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.

Fuckin' hot as always, chempig...

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.”

So fucking hot. I love your stories, buddy!

PART 7 – DALTON SMILES I opened the front door. Dalton and I stood on either side of the threshold, towels wrapped around our waists. I motioned for him to come inside, but he stood completely still for a good 10 seconds. Then, without another word, he entered. The door closed behind him. I cocked my head toward the kitchen, and he followed me in silence. Once I reached the kitchen counter, I grabbed a water bong sitting next to the sink, then turned around to face him. Dalton's expression was neutral—impassive. He clearly didn’t understand what he was doing in our house. He just knew, somehow, that he needed to be there. I’d seen that look before, seen it in other boys who’d kept their deepest hunger a secret even to themselves. He was following some nameless, wordless urge as he followed my footsteps—all his good taste and better judgment giving way to a dark impulse pulsing just beneath the surface of his skin. I placed the bong up to his lips. He dutifully sealed one end with his mouth, his eyes locked on mine. I lit a fire under the glass bowl—no explanation offered, no permission granted. He began to inhale before the smoke was ready, and I gave him a quick shake of my head. He stopped. Then, as the white smoke began to trickle out of the bowl, I nodded, and he slowly began to inhale his first lungful of Tina. I kept nodding as he sucked in that smoke, making sure he took a thick, potent hit nice and deep—then a little deeper—then deeper still. Satisfied that his first hit was up to my standards, I pulled the pipe away and gave him another nod. He hesitated, his eyes still locked on mine. Realizing he needed some guidance, I demonstrated what I wanted him to do: I shaped my mouth into an “O,” then let him hear the breath leave my lungs as I exhaled loud and long. His eyes brightened: he understood now. He opened his mouth in a round “O” just like mine, then released a long, fat snake of white smoke that slid from his lips into the air between us. I nodded approval, and he blushed. Once again, his lips wrapped around the mouthpiece. Once again, I applied heat to the bowl. Inhale, then exhale. Repeat. As one hit melted into another, he started to understand the rhythm of blowing thick clouds of chem-smoke. Three hits, four hits, five: I could see his pupils go dark as the T in the glass bowl made its way into his lungs, his brain, his skin, his sweat. Finally, I set the pipe back down on the counter, taking a good look at our freshly chemmed-up Neighbor Boy. He was smiling at me. And that’s when I realized something: I’d never seen this kid flash an easy, friendly, honest grin. He was always guarded somehow, always fearful of revealing too much. But now his whole face radiated with unchecked joy; his eyes flickered with a playfulness—maybe even a devilishness—that I hadn’t quite anticipated. Those clouds of chem-smoke had unlocked something, like they always do. Like so many boys before him, like so many repressed little bros just aching for something real, he was finally free. We grinned at each other for a minute or two before I broke the silence between us. “I’m so proud of you, bro,” I said, reaching over to muss his hair. His smile grew even wider as he took a step closer to me, his towel falling to the floor. I let me own towel drop, and Dalton’s giant smile turned into a mischievous half-grin. Blushing again, he pointed sheepishly at the pipe. “Would it be cool if I smoked a little more?”

PART 2 After a short walk, we reached a grim alley with a dark staircase leading down to the basement of an old brick building. A lonely scarlet lightbulb flickered at the bottom of the staircase. I looked at my chaperone worriedly, but then his eyes flickered with that same red glow as before, and I lost myself in his wicked half-smile. “After you,” he said with a flourish. Everything looked red in this light—his skin, his eyes, his teeth. (But why were his teeth suddenly so…shiny? How could his smile glisten like that when everything else was a dim wash of scarlet?) I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t ask about anything, really—I simply followed this man whose dark energy pulsed and throbbed across the surface of my skin. I glanced back to reassess the strange glint in his teeth, then decided I was just imagining things again. With that, I dutifully walked down the stairs. As I made my descent, I felt an unexpected rush of heat—but not like a rise in outside temperature. It was more like a warmth radiating from the depths of my smooth, quivering, not-yet-fucked hole. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the door didn’t seem to be a door at all—more like a dense patch of shadows. I looked back at Abraxas for reassurance. He responded by motioning me inside. That’s the first time I entered his sanctuary. I’ve always called it the Red Red Room—the kind of place where even the walls seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. In that room, nearly everything was the same shade of visceral, rosebud red. As my eyes adjusted, I began to notice a little bit of black here and there to add shape and dimension, plus a few dark-yellow eyes in some of the artwork. In fact, the walls were full of paintings -- every single one having something to do with sex -- and every image was stamped with various obscure symbols that I couldn’t quite make out. That’s when I felt the arm of Abraxas fall on my shoulder. He leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Welcome to the local branch of my corporation.” As he said that, his mouth slid down to my neck, and his long tongue slowly licked the length of my jugular. “Are you ready to have some fun?” he asked, the vibrations in his voice sending a chill across my backbone. “Oh, definitely,” I replied, inclining my head to the left so he had better access to my neck. “That’s fucking beautiful,” he said, tracing that prominent vein in my neck with his fingernail. (But why were his fingernails so sharp?) Then, with a guttural snarl, he grabbed my head with both hands, holding it tight. He withdrew his tongue. I immediately sensed the press of his teeth—now incredibly sharp—against my skin. I distinctly felt two painful punctures that plunged well below the surface. At first, I gasped with a little more pain than pleasure; moments later, with a little more pleasure than pain. Meanwhile, he kept his teeth buried beneath his skin, and I felt something pulse outward from those fresh puncture wounds—almost like a cloud of hot liquid filling my body. He withdrew his teeth. Within seconds, I felt myself take a sharp breath inward, followed by a violent coughing fit. As I coughed, Abraxas casually tore a perfectly straight line down the back of my T-shirt and shorts and underwear, all at once, all in a single motion, causing all of my clothes to fall to the floor in a single clump. The heat of the room traveled along the surface of my suddenly naked body. I turned to look at Abraxas, and was surprised to find that he was naked, too. My eyes immediately locked on his quietly throbbing dick as it extended out from a dense patch of fur, its long upward curve perfectly bridging the 10-inch gap between us. “You don't need to know what just happened--not yet, anyway,” he said. “I'll explain that later. Right now, you just need to enjoy your body, and you need to embrace your hunger. Are you hungry, my little angel Michael?” I shivered at the slightest touch of his cockhead as it pressed against my stomach. “Yes. I am. But I don’t know what I’m hungry for.” “But let's be clear: you're hungry. Right, boy?” “Oh, yes.” “Do you want me to feed you?” I didn't hesitate. “Yes, please.” "C'mon then, angelboy,” he said, running his tongue along the fresh puncture wounds in my neck as he trailed a sharp fingernail down the line of my back. “We'd better do something about that appetite."

Fuckin A, pig! Please post a link on Tumblr. More coming soon...

Hey, pigs - I recorded this solo slam video last night. (Apparently I've got demons on the brain?) Anyway, hope you enjoy it. http://toxxxictube.com/video/2752/hail-slamming.html

Credit where credit's due: I was totally inspired by pghpigbtm's dark-n-twisted Tumblr: http://pghtwisted.tumblr.com/. If you're drawn to the satanic themes in this story, I think you'll like his Tumblr, too.

PART I: SURRENDERING MY SOUL TO A STRANGER I used to trust in God. I followed him, worshipped him, believed he could save me from damnation. But even on my best behavior—even when I was the star of Sunday School—I harbored a deep fascination with anything that flourished in God’s absence. I told myself that I wanted to live in the light of Christian convictions, but spent hours daydreaming about the heat and depravity and chaos of a place like Hell, where God’s light could never be seen again. Somehow, despite everything I’d ever been taught, the idea of Hell—that is, a place of endless darkness characterized by weeping and gnashing of teeth—just didn’t seem like such a bad gig. Think of all those deep shadows, and all the twisted fun you could have under the heavy blanket of neverending night! I finally got a chance to explore the darkest of my daydreams during the summer between high school and college. Just a few months after my 18th birthday, I took a road trip through Southern California, telling my parents that I wanted to see Disneyland and Sea World. My actual plan, however, was to spend a week exploring Palm Springs. I’d read stories about all the twisted goings-on at those clothing-optional resorts, and I needed to see some of it for myself. I still hadn’t told anyone I was gay, I was a virgin, and I was terrified of all the things I didn’t know about gay sex. I had no plans to go hog-wild, but simply wanted to be a quiet observer—maybe even get a first-hand look at the grunting wild-animal communion of male bodies going bump-bump-bump in the night. I’d done enough research to know that the gay resorts in Palm Springs were mostly concentrated along Warm Sands Drive, so that’s where I went first. I parked my car a few blocks away—cautious and discreet as ever—and nervously approached the main cluster of sex clubs. As I made my way along the sidewalk, I heard footsteps just a few feet behind me. Turning around, I found myself in the presence of an unusually tall, powerfully built man—he was just shy of seven feet, and his shoulders were at least twice as wide as mine. And just to be clear: I’m no slouch in the musculature department. I played football and wrestled in high school, and I have a nicely proportioned jockboy frame. Think of me as that dark-haired white boy-next-door, standing six feet tall and weighing 185 pounds, with a well-developed chest, tight abs, and a clearly defined trail of fur leading down past my navel to my uncut cock and heavy, low-hanging balls. But this guy? He was next-level. And even in the darkness, the way he looked at me was flat-out mesmerizing: his eyes glinted in the evening heat, as if his stare could bore right through my skin. “Hey there,” he said as he approached, flashing a slightly fiendish grin. “What’s a cute boy like you doing in this part of town?” “Oh, just checking out the sights,” I said lamely. He was now standing right next to me, or actually towering over me, and I could feel an intense warmth vibrating from his body. He maintained that unearthly stare, and we just stood there in silence for a few moments. Then he took my hand, gently guiding it to his crotch, and used my fingers to trace the full outline of a rock-hard cock that appeared to extend halfway down his thigh. I looked into his eyes again. He was smiling down at me, quietly nodding as I explored the massive girth of his dick. Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I have a place not far from here,” he said, the depth and richness of his voice causing my little virgin hole to twitch. “Do you want to follow me there?” I replied with an eager nod. “Good—then open your mouth, boy.” I opened wide, and he spit in my mouth before sinking into a passionate kiss. “I hope you like that spit.” I smiled and nodded, which frankly surprised me—I wouldn’t have imagined that spit could’ve turn me on, but it did. And somehow, just then, my head started tingling and my nipples started quivering and my hole started pulsing with hunger. He leaned down to spit in my mouth again. That caused my head to tingle even more, and I could feel my heart racing like I’d just binged on a gallon of coffee. He cupped my face in his hands, looked intently into my eyes, then nodded with clear satisfaction. “Oh, I can see it in your eyes now. You’re definitely mine,” he said matter-of-factly—and I felt no need to contradict him. Just then, he quietly thrust his fingers down the front of his pants. I glanced down to see the outline of his hand exploring his giant cock-bulge for a moment or two, at last re-emerging to show me his fingers covered and dripping with an impressive layer of thick, white cum. “I leak,” he explained. “I leak constantly. A fucking geyser of precum, all day. Now open your mouth again.” I complied without hesitation, my eyes fluttering as he slowly worked his jizz-covered fingers into my mouth. Moments later, my head experienced a fresh rush of that tingling sensation, even stronger than before. I found myself involuntarily arching my back to expose more of my fuckhole to anyone who might be passing by. And the simple sensation of my T-shirt rubbing against my suddenly ultra-wired nipples made my entire body shiver with the anticipation of sexual discovery—and the promise of sexual corruption. “Call me Abraxas,” he said. “And you are?” “Michael,” I replied. “Ah yes—the archangel,” he said with a vicious smirk. “By the end of the night, I might need to give you a new name.” “Please, sir: do whatever you want.” “You mean that, boy?” His stare had taken on a new intensity, and I found myself feeling weightless, like tumbling in space, all of my energy and attention somehow absorbed by that sharp glint shining from the depths of his eyes. “Yes I do,” I replied without missing a beat, as if that were the only possible answer. “I want you to repeat after me,” he said. “Are you ready?” I gave him a nod, and his voice lowered and flattened as if emerging from the deeper recesses of his massive frame. “Abraxas, lord and master, I surrender my body to you.” “Abraxas, lord and master, I surrender my body to you.” “Abraxas, lord and master, I freely give you my soul.” “Abraxas, lord and master, I freely give you my soul.” “Mold me in your image. Make me yours. Mark me. And never let me go.” “Mold me in your image. Make me yours. Mark me.” Here I paused as he leaned down to kiss me—but this time, as my tongue explored his mouth, I felt an unusual sharpness along the ridges of his teeth. He withdrew from the kiss, then gently repeated: “And what else, my boy?” “And never let me go. Please, please: never let me go.” He smiled with the slyness of a quiet conqueror. And just then—though I told myself, again and again, that it must have been a trick of the evening light—his eyes took on a subtle red glow, shining like embers, as he placed his arm firmly around my shoulder and showed me the way to his dark sanctuary.

PART 6 – DEEP-DICKING THE BITCH Dalton didn’t return to work. He marched right past the lawnmower and went back inside his house. Meanwhile, Brian and I texted Jesse—Dalton’s friend from high school—and told him to get his sweet ass over to our place, making sure he parked a few blocks away and entered discreetly through our back gate. About 20 minutes later, we heard a car pull up in Dalton’s driveway. It was the girl he was dating—I frankly couldn’t remember her name, nor did I fucking care. For the purposes of this story, I’m just going to refer to her as the Dickless Wonder, or maybe just Dickless. She wasn’t trying to be a cockblocker, but she was blocking my cock all the same. She needed to go. After she entered Dalton’s house, the two of them made their way to the pool out back. Brian and I were already sitting in our usual spot for spying on the neighbors’ backyard, and we heard a lot of giggling and whispering, with the girlfriend asking all sorts of questions about just how private this little pool was, and Dalton assuring her that it’s really fucking private, OK? Jeez, let’s just fuck already. But I guess she wasn’t listening, because she just kept asking the same goddamn questions. And finally—thankfully—he ended the conversation by shoving her down to her knees and pulling his cock out of his shorts. By this point, Brian already had me pinned against the fence, his fat raw cock shoved deep in my guts. But here’s the thing: while we knew Dalton had a nice piece of meat between his legs, we really weren’t prepared for the sheer impressiveness of that boy’s dick. So when his monster flopped out of his shorts, I actually gasped. Brian gasped, too. And then Brian shuddered, signaling the deposit of a thick load of sperm deep in my guts. I leaned back and kissed my man deeply. Then he pointed toward our neighbors’ backyard, and I turned to see what I’d missed: Dalton had already stripped the Dickless Wonder naked, positioning her for a doggy-style fuck on one of the poolside lounge chairs. “Spread your cunt,” he said in a low, cold voice. She dutifully reached back to open up her pussy with her fingers, but Dalton didn’t seem to pay much attention to her efforts. Instead, he was busy rubbing his cockhead against her asshole. Sensing where he was going, she gave out a sharp little whine. “Honey, no,” she said, trying to get back on her feet so she could negotiate. “You know I don’t like that.” Dalton didn’t reply. He just pushed her tailbone down, forcing an arch in her back, and brutally shoved his giant dick deep in his girlfriend’s ass. She yelped and told him to stop, trying to squirm away from being buttfucked against her will, but it was no use. He just closed his eyes, pressing down on that bitch’s back and crushing her perky little tits against the lounge upholstery, his hand clamped tight over her mouth to stifle her screams and sobs. After a few minutes of thrusting, he repositioned himself by bringing his feet up onto the lounge, squatting directly over her wrecked asshole and letting his full weight deliver a merciless deep-dicking while the poor bitch’s entire body heaved and convulsed in obvious pain. “Please cum or please stop,” she managed to squeak out between thrusts. “I can’t take this. Baby, please stop.” “You know how to make me cum,” he replied. She was silent. “C’mon bitch,” he said, his voice reduced to a cruel, guttural growl. “If you want this to stop, you know what to do.” She seemed frozen. Then he slapped her hard across the ass, sending her into action. Contorting her body to get maximum reach with one of her arms, Dalton’s girlfriend stretched her hand as far back as she could make it go, past her stretched-out hole, placing two of her fingers against Dalton’s twitching ass—her nails brushing up against that beautiful boyhole covered in a light dusting of late-adolescent fur, every one of his hairs illuminated by the late-afternoon sun. Then she hesitated. “Do it all,” he said, “Do it all, and do it now. If you don’t do it now, I’ll never fucking cream your tight little butt. Which means I’ll just keep going at it. Which means you’ll never get a break from my cock destroying your ass.” Hearing that, she stretched her arm further, slipping two knuckles of each finger into Dalton’s butt. He moaned. “Deeper,” he grunted. She managed to get another knuckle in. “Oh fuck,” he muttered under his increasingly shallow breath, his entire body now making the switch into primal breeding mode. His pounding grew more intense. That went on for at least 5 minutes, until he finally reached back and shoved two of his own fingers up his butt. Only then, with four fingers stretching his own ass, did he finally launch into a full-body thrashing assault on his bitch’s hole, unleashing a torrent of seed in her guts. Brian and I watched this entire display silently, unbelievingly. Afterward, I turned to my man and grinned stupidly, shaking my head. He did the same. “Un-fucking-believable,” he said. All I could do was laugh in response. We turned our attention back to Dalton, who was now giving his girlfriend the silent treatment. Clearly he’d gotten what he needed, and he just wanted her to get the fuck out. We heard snatches of an argument from inside the house, followed by the Dickless Wonder walking angrily to her car, stifling tears, then driving off as her tires screeched against the asphalt. * * * Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I turned around to see Jesse in nothing but a jockstrap, his face covered in a giant grin. “I didn’t get to see the whole thing,” he said, “But I think I heard half of it from a block away. So tell me: there’s been a rumor around school that he likes fingers in his butt. Is that true?” “Oh, it’s true alright,” Brian replied. “You wouldn’t believe how true. But listen, pig: see that water bong over there? Instead of worrying about your buddy Dalton, you need to be sucking on that glass pipe like the greedy little methwhore you are. Then I want you to blow some nice thick clouds of white smoke on my dick, OK bro?” Jesse grinned and ran over to grab the pipe. Meanwhile, I kept my eye out for Dalton, hoping that he would return to the pool. Sure enough, about 5 minutes later—while Jesse was silently gorging on my husband’s dripping cock between hits on the bong—Dalton reappeared in his backyard, this time wearing his Speedo. Just as I’d hoped: it was time for his evening swim. He dove into the water and began noisily splashing his way across the length of the pool. That was Jesse’s cue to stop worrying about staying quiet—he was now squatting over Brian’s cock, impaling himself on raw dick. I gave Jesse the thumbs-up signal, which meant he could start letting his ass slap noisily against Brian’s body, and he could start letting loose with the occasional moan. For those first few minutes, Dalton didn’t appear to hear any of the action unfolding in our backyard. But then Brian’s cock suddenly shoved past Jesse’s second sphincter, eliciting a sharp yelp followed by a gruff “Fuck yeah” from our partied-up jockboy. That’s when the splashing stopped. Dalton went quiet. I looked through our little peephole to see him treading water for a few moments, craning his neck in our direction to confirm that he heard what he thought he’d heard. As the water grew calm around him, he almost seemed to suspend his breathing. Somehow even the crickets seemed to go silent. And just like that, the only noise penetrating the evening air was the steady slap-slap-slap of Jesse riding Brian’s dick. Dalton silently propelled himself to the edge of the pool, doing his best to lift himself onto the asphalt without making any noise. Standing up now, he craned his neck toward us again. There was no way he couldn’t hear it now: Slap-slap-slap. Grunt. Slap-slap-slap. Fuck yeah. Without hesitation, Dalton walked right up to my peephole. He placed his eye against it—clearly he’d spied on us before. Except this time, instead of seeing our backyard, all he saw was my eye looking back. “Hey, Dalton,” I said. He didn’t respond at first. He just stared. Then after a few moments’ pause, he simply answered: “Hey.” “We’re hanging out with a buddy here,” I said. “If you wanna join, you’re more than welcome.” Again, no answer. Then his eye disappeared, and for a moment I thought I’d lost him. But I didn’t see him, either—it was like he’d just stepped aside to gather his thoughts. Then after a long silence, he answered in a near-whisper: “OK,” he said. Another pause. At last, his eye reentered my line of sight. “OK,” he repeated. “I’ll be right over.” I turned back to Brian and Jesse, who’d paused their fucking to listen to the exchange. Jesse had the most triumphant smile I think I’ve ever seen on anybody, plus he had a giant mess of cum all over his stomach and chest. His cock was still oozing seed as Brian’s dick twitched steadily, rhythmically, deep in that sweet boyhole. “OK, you twisted motherfuckers,” I said with an evil grin, “Our wait is over. It’s time to fuckin’ own this boy.”

CHAPTER 5 - A COLD BEER The next day was a scorcher, and Dalton did everyone in the neighborhood a favor by stepping outside in a few scraps of clothing to mow his parents’ lawn. In keeping with tradition, Brian and I stood at our kitchen window watching Neighbor Boy put on a show. Within 10 minutes, the kid’s tank top was soaked through with sweat, so he stopped to peel it off—leaving him in nothing but basketball shorts and tennis shoes. A few minutes after that, his waistband glistened wetly in the sun as it slowly slid down his lower abdomen to reveal a patch of dark fur sprouting up between his bellybutton and his cock. While Brian fingered my hole and I jacked my dripping poz cock, I told him we should invite the kid over for a cold drink—and maybe put on a little show of our own. My husband flashed a wolfish smile in response. And without saying another word, he stepped out toward the pool while I made my way toward the front door. * * * “Hey, bud—it’s fucking hot out here today. Can I offer you a beer?” I stood on the front porch wearing nothing but a pair of soccer shorts, waving a can of beer in Dalton’s direction. He looked a little surprised—I don’t think he expected us to be supplying him with alcohol—and responded with a friendly nod. I headed back inside, leaving the door cracked open. Moments later, he walked through the door, still shirtless. “I took off my shoes,” he said. “Is it cool for me to be in here? I don’t want to drip sweat everywhere.” “Sure, bud,” I replied, handing him the beer. “Drink up. Lots more where that came from.” He tilted his head back to chug the beer. As he did so, he inadvertently thrust his hips forward to reveal the clear outline of his fleshy cock. He killed the can in a single giant gulp. “You obviously need another one,” I said, tossing him a second can. Just as he opened it, I heard a door slide open behind me. It was Brian returning from the pool. I kept my gaze on Dalton—and just as I expected, the kid’s eyes suddenly went wide. I feigned curiosity and turned around to see what Dalton was staring at. And there was my husband, stark naked, dripping wet, his fat hole-wrecker of a cock fully erect, its thick dorsal vein pointed directly toward the taut, sweaty abs of Neighbor Boy. “Jesus, Brian!” I said, doing my best to appear mortified. “Put some fucking clothes on. We’ve got a guest.” “My God, Dalton—I’m so sorry,” he said, grabbing a towel from the guest bathroom and wrapping it around his waist. “No worries, dude,” Dalton replied quietly, his eyes locked on his beer can as his face flushed red. My gaze traveled down toward his crotch. Just as I’d hoped—and though he was trying to hide it with his free hand—the bulge in his shorts had grown noticeably thicker, causing that sweat-soaked waistband to slide a little lower. All three of us stood there in silence for a moment. Then Dalton shot a quick, guilty glance in my direction, gulped down the rest of his beer, and gave me a stiff nod. “Better get back to work,” he said, his voice shaking just the tiniest bit. “Thanks for the cold beers.”

I love your stories. My favorite part is when the 20-year-old dealer corrupts the movie star -- probably because I'm a big fan of dark-and-twisted dealers to begin with. Looking forward to more.

Hey, pigs -- sorry that I haven't been around to finish some of my stories. However! I've started a little project that should help me finish Dalton's saga, at least: I'm cross-posting these Breeding Zone stories on my new Tumblr blog. PervyMcSlamsalot.tumblr.com I've started with the story in this thread -- "My First POZ Cock" -- but I'll cross-post the others as well. More soon... - RawRawRaw76

Fuck, I love your stories...

Just because we're all twisted pigs, here's a picture of me immediately after doing my biggest-ever slam just a few hours ago.

Next up: Dalton fucks his girlfriend by the pool while Brian and Tom watch from behind the fence -- their eyes glued to his jockbutt as he pounds her, his asscheeks spread wide as he crouches for leverage, inadvertently showing off his smooth pink virgin hole. And as it turns out, the only way Dalton can cum is when his girlfriend...well, you'll just have to wait for that one.

[i snapped this photo during last night's slam-and-breed session with a hung, twisted perv. I'm still high as fuck...] CHAPTER 4 - TRISTAN Tristan has been our dealer for the last two years. Back when we met him, we were looking for a more dependable connection. A mutual friend described him as “an entrepreneurial sadist,” so we decided to give the guy a try. I’ll never forget walking into his apartment for the first time. Tristan, dressed only in a ballcap and wife-beater, sat in a huge chair—a throne, almost—at the far end of the room. He was dirty-blond and scruffy and tattooed, with a hard look on his handsome face. Between his muscular thighs, he had an uncut cock fat enough to send an inexperienced bottom to the emergency room. It glistened and dripped like he'd just pulled it from a wet hole. Between us and Tristan, in the middle of the room, a handsome kid in a jockstrap—I’m guessing he was 19, maybe 20—was flat on his stomach, a pillow crammed underneath his crotch to elevate his little musclebutt. He was struggling against three guys who’d pinned him to the floor while a fourth dude thrust his raw dick deep into the kid’s hole. They’d muzzled him, too; all we could hear were wordless croaks of protest. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks streaked with tears. Then came a thrust so hard we heard something snap, or burst open, or give way. The bottom shook his head violently. Through his muzzle, we could hear him break down into full-bodied sobs—but the top didn’t let up, not for a second. He just kept on plowing that butt, plunging his dick in deep. Meanwhile, in the crotch of my jeans, as my dick hardened up until it strained the fabric down to about mid-thigh, a pool of viral precum began bleeding through the denim, quickly forming a four-inch-round wet spot. “Don’t worry—the kid will warm up to it eventually,” Tristan said to me and Brian, motioning for us to join him on the other side of the room. “We haven’t given him any T yet, so he hasn't discovered that he’s a filthy fuckin’ whore.” Then he turned to the group of guys fucking the boy. “Hey, Carlos—give our brand-new little barebacker a booty bump, will ya? I’m tired of all this crying bullshit.” Carlos, a hairy Latino guy with an uncut cock, let out a big laugh. “Drew is already one step ahead of you, boss. He just dipped the head of his cock into the baggie.” “Fuck yeah,” added another guy—apparently Drew, a dark-haired, smooth-chested dude in his mid-20s. He wrapped his hand around the base of his downward-curving cock, proudly showing off the white crystals studded all over his mushroom head. “Let me in there,” he said to Carlos. “I wanna get this faggot fucked up.” Carlos moved aside. Drew placed his Tina-covered cock against the kid’s hole, spread that virgin butt wide open with a powerful pair of hands, and made his delivery with a single brute shove. The kid screamed through the muzzle as shards of crystal tore across the thin tissues of his hole. Unfazed, Drew just kept working those chems deeper, pounding away until the kid’s screams faded into a stunned silence. “I guess I should’ve introduced you,” Tristan said as he checked the weight on our 8-ball. “The boy with the big dick in his hole? That’s my nephew Sebastian. Devout Jesus freak and a total fucking closet case. Last week I caught him jacking his dick—nice dick, actually—while flipping through some of the old gay porn magazines I’d stashed in my parents’ basement in the ‘90s. When I confronted him about it, he gave me some lame excuse, and I pretended to believe him. Then, just to assure him that everything was cool, I suggested he drop by my place tonight to play board games. Seriously, dude: he thought I wanted to play board games! Anyway, as soon as he walked in the door, these four guys grabbed him from behind, stripped off his clothes, pinned him to the ground, and crushed his sweet little cherry. It’s about time somebody raped some sense into him, you know?” Just then, a violent coughing fit erupted from the center of the room. I glanced back to see Sebastian on his back, muzzle off, legs spread, one arm raised high in the air, eyes wild with confusion. One of the tops was placing a cap on a syringe, grinning at his handiwork as that doomed little cunt rode the dark wave of his first slam. “So much for following Jesus,” Tristan said to us with a dark laugh. “You guys like what you see?” We didn't answer right away. We were too busy watching as a top with a red-and-black biohazard tat pressed his dick against Sebastian's hole and plowed right in. The kid’s whole body shivered and twitched. He whimpered a few times. And then he began making a long, low moaning sound, pulling his legs back for a better view of the poz cock fucking him in half. Brian nodded. “Oh, yeah. Slammed up and knocked up, just like a good boy should be.” “OK, so here’s something that might interest you,” Tristan replied. “Half of my business is selling the best shit in town. The other half is pimping out boys. I like to get ‘em hooked on slamming T, you know? But this is important: I never, ever teach ‘em how to slam. If they want that syringe in their arms, they have to come to me. And I treat ‘em well, too: I give ‘em my best shit, and I never miss. My only hard-and-fast rule is that they can’t get slammed by anybody else without my permission. If they break my rule, they’re out on the fuckin’ street.” He paused for a moment to give his cock a twitch. “Anyway, here’s what I’m trying to say: I’d love for you guys to recruit some hot little fags for me to slam up and whore out.” “Um, wow,” said Brian, laughing. “I think we might be into that.” “Thank you,” Sebastian gasped. I glanced back to see him getting plowed by the same guy, the kid's fingers carefully tracing the outline of the dude's biohazard tat. “You're welcome, boy," the top replied, smiling a cocky smile as he plunged in deep. "This cunt of yours was built for taking my cum." “Listen, pig: focus,” Tristan said with a crooked grin. I turned back to face him. “Here's what I'm thinking. Anytime you guys find a boy who, in your expert opinion, has a sweet tight cunt that would bring some serious business my way, go ahead and send him to me. In return, I’ll give you some free product—maybe even a shitload of free product, if the boy’s got some serious moneymaking potential.” Brian and I glanced at each other, both of us grinning like it was our first time at the bathhouse. There was no need for further discussion. It was obvious that we'd just stumbled into the perfect gig. And the best part of the whole thing? We haven’t paid for an 8-ball since. * * * Brian and I led Jace to the apartment, telling him to knock on the door. He knocked. Tristan answered, wearing only a ballcap. His lean torso tapered into a set of defined abs, the shape of his body acting like a funnel as it drew our eyes toward the heaviness of his cock. “Hey there,” he said to Jace, locking eyes with our brand-new chemwhore. “You’re high as fuck, aren’t you?” “I guess so,” Jace stammered. “Good boy. That’s exactly what I like to see.” Then Tristan flexed his cock, making it swing upward and slap against his stomach—a favorite trick. He smirked as Jace licked his lips. “You like my cock, bro?” “Fuck yeah, dude.” Tristan wrapped his hand around his dick, flexing it again to send a rivulet of precum flowing down the length of the shaft. “I want to bury this big raw cock in your hungry little tweakhole, faggot. Got it?” Jace didn't answer at first. He was open-mouthed and glassy-eyed, his belt unbuckled, his hand shoved down the back of his jeans. Through the fabric, I could see that he was fingerfucking his partied-up hole. He nodded. “I need a louder answer than that, pig.” “Yes, sir.” “Good boy. You hungry for some more smoke?” “Fuck yes, sir.” “Then follow me, boy. Follow me back to my chair.” They walked across the room. Tristan sat down in his chair, then motioned for Jace to stop in his tracks. “Just stay there for the moment. This is my chair, bro. You’ll sit down when I give you permission to sit down. Got it?” “Yes, sir.” Tristan picked up the pipe. “I forget: did you say you wanted some smoke?” “Fuck yes, sir!” “Well, here’s the deal. I’m not feeding you any until you climb up on this chair and take a seat all the way down my dick. All the fucking way down. I want to feel your taint pressed against my fuckin’ stomach. Got it, fag?” “Fuckin’ A, sir!” “Good boy.” Jace didn't give himself a chance to think about it. He immediately clambered onto the chair, straddled Tristan, and placed the head of that dick against his butt. He didn’t tease it or jack it. Instead, he immediately got to work, sitting down on the full length of Tristan’s raw cock with a single piercing grunt. Tristan looked over at us, his face lit up in a twisted grin. “Fuck, you guys. This ass is worth a month’s supply of shit, easy.” Meanwhile, Jace was staring longingly at the pipe in Tristan's hand. “Sir," he said—unable to disguise his hunger for more chems—"Can I please smoke now?” “Of course, pig,” Tristan replied. He placed the pipe against Jace’s lips, feeding that faggot a long series of big hits. Brian and I watched the impressive cloud formations, then began gathering our things to head back home Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tristan grab a rubber strap and tie it snugly around Jace's bicep. "This looks like it's gonna hurt," Jace said. “It's not gonna hurt, buddy boy. You just stay still. You’re gonna love this. I promise. It’s a little something I like to call it the Point-Five Surprise. A nice big slam for my hot little bitchboy.” “OK, dude," Jace replied. "I fuckin' love that smoke. I'll do anything to get more." “I know you will, pig. And in about 10 seconds, you'll do anything...and then some.” Brian and I closed the door behind us. As we walked down the hall, we heard a long series of loud, breathless coughs, one after another. By the time we reached the elevator, the coughs had been replaced by the rhythmic smack of skin against skin as Tristan plowed Jace’s freshly slammed-up hole. * * * When Brian and I arrived back home, we heard a quiet, rhythmic splashing from the backyard of Dalton’s house. Was Neighbor Boy swimming laps? We figured it was worth checking out, so we quietly made our way to the backyard, sneaking over to our secret vantage point near the fence. We weren’t disappointed. Dalton was alone in the pool, swimming freestyle laps in a Speedo. The curve of his ass bobbed along the surface of the water, and each of his calves splashed to the surface in quick succession as he kicked his way back and forth in front of us. Finally, he stopped to catch his breath before pulling himself out of the pool, the water cascading down his back and splashing against the muscled perfection of his ass. Then, with a single casual flick of his thumbs, he dropped his Speedo to the ground, stepped out of it, leaned over to grab a towel, and wrapped himself up before heading back inside. His Speedo was still on the pavement. And in the next moment—as Brian slid his raw dick into my hole, both of us dripping precum like a couple of teenagers—I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about that brief glimpse of Dalton’s amazing butt. “His parents leave in two days,” Brian whispered in my ear. “Do you know what that means?" "What's that, babe?" "In two days, that sweet ass is gonna be ours.”

I've jacked off a bunch of times reading this story. Great job, pig.

I assure you that Dalton will get it, and get it good. (Consider Jace's initiation a preview of cumming attractions.)

CHAPTER 3 – JACE THE WHORE I love watching Brian plow a neg hole. He likes to get a boy on all fours, back arched—the position of total surrender. He grabs a giant handful of the boy’s musclebutt in each hand. Then, after impaling that poor unsuspecting bitch on his fat poz dick, he pulls back to expose the length of his shaft, throwing the full weight of his body into another deep thrust, his stomach and balls smacking hard against the boy’s wide-open hole. More often than not, a full thrust of Brian’s raw dick produces my favorite sound that humans can make: an involuntary primal grunt, emanating from somewhere deep in the gut, like pain and hunger at the same time. When he’s fucking a negboy, Brian pulls out every few minutes to slather more Tina-laced lube on his dick, leaving that hungry hole empty and gaping and slick with toxic precum while the boy whimpers a little louder and reaches back to spread his hole a little wider. With every dose of chems – with every shard of Tina smeared into that twitching fuckhole—the boy’s hunger keeps building, his fears and shames falling away as he gives in to a desperate, almost delirious craving. He starts mumbling incoherently, bits of pigtalk interspersed with sounds that aren’t quite words, but not quite moans either—the primal ravings of a bitch in heat. Before long, he’ll be making sharp backward hip-thrusts, impaling his chemmed-up jockhole at an increasingly rapid clip—smack, slap, slosh—as the skin on his bubble butt grows red from the pounding. If he’s like most boys, he doesn’t stop to ask questions when I put the Tina bong in front of him. By that point, he’s already tweaking on the chems in his butt, so he doesn’t put up a fight. He just wordlessly wraps his mouth around the glass stem, looking up at me with those pitch-black pupils as the bong chamber turns solid white and he eagerly fills his lungs with smoke. With every cloud billowing out of his mouth, he arches his back a little more sharply to elevate his fuckhole a little further toward the ceiling. There’s no question now: his ass is ours. In less than an hour, we’ve managed to transform a nice, upstanding kid into a helpless faggot with a Tina-fueled hunger for dick. I make sure to teach him the basic skills: how to take a nice deep hit, hold his breath for a few moments, and wrap his mouth around my cock before exhaling a thick cloud down the length of my shaft. (“Good boy,” I always say, which he usually answers with a muffled moan.) And while Brian’s cock keeps plunging its full length into that raw cumhole, I look down on our sweet, naïve, fucked-up negboy with a crooked smile of sadistic pride. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get back to Jace. * * * After getting dressed, I headed back to the pool party. Jace followed just a few steps behind like some kind of forlorn pup. When we rejoined the group near the pool, I gave Brian a little wink. He walked over to Jace, chatted briefly with him, and led him back inside. They were gone for about five minutes. When they returned, Jace looked a little more flushed than before, and Brian was grinning the cockiest of grins. “I took him to the bathroom,” he whispered in my ear. “Then I worked a nice big shard of T up inside his butt with my dick. Had to keep my hand over his mouth to keep that bitch from sobbing with pure joy.” “You breed him?” “Not yet. Gotta keep his cunt on edge, you know?” “Good thinking, babe. Now it's my turn.” I turned toward Jace, flashing him a crooked grin before walking back into the house. He followed me to the bathroom. I locked the door behind us. Almost by instinct, he simply turned around, pulled down his swimsuit, and leaned over the toilet to expose his hole. I placed my palm over his mouth and shoved my cock inside him in a single rough thrust. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and his hole spasmed in pain, but he nodded encouragement. I began pounding his twitching cunt with my raw dick. “Brian and I are heading back home in 5 minutes,” I whispered in his ear. “Cancel your plans. Be at our door in half an hour. Got that, pig?” He nodded again. “Good. Because I know you’re hungry for seed.” I felt a cold shudder run through his body. Goosebumps formed on his back. And then I pulled out, giving his ass a hard smack. “See you soon, faggot.” * * * Almost exactly 30 minutes later, I found Jace standing anxiously at our front door. He looked directly into my eyes and managed a single word: “Please.” I nodded and gestured him inside. Five minutes later, my dick was back inside his raw fuckhole. Brian placed the glass pipe against Jace’s lips and lit the chamber. “I’ll tell you when to inhale,” he said. “You ever play with Tina?” Jace shook his head no. I grunted in appreciation—as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing hotter than a chempig initiation—and my cock twitched as I delivered a little bump of precum into that boy's newly partied-up butt. Meanwhile, with my cock still lodged deep inside him, I grabbed my phone to call Tristan, our dealer. (I'd been sending him updates throughout the day, so he knew what we'd been up to.) Tristan and I never bothered with formalities. "Please tell me that boy came back," he said when he picked up the phone. "Please tell me you're bringing that hungry hole to me." "Oh, he’s fuckin' ready, dude. In fact, he just blew a giant cloud on Brian's cock. Want him?” "Yes. In fact, I've set aside a very nice reward for you guys. A finder's fee, you might say." “Fuck yeah, bro. We can head that way in a few. He doesn’t have any loads in him yet, so you can be the first.” "Sweet! Get here fast, fucker." And with that, Tristan hung up. I pulled my dick from Jace’s hole, eliciting a truly pathetic whimper. “Don’t you worry, pig,” I said to him. “We’re taking you to meet our friend Tristan. He’s very eager to make a little money off this chemmed-up musclebutt. You ready to be a whore, boy?” “Yes, sir.” “OK, but let's be totally clear about one thing: I didn’t say slut. What did I say?” “You said whore.” “That’s right, boy. I said whore. And by that I mean a literal whore—a trashy fuckin’ pig who eagerly spreads his hole for any dude with a fistful of cash. Got that?” He moaned and reached back to expose his butt, now leaking a steady stream of lube and precum. “That's what I like to see, boy. Now get your fuckin' clothes on.” MORE SOON...

Fuckin HOT!