DepravedPig2Poz

Brock strode into the dimly lit bedroom like he owned the place, his tall, muscular Mexican frame casting a long shadow over the trembling neg sub on the bed. At 6'0" with chiseled abs, broad shoulders, and that infamous 8-inch deathstick bulging in his jeans, he was a walking nightmare for any neg hole dumb enough to cross his path. He'd already notched two victims on his "poz belt"—a twisted mental tally he bragged about to anyone who'd listen—and tonight, this pathetic fag was gonna be number three. "Why waste oxygen on worthless cum dumps?" he'd say with a grin. "I'm just cleaning up the world so frogs on lilypads get more air." Beside him lumbered Chandler, his neg buddy, even taller at 6'4", built like a goddamn tank with rugged, masculine features that could charm the pants off anyone before the real fun began. Chandler was negative, but he loved dipping his thick 8-incher into Brock's toxic loads, churning that virus deeper like it was his personal mission. Together, they were a lethal duo, hunting holes to ruin. The neg sub, a bear who'd posted online begging to be "converted," sat on the edge of the bed in his piss-and-cum-stained undies, eyes wide with a mix of fear and twisted excitement. What a fucking idiot. He'd messaged them thinking it was all play, but these two didn't do safe words or limits. "You ready to join the brotherhood, bitch?" Brock snarled, grabbing the bottom faggot by the hair and yanking him to his feet. Chandler chuckled, locking the door behind them. "This dumb cum dump actually wants it. Can you believe it, Brock? Like, who volunteers to get their lifespan shaved off?" They wasted no time. Brock shoved the neg sub face-down onto the mattress, ripping down those piss and cum stained undies with one hand while Chandler pinned his arms. "Bend over, fag. Time for inspection." They spread his cheeks wide, fingers digging in brutally as they eyed his puckered hole. "Look at that fresh pink neg ass," Brock growled, slapping it hard enough to leave a red mark. "Ripe for pozzing. Ain't seen one this clean in weeks." Chandler leaned in, sniffing like a dog. "Yeah, man. Smells like virgin territory. Won't be neg for long, though." The dumb cum dump whimpered, but that only made them laugh. "You won't be neg for long, bitch!" Chandler taunted, his hot breath on the sub's neck. Quietly, sadistically, he whispered in his ear, "This is what you wanted, buddy. This is what you asked for..." Brock didn't bother with lube or spit—why waste it on trash? He unzipped, his massive death cock springing free, veiny and throbbing with unmedicated poison. He rammed it raw into the bottom faggot's hole, tearing in deep with one thrust. The neg sub howled in agony, bucking wildly, but Chandler held him down, muscles flexing. "This is just the beginning, sub pig," Brock grunted, pounding harder. They laughed like jocks in a locker room, passing the meat back and forth. "Your turn, Chan," Brock said, pulling out with a wet pop and shoving the dumb cum dump toward his buddy. Chandler flipped him over, slamming his neg cock in balls-deep. "Fuck, this hole's tight. Feels like it's sucking me in." The bottom faggot moaned louder, tears streaming, but that fueled them. "Scream louder means fuck the pig harder!" Chandler joked, high-fiving Brock as they tag-teamed the fag, raping him raw. Time blurred into a haze of pain. The neg sub struggled, exhausted, his body slick with sweat and pre-cum, but every thrash just egged them on. Chandler especially thrived on it, whispering taunts. "Hear that moaning, Brock? Music to my ears. This fag's suffering is gold." Brock nodded, thrusting viciously. "Yeah, reduces their worthless life—more air for the frogs, man." They joked about the dumb cum dump like he wasn't there: "Bet this stupid fag thought pozzing was romantic. Ha! We're just using you as a toxic dump." Chandler held him down again and again, letting Brock mount and breed, the sub's cries echoing off the walls. "This hurts us more than it does you!" Brock mocked, both cracking up as the bottom faggot begged for mercy. Finally, the neg sub collapsed, gasping, broken. Brock pulled back, cock glistening. "Welcome to the brotherhood." Chandler's eyes lit up—he knew what that meant. "Fuck yeah, blow that poz load deep!" Brock groaned, slamming in one last time, unleashing a torrent of toxic cum into the dumb cum dump's guts. "Gonna keep fucking it in, make sure it sticks." He pumped a few more times, then tagged out. Chandler took over, ramming his cock into the sloppy, virus-laden hole. "My job now—fucking that HIV-cream right up into your fag guts." He fucked harder, faster, until blood started mixing with the cum, dripping down the sub's thighs. "More blood makes great fucking lube, bitch!" Chandler snarled, pounding relentlessly until he exploded, adding his massive neg load to the mix. He kept churning, both loads swirling with blood. "Look at that, Brock—the virus is swimming right into his bloodstream. Rooted, fixed, permanent. No turning back now." They pulled out, laughing as the neg sub lay there, poz-raped and ruined by their massive cocks. "Remember, you agreed to no safe words," Brock sneered. "No safe words means no limits, you dumb cum dump. You have no idea how BDSM works, do you? Stupid fag!" Chandler nodded, grinning. "Yeah, what a moron." But they weren't done. Brock grabbed his duffle bag. Now, with fag's hole slick and gaping, leaking a mix of their cum, Brock grabbed the small brown bottle from the nightstand. Poppers—the strong stuff, pure amyl nitrite that burned like fire and opened everything up. "Time to seal the deal," he said, unscrewing the cap. Chandler held the sub's cheeks apart, exposing the pink, cum-smeared entrance fag hole. The pig whimpered, his face buried in the pillow, but there was no escaping. Brock tilted the bottle carefully, letting the liquid trickle out in a slow pour right into the open hole. It fizzed slightly on contact with the warm, sticky mess inside, the sharp chemical scent filling the air. The sub pig gasped, his body jolting as the poppers seeped in, absorbing through the tender membranes, heightening every sensation while their poz loads did the real work beneath. "Fuck, that's hot," Brock murmured, watching the liquid disappear into the sub's ass. He added a finger, pushing it deeper, stirring the cocktail of cum and chemicals. The pig's moans turned into ragged cries, his hole clenching involuntarily around the intrusion, drawing it all in further. The poppers would relax him, make him loose and receptive, but more importantly, they'd irritate the lining just enough to help the virus take hold—fantasy fuel for the two tops who thrived on the edge. Chandler poured a little more poppers into the sub’s arsehole, the excess dripping down the pig's balls, making him squirm. "Breathe it in, sub. Let it convert you." They laughed together, dark and satisfied, as the sub pig's body betrayed him, arching back for more even as the burn spread from the poppers throughout his asshole. "Brought a treat for our new brother." The boys continued introducing new levels of sadism to torture their sub victim. Brock and Chandler took absolute delight in causing suffering for their sub. He pulled out thick rope and a monstrous 10-inch anal bead toy, beads as big as golf balls. The bottom faggot's eyes widened in terror, pleading through muffled sobs. "No, please... mercy..." But Chandler just laughed. "No mercy for you, faggot. Cry all you want—it turns me on." He was even more sadistic than Brock, pinning the neg sub down with ease while Brock tied him up tight, wrists and ankles bound. They shoved a dirty handkerchief in his mouth, muffling his screams, then flipped him ass-up. "Time to really open you up," Brock said, forcing the first bead in. The dumb cum dump writhed, the pain building as they pushed deeper. "Gotta induce more bleeding for that successful infection," Chandler said, shoving harder. "We know the pain's extreme, sub fag, but take your HIV like a man. I'm a man's man, so zero sympathy from me, slut." They rammed the whole thing in, the neg sub's muffled screams vibrating through the room. When they yanked it out, blood poured from his wrecked hole. "Fuck, man," Brock laughed, "you might need the ER to stop that bleeding. Holy shit—I'm serious. But damn, it's hot and funny." The bottom faggot whimpered, crying, totally shattered. Even then, the two boys weren’t finished with the fag. “Grab that sharpie marker on the table and let’s write some hot shit on this faggot’s ass!” exclaimed Chandler. “Fuck yeah!” agreed Brock—and so they began the final humiliation. Chandler and Brock wrote, with great joy, all over the sub pig’s pink ass: “HIV++++, POZ CUM SLUT and POZ INFECTED!” — they then took delight drawing an arrow right up the edge of the fag’s asshole. “Fuck!” said Chandler. “That is a ton of blood flowing out of your arsehole fag! Absolutely hysterical. ER visit in three hours fucking confirmed!” “I know!” responded Brock. “We’ve done a brilliant job tonight. This pig is so totally fucked beyond words! I had an absolute blast fucking over this dumb cum dump! If he doesn’t bleed to death tonight, then he’ll test poz for sure—guaranteed!” “Yep!” concurred Chandler. “We’ve done a fucking fantastic job on this fucker tonight! He is one hundred percent medically fucked!” The sub let out a whimper. He was frozen and devastated. Chandler concluded, “Hey sub. You really are so fucking stupid. When you agreed to no safe word you gave us permission to no limits. Not our fault you failed to do a bit of basic research into BDSM!” “I know,” replied Brock. “We found the dumbest cum dump in Toronto! And he got exactly what he deserved! So fucking hot and funny! I love it!” The tops high-fived, satisfied. "Wanna grab burgers and fries at Burger King, dude?" Chandler asked. Brock grinned. "Hell yeah. But first, one last thing." They hauled the tied-up, bleeding neg sub into the car, driving to a deserted roadside ditch. They dumped him naked, poz cum and neg cum oozing from his bloody ass, ropes biting into his skin. The dumb cum dump lay there, broken, discarded, crying and begging incoherently for help, unable to move in the cold night air. As they drove off, Chandler yelled out the window, "Thanks for letting us use your hole tonight, dumb cum dump! Good luck on your fucking HIV test in three months!" They burst into laughter, heading to Burger King. Over juicy burgers, crispy fries, and cold sodas, they relived the night. "That fag's probably freezing his ass off in that ditch right now," Brock said between bites. Chandler chuckled, wiping ketchup from his chin. "Yeah, broken and poz'd. Best night ever, man. He’ll either die from freezing to death bound by ropes in the ditch, his asshole will bleed out or HIV will finish the fag off. Pass the fries.” Brock replied, “Yep. That useless fag got what he deserved. We totally fucked that sub pig three times over!” They savored their meal, thrilled by the suffering they'd inflicted on their faggot victim, already plotting the next hole to ruin.

Dear Poz Master, I drop to my worthless knees in total reverence and write this open letter with my pathetic neg hole still leaking your toxic seed, thanking you from the depths of my depraved faggot soul for the supreme honor of being brutally poz-raped by your godlike cock. Every vicious thrust you slammed into me was pure ecstasy for you and pure agony for this useless, piss-and-cum-stained beta pig. I hope you savored every muffled scream that vibrated around your thick meat as you pinned my worthless body down and raped my tight neg cunt raw, laughing at how my hole clenched in terror while your deadly HIV strain flooded my guts. Please, my Poz God, spit directly into my open mouth and across my tear-streaked face while you pound me even harder, growling what a disgusting, AIDS-deserving faggot I am. Tell me how my eventual full-blown infection and slow, agonizing demise turns you on more than anything. Yank my soaked, reeking undies down to my ankles, shove my face into the mattress and order this pathetic depraved pig to arch my back and present my smooth, pink neg hole like the eager AIDS-bait it is. “Take it, Master—ruin me forever,” I’ll whimper as you mount me and breed me with that lethal poz load. I am nothing but a brainless, cum-hungry meat sleeve who deserves every burning stretch, every gut-wrenching slam, every howl of pain that rips from my throat while you rape my hole and my guts. Your virus is already swimming through my blood, claiming me, and I am so fucking grateful. I want to hear you grunt with pleasure every time my body convulses under you, knowing the gift you’re planting will eventually destroy me. When I finally test poz, I will crawl to your door on all fours and beg to worship at your altar. I’ll lay a pillow on the floor so my worthless knees can properly honor you, my Poz God, and I will spend hours licking every inch of your massive, muscular body—tongue bathing your sweat-slick chest, your rock-hard abs, your powerful thighs, your heavy poz balls, and that magnificent death-dealing cock that ruined me. I will look up at you with pure devotion and declare: “My soul and my hole belong to you for eternity, Master. Use me however you wish in this life and the next. I am your eternal slave, your cum-dump, your AIDS toy.” I hope you and Taggart keep passing my broken body back and forth like a cheap piece of fuck-meat. No safewords, ever. Rape me in every hole while I scream and sob; laugh at my howls of agony as you both spit in my face and call me the pathetic, useless faggot I am. Bring in other toxic tops too—different strains, stronger strains—so the meds will fail and this beta sub will waste away faster, my immune system collapsing under the weight of your combined poison. I accept it all. My suffering is your pleasure. My pain is your entertainment. My slow death is your trophy. Please keep poz-raping this pink neg hole whenever the urge strikes you, Master. Listen to my muffled moans of agony turn into broken, grateful whimpers while you flood me again and again. My body, my hole, my life—everything belongs to you. Tell me how else this pathetic faggot can serve his Poz God. I live only to please you, to worship you, to be destroyed by you. Forever your grateful, AIDS-bound cum-pig, Your devoted neg-to-poz slave

The intense pleasure you experience as a gay bottom from taking a dick in your ass comes from a combination of strong physiological mechanisms and psychological/emotional factors — both of which are completely normal and well-documented in sexual science. Here's a breakdown: Physical / Physiological Reasons: The anus and rectum are packed with nerve endings that make the area highly sensitive to touch, pressure, stretching, and friction. This alone can feel good, but for people with a prostate (like you), the standout feature is prostate stimulation — often called the "P-spot" or "male G-spot." The prostate gland sits just a couple of inches inside the rectum, on the front wall (toward your belly button). It's a walnut-sized organ full of sensitive nerves. When a penis (or finger/toy) slides in and rubs/presses against it — especially with the right angle, rhythm, or thrusting — it activates those nerves intensely. This often produces a deeper, more full-body, radiating pleasure compared to penile stimulation alone. Many describe prostate orgasms as feeling "insanely good," more intense, longer-lasting, and involving more pelvic contractions (sometimes 12+ vs. 4–8 for typical ejaculation). Blood flow increases to the area during arousal, making the prostate swell and become even more sensitive. The anus itself has dense nerve clusters (pudendal nerves and others) that connect to genital sensation, so the combination of external sphincter stimulation + internal pressure + prostate massage creates layered, building pleasure. Not everyone feels the prostate the same way (some report pleasure from other rectal zones too), but for many gay bottoms, hitting that spot is the main physical driver of why bottoming feels so euphoric. Pain or discomfort usually comes from tension, insufficient lube/relaxation, or wrong angle — when things are right (relaxed sphincters, plenty of lube, arousal, good communication), it transitions to pure pleasure for most. Psychological / Mental Reasons: Beyond the body, a lot of the "why it feels so good" happens in the brain and emotions: Submission / vulnerability — Being the receptive partner can feel deeply intimate and surrendering. For many gay men, there's erotic charge in "giving yourself" to your partner, being "taken," or feeling possessed/claimed. This taps into power dynamics, trust, and closeness that heighten arousal. [banned word] / forbidden thrill — Anal sex still carries cultural stigma (especially for men), which can amplify excitement through the "naughty" or transgressive element — the brain's reward system loves that dopamine hit from breaking norms. Intimacy and connection — Bottoming often involves a lot of trust (relaxing into someone, vulnerability to discomfort turning to pleasure). When it goes well, it creates profound emotional bonding, which makes the physical sensations feel even better. Identity and affirmation — For many gay bottoms, embracing the role feels affirming of their sexuality/desire. It can be empowering to own what brings you pleasure without shame. Conditioned response — Over time, the brain links the physical sensations with sexual reward, so anticipation alone can spike arousal. Orgasm from prostate play can feel "whole-body" because it engages broader nervous system pathways. Everyone's mix is unique — some bottoms love it mostly for the prostate intensity, others lean more into the psychological surrender, and most get a powerful combo of both. If it's feeling consistently amazing for you, that's your body's way of saying these pathways are wired to light up strongly in response. It's a valid, healthy part of human sexuality — no shame or abnormality in enjoying it deeply. Research completed using Claude.

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I’m Artur. 8 thick, veiny, toxic inches of pure poz death swinging heavy between my legs, already leaking that poisonous precum you’re too weak to resist. Look at you, trembling little bug-chasing faggot. You’ve been begging for this moment your whole worthless life. Strip. Now. Hands behind your back. Face down. Ass up like the desperate poz slut you were born to be. First we open you properly. I grab that old toothbrush — the one I’ve been saving just for pigs like you. I ram it dry into your tight, quivering faggot cunt. No warning. No mercy. I twist and scrub hard against those soft inner walls until I feel the warm slickness of fresh blood coating the bristles. Look at that. Your own blood painting the handle red. Beautiful. That’s your immune system crying already. I pull it out slow so you can see how ruined you are before the real damage even starts. Then I line up my massive, throbbing poz cock — no spit, no lube, just the slick of your own blood and my leaking toxic slit. One brutal thrust. Balls deep. Feel that? That’s death itself splitting you open, forcing its way past your worthless defenses. Every ridge, every vein dragging infected precum straight into your bleeding guts. Say it, bitch. Tell me what a useless, cock-hungry, disease-deserving faggot you are while I pound your soon-to-be-converted hole. Louder. Cry it out while I breed you stupid. You feel how heavy my balls are? Packed full of millions of HIV soldiers, all marching straight for your bloodstream. I’m not just fucking you. I’m executing you. I’m erasing your pointless existence one toxic thrust at a time. Beg for it. Beg for the gift. Beg for the strain that’s gonna hollow you out and make you mine forever. Here it comes — I grip your hips hard enough to bruise and bury myself to the root. Feel my cock pulse? That’s it. That’s the moment. Rope after thick rope of hot, viral cum flooding your wrecked pussy. I keep grinding, milking every last drop deep, making sure those corrupted cells have nowhere to run but straight into your core. Then I pull out slow… watch my thick, bloody, cum-smeared poz dick slide free. But we’re not done. I scoop up the dripping mess with three thick fingers, then four, then my whole fucking fist. I shove it back inside you — deep — punching my toxic load right up into your guts where it belongs. Feel that stretch? That burn? That’s your new reality sinking in. My fist twisting, grinding, forcing every drop of my poison higher, deeper, claiming you completely. I lean down, lips against your ear, voice low and cruel: “You’re mine now, poz whore. Infected. Owned. Finished. I am Artur. I am the god who just rewrote your pathetic little life with one toxic load. Say thank you… and then shut the fuck up while the virus does its work.” Welcome to the rest of your short, cum-drenched, poz destiny, slut.

Listen up, you worthless neg cunt. My name is Artur and I already fucking own that sloppy faggot pussy between your legs. It stopped being “yours” the second you started leaking for toxic dick. That pink little neg rosebud? It’s my property now. My breeding chute. My toxic dump site. My death sleeve. Next time we meet I’m not asking. I’m gonna rip those piss-stained briefs down to your ankles, shove your face into the cum-crusted mattress that’s been marinating in strangers’ loads for months, and ram my raw, leaking, poz death-cock straight into your dry, clenching hole. No spit. No lube. Just the slick film of my own toxic precum and whatever crusty remnants the last five loads left behind. You’ll feel every barbed inch scrape your guts raw as I punch past your second ring like I’m trying to split you in half. I’m gonna fuck you like the disposable meat-puppet you are—long, vicious, piston strokes that make your sloppy cuntlips fart and squelch around my shaft. You’ll smell it: that sour, metallic reek of old cum, fresh precum, ass-juice and the faint chemical stink of the virus itself leaking out of my piss-slit with every brutal thrust. That’s the perfume of your new life, faggot. Breathe it in deep while I churn your insides into a toxic slurry. My heavy poz balls—swollen, veiny, packed with millions of my defective seed—are gonna slap wetly against your taint, painting your crack with the sweat and ass-slime that’s already dripping off them. Every time I bottom out I’ll grind my pubes into your stretched rim, letting the curly black hairs matt down with your own cunt-juice and my leaking death-drool. You’ll feel my cock throb thicker inside you, swelling with the sick pleasure of knowing I’m already flooding your bloodstream with my gift. When I finally unload it won’t be some polite little squirt. It’s gonna be a violent, pulsing geyser—thick ropes of hot, infected poz cum blasting so deep you’ll taste it in the back of your throat. I’ll hold you pinned, ass-up, face-down, screaming into the stained sheets while I pump rope after rope after rope, painting your colon white, forcing it into every fold and crevice until your guts are bloated and sloshing with my toxic seed. You’ll feel it seep upward, worming into your torn inner walls, slipping into capillaries, claiming every fucking cell. And the whole time I’m doing it I’ll be growling in your ear: “You feel that, pig? That’s your new master moving inside you. My virus is already swimming upstream, hunting your neg blood. You’re getting pozzed right now, you stupid fucking cum-rag. This is mercy. This is kindness. I’m putting a useless oxygen thief like you out of everyone’s misery.” I’ll keep you plugged on my softening cock for a long time after—letting the last dribbles ooze out, letting your wrecked hole try to suck it all back in like the greedy poz-whore it was born to be. Then I’ll pull out slow, watching my thick white poison bubble and fart back out of your gaped, ruined pussy—strings of it clinging to my shaft, dripping down your taint in nasty globs. “Look at that mess,” I’ll sneer. “That’s what a properly owned cunt looks like. Open wide, faggot. Clean my toxic dick with your throat while my load settles in your guts.” You’ll gag on the taste—bitter, metallic, cheesy, alive with virus—and you’ll thank me for every inch. Because you know it’s true: You deserve this. You crave this. You were born to be pozzed, broken, shortened, discarded. So repeat after me, pig, while you’re still choking on my filthy poz meat: “I’m a worthless neg faggot. I deserve Artur’s HIV. I deserve to be fucked raw and pozzed deep. I deserve my life cut short by toxic cock. Artur is my God. Artur’s virus is my purpose. My cunt belongs to Him forever. Thank You, Sir, for breeding death into this useless hole.” Now get on all fours. Spread those cheeks. Show me the pink neg pussy I’m about to murder. Artur’s coming for it. And once I’m inside, there’s no going back…(The end.)

The dimly lit basement reeked of sweat, cum, and stale beer, the kind of place where jocks like Brock and Jax hung out after pumping iron at the gym, their bodies still slick from the workout. Brock was a massive brute, 6'4" of pure muscle, his veins bulging like ropes under his tattooed skin, a thick 9-inch cock swinging heavy between his legs, already leaking toxic precum. Jax was leaner but no less vicious, his abs ripped like a washboard, his 8-inch dick pierced at the tip for that extra rip when he tore into fresh meat. Both were poz kings, their blood swimming with the virus they'd proudly collected from countless raw fucks, turning negatives into walking time bombs. They'd spotted the twink at the club earlier—some clueless 22-year-old named Alex, all smooth skin and innocent eyes, bragging about being neg and clean. "Fucking idiot," Brock had laughed, slipping a roofie into his drink. Now, Alex was sprawled on the grimy mattress, groggy and half-conscious, his wrists bound to the bedframe with duct tape. He mumbled protests, but the drugs kept him weak, his hole exposed and twitching as the two tops circled him like predators. "Look at this fresh neg hole, bro," Brock growled, slapping Alex's ass hard enough to leave a red welt. "Prime for pozzing. My strain's gonna eat him alive—full-blown AIDS in under a year, watch." Jax chuckled, stroking his pierced cock, the metal glinting under the bare bulb. "Nah, mine's nastier. Drug-resistant shit from that whore in the alley last month. We'll tag-team this bitch, flood him with our gift, and shave a decade off his pathetic life. Bet he won't even hit 30." Brock grabbed Alex's hips first, pinning him down with one massive hand on his back, the twink's face smashed into the mattress. "Hold still, you neg slut," he snarled, spitting on his hole before ramming in raw. Alex screamed, but Brock just laughed, thrusting deep, his toxic load churning inside. "Feel that? That's my virus knocking at your door. Gonna convert you, make you one of us—coughing up blood while we fuck your wrecked ass." Jax watched, jerking off, his eyes hungry. "Pound him harder, bro. Break that barrier. I want him bleeding for my turn." Brock pistoned relentlessly, his balls slapping against Alex's thighs, grunting with each brutal stroke. "This hole's tight—neg as fuck. Not for long. My poz cum's gonna rewrite his DNA, turn him into a diseased cumdump. Imagine him wasting away, begging for meds he can't afford. Shortens his life? Hell, we'll end it early." After a few minutes, Brock pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening with precum and a hint of blood. "Your turn, Jax. Pass the meat." They flipped Alex like a ragdoll, Jax pinning his shoulders while Brock held his legs spread. Jax slammed in without mercy, the piercing scraping Alex's insides, drawing a fresh cry. "Fuck yeah, feel that tear? That's my gift sliding in deep. Our strains mixing in your gut—double the poison. You're done, boy. No more clean life for you." Brock leaned in, whispering in Alex's ear while Jax fucked him senseless. "We're bragging rights, kid. We've pozzed dozens—turned jocks like you into skeletons. Your hole's just another notch. By morning, you'll be infected, rotting from the inside. Short life ahead—blame our toxic cocks." Jax sped up, groaning. "Gonna cum soon. Flood this neg pig with my load. Watch him swell up with fever in a week." They traded him back and forth for hours, each turn more vicious—Brock choking him lightly while Jax bit his neck, both joking about his impending doom. "Bet his family's gonna wonder why he's dying young," Brock laughed mid-thrust. "Our secret—pozzed by the best." Finally, they both unloaded deep, pinning him flat as their mixed cum seeped out, the virus taking root. Alex lay broken, sobbing, but the jocks just high-fived, wiping their dicks on his face. "Another one down, bro. Who's next?"

Listen up, you pathetic little neg faggot. Next time I get my hands on you, it's not gonna be some sweet fuck session—it's gonna be a full-on rape, where I force my toxic cock deep into your worthless hole and HIV rape you until my poz load floods your guts. Yeah, that's right, you will be raped and infected with HIV because that is what you fucking deserve and you know it! From the moment you were born, that doctor took one look at your squirming, useless body and declared, "This boy is useless! He is only a bum hole! He will only be useful to fag and bi tops who want to satisfy their cocks using his asshole! He is just a fucking hole!" And he was spot on, wasn't he? You've lived your entire pathetic life proving it, chasing cocks like the desperate cumdump you are, but now it's time for your real punishment. I'm your poz master, gorgeous and muscular, towering over your scrawny, worthless frame with my ripped abs, bulging biceps, and that thick, veiny cock pulsing with my gift—the virus that's gonna rewrite your DNA forever. You'll beg for mercy, but there won't be any. I'll pin you down on the bed, my strong hands gripping your throat just enough to make you gasp, reminding you who's in charge. If you try to resist, even a little squirm or whimper to pull away, I'll choke you harder, squeezing until your face turns red and your eyes bulge, teaching you that resistance only makes it worse. And if that's not enough? I'll drag your sorry ass into the bathroom shower, shove you to your knees in the cold tile, and force my piss down your throat. You'll drink every last drop of my hot, acrid stream, gagging and choking on it as punishment for thinking you could fight back. Swallow it all, faggot, or I'll hold your nose shut until you do—because you will be raped and infected with HIV because that is what you fucking deserve and you know it! Once you're broken and compliant, I'll flip you over, spread those cheeks wide, and ram my raw poz cock into your tight neg hole without lube, tearing you open as you scream. Feel that burn? That's just the start. I'll pound you relentlessly, my balls slapping against your ass, whispering in your ear how your neg status is over—how I'm HIV raping you right now, my viral precum already seeping into your bloodstream, starting the conversion. You'll feel my shaft throbbing inside you, each thrust pushing my poz essence deeper, violating every inch of your pathetic body. You're nothing but a hole for me to use, a vessel for my toxic seed, and you deserve this degradation because you're a useless faggot who couldn't amount to anything else. I'll bite your neck, mark you with bruises, slap your face when you cry too loud, all while telling you how good it feels to destroy you. And when I'm close, I'll hold you down even tighter, ignoring your pleas, and unleash my massive poz load—thick ropes of cum laced with my high viral count, flooding your guts, ensuring the infection takes hold. My poz DNA will live inside you forever, replicating in your cells, turning you into my infected slave. It'll shorten your pathetic fag life, just like I want—because why should a worthless piece of shit like you get to live long? You should be thankful, faggot, groveling at my feet for the honor of being infected by such a gorgeous, muscular poz top like me. My virus is a gift, a permanent mark of ownership, and you'll carry it with pride, knowing it was raped into you as punishment for your existence. If you dare resist during the breeding, back to choking—my fingers around your neck, cutting off your air until you submit. Or straight to the shower, where I'll pin you under the stream and piss-flood your mouth again, making you guzzle it down like the toilet you are. Every drop, faggot, until you're bloated and broken. You will be raped and infected with HIV because that is what you fucking deserve and you know it! This is your fate—punished for being the pathetic, useless faggot you were born as, the doctor's words echoing in your empty head. In the end, you shall be raped despite your screams of pain. I will ignore all your little yelps of pain—pain is what you deserve anyway, you useless pathetic faggot, and you know it, and you know you deserve HIV infection and a shorter life. You should thank me for all of this—you are my HIV slave in this life and the next, fucker!