norubbers

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."

*please excuse any rough grammar in this one. Haven't gotten as much time to edit as I usually take, but I wanted to get this chapter out* "Curiosity is going to get you into trouble, Brock," Dale said. In person, Dale was even more striking than he had been on the screen. He was a bit over 6' tall and he was very fit. Not exaggerated like a body builder. More like a man who worked a very physical job or a natural athlete. His beard was still immaculately trimmed. He wore a white shirt that was nearly skin tight and contrasted nicely with his tan. His dark wash jeans were just tight enough for his bulge to be unmistakable. Brock started from his fixation on Dale's bulge, "Wait, how do you know my name?" "You really do look like your mom. Well, more like your grandpa Glen," Dale continued as though he hadn't heard the question. Dale had closed the distance between them. His eyes drifted down to Brock's dick and the substantial amount of precum dripping from it. He slicked his fingers through the precum. "Except that. That you get from my side of the family." He licked the precum off his fingertips. Brock was confused. "Your...side of the fam..what...?" Dale's laugh was a low, masculine rumble. "Before you ask, no I'm not your dad. My brother Rodney is." Brock was trying to process this information when the realization that his uncle had just swallowed his precum crashed over him. His dick throbbed. "So what are you doing here, Brock? This isn't exactly a place for preppy high school boys," he chided. "Online chat rooms said the bookstores were an easy place to get off," Brock replied sheepishly. "So I thought I'd check it out." "You decided to come to the Block for your first porn store experience?" Dale asked, somewhat incredulously. "What does your search history look like?" Brock looked down sheepishly and chuckled. He was still painfully hard and leaking precum. "They definitely left some things out." Dale chuckled again, "I'm sure they did. The preview booths can be pretty popular if you want some glory hole action." Brock could see his uncle's bulge was a bit more defined. "That's what I had heard. What was that video playing downstairs?" Brock was careful not to let on that he had seen the second part. "I do some amateur porn stuff. We sell...actually, just follow me." Dale swiped up some more of Brock's precum and walked toward the heavy curtain as he casually licked it off his fingers again. Brock stuffed his still hard dick back in his boxer briefs and buttoned his jeans before turning to follow. Behind the curtain was, as far as Brock had seen, the cleanest room in the building. He immediately recognized the futon. There was some very low tech camera equipment set up in front of the futon. "Welcome to my studio," Dale said sarcastically with an exaggerated gesture around him. "I opened the store back in the 80s fresh out of high school. Decided to try and cut some overhead by putting some home made products on the shelves." "And what about the fuck club the guy was talking about?" Brock was still trying to hide how much he knew. "Ah. That..." Dale turned to a small table and picked up a small orange flyer. He handed it to Brock. It advertised a monthly sex party and had the store's info. "Every second Saturday. All day. Usually rent out some space in a park or hotel depending on the weather. The video is part of the application process." "I want to apply," Brock blurted out immediately. Dale smirked a little, "You've seen what that process entails. Are you sure?" "Yes." Brock had already begun stripping his clothes off. Dale checked the camera and adjusted some lights. When Brock was down to just his boxer briefs, he sat down on the futon. Dale didn't start the camera rolling. He stripped his shirt off, baring his furry chest and abdomen and sauntered over to stand over Brock. Brock wasted no time unbuttoning the fly of Dale's jeans and getting the head of his uncle's dick in his mouth. It was covered in a layer of precum. Brock cleaned off every drop, savoring the taste and the feel of his uncle's slick, syrupy fluid on his tongue. Then he began to work his way down the shaft. "As you probably saw in the video, I am poz and not on meds," Dale said. "I'm sure you have learned about HIV in school." Brock mumbled something in the affirmative around Dale's massive dick. Dale pulled Brock off his dick roughly, "and you are aware that you will, in all likelihood, be infected?" Brock had been terrified of HIV when they learned about it in sex Ed. His bible-thumping health teacher and the abstinence only curriculum she taught had made it out to be a modern biblical plague sent down to cull the homosexual and exterminate the sexually immoral from the earth. Brock had written all of that off as hyperbole and researched it for himself online. He had a better idea of the risks and how it was transmitted, but he was still a little terrified. And that terror was like steroids for his libido. "Yes, sir," Brock looked up at Dale, a lustful hunger simmering to the surface, "I want you to poz me, uncle Dale." Dale growled something unintelligible in response and let Brock return to his dick. Brock enthusiastically devoured Dale's cock, pushing himself further down the shaft, letting Dale's cock stretch his throat. Before long, Brock's nose was buried in Dale's pubes. Brock was quietly impressed with himself and came up for air, working Dale's head with his tongue. Dale wrapped his hand around the back of Brock's skull and pushed. His dick rocketed back down the young man's throat and dale roughly and held him there until he felt Brock's throat spasm and saw the panic on Brock's face. Dale withdrew his dick and a mixture of saliva and Dale's precum dripped from Brock's chin. As he coughed and sputtered, trying to recover from being choked, Brock looked up at his uncle. The light and joking demeanor that had run under Dale's teasing only minutes before was rapidly being replaced by lust and a primal desire to infect his own kin. Before Brock could fully recover, his uncle's 8" member was sliding back into his throat. Brock was impressed with his ability to keep up, considering he'd only ever casually experimented with deep throating food. He suspected it was because his uncle' dick was thick enough that it left little room for gagging - it was like trying to squeeze a hot dog into a straw. When it was apparent that Brock was comfortable with the size of his dick, Dale pulled out and let his nephew clean the fluids off his dick. "Stand up. We need to get some interview material," Dale said. He stepped out of frame of the camera. The red light on top of the camera blinked on. "State your name and age for the camera." "Brock. 18." "And why do you want to join this sex club." Brock pondered this question for a minute. "I always thought I was destined to change lives," Brock said, grabbing his steel-hard dick and emphasizing the outline of his bulge against his compression boxer briefs. "I figure my best chance to fulfill that destiny is with this." Brock had often felt like an outcast among his peers. He had been the tallest in his class since the 6th grade. A couple guys on the basketball team had finally caught up to him this year, but otherwise he stood a good 3" over everyone else at his school. The nicknames about his height were corny, but liveable. The introduction of the locker room and having to change in front of his classmates had been fresh hell. He never could quite figure out why he was being made fun of for having a dick that bulged regular underwear to obscenity. He got really good at hiding his erections and wore athletic compression shorts to reduce his bulge, but still most of his peers had a rough idea of his size and decided it was something of ridicule. He tried to find new ways to hide what should have been one of his best traits. Standing there on camera, painfully erect, there was no hiding his dick anymore. "Take those off, let's get a look at you, Brock." Brock quickly shucked his boxer briefs. Dale picked up the camera and took the audience on a tour of his nephew's body. Starting from the top, he pointed out brock's chin-length auburn hair and full beard. The camera lingered on Brock's muscular arms and shoulders, toned pecs and abs generously pelted in dark red hair. And then the camera found its way to Brock's uncut, 9" cock nested in a thicket untrimmed public hair. "That is an impressive piece for someone so young," Dale commented. Brock shrugged. "Good genes, I guess," Brock smirked and saw a trace of amusement return to Dale's eyes before lust snuffed it out again. Dale circled Brock like a lion playing with its meal. After some good shots of Brock's meaty, muscular ass, Dale returned the camera to the tripod and stepped back into frame. "On your back, legs up," Dale commanded. Brock obeyed. Dale positioned his dick, dripping precum, just outside Brock's hole. From this angle, Brock had a great view of his uncle's scorpion tattoo. He reached out and caressed the tattoo gently with an air of longing. He thought about all the precum he'd already swallowed and trembled with excitement as he became consciously aware he'd already consumed a substantial amount of his Dale's virus-laden venom. His uncle's infectious DNA was dripping onto Brock's hole. Brock knew he was ready for the sting of inevitable death. To be reborn among those who would not only appreciate him, but celebrate the things about him that he had been bullied for. The things he resented. He wanted what his uncle was talking about in the private video he's seen in the office. The Scorpion Society. That was where he belonged. With the unexpected, gentle gesture, Dale seemed to have a sudden change of heart and instead of plunging his stinger into Brock for the kill, he nealt down and engulfed Brock's dick in his mouth. He took Brock to the root in one swift movement. Brock could feel his uncle's throat working around his soda can thickness with ease. "Holy fuck..." Brock managed before he devolved into gutteral moans of pleasure. Brock's eyes rolled back in his head. Brock's orgasm had been building from the moment before he got out of his car. Brock had been through a roller coaster of emotions. Anxiety. Curiosity. Lust. Terror. Lust again. More lust. Brock felt like all of those emotions were being loaded directly into his vas deferens and if his uncle kept going, they were going to explode. Spectacularly. Dale seemed to realize this and released his nephew's cock, trailed his tongue past his balls, and buried it in Brock's furry hole. Dale was showing his brother's bastard son much more compassion than he had shown for Zeke in the video downstairs, which did not go unnoticed by Brock. Dale alternated swirling his tongue around Brock's hole with probing deeper with his tongue. Before long, Dale was working a finger deep inside his nephew. It seemed effortless. Brock was vibrating with excitement when he realized his uncle had slicked up his finger with the deadly slime oozing from his dick. Brock knew that his uncle's virus was already going to work against the vulnerable mucosa that were the only barrier between him and his coming conversion. Dale worked his way up to three fingers. Brock noticed a feeling of burning while his uncle worked his hole open the last bit. Dale returned to his original position, dick positioned just outside his cognate's now slightly agape hole. Brock spotted the blood under his uncle's fingernails. He knew his T cells had already lost the war that was on the verge of raging in his blood. The blood he shared with the man commanding the assault. The man whose viral dna was dripping into his hole as he waited for the perfect moment to strike.

Yep. Just lime my other story, the next chapter is started, but work ate most of my time to work on it. Hope to have both out this week.

Yeah. I have thr next chapter started. Work got unexpectedly crazy on me and I started another story. But the next part IS coming.

As Brock was herded back up the stairs by the cashier, he noticed the cold of the wet patch covering most of his left thigh from where his own copious precum had saturated his jeans. At the top of the stairs, Brock expected to be taken back to the register, or maybe worst case he'd be kicked out, so he was surprised when he was escorted to a room in the back. It appeared to be an office of some kind. The beat up desk took up most of the room. A heavy black curtain covered the wall behind the desk. On the wall opposite the curtain was the only thing that looked like it was bought this decade: a massive flat screen TV that looked brand new. "Have a seat." The cashier commanded. Brock immediately dropped into one of the mismatched chairs. "Look, I'll leave. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to go down there. It's my first time...," he blabbered. He was nervous. Who could blame him. From somewhere nearby, Brock heard a creak like a door hinge and the shuffling of feet. "Fuck! Stay here." The man barked and quickly exited the room. As soon as he was out of the door, Brock shot up out of his chair and started pacing around the room. He assessed his situation quickly and decided to make a break for it and get out of there. As he passed the desk, he saw the remote to the TV and another DVD case. The paper insert read "090305 'Zeke' 22," this time in blue sharpie. Brock stopped in his tracks as though he'd run into a brick wall of curiosity. Mixed with libido. He was still mostly hard despite the terror of the ordeal. And Zeke and Dale were fucking hot. Any chance to see more of them, he would take. He listened very intently to see if the cashier was coming back. He heard only silence. Before he thought more about it, he snatched up the remote, turned the TV on and hit play. The timestamp in the corner was 09/03/2005. Yesterday. Brock understood the first numbers on the handwritten cases. The room on screen was the same as the film dowstairs but the futon was nowhere to be seen. Brock recognized both people on screen. On what looked like a medical exam table was Zeke, once again in his boxers. He still looked like a surfer twink just as before. But he looked a bit worse for the wear. His eyes were a bit sunken and he looked like he had lost a bit of muscle tone. The second was not Dale. It was the man who had just left the room. The store's cashier was finishing setting up equipment next to the table. He pulled on latex gloves Brock recognized Dale's voice when he spoke from behind the camera, "Welcome back, Zeke. How was the rest of your summer." "It was fine," Zeke responded neutrally, "went home for a bit. Moved into an apartment for my senior year since I just have my big professional development class. Don't need the distraction of the dorms." "And how are you feeling," Dale asked, emphasizing the last word. "I'm poz, if that's what you're asking," Zeke responded coolly. "Was a three day ordeal from hell, but I knew to expect it at least. Told my parents it must have been an out of season flu." "Are you ready for the next phase of initiation?" "...yeah," Zeke sounded weary, but also excited. Like he had been a roulette wheel of feelings about this moment for two months and had landed on acceptance "Excellent. Two questions before we begin First have you, to your knowledge, received the HIV virus from anyone other than me prior to or since your initiation? Zeke shook his head. "I need a verbal answer," Dale chided. "No." Zeke responded definitively. "Second, did you start antiretroviral therapy?" "Of course I did. I'm undetectable." Zeke replied. "Green." Dale said, though this was directed at the cashier, who turned back to the equiment. "You are about to be branded as a member of the Scorpion Society. It is an international brotherhood of poz men. You will find a nest of us in every major city in the world and many rural communities. Like this one." It sounded like Dale had given this speech many times. "Each nest is headed by a Jarl, that's me, who holds the original strain of that nest. Each Jarl may have up to two Thanes of his choosing. The Thanes are hand selected and convertedd personally by the Jarl to ensure their strain is as pure as possible. Jarls and Thanes are identified by their orange scorpion tattoos." Brock realized he was rubbing his dick through his jeans again. HIV had been a footnote in his "abstinence only" sex education curriculum. He had never even considered it as something he might encounter in his life. He had definitely never considered there were people who were so open and clinical about it. Who spread it intentionally. The thought of it was triggering some side of him he had absolutely no control over. "Thanes are not allowed to be on ART. If a Thane starts ART, he loses status and joins the citizenry and a new one will take his place. Citizens bear green scorpion tattoos." The cashier showed Zeke his forearm, which had a scorpion tattoo identical to Dale's, but in a dark green. "Tell Walt where you want your tattoo and he will get started." Zeke gestured to the right side of his torso. Walt set to work. Dale continued: "Citizens can partake in all membership benefits and have open access to all member facilities. Your only obligation as a citizen is to the Jarls and Thanes. You are to submit your hole to them at their command. Immediately and without question. In the event you go off ART and infect someone, they are not considered citizens of this society and they will be excluded from citizenship due to their tainted strain. Benefits of citizenship transfer to other nests, should you travel or move Do you understand these guidelines?" "I understand." Zeke said with finality. Brock was transfixed by what he was seeing and hearing. At some point, he had unbuttoned his jeans and taken them and his boxer briefs down to his thighs. His hand was wrapped around his uncut dick, idly stroking his length as his precum ran down the length of his shaft to his hand. He slicked his dick up and still more dribbled onto his underwear and the floor. He had always been an extremely heavy precummer. He heard a rustle behind him and an ice cold chill raced down his spine. He fumbled to turn the TV off and quickly turned to see someone stepping out from behind the heavy black curtain.

Brock stepped off the last concrete step into a short, narrow hallway. In the room beyond, he could see there were mismatched sofas ranging from floral paisley that looked like it had been lifted directly out of his grandmother's family room to a broken down leather La-Z-Boy that appeared to have lived a short, hard life in a frat house. Brock crept to the door and surveyed the very dim room in front of him. There were 10 sofas in total facing one of the unfinished concrete walls like theater seating. That appeared to be the goal, as there was a porno flick playing on the unfinished wall from a beat up projector. That was the only source of light in the room. Four men were scattered amongst the sofas. A mid 40s, average build business man in a Grey suit sat on the paisley sofa nearest the door with a very obvious erection under his suit pants, idly rubbing himself through the fabric. A muscular guy in designer label clothes sat in the far back corner, an obscene bulge quite evident in his joggers but he didn't seem to be giving much attention to it or the flick. A slight, nebbish man who wore a plaid button up and khakis sat transfixed on the film, the film reflecting off his glasses contrasting with how still he sat. The last guy was dressed much like Brock. He was seated in the front row, so Brock couldn't tell much about him other than he wore a ball cap, a plain shirt, and jeans. Of the four on the sofas, he was the only one who appeared to notice Brock, turning his head slightly toward the door. The porno on the wall appeared to be something very low budget. In fact, it looked like a home movie that had been recorded on a Handycam or something. The timestamp in the corner read 07/03/2005, which was two months ago, and the title was "Zeke." A younger guy - probably in his early 20s - with long blond hair was sitting in his boxers on a cheap metal futon being interviewed by someone out of frame. "So what brought you here tonight, Zeke?" The guy out of frame asked. Brock turned his attention away as Zeke was starting to answer. Behind the sofas, the projector sat on top of a half wall. A fifth guy stood behind the wall. His pants and briefs were around his ankles and he was stroking himself hard. He was a stocky guy and from the look of his stiffer-by-the-second dick, he had a short, beer can thick dick. Brock was a bit taken aback that someone was just openly jerking off, but he was immediately reminded how horny he was as his teenage dick strained against the tight denim of his jeans. The man saw Brock, then he used some spit to slick his cock up a little and continued wanking while staring openly at Brock for a few seconds before turning back to the film. Set into the walls on the left half of the room were four small alcoves. Small amounts of light from the central room barely made it into them and they were pitch black otherwise. Still more curious than anything, Brock started toward the nearest. Inside, there was another guy jerking off. He had tied twine around his dick and scrotum in some kind of home made Oxballs style cockring. His average sized dick was engorged and purple under the constraint of his knot work. He idly played with his dick, leaking some precum which he was enthusiastically licking from his fingers. He nodded to Brock, which may have been an invitation. Brock was oblivious, though, as he continued to the next alcove. Inside, he found a very roughly constructed plywood "table" at about the right height for fucking. An orange light bulb cast an eerie glow on the table. No one was in that alcove currently. The last two alcoves were two entrances into the same small, dark room. Inside were two construction workers. They still wore their vests. Each of them had his pants undone and around his thighs. Both appeared to have above average dicks. Kneeling in front of them was a man who had to be in his 60s. He wore nothing but a jockstrap. He was alternating sucking each of the dicks in front of him. "I'm gonna cum," one of the construction guys announced casually. The older man took his dick all the way down his throat and swallowed every drop of the man's seven inch uncut dick before turning his attention to the other dick. The guy who'd cum stuffed his dick back in his pants, buttoned up, and walked out of the alcove past Brock. Brock turned back to the film. Zeke had been joined on camera by a second man, Dale. The new guy was middle age. Dark hair and eyes. A bit taller than Zeke, but Zeke didn't look particularly tall. Dale looked like the "best friend's hot dad" in every teen sex comedy movie. Neatly trimmed beard, just a little bit of gray starting to come through, obviously knew his way around the gym. USDA Grade A Certified DILF. Zeke was now standing naked with his hands clasped in front of his groin. He looked a bit more uncomfortable now. Dale was walking around him groping him and pointing out tattoos and other details about him. Everywhere he would touch, the cameraman would get a closeup. "Alright, now we need some closeups of your dick and your ass, and then we can start the next part of the interview," Dale said as casually as if he were asking him to make some copies or fetch a coffee. Zeke seemed reluctant, but he eventually unclasped his hands. He had a decent size dick, even totally soft. "Oh yeah, this is going to work great, Zeke," Dale said enthusiastically. He unbuckled his pants and pulled out his semi-hard dick. Commando. Brock had watched a lot of porn. I mean, A LOT of porn. But he had rarely seen anything this...rough. There was no editing to speak of, just one continuous shot from the single camcorder. Everything about it felt so amateur and real. Brock's dick pulsed it's approval. Dale had one of the largest dicks Brock had ever seen. "Might be as big as mine," he thought. The only word he could think of to describe it was "photogenic." Thick with a couple prominent veins. Large head, but proportionate with the rest of the shaft. "Show me what you can do," Dale said, gesturing to his cock. Zeke got down on his knees and took the head of the man's dick in his mouth. Brock found his way over to an empty couch in the back and his left hand went straight for the steel pipe in his own jeans. He realized he hadn't touched his own dick since he'd gotten here. Even through his jeans he felt like he could explode instantly. In the flick, Dale was groaning as Zeke worked his head and the first bit of the shaft. He placed his hand on the back of Zeke's head and was less than gently coaxing Zeke further down his shaft. Zeke seemed to be much more comfortable with Dale's meaty head against his tonsils than the had been minutes ago. Zeke was also quite talented from the look of it. Before long, Dale's entire dick was sliding effortlessly in and out of his throat, skullfucking Zeke. A mixture of fluids dripped off Zeke's face as he accepted the massive length and girth of Dale's dick into his throat. A hunger burned behind his eyes. "Please fuck me, sir," Zeke coughed out during a quick break when Dale had pulled completely out to show the camera his dick layed across Zeke's face. "You sure you're ready, kid?" Dale chided. Zeke responded by scooping up a handful of the fluids still on his face and smearing between his cheeks. Then he laid back on the futon and presented his hole to Dale. Dale took off his shirt. Between his navel and his pelvis, on his muscular lower abdominals, he had a single tattoo: an orange scorpion. It wasn't a complicated tattoo, but it was exquisitely done. On screen, Zeke asked if the tattoo meant what he thought it meant. Dale didn't answer, he just shucked his pants and began smearing precum on Zeke's waiting hole directly from the head of his massive dick. "Does that mean what I think it means!?!" Zeke said more urgently this time. He looked genuinely terrified. He began to squirm, but Dale had him in a bad position and 40 extra pounds of leverage. Brock found himself confused, but undeniably aroused by the scene on the screen. Why had Zeke been so terrified of a tattoo? What did the tattoo mean? "This is gonna hurt," Dale said as he plunged his massive member into Zeke's hole. He had slicked Zeke's hole and his own cock with a generous amount of precum, but even that was not enough to prepare Zeke. Zeke screamed. He writhed. The pain was evident in every fiber of Zeke's body. Dale was clearly enjoying it, but he held back for the benefit kd the camera. The cameraman got a close up of Dale's cock impaling Zeke's hole. You could see Zeke's hole spasm, trying desperately to eject the sudden intrusion. Dale didn't move much until Zeke had calmed down a bit. As Zeke's hole adjusted, Dale began short, slow strokes in his hole. "Yes, the scorpion tattoo means what you think it means," he said matter of factly. "You told me you were serious about becoming a member," he added. "The club...," Zeke sputtered. "I wanted to join the fuck club, not get POZZED!" "They are one and the same," Dale replied. "Trust me, the benefits are worth it." The pleasure of the fuck was beginning to set in for Zeke. His cries and sharp breathing were quickly turning into moans and panting for more. Dale pulled his dick out of Zeke. The coating of juices on his dick had streaks of red through it. He flipped Zeke over face down on the futon. He plunged his cock back into Zeke's battered hole with the full weight of his muscular body behind it. Zeke was rocking his hips on every thrust to let more of Dale penetrate him. Dale shoved Zeke's head into the mattress of the futon as he slammed his dick into Zeke's puffy hole. The cameraman got a closeup of Zeke's angry red pucker as Dale hammered his length into him. The camera panned back out to a wider shot and Dale wrapped his muscular arm around Zeke's neck. "I'm going to poz you up, kid. And then sex will never be complicated again. You want fucked. You take cum. Someone wants to fuck you. You take cum." Dale said, mere centimeters from Zeke's ear. Dale slowed down his strokes. "Do you want it, Zeke? Do you want to fuck freely? Do you want more sex than you can possibly imagine?" "I want it," Zeke mumbled. "Say it like you mean it, kid." Dale had pulled Zeke up against his chest by his hair, his dick still dripping red tinged fluids. It was poised just outside the wreckage that used to be a sphincter, looking very much like a stinger ready to inject a lethal dose of venom. "I WANT IT! I WANT YOU TO POZ ME" Zeke shouted. Dale threw him back down on the bed, inserted his dick firmly into Zeke's hole, and, as if on cue, began emptying his toxic payload into Zeke's guts. The camera captured every flex and spasm of Dale's dick. In agonizing detail. Every spurt of cum was clear as Dale's venom painted the inside of Zeke's guts. "Welcome to the nest, initiate." Dale said as he pulled out and disappeared out of frame. Zeke stayed face down on the futon as the camera got some closeups of his ruined hole. The cameraman's arm appeared from out of frame and threw a business card onto Zeke's back. It was black with a scorpion embossed in an amber orange color on the side facing the camera. "Instructions." The cameraman said and then the camera was put down on a tripod or something, still recording Zeke. Zeke sat back down on the futon. For the second time, Brock noticed Zeke's cock, but now it was rock hard. It was fairly long. Probably around 7 inches. And average thickness. Zeke slicked his hand with some of the juices seeping out of his hole and jerked himself off without ceremony. Zeke was dressing himself on screen when suddenly Brock felt a hand grab his shoulder. He yelped and sprang up from the couch. He whipped around to see the cashier from upstairs with a stern look on his face. "This area is for members only," he droned, grabbing Brock's shoulder again and pushing him toward the door to the stairs. "I...uh...I was looking for. Uh. Bathroom? I thought the bathroom was down here." As the older man escorted him to the stairs, he stopped to take the disc out of the player hooked up to the projector and put a new one in. He put the disc in one of those plain sleeve cases labeled "070305 'Zeke' 22."

Brock's heart was racing. He hadn't even gotten out of the car and he could feel his pulse in his temples. Brock was just starting his senior year of high school and the closest he had gotten to sex was mutual masturbation with friends during their much more curious years. Before it got weird. Those days were long past. He had chatted with countless guys online about the 'Block. On websites he hadn't technically been old enough to access. But hey, thats growing up gay in small town America. What else was there to do? None of that mattered now, though. It was his 18th birthday and here he was in the parking lot of this local legend. Brock's dick stirred in his jeans a bit. It was now or never, and he knew it. He pulled a ball cap on and headed for the door. There were a couple other cars in the parking lot, he noted. He opened the door - no window, which struck him as odd - and stepped in. The place was seedy on a level Brock could not have imagined. The locals in the chat rooms did not do this place justice. The floor was sticky and the air smelled like an ashtray filled with cum. The entire space was poorly lit. The walls were lined with case displays full of DVDs and VHS tapes. Most of the displays were sticky, too. The center section of the store was cramped with shelves packed full of magazines and small books of erotica. There was a small section of Polaroids lined up in a box like trading cards as well as packets of pictures like you get when you develop film. The products only filled half of the overall space. The other section looked empty as far as Brock could tell. The single register was manned by a guy who had to be in his 60s. Bald on top with some coarse white hair left on the back and sides. He sported an unkempt beard. He was dressed in tattered camo pants and a beat up leather vest. No shirt. His entire torso was a canvas of tattoos of wildly differing quality. He was smoking a cigarette inside despite the city wide ordinance prohibiting smoking indoors. Brock's dick stirred again. The cashier gave Brock a glance over. Brock had been able to buy his mom's cigarettes without getting carded since he was 15. He'd always been big for his age, but his last growth spurt had put him just over 6'6" tall and switching out of general PE into the athletic conditioning class had put about 215 pounds of muscle on that frame. Coupled with his beard, which had stopped being patchy last year and now looked really good if he kept it trimmed, everyone assumed he was older than he was. The cashier included, evidently, because he turned his attention back to a small TV on the counter as Brock was reaching for his wallet to pull out his license. Brock quickly found a display of DVDs to pretend he was perusing. He noted that besides himself and the cashier, the place was empty. He again noted that his pulse was racing. He began to legitimately browse the shelves, hoping the distraction would calm him down. Brock had a fair amount of exposure to porn at this point - again, what else was a gay boy supposed to do in the midwest - but he noted he had never heard of any of the studios or performers he saw on the cases. In fact, one display very near the register was full of cases that just had plain paper inserts with things like "010120 'Chuck' 48" written in sharpie. Brock scanned the case. "082805 'Carl' 62," he read. He heard the bell on the door chime and nearly jumped out of his skin. He very unsubtly turned to see who was walking in through that windowless door. The man walking in was a little shorter than average and overweight. Probably in his early 50s. He had beady, dark eyes and stringy brown hair. If the cashier looked unkempt, this man looked disheveled. Stained gray sweatpants and an A shirt that probably was white at some point. The man didn't even acknowledge Brock on his way to the counter. He threw a pack of cigarettes at the cashier, who disinterestedly put a stack of coins on the counter. The man quickly snatched up the coins and shuffled off past the desk to the empty section of the store. Brock stared after him just a little too long. "There's preview booths in the back if you see something you want to try before you buy," he said. Brock jumped again. "Uh...thanks," he stammered. The cashier went back to his little TV. Brock could feel himself losing his nerve as his pulse crept up again and his breathing became irregular. He felt like he might throw up or pass out. Probably both. He spotted a hallway lit by a single orange bulb in the back area and took off that direction, hoping it led to the bathroom. As Brock drew closer to the hallway, his nerves settled a bit. Which was good because the hallway wasn't really a hallway. It was an exit to the outside that appeared to be welded shut and a staircase, presumably to a basement. Brock realized that his 18 year old dick was rock hard in the wake of everything he had seen so far. It struck him as odd that this area would just be left open and the cashier wasn't making any effort to stop him, so he started down into the dark of the basement.

Chapter 3 I spent the next week thinking about Joel and the invitation from my former high school. I had called Linda back the next morning to formally accept the invitation, but Joel's voicemail kept replaying in my head. Better that than the dream, I guess. Memories of Joel occupied most of my thoughts on the drive out for Spartan Trifecta weekend. Joel and I go way back. He and I attended school together from kindergarten through graduation. K-12 all in one building. Average graduating class from the high school was about 65 people. This school was tiny. Despite the tiny size of the student body, Joel and I barely knew each other until middle school when I started working for Joel's parents. They owned one of the largest tree farms in the midwest and would hire out extra workers during peak seasons. Labor laws allowed kids as young as 13 to work in agriculture. Pretty sure those laws weren't intended for work involving axes and saws, but loopholes are loopholes. That job paid for my first summer theater camp, which eventually led to my nickname. Junior year, the camp production found me center stage, shirtless, and wearing a viking helmet. Joel had come to see me in the show. He sought me out backstage in the dressing area after the show. "You looked like some kind of viking Hercules up there, man," he said after. "Everyone in that audience is probably scarred for the rest of their lives having seen me shirtless," I countered. "Blinded, too. I'm incandescent up there with the stage lights on me." "Dude..." he started, trying to pull me to the mirror, which was comedically futile. "You really have no idea how good you looked up there, do you?" While I still had one good growth spurt left in me, at the time I was 6'4" and about 235 pounds. Work on the tree farm was very physical, so I had decent bulk to go with my height. I felt like I was more chub than muscle at this point. In contrast, Joel was about 5'5" and maybe 120 during a bulk. He kind of looked like a child trying to push his dad on the swings. I got up and let him take me over to the dressing mirror. He was right, I did look pretty damn good. While there was a little bit of pudge still to go, there was no mistaking the sheets of muscle that ran beneath. I already had a decent amount of dark auburn body hair, and I could have grown a beard if my mom didn't insist I shave every couple days. I put the helmet back on. "Viking Hercules, you say?" I asked sarcastically, a goofy grin spreading across my face. "Yeah, but that's too long. How about V-H for short?" He quipped. We both laughed. The daydream faded as I pulled my subaru into the parking lot of the compound of cabins that would be my home for the next 3 days. I got my key from the attendant and surveyed the parking lot. No one else from my training group was here yet. I threw my duffle on the end of one of the beds in my cabin and headed back out. Maybe the training course would take my mind off things. In a way, I was right. On the training course, I met Scott, future-DILF. He was average height - about 5'10", but from 6'8" everyone looks about 5'10" - and about 230 pounds of fresh-from-the-gym muscle and too much beer and pizza. He had dark blond hair and blue eyes. He stared at me on every obstacle on the training course. Especially after I took my shirt off after the dunk wall and my soaked shorts were clinging to my obscene bulge. Compression shorts my ass. After finishing the course, I doubled back toward the start of the course and met Scott as he was finishing the course. As I walked past him toward the cabins, I grabbed my bulge and nodded. He turned tail and followed me without a word. Good to know my cruising instincts still worked. I led him into my cabin. His tongue was in my mouth before I even got the door closed. He was a good kisser, but I had other goals. His hands found my bulge, rapidly hardening in my compression shorts. I pushed him to his knees and pulled the waistband of my shorts down as he went. His tongue found my balls, slightly musky from the course. His eager mouth struggled with my cock at semi-hard. This was going to be fun. He hesitated as my cock reached full hardness. I clamped a hand around the back of his head and forced my length into his throat. I could feel his throat convulse as he gagged. God I love that feeling of panic. I pulled my dick out of his throat. Tears streamed from his eyes as he coughed and tried to catch his breath. "Relax your fucking throat," I growled, shoving the length of my uncut cock back in his mouth. I felt teeth and abruptly pulled back out, clapping him on the side of his head - harder than was probably necessary, but I wanted to ensure he got the message. "And watch your teeth." We attempted a few more times, each ending with him gagging and panting for air. He was beginning to look a little unsteady on his knees. I hauled him off his knees and shoved him over onto the bed. He flopped on the bed, nearly delirious. I fished through my duffle for my poppers. I uncapped them and shoved them under his nose and watched the haze roll over his eyes. I positioned him on his back with his head hung over the bed. I took a generous hit of poppers for myself. All thoughts faded except using his holes to get off. I plunged my dick back into his throat and started fucking it in earnest. Through his popper-induced stupor, he gave no resistance and his throat stretched to welcome my girth with every thrust. Now this was more like it. I pulled out, a generous coat of spit on my cock. His initial popper fog was starting to lift. "Turn over. Ass up," I commanded. He did as he was told and I tossed the poppers to him. "You're probably going to want some more of those" I rummaged through my duffle for lube. "I'm poz. Undetectable. I don't do rubbers." I left no room for discussion. I took him reaching back to spread his cheeks as consent enough. He muttered something about PrEP. I hadn't really noticed, but he had a generous coat of dark blond fur over most of his body, including his ass and around his hole. I slathered a generous amount of lube into his hole. I took another hit of poppers. The head of my prick found his furry hole. I pressed the head of my dick into his guts without ceremony, stopping only when my head met resistance deeper in his hole. He didn't flinch from my dick. Either the poppers were really doing their job or he was a very well-worn bottom. Whichever, his hole felt great. I pressed into him until the head of my dick met resistance deeper inside. I fucked the first few inches of his guts deliberately - pressing against his second sphincter with every deep thrust. At some point he must have hit the poppers again because he pushed back into one deep thrust. The sound he made as the rest of my dick sank into him was best described as a howl. my pelvis rested comfortably against his bubble ass and he immediately began trying to come off of my cock. I grabbed his right arm and leveraged him down on the bed, pinning him; my dick still deep inside. I could feel him squirm beneath me, whimpering as his intestines struggled to make friendly with their new invader. When the squirming stopped, I resumed thrusting into him. God he had a great hole. I could feel the cum beginning to brew in my balls. Deep penetrating thrusts mixed with quicker, harder thrusts as his body was dribbled against the cheap mattress springs. His howls had long since turned into moans. I released the armbar pinning him to the bed and pulled him up to his knees. In doggy style, the rhythmic slap of our bodies joined his moans. I was nearly certain our sexual symphony could be heard by at least the neighboring cabins. I pulled out of him again and rolled him over. Throwing his legs back and exposing his furry hole. I wanted to see the look on his face as I filled him with my seed. I sank my hardness back into his guts. We both hit the poppers one more time as I took up a steady rhythm in his hole. His own cock was average, but rock hard. It pointed straight up to his belly button and pulses of precum erupted from the tip every couple strokes. As my orgasm built, I pressed him into the bed, my hand at his throat. "You ready for my load?" "Fucking breed me!" He pleaded. I began to unload in his hole. The orgasm wracked my body, ejecting rope after rope of my DNA into his core. When the spasms finally stopped, I looked down to see that Scott's furry tummy was shot through with a couple modest ropes of his own cum. I pulled out and a small torrent of my special sauce poured from his hole. "Shame you're undetectable..." he murmured. I ran my hand over my biohazard tattoo. This was a sentiment I had encountered before. In my experience, PReP guys go through phases. Phase one: "I'm still going to be safe." This involves still using condoms and barebacking with committed partners who they know are tested regularly/on PrEP. The phase ends when the guy starts barebacking with non-monogamous partners who are presumably negative/on PrEP. Phase two: "Trust the guy, trust the meds." The guy is regularly barebacking nonmongamous partners who self-report being tested and negative and/or on PrEP. This phase ends when the guy takes his first confirmed poz load. This load is nearly always undetectable. Phase three: "U=U." This is where you will find most guys on PrEP. And for good reason. This is where the current science stands. These PrEPed guys will take a load from an undetectable guy without a second thought. I can usually spot these guys a mile away out in the wild. Phase three ends when the guy misses a dose or lapses on a refill and takes a load anyway. He will decide "it's fine because he's undetectable." Alternatively, he will take a load of unknown potency because "that's what the meds are for and he's so fucking hot and I'm so fucking horny." This is how phase four begins. Phase four: a chaser is born. The guy will seek out a viral load or cease taking medication. He has gotten a taste of the risk. And risk is a drug. The high of beating the odds wears off quickly and he will take riskier and riskier actions to feel that high again. Some chase passively and just don't do anything to mitigate the risks. Reveling in their close calls after the fact. Others move on to chasing actively. For the active chasers, getting infected is the only way to feel that high again. My best guess, Scott was on his way out of phase three or was in the early stages of chasing. "I can help with that..." Scott sat bolt upright at the new voice. I glanced over to the door and smirked. The door frame was occupied by a 5'3" tank of a man, 6" cut prick in hand. Guess I get to room with with Cal this weekend.