy portion of his nephew's cum before retrieving clean towels from a nearby shelf. He helped his nephew clean up. "It's late. You should probably have been home some time ago, bud," Dale said. "Yeah. I should get dressed," Brock dressed quickly as his uncle watched. Traces of lust still danced behind his uncle's eyes. After Brock pulled his shirt on, Dale handed him the same card Brock had seen thrown at Zeke in the video. On the back he'd handwritten a phone number. "If the virus takes, you're going to get pretty sick. Call or text me. Seriously," Dale said. It didn't really come across as a request. And then he kissed his nephew on the forehead and walked him back past the heavy black curtain to his office. The disheveled man Brock had seen head back to the booths shortly after he'd arrived was sitting in front of the desk. He looked worse for the wear with some fresh bruises coming through on his face and a split lip oozing dark red blood. One eye was swollen almost completely closed. The cashier sat on the corner of the desk next to the man, looking quite menacing with some fresh abrasions on his knuckles and an ice pack pressed to his jaw. Brock's uncle quickly took stock of the situation. "You'll have to see yourself out, Brock. This demands my immediate attention," Dale said in a suddenly serious, no-nonsense tone. Brock left his uncle and the two other men behind in the office and stepped back out into the store, nearly running into the man from the front row of the basement. He was headed for the door. All the effort of the night finally caught up with Brock and he felt very suddenly weary. He followed after the man, trying not to seem like he was pursuing him. As Brock stepped out of the store into the pitch dark September night, he saw the man getting into a Volvo parked on the curb. There was a single bumper sticker. It read "Park Village Thunder." Brock's heart leaped into his throat as he quickly crossed the parking lot to his own car and got in. He threw his hat on top of his letter jacket. His Park Village High School letter jacket, with the Thunder logo embroidered on the chest. ---------- The next three weeks felt like the longest weeks to ever fly by. Not a single day passed without some thought about that night at the Block. Some days it was a nagging half thought in the back of his mind. Some days he milked four loads from his dick before lunch thinking about everything that happened. On only two occasions had he really reflected on his decision willingly expose himself to HIV. He had concluded that he had no regrets and that if his uncle uncle's viral juices didn't convert him, he would try again after a month. On October 3rd, Brock knew his uncle had been successful. He woke feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. He had a fever and chills, he felt weak and had no appetite. His mom called him out of school before she headed off to work. As soon as Brock was confident she was gone, he texted his uncle "Woke up feeling like hell. Pretty sure you did itheb rnfhshsjfk dhdh h .?" An hour later, Dale was using a credit card to let himself into his nephew's house. He found Brock passed out in his bed. His phone had more gibberish typed into an unsent message. He was sweaty, but sleeping peacefully. Dale took the time to arrange him a bit more comfortably. Then he set about putting together some bland food for when his nephew woke. Then he crawled in bed behind him and held him until he started to stir. Brock would wake, have a bit of the food prepared for him and alternate sleeping and spooning his uncle until about an hour before his mom would get home. This continued for four more days. On day 5 of his conversion, Brock woke with his uncle's arms around him and a wrought iron beam between his legs. He was painfully hard. The virus had woken something slumbering deep within him. Without a word, he maneuvered himself between his uncle's legs and pushed Dale's feet back toward his head. Dale woke from his own dozing to the squelch of his nephew's precum in his hole as Brock was beginning to work his cock in. Dale gave no resistance. In fact, he seemed as though this was exactly what he was waiting for. Brock fucked Dale slowly, weak from his illness and hazy from the steady doses of poppers he and his uncle were using. When Brock was too weak, Dale would trade him places and ride him. Slowly milking his next load. In total, Brock filled his uncle with seven loads over 6 hours. Brock wasn't sure if these were his last negative loads or his first charged ones. They were probably both. All he knew was the little voice from the back of his mind that they must be inside someone. That all of his future loads must be inside someone. As Dale was getting ready to leave, he hugged his nephew and handed him A folded slip of paper. "Meet me here. Next Saturday afternoon," he said. He kissed his nephew once more on the forehead and left.

The next chapter should be coming sometime tomorrow once I wrap up a project at work. Wanted to take a moment to say thanks for the engagement this story has been getting. It's a lot easier to write when I know there are people out there enjoying it and looking forward to the next part.

Dale is definitely his uncle. We will meet Rodney in a few chapters.

There's a reason lol. I welcome any predictions people want to make about where things are going.

Alas, someone already took my virginity, but my neg status is still up for grabs.

Dale leaned down and softly kissed Brock's neck as his poison-tipped member found his nephew's hole and pushed against his virgin sphincter. The pressure evoked waves of anticipation and pleasure that rippled through Brock's body. Instinctively, the teen pushed a little, relaxing his hole just enough that his uncle could push inside. The precum-slick head of Dale's lethal organ sat just inside his nephew. To Brock, his uncle's cut head felt like a molten ball of metal, radiating warmth to his whole body. Brock inhaled sharply at the sudden fullness he felt. Dale had done a great job opening up his hole, because Brock didn't feel much pain. Just very full. That changed as Dale began working more of his dick into Brock's guts. "Oh fuck, uncle Dale!" Brock moaned as his hole stretched around his uncle's circumcised head and thick shaft. Dale's hairy, athletic body loomed over Brock's taller, broader, more muscular frame. Brock clenched the mattress as he adjusted to the invasion of his body. Brock had experimented a little with his own hole, mostly fingering himself while jerking off or in the shower. His uncle's member took that pleasure to a level Brock had never fathomed. Brock found himself subconsciously reaching down to spread his cheeks to allow his kin deeper inside him. "Eager. I like that," Dale growled into his nephew's ear. He began slowly thrusting into his nephew's tight hole. The generous amounts of virus-laden precum definitely helped, but nothing could fully prepare his nephew's hole. "You've never been fucked before, have you?" Dale asked slightly incredulously. It took Brock a second to realize he'd been asked a question. "You're going to be pozzed on your first fuck." The significance of being converted by his first fuck was not lost on Brock. In fact, it was one of the things he was most eager about. His own uncut cock was streaming precum. Neg precum. His uncle was slowly and deliberately thrusting into Brock's hole until he met resistance. Every thrust was a cacophony of conflicting sensations. First pleasure as his uncle's fat mushroom head hit his prostate, which quickly collided with the electric jolt as it met resistance. Dale continued working against that pressure slowly. Agonizingly. Each thrust pushed a new pulse of precum from Brock's own sizeable member. Brock tasted his precum a few times, but avoided touching his dick much. He knew he would explode instantly if he did. "Stay right here, kiddo. You're going to love the next part." Dale slid slowly out of Brock's hole. The sudden feeling of emptiness left Brock longing for more. Dale fished a brown bottle out of the pocket of his jeans before stripping them off and tossing them next to the tripod. "Roll over," Dale ordered and Brock obeyed, now prone on the futon, Dale stood over Brock's head, venomous precum streaming from the head of his dick. That precum was already coating Brock's guts, its viral payload making its way into his bloodstream. Dale shook the brown bottle a couple times. He uncapped it and held it under his nephew's nose, helping him breathe deep through each nostril in turn. Brock felt light headed briefly before the feeling spread out of his head to the rest of his body. His skin felt like it had been charged with electricity. Waves of arousal and pleasure that Brock usually felt when he had a raging erection were pulsing from his hole. His hole that he was becoming increasingly aware was empty. Some feral part of his brain was telling him he needed that void filled again. Dale recognized the primal need in his nephew's shifting body language. He returned to the futon and easily slid his member back inside. Brock grunted as the feeling of deep resistance returned. Dale helped him dose from the bottle of poppers again before taking a generous dose himself. Then he pushed. Brock felt his whole body relax as the second dose of poppers permeated his body and his uncle's dick slid through the resistance, finding its way to the deepest parts of Brock. Brock was speechless. He was damn near breathless. Dale began thrusting again. Still slow and deliberate, but this time with an amount of force that Brock met eagerly by bucking his meaty ass to meet each push. "Fuck yes, kiddo," Dale encouraged his nephew. "Your hole feels so fucking good." Brock could only moan in response, but Dale got the impression he was enjoying himself. "I'm not going to last much longer this deep inside you, bud," Dale conceded. "Are you ready for my toxic seed? There's no turning back if I keep going. I won't pull out." A glimpse of clarity broke through the haze of the poppers. "Fucking POZ ME, uncle Dale. I need your toxic load in me." Dale picked up the tempo of his thrusts. Despite not having touched his dick, Brock felt his own orgasm building as his uncle's dick massaged his prostate with each thrust. "You ready, bud? You ready to join my fuck club?" "Please POZ me. I need you to POZ me," Brock pleaded with his uncle. Brock could feel Dale's dick begin to swell inside him. His uncle drove his toxic sting as deep as he could. Something between a moan and a scream escaped him as his dick began to spasm inside the teen. And then the cum began to flow. The spasms of his uncle's dick pushed Brock over the line. He was so pent up, there was no preamble before rope after rope of thick, white jizz began blasting from his dick. He hit his own eye, he coated his torso, a couple shots shot past his head and landed on the black futon mattress. One shot missed the futon entirely, landing on the floor beyond the frame on the end. Each shot was followed by a heavy *plop*. Within a second of Brock's impressive display starting, Dale began unloading in his nephew's guts. Dale didn't bother to count how many shots of venom he pumped into Brock's vulnerable guts, but he knew it was likely a record for him. Dale slowly eased his dick out of his nephew's hole. "Be sure to clench, I'm about to pull all the way out and you want to keep as much of that in as you can." Brock could see streaks of red mixed into the froth of cum on his uncle's dick. He did as he was told and clenched. A small dribble of cum leaked out, but with how deep Dale's poisonous DNA was inside him and him being on his stomach, it wasn't going anywhere. Brock scooped up the dribble of cum and licked it off his fingers. It tasted incredible. Better than his uncle's precum. Dale crossed to the camera and turned it off then returned to help Brock sit up. He kissed his nephew deeply. And held him in a strong embrace for a while. "Most likely, you are going to get very sick in a few weeks. When you do, call me and I will come help with what happens next. Can't wait to tell Rodney I met my nephew for the first time tonight."