rawrawraw76

This is so fucking hot, dude.

PART 10 – DALTON THE SLAMPIG I pulled the plunger back, and Dalton’s rig turned deep crimson. “I’m getting a register,” I explained. “When the rig goes red like that, you know the needle is right where it belongs—in your bloodstream. OK, buddy: are you ready for this?” “No,” he said with a quiet whimper. “Too fuckin’ bad. I’m gonna push this payload into your vein now, buddy—tell me if it stings, OK?” I love the ritual of slamming: plunging the meth into the vein, sliding the needle out, unstrapping the bicep, and running my tongue across the injection site. Dalton’s first slam was small—just a 0.2—but he still coughed, and his chest heaved as each dark wave of slam-hunger swept over him. I immediately buried my face in his fuckhole, spreading his jockbutt and pushing my tongue as deep as I could, feeling the heat of the slam as it radiated through his insides. “Jesus. Fuck.” He said between deep, heaving breaths. “What the fuck. Are you doing.” I pulled my face away from his pulsing hole just long enough to reply. “I’m eating this hungry little pussy, that’s what.” “It’s. Fucking. Weird. I don’t. Like it.” “Yeah? Then what’s happening here?” I took a break from eating his hole to grab his cock and give it a little shake, sending beads of precum in every direction. I scooped up as much of that jizz as I could, mixing it with a handful of our Tina-laced lube and pushing three of my slicked-up fingers into his hole. He made no effort to resist this time: his guttural moans, loud and unapologetic, kept time with each thrust of my fingers. Then, without warning, I pulled out, and he practically squealed from the sudden emptiness in his fuckhole. I was leaning over him, staring down into his eyes, and he looked back at me in quiet desperation. “Do you want something, buddy?” I asked, letting the tips of my fingers brush against his slammed-up cunt. “I can’t read your mind, slampig. Tell me what you want.” “I want—um—“ “Tell me what you want, slampig.” “I, um, want your fingers.” “You do?” “Yes. Please.” “OK, but you need to do something for me first.” “Tell me. Please.” “Repeat after me: ‘I’m a hungry fucking faggot.’” “Um—“ “Say it, faggot.” “Dude. No.” “No?” “No. I’m not a fuckin’ faggot.” “Then no more fuckin’ fingers, buddy.” “Dude! Please!” “Then repeat after me, you fuckin’ lil' bitch: ‘I’m a hungry fucking faggot.’” “No, motherfucker. I’m not a fag.” I turned to Jesse. “OK, we need to step this up a few notches. You have that second slam?” He nodded, then flashed an evil grin. “This one’s…a little bigger. Can I administer this time?” “Fuck yeah,” I replied. “I’ll just keep teasing this faggot’s cunt while you plunge some more meth into his vein.” Jesse went right to work. He tied the strap to Dalton’s bicep, inserted the needle, pulled back a dark-red plume of blood, and pushed a fat 0.4 hit into Neighbor Boy’s bloodstream. This time, Dalton erupted in an extended coughing fit, his chest heaving massively as Brian played with our brand-new slampig’s rock-hard nips. “This kid’s so high he’s fuckin’ cross-eyed,” my husband said with an approving growl. Meanwhile, I began smacking the head of my raw cock against Dalton’s pulsing, spasming, slammed-up hole. “You need something in your ass, buddy?” I asked, my dick tracking a wide circle around his aching cunt. “Fuck yes,” he groaned. “Then you know what to say.” He looked at me for a moment, his eyes nothing but pitch-black pupils. I gave him a little nod. “You can do it, buddy. Tell me what you are.” "I'm—um—" "What are you?" “Dude, I’m a hungry fuckin’ faggot.” “Good boy.” “Please feed this faggot. Please.” “You want some dick in your pussy, you fuckin’ slammed-up faggot chemwhore?” “Yes I do. I want as much fuckin’ dick as I can get. Please. Fuck me. Fuck this faggot.” “Say, ‘Please, Daddy, fuck my faggot pussy.’” “Please, Daddy, please, please, please fuck my faggot pussy.” “Are you gonna be a good boy tonight?” “Yes, Daddy.” “If you’re a good boy, then you’ll earn another slam. Would you like that?” “Fuck yes, Daddy. I want to earn another slam. ” “If you're a good faggot, you’ll get everything you want, and more. I promise.” “I want to be a good faggot, Daddy.” “You already are, boy.” And with that, I shoved my poz dick into the warmth and hunger of Dalton’s slammed-up hole.

PART 9 – OURS AT LAST When I walked into the bedroom, Dalton was already sitting on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands together in a feeble attempt to hide his boner. He stared expectantly at the giant TV screen in front of him. “Dude, you watch porn on this thing? Holy shit—you guys do it right.” “Yup, buddy—we do it right,” I replied with a knowing smirk as I grabbed the remote. “You feeling OK, by the way?” Dalton replied with a goofy grin, his body swaying back and forth as his chest and abs glistened with a fresh layer of boy-sweat. That shot of G was starting to work its magic. “Bro, I’m feeling like fuckin’ Superman,” he said, briefly unclasping his hands to show off his rock-hard cock, then covering it up again. “Good, good,” I replied. “Why don’t you go ahead and get comfortable? I bet you’ve never been on a California king.” “No, bro—I’ve never seen a bed this fuckin’ big in my entire fuckin’ life.” “Then scoot back so you’re in the middle. Then lay down and stretch out your arms. See how close you can get to touching the sides. I bet you’re not even close.” “I dunno, bro. My swim coach says I’ve got a pretty good wingspan.” “Then let’s see.” He hesitated, then grinned again. I grinned back. He was moving more slowly now, swirling hard on the G. I’m not even sure he noticed that Brian and Jesse had just walked into the room. “Show us that wingspan, buddy.” He positioned himself in the middle of the mattress. As he lay back, Brian and Jesse moved to either side of him. I stayed at the foot of the bed, watching his legs open just slightly while his arms extended to each side of the giant mattress. And just like that, he was finally ours. The restraints went around his wrists in a matter of seconds, cinched tight so his deltoids fanned out from his torso and his back arched off the bed. He was swirling hard on the G now, so it took him a few long moments to realize that his arms were tied to each corner of the bed. By that point, Brian and I were already placing his ankles into the stirrups attached to the bedposts. “What the fuck, dude?” Dalton said with an angry slur, his eyes glassy and dilated, his virgin fuckhole tightening in apprehension as he struggled to bring his legs together. Brian and I kneeled down to get a closer look: his ass was still mostly smooth, with just a dusting of blond fuzz circling that winking pucker. I leaned in and blew a bit of air across the surface of his hole, causing it to spasm. He whimpered. “You wanna know what the fuck?” Brian replied. “You’re the fuck, that’s what. But I think you already know that.” Dalton’s body jolted once, then almost seemed to relax into a stunned silence. For a few moments he almost seemed to stop breathing. In the silence, I watched a single drop of perspiration roll off his balls and down his taint before reaching his quivering hole, covering that tiny tight sphincter in a glistening sheen of boy-sweat. Jesse placed a prepared point in my hand. “It’s a small one,” he whispered. “At least to start.” "What the fuck is that?" Dalton whimpered. "Is that a fucking needle? Dude. What the fuck is going on?" “Listen, boy," I said with a growl, just as one of my fingers began a gentle circle around the perimeter of his twitching hole. "This whole experience will be much more pleasant if you just...surrender." He shook his head, pleading with me to stop, dude, just stop. Meanwhile, his dick grew thicker with every circle I made around that little fuckhole, and his piss-slit was already producing a thick glob of precum. I scooped up the seed leaking from his cock and, with a single finger, pushed it into his guts. His cock immediately sprayed his chest and stomach with a pulse of precum. He moaned like a good little whore, then tried to cover up the moans with growls of defiance -- until I plunged my finger back inside the warmth of his boyhole, causing him to melt into another deep, low, hungry moan. "Please stop, bro," he said, his mouth falling open slightly and his eyes fluttering as I pushed a second finger into his cunt. "I'm not into this." "We'll see about that," I said, my cock throbbing with anticipation as Jesse tied off Dalton's arm. I pulled my fingers out, savored the taste of his cunt on my hand, and practically drooled as I stared at the giant vein pulsing in the crook of his arm. "Now hold still, little fucker. If you keep thrashing around, you're gonna be in a world of hurt." We locked eyes for a moment. He shook his head again, and I countered with an aggressive nod. His eyes welled with tears. Then Dalton exhaled, long and low, as the tension drained from his body. "That's a good boy," I said. "That's a very, very good boy." Something strange happened in that moment: as I said the words "good boy," a tiny, mysterious smile crossed Dalton's face. Then, just as quickly, the smile vanished back into an anxious frown. He exhaled again. It was time. With a sweet little murmur of resignation, Dalton turned his attention to the sensations of his first slam: the tightness of the strap around his bicep, the sensation of my breath blowing gently across the surface of his skin, and the tiny sting of the needle sliding into the warmth and welcome of his vein.

My intention is to wrap this fucker up ASAP, pghpigbtm -- just one or two more entries and it should be complete. But...right this minute? I've got three anonymous loads in my slammed-up hole, and poz seed is my favorite brand of lube. So: that means I'm heading out to the cruisy park as we speak. I can tell you, though, that I've already started the next installment -- 'cuz I'm ready to see this Dalton kid corrupted like he fuckin' deserves.

PART 8 – NOT A FAG “Fuck yeah, buddy,” I replied, picking up the pipe and motioning toward the back patio. “We’ll definitely smoke some more. But first, let’s see what Brian and Jesse are up to.” Dalton grabbed my arm, taking a half-step backward. “Wait, bro. I just want to be clear about one thing.” “What’s that, bud?” “I know you guys are gay, and that’s cool. I’m totally cool with that. Really. And look, I’m fine hanging out naked if we’re gonna smoke some more of that shit. But…I’m not—well…” “You’re not what?” “I’m not…a fag, OK?” “Sorry—what?” “I said I’m not a fag, bro.” “Ah. No problem, buddy—works for me. Not a fag? OK, then you’re not a fag.” “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously. Like I said, I’m cool with you guys. But I have a girlfriend, and I'm not into dick. OK?” “I understand, buddy. There’s plenty of faggot to go around this afternoon, so I’m cool with you just hanging out—in, you know, a non-faggoty way.” “Great. Thanks.” Dalton’s face relaxed into a sheepish smile. Then he glanced down at his cock, which seemed to be doing everything in its power to close the distance between us—stretching a good eight or nine inches away from his flat stomach, throbbing in my direction as it curved slightly upward, a bead of precum forming at the piss-slit. He laughed appreciatively, causing his dick to twitch. “I guess that smoke makes me pretty horny, huh?” “That’s the best thing about it, buddy. It makes all of us fuckin' horny.” I reached over to the counter and grabbed a shot of G, adding a little Gatorade to it, then told Dalton to drink up. “This shit tastes a little nasty, so make sure to follow it with a chaser.” He nodded and threw the shot back, grimacing as he grabbed the bottle of Gatorade and took a giant gulp. “Dude, what the fuck was that?” I smiled to myself, always relishing those moments when boys ask questions when it's already too late. “Just something called G, bud,” I replied, doing my best to sound casual. “It’s sort of like a strong shot of Jägermeister.” “Fuck, that better be a lot stronger than Jäger, dude. That was fuckin’ disgusting.” “Trust me, buddy.” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder as I felt the heat radiate from his young, muscled body—all those chems just beginning to do their work. “Just trust me, OK?” He nodded, and I led him out to the patio, where my favorite faggots were hard at work: Brian was sitting in one of the deck chairs, his dick lodged deep inside Jesse’s hole. Jesse squatted over him, his shoulderblades pressed against Brian’s chest, craning his neck back for a deep, sloppy kiss. Meanwhile, Brian wrapped his hairy, muscular arms around the jockboy’s smooth body, both of them lost in the glazed-eye twilight of a deep chemfuck. My attention immediately went to Jesse’s ass as it stretched around Brian’s poz dick, the boy’s chem-fueled fuckhole hungrily pulsing in a deep, steady rhythm. I glanced over at Dalton, who had clearly noticed the same thing. “Holy fuck,” he said under his breath, absent-mindedly reaching down to grab his dick. The sound of his voice—deeper than usual, with just a hint of a growl—immediately brought Brian and Jesse to attention. “Fuck! I'm so fuckin' sorry, Dalton,” said Jesse, doing his best to sound ashamed while keeping that raw dick firmly lodged in his hungry hole. “We didn’t mean to freak you out. Is this OK?” “Yeah, it’s cool, buddy,” Dalton said hoarsely, trying to signal his approval with an awkward wave of his hand. “Gay shit doesn’t bug me, bro. You know that.” “Well, that’s a good thing, straightboy,” Brian replied, his eyes locked on Dalton’s. “Because this gay shit won’t be stopping anytime soon. There’s no fuckin’ way I’m pulling out of this boy’s hole until he’s dripping with my cum.” Dalton hesitated for a moment, lost in the intensity of Brian’s stare, before letting out a forced laugh. “Hey, do your thing, bro. Just don’t count on me joining in.” “Fine by me, dude,” Jesse replied. “More dick for this faggot.” “That’s right boy,” Brian said to him, thrusting his cock just a little deeper. “Now show me what a hungry chempig you really are.” The two of them dissolved back into a kiss, and Dalton and I stared at Brian’s fat dick as it grew fatter still, stretching that boyhole even wider than before. “It’s all good,” I said to Dalton in a low, quiet, even voice, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder—and causing his cock to jerk upward with another twitch. “Why don’t you head inside, and I’ll find you some good pussy porn?” “Fuck, that sounds good to me,” he said with relief, seemingly unable to stop staring at Jesse’s pulsing fuckhole as it milked the precum from Brian’s poz cock. “But hey: weren’t we gonna smoke first, bro?” “Oh, damn! My bad, buddy. Here you go.” Once again, I held the pipe to his lips and heated the bowl, letting the tip of my cock graze his outer thigh as I whispered instructions to this newest chempig-in-training. And once again, he inhaled a lungful of smoke, leaning his head back and blowing a giant cloud—his hips countering with a slow, sensual forward-thrust of his cock. I fed him two more hits after that, each time letting my dick rest a little more firmly against his leg. Then I gave him a friendly smack on the ass and told him to meet me inside. As Dalton walked away, Brian moaned softly, his eyes following the rise and fall of our Neighbor Boy’s muscled ass. “Please tell me I get to fuck that boy now,” he said under his breath. “I can’t fuckin’ hold back any more.” “You will—don’t worry,” I replied. “But first we need to solve a tiny problem.” “What’s that?” “Well, see…he’s not a faggot. According to him, anyway.” “That’s nothing new,” said Brian. “True. I’ve seen dudes with sloppy asses dripping 10 fresh loads, yet still claiming to be straight.” “Fuck that. We’ll make this boy a faggot, and make him fuckin’ like it. We just need to help him see things…our way.” “Ah: the power of persuasion.” “Fuck no,” Brian replied. “The power of a nice fat slam.”