rawrawraw76

Plus a new character -- SETH, an angelic-looking kid with a filthy imagination -- who's just finishing up his freshman year in college... ...and who's totally addicted to his stepdad's cum.

Thanks, guys! Glad you're liking it. I'm working on the next chapter -- hope to have it up this weekend. In the meantime, here are a few pictures I'm using as inspiration for various characters... DALTON TOM (the narrator) JESSE (Dalton's pozzed-up buddy from school) TRISTAN (the dealer) WILL, Tristan's latest in-house chemwhore, tied up and slammed up and pimped out for whatever cock will pay for the privilege of breeding him

CHAPTER 2 – THE POOL PARTY Dalton’s family has a private backyard with a large pool—or mostly private, anyway. Our two houses are perched next to each other on an embankment that juts out from the street like a natural cul de sac, effectively separating us from the other lots in the neighborhood. A fence runs along our shared property line, and we planted a thick grove of trees to give both houses a greater sense of seclusion. Not that it matters. Brian and I are voyeurs, so “seclusion” is a relative term. Before Dalton moved in, we lived next to a family of five, and the Dad was a silver fox type who would jack off in the Jacuzzi when he thought no one was watching. We discovered it by accident: one summer evening, we happened to be fucking a boy under the stars when we heard a sharp grunt from our neighbor’s house. We sneaked over to the property line just in time to see the silver fox climbing out of the hot tub, his impressive erection still at half-mast. The next evening, Brian and I cleared out a few spots in the foliage where we could have an unobstructed view of our neighbors’ backyard without fear of discovery. Then we sat next to the fence and waited, passing the time by jacking each other’s dicks; before long, I was wrapping my mouth around Brian’s thick shaft while he worked two fingers into my fuckhole with generous globs of Tina-laced lube. My ass began pushing back on him, squeezing his fingers as if trying to swallow his hand. Finally, he pulled me off his dick and fed me the fingers he’d been working into my hole. As I slurped greedily on the taste of my chemmed-up guts, Brian stared into my eyes with his trademark combination of adoration and amusement. “Oh, my hot little piggy,” he whispered, “I sometimes forget what a trashy little chemwhore you are.” “Not only that,” I replied. “I’m your trashy little chemwhore.” He flashed an evil grin before sliding his fingers back inside my hole, this time working a little rock of T into the liquid warmth already radiating from my ass to my cock to my nips. At last, when I couldn’t wait any longer, I removed his fingers from my ass, positioned my hole directly above his precum-slick cock, and lowered myself onto my man’s throbbing shaft in a single hungry downward thrust of my hips. Just then, as I was fully impaled on Brian’s twitching raw cock, the silver fox walked onto the adjoining back patio. Within a matter of seconds, he dropped his bathrobe—revealing a muscular mid-40s physique with salt-and-pepper fur—and sank into the hot tub. His head fell back; his mouth dropped open. And then his right shoulder began to shake as he beat his meat, unseen by us, beneath the surface of the water. Almost by reflex, I began milking Brian’s dick with my hole as I watched our neighbor stroke his cock. Then my husband wrapped his arms around me and began thrusting up into my hole, my entire body trembling in anticipation as I braced for a load of his warm poz cum. Moments later, we heard the silver fox grunt—the same grunt as the night before. And as we watched, he pushed his hips and his cock above the water, letting his cum fly in a thick spray from his fat mushroom head. Three distinct ropes of jizz flew into the air, then down into the froth of the Jacuzzi. And that’s when I felt Brian’s raw dick pulsing and flexing deep inside me, flooding my tweaked fuckhole with a fresh dose of his potent strain. Over the next two years, the silver fox jacked off many more times while we watched from the bushes. We started calling it “the late show,” and we caught it whenever we could. Most of the time, I sat on Brian’s dick when the silver fox started cumming, and Brian obliged with another buttful of poz seed. In fact, it became such a regular ritual for us that when our neighbors moved across the country, it was almost like our favorite TV show had been canceled. We shouldn’t have worried. As it turns out, the real show was just about to start. * * * Jesse secured us a spot at the pool party. He explained that the adults weren’t really expected to swim—they mostly sat around drinking and talking while their kids played in the pool. When the day of the party arrived, Brian and I chose tank tops to show off a little muscle and fur. We also wanted Dalton to catch a glimpse of the bulges in our board shorts, so we boosted the profile of our packages by wearing cockrings under tight white jockstraps. We arrived when the party was in full swing. As we passed through the sliding glass doors and entered the back patio, I saw Dalton on the opposite end of the pool, lifting himself out of the water, his swimsuit clinging tightly to his ass while a cascade ran down the muscles of his back and splashed against the elastic of his waistband. I glanced over at Brian, and I could tell he saw the same thing. His eyes, like mine, were glazed over with pure hunger for that hot little stud’s hole. The hostess—Dalton’s Mom—took us through the crowd, introducing us to people we didn’t care to remember. (We did, however, run into a few of Dalton’s football buddies, all of whom would look fucking fantastic buck-naked and spread-eagled, trussed up in our sling and forcibly impaled on anonymous poz cock.) Finally, our hostess waved to Dalton, who was chatting up some bitch by the pool. Must be Melissa, I thought to myself. I hope she’s enjoying that boy’s dick, because she might not be getting it much longer. I watched Dalton strut our way, his tight pecs leading the rest of his body in a cocky little bow-legged stride. Meanwhile, his wet swimsuit clung tightly to his cock, confirming the presence of a thick, fleshy piece of meat between those muscular legs. He gave both of us the once-over. And as he did, his expression changed: he didn’t grow visibly uncomfortable, but his face went oddly blank. “Dalton, these are our new neighbors. Meet Brian and Tom.” “Hey,” Dalton said noncommittally, holding out his hand for a quick shake. “Hey, buddy,” Brian replied. “Great party.” Dalton nodded vaguely. “Yeah, it's pretty cool.” An awkward pause. Then, turning to his Mom: “I need to grab another burger.” “K, hon,” she said with a pained smile. “There’s plenty of food, so eat all you want.” As Dalton walked away, quickly regaining his confident strut, she turned to us and shook her head. “Sorry about that. I swear he used to have manners.” “Oh, it’s fine,” I assured him. “Teenagers, you know?” I glanced back toward the barbecue, and caught Dalton looking our way again, his face still impossible to read. “He’s a little freaked out by us,” Brian said a few minutes later, leaning in close to me as we sat by the pool. “Definitely,” I replied. “Freaked out and fascinated. Poor little faggot.” * * * By that point, our dicks were straining against the fabric of our shorts. We needed release, and our first chance at Dalton wouldn’t come for another week at least. So when we were introduced to Charlene, a bottle-blond cougar who’d recently divorced and taken up with a much younger personal trainer named Jace, I saw the opportunity to let off some steam. Jace was clearly dumb as a post, but I didn’t mind—after all, that’s what muzzles are for. He was in his mid-20s, furry and scruffy, with a chiseled body that showed through his tight T-shirt. And from the moment I looked in his eyes, I had no doubt he was at least bisexual. After chatting him up for 10 minutes or so, I found what I was looking for: a pretext to get him back to our place. He said he was really into the Fast and Furious series, and I told him we’d just bought an imported box set that included tons of never-before-seen footage. Would he like to see it, maybe even borrow it? Of course he would. (Do we own any of the Fast and Furious movies? Of course we don't.) I winked at Brian as Jace and I slipped away from the party. Leading Charlene’s trophy-jock across the yard, I showed him through our front door and closed it firmly behind us. Then he and I stood in the entryway, staring at each other for a good minute or two. No mention of Fast and the Furious. We just stared. My cock twitched in anticipation, then twitched again. Finally, I glanced down at my crotch, gave my dick one more giant twitch, then looked back at Jace. With no change of expression, he simply dropped to his knees, pulled down my zipper, and fished out my rock-hard cock. It glistened with a layer of fresh precum. Opening his mouth wide, he engulfed me, sucking greedily and noisily—an experienced cocksucker for sure. I reached down to the small of his back and snapped the waistband of his shorts. He took my cue: with both hands, he gave his shorts a firm downward yank, exposing the muscled curve of his ass. My dick responded by drooling a long, thick rope of toxic cum into his mouth. “I need to fuck you,” I growled. He paused to consider. “You clean, dude?” My favorite dumbass question. “Of course,” I said with a smirk. “OK, cool—but you still gotta wear a rubber.” “No problem.” I grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him to his feet as I pointed toward the bedroom. “Now go get naked and wait for me on the edge of the bed.” Without even nodding, he did as he was told. Meanwhile, I grabbed the Tina-laced lube and followed him, shedding my clothes as I went. Entering the bedroom, I found Jace wearing nothing but a backwards ballcap, on all fours, his back perfectly arched to expose a clean-shaven, wide-open hole. I was a little disappointed that such a hot, furry boy would shave his ass, but then I remembered that a lot of closeted “straight” boys do that—they don’t seem to realize that pigs like me often appreciate a man’s hairy butt, especially when it’s dripping with piss and sweat and seed. “Look at you and your little shaved pussy,” I said to him, and he whimpered in reply. “You shave this because you hope some stud will mistaken you for just another bitch, huh?” Another whimper. “I bet you jack off thinking about a nice fat dick filling your cunt the way it needs to be filled. Don't you, boy?” He wagged his butt up and down, as if to say fuck yeah. “Of course you do, you fuckin’ faggot. Now listen, bitch: I’m gonna lube you up. But this lube is special—it’ll feel a little warm at first. It might even burn. That’s just how it works. Sort of like Icy Hot, you know? It’ll relax your ass muscles. Cool?” He nodded his head, his jockbutt still bobbing up and down eagerly. I scooped up a thick glob of our magic pig-lube with my right hand, spread his fuckhole apart with my left, and used two fingers to firmly push a healthy dose of greased-up chems into that eager, defenseless cunt. He tensed up, probably feeling the burn, but I just stayed inside him, rubbing his lower back with my free hand, slowly rotating my fingers to work the T into the lining of his hole. After a bit more squirming, he gradually exhaled in a low, guttural moan, and I felt a radiant warmth pass across the skin on my knuckles. He pushed his ass back against my fingers, taking me deeper. I grinned triumphantly: mine. As I removed my fingers, he yelped in frustration. I laughed. “Don’t worry, boy—I’m just putting a little more grease for your hole.” I scooped up an even bigger glob, this time with three fingers, then pushed all three into him, massaging his quivering fuckhole as he made a sound that was almost like purring. Then I pulled out again, and he reached back to spread his cunt wide open. “Patience, fag, patience. My fingers can’t get far enough inside you. If this lube’s gonna do your hole any good, it needs to penetrate further. That way you’ll be totally ready for my cock.” I reached into a side drawer and pulled out a needleless syringe that I’d prepared a few hours earlier by dissolving a strong bump of T in a little bit of water. (I always try to have at least one fully prepared booty bump on hand, just in case.) “You want to get lubed up nice and deep, bitch? Want to get your hole all good and ready for my dick?” He answered with a wordless groan. “Good answer, pig.” I inserted the plastic syringe as far as it would go, then pushed the plunger to deliver a giant payload into his guts. He arched his back even more as I pressed gently on his tailbone, letting gravity do the work of priming his hole for pozzing. As the drugs seized control of his brain, his butthole started quivering. I rubbed the length of my dick along that hungry musclebutt; he responded by burrowing his head deeper into the sheets and spreading his legs a little more. “Oh, and one more thing, pig,” I said to him, pressing my mushroom head against his taint, “I don’t use rubbers. Ever. And if you insist on a condom, you’re not getting my dick. Understood?” He reached back and spread his hole a little wider. “You just spread your hole for me. Does that mean you want me to bareback your hungry hole?” No answer. “Tell me, pig,” I said, grabbing a rough handful of his hair and pulling his head back. “Do you want my raw cock?” “Fuck dude, whatever,” he said, his voice shaking now. “I don’t fuckin’ care. Please shove your dick in me.” “Not sure I heard that, pig. Say it again.” “I don’t fuckin’ care. Please give me your dick. I need your fuckin’ cock, bro.” “You want my raw cock to slide in you, pound you bareback, and fill you up with a load of my seed?” “I’ll do whatever you want, fucker. Just please, please give me your dick. I can’t believe how fuckin’ hungry I am. Please feed me, dude.” “Feed you what?” “Cock, cum, anything. Seriously, bro. I’m begging you.” I grinned. “Good boy. Now brace yourself.” He exhaled—a sigh of relief. Meanwhile, I held his ass in place with my left hand. With my right, I slid the head of my cock inside his smooth fuckhole, just holding it there for about 10 seconds as I lubed his butt with some of my toxic precum. At last, with no further warning, I pushed the entire length of my raw dick into him. He let out another deep sigh as his starving cunt spasmed against the skin of my shaft. “You like this raw cock inside you, boy?” “Fuck, dude. Please pound my hole.” “You got any plans tonight?” “Yeah. Just with my girl.” “I want you to cancel. Got it? Cancel your plans.” “Whatever you want, bro. Please just fuck me.” “I’ll fuck you—don’t worry. But first you need to do what I say.” “Absolutely. Whatever you say.” “Alright, boy—then here’s what we’re doing. We’re getting dressed. We’re going back to the party. We’re saying our goodbyes. You’re cancelling your plans. And then you’re coming back here to get pounded by raw dick all night long. Are we clear, faggot?” “Fuckin’ A. Yes, dude.” “Don’t you worry, boy—your patience will be rewarded. I promise you that.” As we talked, my cock kept twitching deep inside him—and with each twitch, his wide-open hole absorbed another little dose of my virus. He would need as much viral lube as he could get, because in a few hours he’d be at the mercy of Tristan, our merciless dealer. Tristan was full of surprises, but one thing was certain: by the time he got his dick in this boy’s slammed-up hole, Charlene would definitely need to find a new personal trainer to fuck. MORE SOON...

Before we knew his name, we called him Neighbor Boy. Brian saw him first. On a gorgeous Saturday in May, I walked into the kitchen to see my husband jacking his fat dick while sneaking glances out the window. When he heard me approach, he flashed a piggish grin and motioned me over. That’s when I caught my first glimpse of Neighbor Boy. He was shirtless, maybe 18 or 19, and hauling boxes into his family’s new home. His face, square-jawed and intense, was still boyish in a lot of ways, but you could easily see the drop-dead-handsome man he was becoming. And to make things even hotter, he was obviously packing a man-size piece of meat, judging from the package bouncing between his legs. As sweat ran down the ridges of his abs, his shorts began to slip past the beltline, exposing just a bit of what appeared to be a bubble-perfect jockbutt. My eyes followed the dark line of sweat forming between his asscheeks; I wanted to bury my face in the fresh boy-musk around his crotch, his pits, his fuckhole. Brian turned to me with an evil grin. “That boy is ours,” he said, still furiously jacking his cock. Then, with a grunt, he sprayed three powerful volleys of thick, unmedicated poz cum across the kitchen sink. * * * Brian and I have been together for 10 years. I’m 35; he’s 40. People tease us about looking like twins, and I can see why: we both have dark brown hair, beards, and hairy chests. We also have cocks that are roughly the same size, about 8.5” by 6.5”. And when our big dicks spring out of our jockstraps at the same time, we can usually turn a run-of-the-mill bottomboy into a trashy, knocked-up dickpig in no time at all. It wasn’t always that way. Back when we met, Brian was a top. I was vers, but I wouldn’t let him fuck me raw. My reasoning was simple: I was neg, he was poz. And then one night, he invited me to his house for a homemade dinner. It was my birthday, and he’d hinted at some kind of surprise. I had no idea what was in store: halfway through my first cocktail, I started to slur my speech. I remember asking him what was going on, but Brian just stood there, grinning like a demon and rubbing his cock through his jeans as I slipped into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I found myself suspended in midair, my body swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm. In my drugged-up stupor, it took me a few minutes to realize that I was directly underneath a large mirror on the ceiling. Very slowly, I managed to process the image I saw in the mirror: for some reason I was naked, with my legs splayed wide and arms tied back. I’d heard of slings, but I’d never been in one. And just then, it dawned on me that my body was swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm because a total stranger was pounding my hole. That’s when I heard Brian’s voice cut through the noise in that dark, crowded, sweat-stenched room: “The second booty bump definitely woke him up,” he said. Right about then, the guy fucking me started to convulse, and everyone in the room shouted encouragement as he thrust in and out of my hole frenetically. Next I heard a loud round of clapping and grunting from the crowd, followed by an odd sensation of warmth and wetness when that cock pulled out of me. My hole released the stranger's mushroom head with a subtle *pop*, and then I suddenly felt an emptiness in my ass, as if my knocked-up cunt somehow wasn’t complete anymore without a raw dick lodged deep inside. But the emptiness didn’t last. Within a matter of seconds, I felt the familiar contours of Brian’s cock inside me. “Hey, baby,” he said, his big dick making an unfamiliar sloshing sound as he fucked away. “That was load number four, and you've just begun. It’s your birthday, remember? My gift is to get you fuckin’ pregnant. You want another poz load?” I stared at him, uncomprehending. Then my eyes grew wide as I realized what all this meant. “No,” I said. “Fuck no. I don’t want to be sick. You know that. What the fuck are you doing?” “Oh, please—you have no idea what you want,” he replied. “From the moment we met, I saw right through you. You’re just another clean-cut, handsome boy waiting for somebody to give you permission to be a cumpig. I mean, just look at your dick right now—it’s harder than I’ve ever seen it.” I glanced down at my cock, and I could see it dripping beads of precum onto my abs. Meanwhile, Brian kept pounding me. “Your dick seems to be a few steps ahead of your brain at the moment, because your dick knows what you need,” he said. “And what you need, little piggy, is an ass full of fresh poz loads. Don’t worry—your brain will catch up to your cock before the night’s through. Until then, we’ll just gangrape you full of poz seed, OK?" "FUCK YOU." "Sorry, bud, but I'm pretty sure it's the other way around. You're the one getting fucked tonight, remember? You're getting fucked and bred and, if you're really lucky, maybe even pozzed. So...are you ready to beg for another dirty load, boy?” “Fuck no, Brian. I don’t want this. Fucking stop, OK? STOP.” He didn’t stop. Instead, he nodded to someone behind me, and I was quickly muzzled and blindfolded. Brian stopped thrusting for a moment, lodging his cock deep in my hole, and ordered me to stay perfectly still unless I wanted to get hurt. In the stillness that followed, someone wrapped a tourniquet around my bicep. I felt a pinch in my arm, and the tourniquet came loose. Almost immediately, I gasped as a wave of dark energy rushed to my chest, my lungs, my cock, my ass. I coughed violently, and I struggled to catch my breath while the dark wave kept crashing through my nervous system. And just as Brian predicted, that's when my brain finally caught up with my cock. I was in heat. I loved the feeling of Brian's raw dick pounding me full of toxic seed. And by the end of the night, I would whimper and moan anytime my hole wasn’t stretched around a charged-up cock. I'd been transformed from a neg condom queen to a bareback slampig in a matter of hours. In the years since, Brian and I have developed a knack for initiating young men into the world of chemsex, feeding drugs to unsuspecting boys before knocking them up. The hottest of all, I think, was the seduction of Brian’s college-age nephew. And it didn’t happen on just any night, either, but on the night of our wedding. This kid was a hot little faggot with a naturally hungry butt. He was deeply closeted, but Brian and I saw right through him in a second. So after flirting with him on the dancefloor, then feeding him our dicks in a restroom stall, we took him back to the honeymoon suite, smoked him out with the glass pipe, and slathered Tina-laced lube all over his fratboy fuckhole. Within 15 minutes, he was taking a seat on my raw cock and bouncing on it like a natural-born bitch. Eight hours (and two giant slams) later, Brian’s fratboy nephew was a confirmed chemwhore, proudly spreading his wrecked fuckhole while it oozed loads from 11 strangers. Even then, he was still shoving fingers hungrily into his cunt, pleading for another slam of Tina in his arm. Instead, we dropped him off at our dealer’s house with instructions to push every boundary possible until this boy was corrupted through and through. Our dealer didn’t disappoint, and within a month or two our fratboy nephew was a slampig escort with a real talent for getting double-fisted. We couldn’t be prouder. * * * The day after we saw Neighbor Boy for the first time, we introduced ourselves to his parents. Over the course of a 30-minute conversation that included far too many details about the sister we didn’t care to meet, we found out exactly what we needed to know: Neighbor Boy’s name was Dalton, and he was finishing up his senior year at McKinley High. He’d just turned 18. He had a steady girlfriend named Melissa, and he’d landed a scholarship to be a kicker for one of the state university football teams. “Oh, and one more thing,” Dalton’s father said to us. “We’ll be chaperoning our daughter’s class trip to Washington, D.C. at the beginning of June. Dalton is perfectly capable of running the house by himself for a week, but could you just make sure he doesn’t throw any giant keggers? We’d really appreciate it.” We nodded eagerly, because we’d found our window of opportunity. As the conversation wrapped up, we slipped our hands in our pockets, attempting to hide the bulges from our rapidly hardening cocks. * * * When Brian and I returned home, we closed the door and fell into a deep, sloppy kiss. We would do whatever necessary to fill all of Dalton’s holes with chems. And if we had our way, he’d be going to college in the fall with poz blood flowing through his veins. “I wonder if Jesse knows Dalton,” Scott said. “That could be hot.” I nodded and grabbed my phone. “Let’s give him a ring.” We love Jesse because he’s an evil pig. But we love him even more because he’s an evil pig who happens to look like a blond, buff Mormon. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hung like a lumberjack. Like Dalton, he’s a senior at McKinley, and we’d initiated him about six months earlier after chatting him up on a bareback fetish site. We pozzed him on the day after his 18th birthday. He was already entertaining some very dark fantasies by the time we found him—apparently he’d been watching bareback porn and trolling fetish chatrooms for years. But unlike most of the naïve little faggots we corrupt with chems and impregnate with toxic seed, Jesse was eager to get slammed into the stratosphere, and he required no encouragement to spread his muscled boybutt for our poz dicks. And now, in the months since his seroconversion, he’s been helping us lure boys to the world of chem-fueled bareback fucking. Jesse answered my call right away. Yes, he said, he was pretty good friends with Dalton, who was basically the hottest guy in the entire fucking school. We asked if Jesse was planning to hang out with Dalton anytime soon. Yes, he replied: he’d be at Dalton’s pool party the following weekend. “You guys should come, because a lot of the parents will be there,” he said. “I’ll tell Dalton to invite you. And I'll tell you something else: everybody at school would swear he’s straight, but I just don’t know. I get a weird vibe from him. Maybe not a gay vibe, but like a curious vibe.” “So you’re saying there might be a faggot buried deep inside that boy?” I asked. “Just a hunch,” Jesse replied. “Well, in that case,” said Scott, “it’s time for us to get deep inside Dalton and find out.” MORE SOON...

I just shot a big load reading this story. Well-done, pig...

Very hot opening, buddy...

I've jacked off to this story many, many times -- one of my favorites on the site. Nice work, fucker...

Fucking HOT, buddy. I just blew my load to this one...

Fucking HOT story, as always. Can't wait for Nathan to get his dick into Clint, too...

By the way, this is the picture I had on my desktop when I introduced Dylan. Pretty fuckin cute, huh?

PART 6 As Grant’s dick slowly churned the poz cum inside Conrad’s fuckhole, my bro just kept grinning—a less angelic grin than before, almost a little evil—and his eyes radiated the dark intensity of a truly trashed-up chempig. “I’m so proud of you, bro,” I said to him, and he looked at me with that same grin. “This is fuckin’ amazing, bro,” he replied. “Ever since you put that needle in my arm, all I can think is dick. Dick. I need dick. I love dick. Fuck, dude! DICK.” That made everybody laugh. “I’m glad to hear that, boy. Slamming should do that to a bottompig like you.” Conrad growled hungrily, then turned to Grant. “Fuck, Daddy—that felt so good. Your cock, your cum. You fed me exactly what I needed, exactly where I needed it. Poz cum in my raw hole.” Right around that moment—as Grant and Conrad continued their Daddy-bro bonding with filthy pigtalk punctuated by the occasional deep kiss—my phone buzzed. It was a text from Rick, my buddy at the front desk of the bathhouse. If you’re up for another conquest tonight, he wrote, I’ve got a candidate for you. Hot little self-righteous condom-Nazi with a gorgeous furry butt. I replied right away, telling him that Recruit #1 was already a trashy slampig, so I had time to bring another boy to the dark side. Rick texted right back: Fuck yeah! You’ll find him sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi. I want to see his pupils get bigger than fuckin quarters. And then I want to destroy his slammed-up hole. (This is why I love playing with Rick: for him, innocence is only acceptable if it’s up for immediate destruction.) I didn’t want to miss this boy at the Jacuzzi, so I grabbed Jason—Grant’s furry pigboy—and asked him to give me a hand. Then I pulled Conrad down from the sling and said it was time to rinse off. I assured Daddy Grant that his boys would return soon, then ushered Conrad and Jason out the door with their towels draped over their shoulders. As the three of us walked past a steady stream of half-naked men—many of them leering at us, some reaching out to brush their hands against Conrad’s boyish skin—I explained how the two of them could help me nail my newest victim. When we arrived at our destination, the three of us parted ways: I went to the Jacuzzi, and Jason and Conrad went into the group shower. (At this particular bathhouse, anyone sitting in the Jacuzzi can ogle the dudes in the shower—the two areas are only a few feet apart.) As for Rick’s boy, I caught sight of him immediately. He was maybe in his mid-20s, short and compact, with a perfect dusting of fur across his muscular little chest. A little bit of scruff. Rugby players’ legs. A nice piece of uncut meat between his legs. And that face—the kind of angelic face that demands to be stuffed full of cock. As I slowly walked down the hot tub stairs and submerged myself in the water, I made sure that my cock stayed above the surface long enough for my new target to see it. He saw it, alright—and then he couldn’t stop staring. I stared back. And as I sat down on the ledge across from him, I cocked my head to indicate he should sit with me. He didn’t hesitate for a second. As he walked my way, I got a clearer look at his ridiculously defined six-pack, not to mention his rapidly-growing cock. Best of all, when he spun around to sit down on the ledge next to me, I got a quick peek at his ass. Rick wasn’t kidding—this boy had the kind of butt that gangfucks were made for. We started with a little small talk. His name was Dylan. He was a grad student, and he’d been in the area for about six months. But just as I began to turn the conversation in a more filthy direction, everyone in the Jacuzzi started pointing to the showers—and once we looked, we couldn’t stop staring, because Jason and Conrad were putting on quite a show. This was all part of my plan, of course. I’d instructed Jason and Conrad to walk into the shower area as if they didn’t know each other. I’d told them to choose adjacent showers. I directed Conrad to begin soaping up his hot young jockbutt, and I told Jason to respond by jacking his stiffening cock. By the time Dylan and I started watching, Jason was already fingering Conrad’s hole and asking him to squeeze out a little cum from his last breeding. We watched as a thick stream of white jizz came streaming out of Conrad’s butt, which earned an audible grunt of appreciation from the cumpigs in the hot tub. By the time Jason pushed Conrad against the railing of the Jacuzzi and started pounding him raw, I was rubbing my finger across the surface of Dylan’s tight little furry fuckhole, earning a little moan in the process. His cock was rock-hard as he openly gaped at the bareback fuckshow in front of us. “Pretty hot, huh?” I said, continuing to run my finger across the entrance to his hole. “Fuck yeah—it’s definitely hot. But not for me, man—I play safe, you know?” “Oh, that’s cool—so do I.” He turned to me and gave me an appreciative smile. Then I leaned over and whispered in his ear: “And I have rubbers in my room. So when can I fuck you?” He didn’t answer, but simply stood up and walked to get his towel, the muscles in his butt flexing with every step. He glanced back and gestured for me to join. Following close behind, I watched him clamber out of the Jacuzzi, his leg swinging up to the edge as he climbed out the side of the pool—a maneuver that briefly exposed his fuckhole. One way or another, I said to myself, consensual or not, this boy’s butt is taking my raw dick tonight. Just then, the fuck between Jason and Conrad was reaching its noisy climax. Jason was asking my lil’ bro all sorts of questions: do you like being a fuckin’ bareback slut at the bathhouse? Do you like giving up your wrecked pighole to total strangers? Are you gonna take loads in your slopped-up hole all fucking night? Conrad didn't answer, exactly, beyond a half-coherent litany of nasty pigspeak, his slammed-up brain unable to perform basic processes while that big raw dick was pounding his hole. He just kept saying things like fuck, fuck, fuck, breed it fucker, fuckin’ A, fuckin’ use this hole, use my hungry cunt. Knock it up. Please, please knock it up. Fuck! Goddammit, you hot pig motherfucker… Then I heard Jason start to breathe heavily as his dick slapped faster and faster against that cum-flooded hole. Then came a few more questions: You want my fuckin’ load in your slopped-up hole, huh? You hungry for my cum? You wanna get fuckin’ pregnant, dude? Yes, shouted Conrad, nearly delirious with hunger. Fuckin’ yes. Fuckin’ breed me. Please. Please, please breed me. I’m so fuckin’ hungry for that seed. Ohmigod—ohmigod—I feel it—I feel it—fuck yeah! Gimme your load, dude. Thank you. Oh, fuck! Thank you. Thank you. Ohmigod—FUCKER! Everyone in the hot tub could see Jason’s whole body shake as he unleashed his poz cum inside my lil’ bro, Conrad grinning like a little kid as he milked that dick clean with his hungry jockbutt. When Dylan and I turned to leave, I caught a quick glimpse of Jason’s softening cock, coated with fresh seed, pulling out of Conrad’s hole, only to be replaced right away by some random dude’s veiny, precum-dripping Daddy dick. My lil’ bro let out a guttural moan of approval as the new cock invaded his ass—and the whole time I just kept brushing my fingers against Dylan’s twitching, furry muscle hole. First, we took a brief detour to the front desk. I told Dylan that I needed an extra towel, but I actually needed to give Rick a signal that a new corruption project was underway. As I picked up the towel, I gave Rick a little wink, and he replied by mouthing the word “Oink.” As Dylan and I walked away, I looked back at the front desk and held up both hands, mouthing “10 minutes.” Rick answered with a thumbs-up while flashing an evil-pig grin. Back in the room, Dylan climbed up on the bed, got on all fours, and immediately began sucking my dick. Bobbing up and down on my poz shaft, he instinctively arched his back and aimed his hole at the ceiling. I fixed my sights on that quivering cunt, imagining just how incredible this negboy’s fuckhole would feel against the skin of my poz cock. I leaned down to kiss Dylan. It was important to make a good connection with this kid, to gain his trust. I’ve found that a good makeout session can help establish that kind of instant connection, especially if the boy is affectionate and eager for someone to take care of him. That was Dylan, all right—I could tell he was a sweet one. I wreck boys like him all the time: nice kids who somehow fall under the spell of a guy like me, a guy who lives to see virgin boyhole oozing thick white sperm, preferably streaked with ribbons of pink and red. Cum and blood: the keys to initiation and brotherhood. Dylan kissed me hungrily while I kept toying with his fuckhole. “Just curious, boy,” I whispered in his ear. “Do you like to get tied up?” “Fuck yeah,” he said. “Just as long as you don’t make the knots too tight. I kinda just want the illusion that I’m tied up, you know? I need to be able to escape if necessary.” “Oh, of course,” I replied, reaching into my bag to grab a handful of rope. I looped a few coils around his wrists, then made a loose knot on the bedposts so that he wouldn’t feel trapped. “That OK, boy?” He nodded with a big grin. I leaned down to kiss him again, and his body trembled with hunger and excitement. “I can’t wait to feel my cock slide inside you, Dylan. You’re such a sexy little fucker.” He responded with a happy murmur as I reached into my bag. OK, that’s enough affection for now, I thought to myself. It’s time for things to take a nasty turn. First, I grabbed a piece of piss-stained fabric and shoved it in his mouth. Then I reached up to the knots on the bedposts, and with a simple tug I tightened them so that Dylan couldn’t move his arms. His eyes grew wide, and he attempted to use his legs as leverage, but it was no use—I’d already pinned his thighs with my knees. “Sorry, kid,” I said. “When I tie a boy up, he’s fuckin’ pinned until I say otherwise. For real. No escaping, understand? Tonight you’re mine.” As Dylan attempted to scream through the fabric, I heard a knock at the door, followed by a key entering the doorknob. I looked back to see Rick come in with our buddy Santiago, another staff member. (Santiago, you see, is the kind of ruthless Latino top who just isn’t happy until he sees blood on his dick.) “Excuse me, guys, but we heard sounds of a struggle in here,” Rick said to me, doing his best to sound genuinely concerned. “We just wanted to make sure everything’s alright.” Dylan tried screaming again, but I muffled him even more by placing my hand over his mouth. “Everything's fine," I assured him. "I do have one small problem, though: I need some help getting this boy under control. See those ropes on the bedside table?” Rick nodded and grabbed the ropes. Dylan, meanwhile, was trembling with fear—and that’s a major turn-on for me. When I see a boy get scared because he’s no longer in control, my cock twitches and I start drooling precum. I mean, look: there’s nothing hotter to me than watching a boy break. I love breaking ‘em down until they finally surrender and start begging for the raw dick they’ve always wanted. As Dylan kept trembling and whimpering, Rick and Santiago each grabbed a leg, bent him in half to expose his fuckhole, then secured his ankles to the bedposts. He struggled from time to time, and his head kept shaking back and forth in silent protest. But these protests were feeble—he knew he was fucked. I turned to Rick. “In the nightstand, you’ll find a needleless syringe. It’s all ready to go. A nice big fat dose.” He handed it over to me, and I inserted the plastic tip into Dylan’s hole as he gave me a pained, pleading look. “Don’t worry, boy. This is just some very, very special lube.” Then I pushed the plunger in, releasing the drugs into his fuckhole and bringing Dylan one step closer to the world of chemsex. With the chems quickly finding their way into Dylan’s system, I reached into my bag to grab one of my specially prepared condoms. (The preparation is pretty simple: I slice off the reservoir at the tip, so it only takes a few deep thrusts before my mushroom head bursts through the weak end of the rubber.) I held up the condom for Dylan to see, and relief flashed across his face. We were being safe after all! Then I rolled it onto my dick—making sure my boy didn’t catch sight of the hole at the tip—before pouring some lube on my shaft. Finally, with a slow thrust, I began sinking my poz dick and its useless rubber into this helpless negboy fuckhole. His cunt was warm and hungry from that giant booty bump, and I had no problem going balls-deep on the first push. I pulled back a few inches, then buried my dick all the way once more—at which point I felt my cockhead burst through the rubber, and my precum-covered cock got its first exposure to the warmth and wetness of Dylan’s unprotected fuckhole. A moment later, I pulled back out. The broken rubber now covered about two-thirds of my cock, and a string of precum connected the tip of my dick to the warm hunger of Dylan’s hole. “Sorry, dude,” I said to him, “Looks like the condom broke.” Fear entered his eyes again, and he tried to say something through the fabric stuffed in his mouth. “Dylan, I can’t hear what you’re saying. Don’t worry, though—I’ll ask somebody else. Hey, Rick? Look at this rubber. What should I do?” Rick shrugged. “Take off the rubber. Fuck his hole raw.” “Fuck yeah,” said Santiago. “Just breed that fuckin’ uptight faggot.” I looked back at our boy. “So tell me, boy: Should the three of us just bareback that sweet fuckhole of yours?” Dylan was screaming again, shaking his head back and forth, trying his best to fight his restraints. “Sorry, buddy—I really can’t hear what you’re saying. I guess we’re just gonna go with the majority, OK? Which means I’m gonna pound my cum deep inside you.” And with that, I ripped off the rubber and shoved my raw dick into Dylan’s partied-up butt. I leaned into him, looking directly into his eyes as I began to pump in and out of him with long strokes. He was starting to cry, but that just made my dick harder. “Don’t cry, buddy,” I said to him. “We’re only gonna fill your butt with three raw loads, that's all. You love bareback sex, don’t you?” “Well, at least part of him does,” Rick said, pointing to Dylan’s cock. It was rock-fucking-hard. “Your dick’s pretty hard, Dylan,” I said to him. “I guess some people might call this a rape. But what do you call it when you're raping a cunt that secret loves it?” I noticed that Rick and Santiago were starting to get naked, quietly unveiling the biohazard tats on their chests. And as I expected, Dylan saw the tattoos almost immediately, his eyes going wild with distress as he tried to yell through the muzzle. “I think he kinda likes the biohazard symbol,” said Santiago. "That makes two of us, Dylan," said Rick. "I'm glad to see you're so open-minded about taking our poz cocks bareback, even though we're not on meds." Either Dylan was exhausted or losing his voice, because he hardly made a whimper when he heard that. He just closed his eyes and quietly took my dick. A few moments later, as my pace quickened and my balls tightened, I leaned closer to Dylan. “I’m about to blow a fuckin’ load, boy. Where do you want it?” Now he was crying in earnest, still shaking his head back and forth, still making the occasional whimper. I turned to Rick. “I’m not sure, but I think he said he wants my cum in his hole.” “Yeah, that’s what I heard. Knock him up.” And then Santiago chimed in: “Fuck yeah, dude. Poz that sweet little butt.” At that, I felt Dylan’s hole clench. “His hole just squeezed around my cock. I think that means he’s consenting.” “Fuck yeah it does. Go for it,” Rick said. “Get this boy fuckin’ pregnant. Rape him full of the bug.” I turned back to Dylan. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? My unmedicated poz cum seeping into your bloodstream?” Dylan just closed his eyes and tried to say something. “I really wish I knew what you were telling me, boy. You must be begging for my toxic load in your sweet little hole. You wanna get loaded up, boy? I certainly hope so, ‘cuz I’m breeding you—I’m fuckin’ breeding you, bitch. Hear that, fag? Yeah? You like it? You hungry for some poz seed? That’s what I thought you said. YOU LOVE IT. Well, open wide, faggot, ‘cuz I’m pozzing your sweet neg hole right…fucking…now.” And just like that, I force-bred Dylan with a giant load of my poz cum. He was clearly in shock as I pulled my cock out of his hole—eyes glazed over, mouth wide open. Rick climbed onto the bed and immediately thrust his poz dick into our freshly bred boy, laughing when he saw the near-catatonic expression on Dylan’s face. “I think this kid is speechless with gratitude,” he said, slowly working his cock in and out of our new cumpig. “So let’s make him more grateful. Don’t we have a little something to brighten his day?” “Of course we do,” I replied, taking a few prepared rigs out of my bag. Then I leaned closer to Dylan. “Listen, boy: You want to take our raw dicks, don’t you? Well, this will make it easier for you to be our poz cumdump. But if we’re going to do this, I need you to sit very, very still, OK? Because otherwise you’ll just hurt yourself. Do you understand? That means no struggling, boy. Got it?” As I was saying that, Rick placed a blindfold over Dylan’s eyes, then a tourniquet on his arm, all while keeping his cock lodged deep in the boy’s hole. Then he spoke to Dylan. “We need you to nod for us, boy. Let us know that you understand. You need to be still. Perfectly still. Got it?” A pause, followed by a slow nod from Dylan. “Good boy,” I said. “Now, you’re going to feel a little pinprick in your arm. Again, do not move your arm. Just keep your arm still.” During this little speech, I was busy inserting Dylan’s rig in my arm, capturing some of my blood in the chamber. Then I lined up that same syringe with a vein in Dylan's forearm. “Such a good boy,” I assured him. “OK, here’s the pinch. Stay still.” I inserted the dirty needle in his vein, then pulled it back to mix his blood with mine. “You’re being very good, boy. Just stay like you are.” It only took a few more seconds to push the contents of that fat rig—including a fresh infusion of my poz blood—into the boy’s bloodstream, remove the needle, and release the tourniquet. There was a sharp intake of breath from Dylan. Then Rick moaned. “Dude,” he said. “I love fucking a boy’s hole when he gets slammed up, because his butt gets about 10 degrees warmer as soon as you administer that hit.” As Dylan began a violent coughing fit, Rick’s eyes rolled back and he groaned. “Fuckin’ A. His cunt is convulsing with every cough. I’m not gonna last long inside this boy.” As for Dylan, after a few moments of near-panic, he began to relax. His head tilted back, his mouth opened up. He let out a deep moan. As soon as Rick heard that sound emerge from Dylan, he started working the boy's hole—and with every thrust inside that furry slammed-up cunt, moan sounded a little more like a hungry growl. I leaned closer to Dylan. “OK, slampig. How do you feel about raw cock now?” He paused, then slowly shook his head a few times, just like before. Then another pause. And as Rick’s cock plunged its full length into his hungry butt, Dylan started slowly nodding. “Wait—is that a yes, boy? Are you trying to tell me that you want raw dick?” He nodded again, more vigorously this time. “Is that slam making you hungry, boy? Hungry to get pounded and bred and pozzed?” This time, the nod was almost violent. I could even hear him yelling “Yes” through the fabric. “OK, boy,” I continued, “If we let you speak again, are you going to accept what we’re giving you? Are you going to be a grateful and obedient fuckhole?” Another nod. “Well, here’s your test. When I take this fabric out of your mouth, the first thing I want to hear is ‘Please knock me up.’ Got it?” A nod. “Good boy. Now do it.” I started to remove the makeshift muzzle, and I could hear him saying the phrase through the muffled fabric already. Over and over he said it—“please knock me up,” “please knock me up.” In fact, for those first 30 minutes of speaking, with that giant slam still rushing through his bloodstream, “please knock me up” appeared to be the only thing he knew how to say. And that was just fine, because getting knocked up was the only thing he really needed to do that night. I laid down next to him and whispered in his ear. “So tell me the truth: you’ve always wanted to be a cumpig. Isn’t that right, boy?” “Yes,” he replied. “I wanted cum so bad. Raw dick. Uninhibited fucking. I’ve been so scared, but I’m not scared anymore.” “Good boy. You shouldn’t be scared. You should be proud. Proud to take raw dick, proud to be a true bottom—a bottom who surrenders everything to his top—and above all, proud to be free from the fear of getting pozzed. You remember those dudes fucking in the shower?” "Yeah. That was fuckin' hot." "Well, those are my friends. I set that whole thing up. I asked them to do that in front of you, because I knew it would activate your inner cumpig. I knew it would get you thinking about raw cock, about anonymous dick, about embracing the needs of that hungry fuckin' cunt of yours." I took off Dylan’s blindfold. His pupils were enormous, but his eyes shone with an odd combination of happiness and hunger. “Thank you,” he said to me. “Thank you for giving me what I needed, even before I knew that I needed it.” We fell into a deep kiss just as Rick’s body shuddered violently, his dick delivering pulse after pulse of poz cum inside this slammed-up boy’s hungry hole. Dylan let out another groan, whispered "Thank you so much, you fuckin' stud," and went back to making out with me. Finally I sat up, looking him deep in those jet-black pupils. “One more question, boy. After the three of us breed you, what are you gonna do?” He shot me a devilish little grin. “You mean…other than hunting for more loads?” “Good answer,” I said with a laugh. “And if you think you’re hungry now, you have no idea what’s coming. Because it won’t be long before we’ll slide another needle in your arm to get you even nastier and trashier, you twisted fuckin’ pig.” With that, Rick waved his cock over Dylan’s face, all slicked up with a heavy coating of fresh cum. And without saying another word—like any good pair of pigs—Dylan and I helped each other lick that poz dick clean. MORE TO COME…

Hot setup, buddy. Looking forward to reading the rest.

Hey, guys...working on the next installment. In the meantime, here's a few pics of me blowing clouds in my singlet. (These are actually video stills; you can see the full video over on Chempigs...)

PART 5 We walked into the sling room, and Grant closed the door. His uncut cock looked to be about 9.5” by 7”, dripping like a broken faucet and sporting a mean hole-wrecker of a P.A. “I’m Sloan,” I said, shaking Grant’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Sloan. And who’s the boy?” “He’s my lil’ bro, a slampig-in-training. One week past his 18th birthday, practically a virgin, and all partied up for the first time. He’s your fuckhole for the night, so call him whatever you want. His name’s not important.” Grant growled approval, then turned to Conrad. “Hey, son. Sounds like your big bro's been taking good care of you, huh?” “Yes, sir,” Conrad replied. “Yeah, boy? Tell me what your bro’s been doing for you.” “Well, sir—he’s making a man out of me,” said Conrad. “Before this, I’d only fucked around with other boys. Tonight is the first time I’ve surrendered my body, my hole—everything—to the control of a man who wants to mark me, own me, use me. And best of all, I can still feel his thick cumload dripping out of my hole.” “Is that so, boy?” Grant reached around to Conrad’s ass, pulling the boy closer to him. I heard his fingers dip into the warmth and wetness of that slopped-up boyhole. He gave another growl of appreciation. “Admit it, boy: you were looking for somebody to pin you down and fill your hungry little musclebutt with raw dick.” “That’s right, sir,” said Conrad. “My big bro knew what to do. He fed me white smoke from a little glass pipe. He just kept feeding me that smoke, and every time I exhaled a big breath full of clouds, I got hungrier. I didn’t think it was possible to feel that hungry, but that’s what I was—so fucking hungry for my big bro’s dick. I couldn't believe how amazing it felt when his bareback cock shoved into my fuckhole.” “Good boy,” said Grant, his hands slowly kneading the muscles of Conrad’s bubble butt. “And now that you’ve got a thick load of your big bro’s poz cum oozing of out your partied-up hole, are you still hungry?” “Even hungrier. Please give me more. Please poz me, Daddy.” Grant growled, pointing at the sling. “Climb up, boy.” As Conrad walked to the sling, Grant turned to me. “Nice work, son.” “Thanks, Dad.” I opened up my playkit, revealing a row of prepared points. “Would you like to do the honors? I think it’s time we got our boy slammed out of his fuckin’ mind.” “Fuck yeah -- but I've got an idea,” said Grant. “Whenever I slam, I shoot a big load of cum as soon as the tourniquet comes off my arm. Why let that load go to waste? I’ll push my dick up inside our boy’s hole, then slam myself at the same time you’re slamming him. That way, he’ll be riding his very first rush at the exact same moment my cock is shooting thick ropes of unmedicated poz cum deep inside his little fuckhole. Got it?” “Fuck, Dad—that’s fuckin’ perfect. And then what?” “And then I use my seed as lube. You know—fuck my slutty son for awhile, just working that toxic load up inside him, getting him good and pregnant. Watching his sweet little face as he takes my fat poz dick into his slammed-up hole. I usually shoot my second load after 10 or 15 minutes of massaging that first round of cum into a boy’s fuckin’ pussy. I like to leave their insides torn-up and painted thick with my fuckin’ virus by the time I pull out.” “Fuckin’ A, you evil fucker. Let's fuck this boy into the dark side.” With that, we turned toward Conrad. His feet were firmly in the stirrups, his muscular legs spread wide, his 18-year-old boyhole proudly exposed for breeding. Jason was already applying a tourniquet. I took a syringe out of my playkit and handed it to Grant, then grabbed another for Conrad. Jason cocked his head and pointed at the playkit. “How big are those hits, anyway?” “Oh—big enough,” I said with a smirk. Jason flashed an evil grin. “Fuck yeah, dude. You startin’ him with—what? A .35?” “More like a 0.4,” I said. “But before that happens, this particular needle needs to make a little detour.” I immediately found a vein in my forearm, inserted the tip, and pulled back the plunger. A scarlet swirl of my blood began filling the rig. Removing the needle from my arm, I aimed it at Conrad’s bulging veins. “You see this, boy?” I said to him, tapping the side of the needle, its contents now contaminated with red streaks of my toxic blood. “This is how we guarantee that you go home tomorrow with my virus growing inside you. Got it?” Conrad smiled and nodded, holding out his arm eagerly. “Fuck yeah—we’ll be blood brothers,” he said. “Make me your blood brother. Please.” “Of course, bro. I’m so fuckin’ proud to bring you into the brotherhood.” Needle in hand, I leaned over to admire his beautiful veins. I picked one almost at random; his time at the gym had given him a forearm full of perfect admin sites. “See bro—the tip of this needle has my poz DNA all over it,” I said. "Want it?" "Fuck yeah. Please. Stick that poz needle in me." I gave him a quick smile, then gently slid the contaminated point into his arm. “Are you ready to watch my virus invade your fuckin’ bloodstream?” He nodded as if in a trance. I drew back the plunger, and Conrad’s blood rushed into the syringe to mix with mine. I looked behind me to see that Grant, too, had a register, and that his Daddy dick was already firmly lodged in my lil' bro's hole. Turning back to Conrad, I loosened his tourniquet and flashed a wolfish little grin. “You ready, baby boy? You ready for this fat fuckin’ blood-slam?” “Yes. Do it, bro. Please.” “You’re gonna be so goddamn fucked up. I can’t wait, lil’ bro.” With that, Daddy and I looked at each other and nodded. Then we counted down: 3, 2, 1... Push. The contents of the syringe began disappearing into Conrad’s vein, slowly and steadily, while the crimson mixture of our poz and neg blood gradually merged with his bloodstream. I felt his body begin to tense as the first wave of the drug started to hit. And as I pulled the needle out of his vein, his eyes grew wide and his lungs made a scratching noise as he prepared to cough. Grant finished his slam just as Conrad’s coughing fit began. Each cough caused my lil' bro's ass to spasm around Grant's dick, and that took our Daddy over the edge: as he yelled "Fuckin' take my virus" over and over again, his fat cock pulsed repeatedly inside my lil’ bro’s stretched-out cunt, each pulse sending waves of poz cum deep inside my boy's newly slammed-up fuckhole. A moment later, Grant pulled his cock from Conrad’s hungry butt, giving both of us a glimpse of the thick spout of cum erupting from his fat mushroom head. “You wanna get pregnant, son? ‘Cuz I wanna knock your ass up.” “Fuck yeah, Daddy. I wanna give your fuckin’ poz sperm a place to grow.” Grant shoved back in. As his raw dick re-entered Conrad's hole, I watched my lil' bro undergo my favorite transformation: No longer struggling to catch his breath, no longer freaked out by the intensity of the slam, his eyes gradually lost their focus, overwhelmed by the pleasure radiating from his fuckhole. His mouth dropped open, and he let out a low, slow moan. As I watched, his body seemed to become an extension of his wrecked and dripping fuckhole—open and hungry and obsessed. “Feel that cum dripping out of your hole?” Grant said to him as he continued to nail Conrad's butt. “I’m filling you up with the fuckin’ sperm that made you, boy.” By that point, Conrad’s hole was leaking a steady stream of cum mixed with streaks of blood from Grant’s assault on his torn-up cunt. “Dad’s drawing blood,” I said, pointing to the evidence of internal damage. Grant let out a cocky little laugh. “Looks like you’re starting to bleed from your wrecked little cunt, boy. Want me to stop?” My lil’ bro shook his head fiercely, his eyes insane with desire. “Please don’t stop tearing me up, Daddy,” he said. “More poz cum, please.” “Good boy,” replied Grant. “Good fuckin’ slampig. You make your Daddy so fuckin’ proud. And you know what’s gonna happen a little later?” “What’s that, Daddy?” “We’re gonna slam you up again, and your hole’s gonna stretch like you wouldn’t believe. That’s right, boy—it’s gonna stretch until it’s a gaping, bloody punch-hole dripping cum and piss and Crisco. You want that?” “I want everything you want to give me, Daddy.” “Good boy. The next slam will reduce you to nothing but a hole. You won’t even know your fuckin’ name, boy. But that’s OK. When your sweet boyhole is stretched around my fuckin’ forearm, nobody will be calling you Conrad. They’ll give you a new name. My favorite name.” “What’s that, Daddy? What’s your favorite name?” “Slampig,” Grant replied, driving his dick deep. “And you know what, Slampig? I’m here to make sure that my son will never shoot a neg load again.” MORE SOON…

Hey, pigs -- I'm working on the next part of the story. In the meantime, I figured you might appreciate this little series of photos I shot last night...

PART 4 “Wait a second,” Jason said, growing suddenly serious. “Before we get this kid slammed up and pozzed deep, there are a few things we need to address.” “Yeah, bud? What’s that?” He looked down at my gym shorts. “First of all, dude, I really need you to unleash that cock. You’re about to tear through the fabric. And let’s see that hairy chest, too—get fuckin’ naked for me.” I looked down to see the outline of my dick hanging down my left thigh, straining against the shorts and leaving a visible wet spot as it drooled toxic precum. I gave Jason a cocky little smirk, then peeled off my tank top, running my hand down my stomach to pull the elastic of my shorts down past my cock and onto the floor. “Now what?” Jason wasn’t looking at my face anymore. He was transfixed by the sight of my dick, still slick with infected seed. “Well, second of all,” he said—and here I caught a demonic glint in his pitch-black pupils—“before we go to the sling room, I need to take a giant leak. Could you direct me to the nearest urinal?” Without another word, I took Conrad by the arm and laid the kid on his back. “Spread your hole, faggot,” I said, taking a moment to look into his eyes with deep affection and brotherly pride. Conrad gave me a blissed-out, boyish grin. Then he reached down to his little jockbutt, pulling it back to reveal the hole I’d seduced with Tina, penetrated raw, and pounded full of poz cum. “That’s good, bro. Fuckin’ beautiful. A little wider, please.” He dug his fingers in deeper and pulled his little cumhole wide enough that a small cascade of my poz offspring dripped onto the bedsheet. “So listen now,” I continued, “Jason and I are gonna show you something new, OK?” Conrad nodded, so incredibly eager to please—no questions asked. A true chemwhore. His eyes locked on mine again, and I gave him an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say: You’re doing great, kid. Jason rested the head of his raw cock against Conrad’s smooth, dripping boyhole. “OK, buddy,” he said to Conrad. “You ready? Here we fuckin' go.” My lil’ bro grunted approval. And then with a slow, single thrust, Jason sank his bare cockhead and veiny shaft into my boy, not stopping until his balls came to rest against the cum-trail dripping steadily from Conrad’s cunt. Jason leaned forward, pressing his dick even deeper as my lil’ bro breathed out a single word: “Yes.” Then Jason closed his eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. “Just stay perfectly still,” he said to Conrad. “Relax your hole for me, boy. There you go. Just like that. Keep it relaxed. Stay right where you are. I’m just about to—“ Before he could even finish his sentence, it happened: he let out a long, guttural moan as his mouth opened wide and his head kicked back. Then he slowly thrust his raw cock even deeper, emptying a bladder full of partypiss into my beautiful fucked-up boy. I don’t know how long it took for him to release everything he’d stored up, but one thing was clear: my lil’ bro’s guts were getting flooded. “How does that feel, Conrad?” I asked him. He shook his head slowly as if to say: No words. My dick bounced in appreciation as I watched my boy’s pupils dilate a little more with every wave of piss invading his hole. “Warm,” he finally whispered, his voice lower now, his face less boyish, like he was transforming into a man while I watched. “So fuckin’ warm.” Finally, Jason’s steady moan drifted into silence. He opened his eyes and glanced over at me. We both laughed. “I’ve been saving up that slampiss for awhile,” he said. Then his eyes closed again and he let out another primal moan. “Fuuuuuuuck—there’s a little more. A little more piss for you, kid. Jesus. Goddamn—I’m so fuckin’ glad my chems found a home. A perfect home. Right here, deep inside this eager fuckin' faggot.” Conrad just kept smiling. “I was born to be a faggot for men like you," he said with a little nod. My cock swelling with pride, I leaned over to give my boy a kiss. Then Jason let out a giant sigh. “OK, boy,” he said. “I’m gonna start pulling out, OK? Now, here’s what I want you to do: I want you to start squeezing that sweet little fuckhole for me. There you go. Squeeze it—just like that. Nice! Such a good boy. Now listen: after I pull out, I want you to keep it nice and tight, OK? We’re gonna give you a few minutes to soak up my Tina-piss.” As Jason’s cock slipped out of Conrad’s hole, I saw a single dark-gold droplet of piss escape—but that was all. Obedient as ever, my boy turned all his attention to keeping those recycled chems deep in his fuckhole, right where they belonged. “Thank you, fucker,” I said to Jason, grabbing him by the back of the head as we matched breaths in a hungry kiss. I pressed my cock against his tight stomach, then reached around to his furry hole. My fingers slipped easily inside him, enveloped in a familiar warmth and wetness. “Goddamn,” I whispered in his ear. “How many loads have you taken tonight?” “Just five,” he said with a cocky grin. “My poz Daddy has a rule: I can take as much cum as I want, but only if I share my unmedicated load with at least one boy. Preferably a negboy.” I growled. "OK, I gotta meet this poz Daddy of yours. So here's what we're gonna do: I’m gonna help this boy release the piss from his hole. Then we’re gonna meet up with you guys in the sling room. Got it?” “Got it, dude,” Jason said as he opened the door, his towel slung over his shoulder. “And hurry. I tell ya, my Daddy’s gonna fuckin’ love this kid.” “We won’t be long,” I assured him. With that, I grabbed Conrad by the arm and led him down the hall, showing him to the group shower directly across from the giant hot tub. I turned on the water, spun him around, and wrapped my arms around his torso. As we stood there under the water, I thought to myself: You think you’re high now, kid? Releasing this piss will take you to whole new level. And that’s nothing compared with what’s still to come. “OK, lil’ bro,” I said with my mouth resting against his ear, my hands brushing up and down the length of his tight little six-pack. “I’m gonna rest my cock against your hole, alright? As I start to press into you, just relax. Got it?” He nodded, and I reached down to position the head of my dick against that hungry little cunt. As I started to apply pressure, I felt his ass relax—and suddenly my cock was surrounded by a rush of warm slampiss rushing out of his hole. I thrust a little deeper, feeling a gutful of chems splashing down my legs. And then I couldn’t hold back. I began to fuck him, but only for a minute or so—just to feel his hungry hole pulse and twitch hungrily around my raw dick. As I kept fucking, the stream of slampiss slowed to a trickle. He moaned. And for the first time, with every thrust of my poz dick into my 18-year-old boy’s eager fuckhole, he began actively milking my cock. “Very good, boy,” I whispered. “You’re fuckin’ made for this. Aren’t you, lil’ bro?” “Fuck yeah, big bro,” he mumbled. This kid was totally in heat—the slampiss rushing out of his hole had taken him into the goddamn stratosphere. “I’m made for this. And I need it so bad. Your raw cock. Your amazing fat dick, deep inside my boyhole. Bareback me. Please bareback me. Please. You. Fucking. Stud.” “Listen, lil’ bro,” I said, easing off on my thrusts before resting my cock deep inside him. I looked up to see that a sizable crowd had formed around us, so I leaned in a little closer and lowered my voice. “As much as I want to breed you right now, we shouldn’t make that poz Daddy wait any longer. So get your towel, boy. It’s time for you to get slammed up.” We walked back to the room, my arm draped over his shoulder, my hand occasionally mussing his hair like an affectionate big bro. I stopped by our room for just a moment to grab my playkit—and then proceeded to the sling room. When we reached the door, I turned to Conrad, placing my hands on his cute little butt as I drew his body close to mine. “You sure you’re ready for this, lil’ bro?” “I’m ready for anything, big bro.” “Good boy. Then knock.” He looked at the door, hesitating for just a moment, then glanced back at me. I gave him a proud little nod. He grinned that boyish grin, then gave the door a solid knock. Footsteps approached. The door opened. Standing before us, naked and hard, was a man like almost no man I’d seen. He was a silver Daddy type, mid-40s maybe, with a lean and muscled chest covered with salt-and-pepper hair, a tight stomach, and a truly massive pierced cock. Best of all: right above his navel, in jet-black ink, he had a biohazard tattoo that expanded and contracted with every breath, as if pulsing with hunger. “Welcome, you fuckin’ pigs,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I’m Grant. And you better get in here, ‘cuz we’ve got some fuckin’ work to do.” MORE SOON…

PART 3 Conrad looked up at me and smiled. His legs were still wide open, and a pearl-size drop of cum escaped his hole. I pushed it in with my finger, and he moaned. “Sit up, boy,” I said. “Take three nice hits off the pipe for your big bro. I’m gonna get us ready for a night at the baths.” I heard the click of the lighter as I grabbed a white jockstrap from the laundry basket, giving it a quick smell and catching a whiff of cum, sweat, and piss in the fabric pouch. I threw it to Conrad. “Here, bud—wear this,” I said. “It’s only slightly used.” He nodded as a dense cloud billowed from his mouth. Meanwhile, I grabbed my playkit, threw on a T-shirt, and pulled my gym shorts over my cock—still rock-hard and glistening with fresh poz seed. The mesh fabric strained around my erection, pulling on the elastic and revealing just a little bit of the thick patch of hair above my cock. I heard the boy hit the pipe a second time, then a third, as I prepared another dose of G in the kitchen. I brought him the dose as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a regular chemwhore. “Drink up,” I said, “then put on those shorts. But leave your tank top here, OK? I want everybody to see my lil’ bro’s hot fuckin’ body.” He nodded, gulping at the G-laced soda before pulling his shorts over the jockstrap. The waistline landed about one-third of the way down his bubble butt, revealing a bright-white band of elastic. “Good boy,” I said, lighting up the pipe and sharing the smoke with him in a deep, hungry kiss. “Now let’s go feed your hot little butt.” He practically ran to the bathhouse, stopping every 50 feet or so to keep his shorts from slipping to the ground. Finally I grabbed his hand, unbuttoned the top button, and let the shorts fall. He shot a worried glance my way. “Don’t worry, bud,” I said with a triumphant grin, opening the front doors to the bathhouse. “Nobody here’s gonna complain.” My buddy Rick was on duty at the ticket window. As Conrad and I approached, he gave the kid a once-over and laughed. “Holy shit, dude,” he said to me. “This one's gonna be good.” “It already is,” I said, showing him one of my fingers slick with cum from Conrad’s hole. Rick practically licked his chops. (He was one of my regular top buddies, and he especially loved sprinkling a layer of T on his raw poz dick and sliding it inside a faggot’s wrecked, dripping cumhole.) As he secured a room for us, I glanced back at the guys standing in line. All of them craned their necks to see my boy leaning against the counter in his jockstrap. I pulled his ass apart, revealing a trickle of cum running down his leg. That earned a few grunts of piggy appreciation. Then I whispered in my lil’ bro’s ear: “Keep spreading it, boy. Be proud of your hunger.” He nodded eagerly, reaching back and showing off his smooth, knocked-up boyhole. One of the dudes in line responded with a single word: “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” “The sling room is taken,” said Rick. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll be invited there at some point.” (He gave the word “point” a little extra emphasis, followed by a wink.) “Anyway, I managed to get a deluxe room for you. Come on through and let me check your bags.” We walked through the security door, and I put my playkit on the counter. Rick opened it up. I'd packed everything I might need for a night of poz-fucking: a row of prepared points, a large dimebag full of T, a needleless syringe for administering booty bumps, and a water bong. “Looks good to me,” he said with a smirk. Then he leaned over the counter and lowered his voice. “I’m off at 6 am. You’re welcome to come by my place when you’re done here.” Rick often hosted a group at his place on Sunday mornings. It was always a good crowd—mostly because he would recruit the hottest partyboys from the bathhouse by giving them a glimpse of his big dick while “checking their bags.” I gave him a nod. “Fuck yeah,” I said. “He’ll be very ready for you by that...point.” “Point taken,” said Rick with a smirk. “Now get to work.” As Conrad and I began walking down the hallway toward our room, I put my arm around his shoulder, bringing my mouth close to his ear. “If you see anything you like, just let me know. OK, buddy?” “Yes, big bro,” he answered, causing my cock to nearly spring out of my shorts. We walked past the hot tub, where some kid sat on the edge, legs dangling in the water, his hole eagerly riding a Daddy's raw cock. The kid was clearly tweaked out of his mind, and I could hear the top muttering a steady stream of pigtalk as the kid bounced hungrily on his dick. Conrad stopped and stared. “Don’t worry, buddy,” I said. “That’s nothing compared to what you’re in for.” We turned the corner. Ahead of us, leaning against the wall, a furry guy in his mid- to late 20s stood watching the men walk by. He was wearing nothing but a towel and a camouflage ballcap. I thought to myself: this is what Conrad might look like in a few years. The dude sported a little more muscle, a spray of hair across his pecs, and a clear treasure trail leading from his abs to the towel wrapped around his waist. But that's not what really caught my attention. No: what caught my attention was the giant red-and-black biohazard tattoo just above his left nipple. And then something happened that blew my fucking mind. Conrad saw the dude standing there, let out a little whimper, and made a beeline for this total fuckin’ stranger. And without a word, he placed his tongue on the guy’s nipple...giving the biohazard tat a long, slow lick. The dude grinned, placed his hand on the back of Conrad’s head, and encouraged him to keep worshiping the mark of poz brotherhood. Then he looked over at me. “This your boy?” he said. “Fuck yeah,” I answered. “I’m Sloan. This is Conrad.” “Jason here,” he said. “But before we go any further, he needs to be clear on one thing.” “What’s that? “My tattoo isn’t gonna give him what he wants. Only one thing is gonna do that.” He pulled the towel away from his waist, and his fat uncut cock swung forward, its head grazing my lil’ bro’s abs. Conrad whimpered again. I leaned over to give Jason a long, sloppy kiss. “Come with us,” I said. “I wanna see you help my boy earn his tattoo.” Conrad broke away from his poz-worship, and the two guys followed me to the room. Once inside, the boy dropped to his knees and began noisily and shamelessly slurping on Jason’s poz cock. Fuck yeah, I thought to myself. That G is definitely kicking in. “Goddamn,” said Jason with a laugh. “You got this kid fuckin’ blitzed, huh?” I answered with a proud nod. “Nice,” Jason said, then lowered his voice. “So…how are you guys partying?” I raised my eyebrows, then gave Jason another deep kiss as Conrad kept trying to devour his cock. “Fuck, dude,” I whispered in his ear. “That’s one of my favorite fuckin’ questions.” (As most partypigs know, the only people who ask “how you’re partying” are slammers—so Jason was not only a hot poz fucker, but a slampig too.) “Oh yeah, fucker?” he said with a smirk. “You been playing darts with this boy?” “Not yet,” I answered. “But in a few minutes, he'll be getting his first fuckin’ slam.” I took Jason’s hand and guided it to Conrad’s hole. His finger made contact with the warm seed slowly dripping from my lil’ bro’s knocked-up cunt—and with that, Jason’s eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned in appreciation. “That’s poz load #1,” I said. “My load. I got this kid high and pounded his virgin cunt full of seed. And of course he’s hungry for more.” “Of course he is,” Jason said. “Listen—I’m here with my poz Daddy, the dude who knocked me up about a year ago. We’re in the sling room. We love getting negboys on their backs, slamming ‘em up for the first time, and transforming them into little poz cumhounds. You wanna join us?” I flashed him a wolfish grin, then leaned over to kiss him again. “Couldn’t have planned it better myself,” I said. “Fuckin' A. Let’s go create a slampig.” MORE SOON…

Hey, pigs -- working on the latest installment today. Inspired by last night's experience of getting to the point with a hot, twisted top and being his trashy slampig all night long...

PART 2 As we walked through my front door, Conrad reached into his backpack and took out a box of rubbers. “Can’t forget condoms,” he said with an awkward laugh. I took them from his hand, managed a vague sort of nod, and threw them on the dining room table. My boys usually insist on condoms—at first. But after a little bit of chemical intervention, they always transform into eager raw cumholes. Only once did I end up with an especially stubborn kid who kept trying to wrap my dick, so I resorted to a backup plan—a stash of broken rubbers with little holes poked in the reservoirs. Didn’t matter in the end. By the time the condom tore apart while I was pounding his negboy hole, he was so high he tore the shreds of rubber away from my cock and ran his finger along the raw shaft as it plunged in and out of his chemmed-up cunt, his eyes glazing over with the deep-buried desire to be a bareback whore. I always get what I want. I told Conrad to take a seat on the couch and help himself to the pot. Meanwhile, I walked to the kitchen. I took a few sodas out of the fridge and poured them into glasses I’d already dosed with a cap of G. I love G because it transforms uptight boys into ragdoll sluts in a matter of 20 minutes. The taste can be tough to hide, but I recently found a dealer who consistently delivers high-potency GHB that doesn’t taste awful. In fact, after diluting the stuff in 12 ounces of Pepsi, it only leaves a subtle aftertaste—perfect for serving to unsuspecting negboys. As I finished my little cocktail, I heard Conrad’s voice from the couch: “Hey, what’s this?” That made me grin, because I knew exactly what he was talking about. On a tray in the middle of the coffee table, I’d left a bong full of pot. And right next to it, I’d left a little glass pipe full of Tina. Every single time, my negboy visitors are deeply fascinated by the glass pipe, so all I need to do is pretend like it’s nothing too special. “What’s what?” I asked. “I’m just wondering what’s in this little glass pipe thing full of white stuff.” “Oh, that,” I replied, walking into the living room with the G-laced Pepsi. “Not sure you’re ready for that. It’s called T. It can be really, really fun. It makes me horny as fuck, and I bet you’d have a blast on it. But maybe we should just take it easy—just stick with the pot, you know? Here’s some soda, by the way. Drink up, little bro.” He took a few gulps of Pepsi while holding the glass pipe, looking at it intently. My dick stiffened. “Actually, I’m curious,” he said. “Would it be cool if I just tried it?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, bud—be my guest. But let me show you how to work it, OK?” I sat down next to him, my hands visibly shaking with excitement. “Alright, now hold that pipe up to your mouth. Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna light this little torch and heat up the stuff in the bowl. Just wait a moment. See that? See the little wisps of smoke forming? Now when I say go, just start inhaling very lightly and steadily. Lightly and steadily. Got it? OK, bud—go ahead. Start inhaling. There you go. Good boy. Just take that swirling smoke into your lungs and hold it until I tell you otherwise. Got it?” He nodded as he continued to inhale. “OK, little bro,” I said to him, taking the pipe away from his mouth. “Hold it, just for a sec. Then exhale it through your nose. There you go. Fuck yeah—good boy! Now again.” That first hit was a nice fat one—the cloud emerging from his mouth and nostrils was thick and white, and my cock dripped at the smell of the Tina emanating from his lungs. From that point on, with each cloud of meth that escaped his lips and his nostrils, he was losing a little bit of his innocence. For the second hit, I gave him the torch to operate, and I talked him through it. The result was another giant hit of solid white clouds pouring out of his mouth and nose. “OK, boy—do one more. You’re on your own. I think you got it.” He immediately hit the pipe again, and I turned away to hide my giant, triumphant grin as Conrad smoked away all his defenses. “I’m just gonna put a little entertainment on the TV here, OK? Oh, and don’t forget your soda.” When I turned on the TV, it automatically started playing one of my favorite movies. It’s an amateur video shot by a filthy pig I know from the Midwest—a wrestling coach who likes to chem and poz some of the hot little jockboys on his team. He’d sent me a few videos, but this was my favorite: a sexy, ripped, piggy 18-year-old named Lance was all slammed up and taking loads from a roomful of coaches and former teammates. Behind me, I heard the click of the torch again. Fuck yeah, I thought, this boy is already fuckin’ hooked. As I turned back to face him, I took off my wife-beater. Conrad froze in place, the pipe halfway to his lips, smoke billowing out of his mouth. He just stared at my hairy chest, his eyes dilated pitch-black. “You feelin’ good, little bro?” He gave me a dazed nod, his mouth agape. “Why don’t you take off your shirt, huh? Show off your sweet little body. Do that for your big bro?” He peeled his tank top upward, revealing his flat stomach with its ridges of ab muscles, then his compact little muscular chest. He was just starting to develop a treasure trail down the center of his stomach, leading past the waistband of his shorts to the bulge of his cock that strained against his zipper. His soda was gone; the G would be hitting him soon. I walked over to the couch and took the pipe from his hands. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re just about the sexiest boy I’ve ever seen." I ran my hand down his torso, and he sighed a deep, hungry sigh. "Listen, buddy: I have a few more things to show you. You wanna learn from your big bro?” He half-grunted, half-moaned in response. “OK: I’m gonna do a hit. Then I’m gonna blow it into your mouth, and you’re gonna blow it back in mine, then back and forth we go until we can’t go anymore. It’s called a shotgun, and it’s one of my favorite things to do with a sexy little bro like you.” I put the pipe to my lips and took a deep, thick hit of white smoke. Then I put the pipe down, turned to Conrad, sealed my open mouth against his, and exhaled my cloud into his lungs. A moment later, he breathed the Tina smoke back into me. We repeated that three or four times until the mouth-lock became a deep kiss, and we kept making out while the shotgun escaped our mouths and dissolved around us. As I kissed him, I loosened his shorts, pulling them down the length of his lightly hairy legs. His underwear followed. Then I slipped off my gym shorts; my cock bounced free with a gentle “thwack” against my stomach. I maneuvered Conrad so that he was stretched out before me on the couch, and I laid down on top of him, my cock rubbing against his. We continued to kiss. I grabbed the pipe, took another hit, and shared another series of breaths with my boy. Then he spoke, hesitantly. “Hey, big bro? Just in case you’re wondering, I’m all cleaned out and ready to go. My ass, I mean. The last dude who fucked me showed me how to do all that stuff. So…anyway. In case you’re wondering.” I smiled at him and mussed his hair. “What are you trying to tell me, little bro? You want my cock sliding in that sweet little butt?” He blushed and shrugged. I leaned into his ear and whispered: “Don’t you worry, buddy. It won’t be long before I bury my fat cock deep in your hole.” He shivered beneath me, then kissed me again. The G was kicking in. He was almost entirely in my hands. A few more minutes of teasing and prodding, and he’d do anything to get impaled on my raw cock. “Get on the floor, little bro,” I said. “Face the other direction, on all fours. Ass in the air. Back arched. No—back arched, like a fuckin’ fag. Much better. Good boy. Now reach back and spread that hole for your big bro.” His hands grabbed each side of his perfectly round butt, spreading it to reveal a smooth, pink, tight hole that pulsed with every breath he took. I knelt down, placed my hands over his, and wrapped my mouth around that aching little boycunt, pushing my tongue into his body, every one of his nerves quivering as I dove greedily into his wide-open throbbing cock-hungry 18-year-old partied-up fuckhole. He gasped as I kissed that sweet little fag-pussy with the same intensity that I kissed his mouth a few minutes earlier. I spit a few huge gobs of saliva on his cunt and worked them in with my tongue. His hole loosened up, welcomed my mouth and my spit, became noticeably warmer. He really was a fuckin’ hottie: such a tight little body, great definition from his calves to his chest, with the roundest, most perfect little boybutt I’ve ever seen. And the cock! He had the kind of thick, veiny dick that would make any top’s hole twitch. Enough butt-eating, I thought. It's time to fuck. “OK, little bro—one more thing to show you," I said, standing up so that my dick hovered over him. "I want you to take a fat hit off that pipe, then blow it onto your big bro’s cock. Can you do that for me?” He nodded, grabbed the pipe, and got the smoke swirling like a regular chemwhore. “Good boy. You like that smoke, huh?” He nodded as he continued to inhale. “Just feed on that smoke, pig. Feed on that smoke. Your big bro wants to see you get fuckin' tweaked." He put down the pipe, knelt directly in front of me, wrapped his mouth around my cock, and exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke that enveloped my dick. The smoke traveled up my stomach and chest as he began hungrily slurping on my poz shaft. He wasn’t a bad little cocksucker, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I pulled his head away from my dick and guided him onto his back. “Pull your legs back, little bro.” He did, revealing that sweet little hungry cunt, still dripping with my spit. I began rubbing the length of my cock across his hole, watching his eyes flutter and his mouth drop open as he pulled his legs back a little further and looked at me with a kind of desperate pleading. “You ready for some dick?” He could only manage a whimper in response. “I can’t wait to give it to you, bro. But one thing you gotta know first. If it turns out to be a problem, then we can do something else. We don’t need to fuck, you know.” He nodded again, half-listening, every bit of his energy focused on the cock rubbing against his chemmed-up faggot fuckhole. “So here’s the deal, little bro. I only fuck raw. Natural. Bareback. And if a boy won’t let me fuck him the way I want to fuck him, then he’s not getting fucked. Got it?” Conrad glanced over at the TV, where the bottomboy was spreading his little jockbutt for yet another raw cock. Then he looked back at me. He reached down to spread his boyhole, just like the guy in the video. “Give me your dick, skin-on-skin,” he said, his eyes a solid-black void. “Bareback my fuckin’ hole. Please, bro.” “Fuck yeah, boy. You been fantasizing about raw dick, huh? Watching bareback porn?” “It’s the only kind of porn I watch. It’s the only kind of fucking I really want to do. Please give me your dick, bro. Your raw dick. I need your fucking raw dick. Please.” “You gonna make me pull out?” “No, dude. Please cum in me. Breed me.” “And when we go to the bathhouse after this—you want other dudes to breed you, too? Breed your chemmed-up cunt?” He paused for a moment, looking me straight in the eye, giving himself some time to overcome the shame of his boyhood secrets. “Yes,” he finally said. “I want my hole dripping with cum.” I nudged the head of my raw dick up against his hungry little butt, and his whole body shook. His breath went shallow. Then my cockhead slipped through that first outer barrier, enveloped by the warmth and tightness and innocence of his negboy hole, and I leaned down to kiss him, a sloppy kiss. “I’m dripping precum in my little bro’s hole,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m lubing you up with my seed, faggot.” By this point, Conrad was alternating between “fuck yeah” and “fuck me,” and he wrapped his arms around my back, murmuring “do it” three times. That’s when I began pushing the rest of my raw cock into the radiant warmth of that chemmed-up fuckhole, and he gasped as he surrendered everything to me. “This is how we were meant to fuck,” I whispered in his ear as my dick continued to disappear inside him. “You aren’t a true bottom boy until you’ve let a man split you in half bareback, until you’ve given up your hole for him to eat and pound and breed. I’m so proud of you, little bro.” With that, I directed his attention toward the TV. “But there’s one thing you should look out for,” I said, taking on a serious tone. “Some guys in the bathhouse will have a tattoo like that.” I pointed up at the screen. A young topdude was pounding the bottomboy bareback. Every time he pulled his cock away from that hungry little fuckhole, you could see a biohazard tattoo right next to his dick. “Do you know what that tattoo means, little bro?” He shook his hand. “Danger, I guess?” “Well, sort of. It means he’s poz. Just something to be aware of, because you probably don’t want that.” I glanced back at him, and the look in his eye was pure hunger. “Unless…,” I said, pretending to be confused, “Unless you’re turned on by that?” He shot a devilish glance at me, and I answered with a giant grin. Then he grinned, too. “You want some poz dick at the bathhouse, bro?” “Fuck yeah.” “Yeah? You wanna get knocked up?” He just kept grinning, and his body started shaking again—a kind of shiver, all fear and anticipation and excitement. “Such a good boy. Such a fuckin’ dirty boy. I love it. I’m so proud of my little bro.” And then, with no warning, I pulled my dick out of his hole. Conrad gasped. He suddenly looked lost and empty; the pleading returned to his eyes, and he pulled his legs back and spread his ass and whimpered. Meanwhile, I stared him down. “Sorry, little bro, but something just occurred to me. You didn’t ask about my status. Don’t you want to know my status?” “I don’t fucking care. Please, bro. Please give me your dick.” That made my dick drip: I don’t fucking care. “Good answer, buddy. But I think you deserve to know.” I nudged my dick up against his hole, and he tried desperately to maneuver his ass to get more of my meat lodged up in his guts. “Here’s the deal, bud: I’m fuckin’ poz. This is a poz cock teasing your hole. You like how this poz cock feels inside you?” “Yes, fucker. Please give me more, fucker. I need more. Please, bro.” “What’s that, buddy? I’m not sure I heard you.” “Pound my ass raw with your fat poz cock. Fucking PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE, BRO.” “You wanna get knocked up? Knocked up with your big bro’s virus?” “FUCK YES.” “Say it.” “KNOCK ME UP, YOU SEXY MOTHERFUCKER.” “Fuck yeah, you hot little chemmed-up faggotboy.” I shoved my poz dick back inside that boy’s hole, and started pounding. I didn’t last long. I felt the toxic seed gathering up in my balls, brewing, getting ready to shoot. Conrad was staring me down with those giant black pupils, his legs spread wide, his hole peeled back and exposed to allow my dick maximum penetration. He just kept nodding. Nodding. Smiling. Telling me with his eyes that he wanted my gift. As I got closer to shooting my toxic load, he wrapped his arms around me and alternated between little whimpered chants of “poz poz poz” and “fuck fuck fuck.” “Goddammit, you hot little fag,” I whispered. “Goddammit. You’re gonna get my load. My fuckin’ sweet infected load, just for you, fuckin’ sexy little negboy bro.” And then, with pulse after pulse of my raw cock in his wide-open wet fuckhole, I bred him. Pozzed him. Charged that little faggot ass up. Gave him my virus. Then, as my dick stopped shooting volleys of poz sperm, I kept pushing my cock deep inside him, pushing my toxic cum into his guts before collapsing on him, my poz cock still buried deep. Conrad sighed, a long contented sigh. “That was amazing,” he said. “Oh, little bro,” I whispered in his ear. “I have so many fuckin’ plans for you—you have no idea.” I pulled my cock out of him, then guided his mouth to taste the poz seed coating my shaft. He slurped on it greedily, my dick still warm from the hunger of his hole. “Such a good boy,” I said. “Such a hot little pig. So proud of you, little bro. Now, whaddaya say we get your sweet little knocked-up hole to the bathhouse?” MORE SOON…

PART 1 My name’s Sloan. I’m 35, white, hairy, and hung. My dick is a fat, veiny hole-wrecker, and I love to show it off in public. I keep my body in the best shape possible—rock-hard six-pack, muscular chest, beefy legs. I’m really good at luring younger guys into giving up their holes. There’s something about my look, about my square jaw and intense brown eyes and high-and-tight crew cut. Something that makes me look trustworthy, wholesome. The good guy. The older brother. The mentor. But see, I’m not the good guy. In fact, I’m one evil motherfucker. My favorite hobby is seducing, chemming, and corrupting college dudes, pushing their limits, taking their fantasies to the dark side, and pozzing their sweet smooth hungry holes—pounding them raw and leaving them dripping with multiple loads of unmedicated virus. And the funny thing is this: no matter how much they protest at one time or another, no matter how much they claim that they don’t want to be barebacked and gang-bred and pimped out, they always end up hungry and begging for more of that sweet seed deep in their guts. So yeah: I guess you could say that I’ve pozzed a lot of boys, destroyed a lot of unsuspecting holes, initiated a lot of slampigs. But last weekend—well, last weekend was the hottest transformation I’ve seen yet. My favorite place to hunt for victims is about a block away from a bathhouse here in Berkeley. I watch for a certain kind of guy: 18 or 19, an undergrad just getting his first taste of freedom away from the parents, well-built, preppy. He might walk hesitantly toward the entrance, then stop to reconsider, then start walking back to his car, then decide to go into the bathhouse after all. That’s when I intercept him. I emerge from the shadows to strike up a conversation—and with any luck, change his life forever. Last weekend, I was in my usual spot. It was a warm August night, and I was wearing a pair of mesh gym shorts with no underwear, a tight wife beater to show off my hairy chest, and a ballcap. I’d taken a dick pill about 30 minutes earlier, so my cock was forming a huge tent in my shorts as I anticipated my next conquest. That’s when the boy got out of his car. He looked both ways down the street—a little lost, I guess—then spotted the bathhouse entrance. Clearly a first-timer, I thought. As he walked closer to me, I began to make out his features: short dark-brown hair, a handsomely boyish face with a nice strong jawline, a fucking adorable nose, and a pair of big, dark, expressive eyes that revealed both his anxiety and his excitement. He was in a pair of khaki shorts and a tight black tank top, so I got a pretty good look at his sweet little jock body, his muscular calves, and his deeply tanned, sinewy arms that showed evidence of some serious time at the gym. He stopped in the middle of the street. He wavered. He almost turned around and went back to his car. But he kept walking toward the entrance—and that’s when I spoke up. “Hey, buddy,” I said, stepping onto the sidewalk, my dick still at attention. That startled him. But as he squinted to look at me in the semi-darkness, his fear turned to relief. I was obviously the kind of guy he was hoping to find here. His eyes widened as they traveled the length of my body, from my face to my torso to the outline of my cock. “Hey there,” he answered in a surprisingly deep voice. “Whatcha doin’?” I looked down at my dick. “Oh, just hanging,” I said with an evil grin, giving my cock a giant twitch. He almost gasped to see it jump like that -- and then he couldn’t stop staring. I stepped back into the shadows and beckoned him to follow me. He obeyed as if in a trance, his whole body shivering as he approached. “What’s your name, buddy?” “Conrad,” he said, but he didn’t look at me. He was still staring at my dick. I made it twitch again, and this time he almost laughed in total fascination. “I’m Sloan,” I said. “How old are you, Conrad?” “I just turned 18 last week,” he replied. “I’m starting at Berkeley this fall. Most people in my class are about a year older—I skipped a grade.” “18 is a good age,” I managed to say, my mind suddenly filled with images of chemming and pozzing this perfect 18-year-old boy. My cock grew harder, and I took a tiny step closer to him. “By the way, Conrad, it’s OK to look at my dick. Really. This cock likes attention. In fact, you can even touch it if you want.” He gave me a funny look, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. I smiled back, gripping my dick in my hand, then released it by slapping it against my thigh. Another gasp from Conrad. After a moment of hesitation, he reached down to touch the outline of my dick, his hands visibly shaking as he grabbed a handful of mesh and cock. After a moment or two of running his hand along the length of my poz shaft, he looked up at me with a dazed kind of desire. “No, no, Conrad,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not what I meant.” I took his hand in one of my hands. With my other hand, I pulled the elastic of my shorts away from my waistline. Then I slowly guided him down my treasure trail until he could feel the touch and girth and weight of my cock. It was throbbing with heat, its surface slightly sticky from the steady stream of precum dripping from my mushroom head—as if my poz dick were drooling at the thought of devouring this beautiful, trusting boy. He grabbed onto the dick that would break him in half and poz him deep—and his eyes fluttered in total bliss. I laughed and said: “You like that dick, huh?” He nodded eagerly. I placed my hand on the small of his back and drew him closer to me. He smelled like all good 18-year-old boys should: a combination of cheap cologne, sweat, and chewing gum. I imagined what his crotch might smell like, all musky with dried cum and piss and hormones. As our faces hovered just a few inches apart, I reached my hand down the back of his shorts to feel a perfectly round jockbutt. He trembled again. I whispered in his ear: “Are you looking for a big bro tonight?” He nodded, and I drew him closer, letting him feel the heat radiating off my body. He sighed in contentment as he nuzzled my furry chest. Then I whispered in his ear again: “Do you want your big bro to fuck you, Conrad?” “Yes, please,” he said, lifting up his head to look me directly in the eyes. I smiled and mussed his hair. “Oh, poor lil’ bro,” I said. “Didn’t anybody ever fuck you before?” He nodded and shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “Two different guys. But they were my age, and didn’t really know what they were doing. I was kinda hoping that I’d find somebody here at the bathhouse who could—um—” “Break you in?” He buried his face in my chest again, mumbling “yes,” and I ran my hands gently up and down his spine, feeling the strength of his back muscles, imagining what he would look like on all fours, back arched, ass in the air, begging for loads. My hands returned to massaging his beefy little jockbutt, and he let out a deep, shaky moan. “I would be so honored to break you in, little bro. I want to show you how a man should fuck a boy, and how a boy should surrender his hole to a man. Would you like that?” “Yes,” he said again. His arms wrapped a little tighter around my torso, and I gently pushed my cock against his body. My throbbing poz shaft thrummed next to the firm muscles of his stomach. He exhaled a long, slow breath, as if melting into me. And at that moment, I smiled to myself and thought: This boy is fucking mine. I pointed down the street. “I live about two blocks that way,” I said. “Wanna come back to my place, maybe smoke some pot, fool around a little? We can go to the bathhouse later, if you decide you’re ready for it.” “Sure,” he said, giving me the cutest fucking grin. And right at that moment, seeing his innocence and sweetness and eagerness to please, my dick twitched even harder than before, and the head of my cock released a small geyser of toxic precum. With any luck, I thought to myself, I’ll get to see that same giant grin on his face in just a few hours—right about the time he’s spreading his slammed-up jockboy hole to get pounded and knocked up by poz cock. I pointed him in the direction of my house. He walked about a half-step ahead of me, his sweet bubble butt bouncing beneath those gym shorts as my cock followed just a few inches behind. The poor kid didn’t know it yet, but he was as good as poz. I knew exactly what to do. Everything was prepared for my victim’s arrival. And within the next hour, I planned to be blasting my potent strain deep inside this sweet 18-year-old fagboy’s chemmed-up cumhole. MORE SOON…

PART 4 Coach Pitt slowly began pulling his cock out of my sloppy hole, and I whimpered. He smiled and kissed me again. “Don’t worry, sweet boy,” he said. “Your hole won’t be empty for long.” In fact, it wasn’t empty for more than five seconds. Coach Strickland pushed his fat dick into me right away, and I could feel the warmth and wetness of Coach Pitt’s seed getting worked even deeper inside my slammed-up hole. “Pitt and I met at a wrestling conference a few years back,” Strickland explained, sweat dripping down his forehead as he thrust his dick deep. “We’d both responded to a Craigslist ad posted by some college slut. This kid wanted neg tops to breed him, so I showed up to give the little fucker a surprise. Anyway, when Pitt shot his load inside this kid’s fuckhole, I caught Pitt’s eye and he winked at me. Flashed that devil-smile of his. That’s when I knew he was doing the exact same thing I was doing—stealth-pozzing the negboy. A few months later, he got me a job here at the high school, and we’ve been slowly converting our favorite wrestlers into poz chemsluts ever since.” His thrusts were faster now. His breath grew ragged. His eyes were solid black, staring me down as he grinned like a fucking demon. “And now,” he said, “You know what’s gonna happen?” “You’re gonna breed me. Please breed me, Coach.” “Fuck yeah, Lance. I’m gonna give you a big dose of my poz seed. You. Fucking. Slammed. Up. PIG.” His whole body shook as he pushed even deeper than before, and his stomach muscles flexed as his dick sprayed volleys of toxic jizz into my hungry fuckhole. By then, I could see that the playroom was getting crowded, and I recognized everyone: guys who’d graduated in the last year or two or three, most of them wrestling at the local university now. They were watching Strickland breed me, stroking their dicks, helping each other get slammed up, and staring me down with that same demonic intensity. Tom Goldsmith—last year’s captain, the guy from the homemade video I'd seen in Pitt's office—was the first to get his poz cock up in me, and by that point I was spreading my jockbutt and begging for his dirty cum. I took a load from every poz jockpig in the room. Then Coach Pitt unstrapped me from the harness, helped me down, and turned to address the roomful of guys. “I’m gonna take a few minutes alone with this boy,” he said. “You’re all welcome to stick around and pig out. Help yourself to more rigs over there on the desk if you want.” He walked me upstairs, leading me to his bedroom. He closed the door. Then he drew me close to him, pressed his chest against mine, and said: “I’m so proud of you, Lance.” He kissed me, a wet, hungry kiss, while his fingers slowly massaged my cummy hole. “I just wanted a few minutes alone with you. And you know what, pigboy?” “What?” “I think it might be time for another slam.” I nodded eagerly, and he smiled. “Good boy,” he said. He gestured for me to climb onto the bed. He positioned me on my back, spreading my legs. Then, keeping his eyes locked on mine, he pushed his cock into my sloppy cumhole. With his dick buried inside me, he proceeded with the slams. I watched in fascination as he wrapped a rubber strap around his arm, as the needle slid into his vein, as blood filled the syringe, and as he plunged the Tina into his bloodstream. He groaned, and his cock grew even harder in my fuckhole. Then his eyes took on an evil glint as he turned his attention to me. “Want some more Tina flowing through you, boy?” “Fuck yeah. Slam me up. Please.” “You got it, pig.” The needle was in my vein within seconds. Then he pushed down on the syringe and delivered the chemical payload I was craving. I coughed, but a little less this time. I felt the drug race to my brain, my heart, my dick. Then my hole began involuntarily milking the raw cock lodged deep within me. Coach laughed. “There you go, slampig,” he said. I kept milking him as he closed his eyes and began thrusting deep. Then he leaned in for another kiss. “I want you to be my boy,” he said. “You’re somethin’ else, Lance. You’re just a natural fuckin’ pig. And my cock belongs in this sweet boyhole.” He reached down to feel my own throbbing cock, which had remained hard all night. “And look at this, you hot little fucker,” he said. “This fat dick of yours? It’ll be perfect bait to get hot neg jockboys—boys just like you—into our sling.” He kissed me again. “You’re fucking perfect. So whaddaya say? Be my fuckin’ boy?” I flashed a giant smile as he barebacked my hole. “I feel so lucky,” I said. “I’ve jacked off so many times thinking about your cock—what it might look like, how it might feel in my hand. And now your giant raw dick is buried inside me. It’s unbelievable. And fuck yeah, I want to be yours.” “Mine?” “All yours.” With that, I felt his dick spasm inside me. Another intense kiss. Then he just looked at me, his cock still twitching as it continued to impregnate my wrecked boyhole. “Fuck, Lance,” he said. “I love shooting my poz cum in you.” Later, when we made our way back to the playroom, I did another slam and took another round of loads. That was incredibly hot, but it wasn’t my favorite part. My favorite part was this: being alone with Coach Pitt in his bedroom, feeling his powerful arms wrapped around me, my head nuzzling the hair on his muscular chest, while his dick slowly worked that second load of his poz cum into my knocked-up hole. And then hearing him whisper in my ear: “Mine.” THE END

PART III I stared at Coach Pitt’s cock. It twitched every few seconds, a steady stream of precum sliding into the ridges of his furry abs. He saw me staring and grinned. “You like my dick, boy?” I nodded eagerly, and my own cock twitched. He grabbed my fat piece of meat and whistled. “Goddamn, Lance—you’ve got a pretty hot cock yourself.” He kissed me again, then looked me square in the eyes. “Now, listen: I promised Coach Strickland that he could watch me destroy your virginity. But before that happens, I’d really like to see you worship my cock. You wanna worship Coach’s cock?” “Fuck yeah, Coach.” “Then get on your knees, boy.” I knelt down in front of him, inhaling the scent of his fur and his precum and his sweaty crotch. I’d only sucked a few cocks before, and hadn’t really gotten the hang of it. But I’d never touched a cock like this. As I stared at the veiny shaft glistening with precum, my hunger for Coach’s dick activated instincts I didn't know were there. I wrapped my mouth eagerly around his mushroom head and began sucking on it like his seed was the only thing keeping me alive—first swallowing a few inches, then slowly engulfing more and more of it in my mouth. I wanted to please and worship this man more than anything else in the world. “Good boy,” he growled. “That’s a very, very good boy. You know, Lance, I suspected you were probably a hungry little fag, but I had no idea what a natural pig I had on my hands. I can already tell that you’re gonna make me so proud.” I murmured with pleasure as I kept creeping my lips down the length of his cock. He moaned, and I tasted his DNA as it dripped steadily down the back of my throat. “Turn around,” he said. “I wanna munch on that sweet little jockbutt.” I spun around for him. He gently pushed down on the small of my back so that my spine arched, then he positioned my legs to expose my hole even more. “Spread it, pig,” he said, and I reached back and spread my hungry butt. “Just like that. I like to see you just totally open and vulnerable. Submissive. Proud of your role as a chemmed-up cumhole.” With that, he dove right into my wide-open butt. I gasped as he buried his face in me, and I could hear him growl and snort as he spit and chewed and tongued my tight hole. I whimpered. Then he pulled me upright, turned my head to the side, and kissed me. “Your hole tastes fuckin’ awesome,” he said to me. “When I’m fucking you, I’ll pull out from time to time and shove my cock down your throat. That way you can taste your hot little boybutt all over my raw dick. Got it?” I nodded, and he kissed me a little more. His mouth was full of the same spit that was dripping out of my fuckhole and down my leg. Then he stood up. “OK, boy,” he said with a grin. “It’s time to head to my place and get you knocked up.” He pulled me to my feet and threw me a warm-up jersey. “Just put that on. No underwear. I want you to be naked as soon as possible once we’re inside my house.” Meanwhile, he threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, zipping it up to cover his hairy chest and abs. His hard cock formed a huge tent in his sweats, pulling the elastic band low enough that I could see his pubic hair. As we drove back to his place, he took out his phone and dialed Coach Strickland. “Hey, bud,” he said. “I’ve got the boy with me. We’ll be there in 10 minutes. You wanna get those hits ready? Oh, and by the way—Lance has something to tell you.” He handed the phone to me. “Tell him, Lance. Tell him what you want tonight.” “Hey,” I said. Strickland replied, “Hey, buddy. You got something to tell me?” I hesitated just for a moment, then plunged right in: “I wanna get fucked. I want your raw dick in my hole. I need it. So bad.” “Woof. That’s fuckin’ hot, boy. You gonna make me pull out?” “Fuck no, Coach. Cum in my butt. Please.” “Holy shit, dude. You’re such a fuckin’ good boy.” Here I paused again. I looked over at Coach Pitt, who gave me a little nod. Then I turned back to the phone and said, very quietly, “And one more thing. I want your poz cum.” A long pause. Then Strickland said: “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you, boy.” Another pause. Then I heard myself say, clearly and confidently, “I said I want you to bareback my hungry hole full of poz cum.” Strickland let out a little whoop. “Fuck yeah, you hot little pig! You wanna get inducted into the brotherhood? Wanna get converted?” “Yes please, Coach.” “Good fucking BOY,” he replied, and whooped again. Coach Pitt motioned for me to hand back the phone. “I told you this boy had potential,” he said to Strickland. “But I had no idea just how much. See you in a few.” When we pulled into the garage and closed the door, Strickland walked out to meet us wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. I could see the outline of his giant cock through the mesh fabric. His chest and abs were covered with a thin layer of blond fur. I stared at his dick. “Hey, little buddy,” said Strickland. “Get down on your knees and suck my dick.” I obeyed. Kneeling before this studly fucker, I greedily swallowed the giant head of his dick. He grabbed my hair and began easing more and more of his cock into my mouth. “Fuck, dude,” he said. “This fag is a natural cocksucker.” “I know,” said Coach Pitt. “I can’t wait to see how he reacts to a big raw dick in his butt.” With that, Strickland pulled me off his cock and yanked me to my feet. “C’mon inside, boy,” he said. “I’ve prepared a very special surprise for you. You’re gonna fuckin’ love it.” I followed him inside, then downstairs to a dark room that smelled like sweat and piss. Sex toys were everywhere. A sling was in the corner. And on a table near the doorway, I saw three syringes laid out in a row. “Get up in the sling,” said Strickland. “Coach Pitt will secure your hands and feet.” I did as I was told. Taking off the warm-up jersey, I climbed into the sling and put my legs into the stirrups. Coach Pitt winked at me as he secured my hands and feet. Then he grabbed a piece of rubber and tied it around my arm. “Listen, boy,” he said. “This is gonna be really intense, but just trust me. Just go with it. Coach Strickland prepared a big slam for you. That means he’s put drugs into a syringe, and we’re gonna inject it right into your bloodstream. You’ll feel an incredibly intense rush, then you’ll just want dick in your hole. Raw dick. Our dicks. And everyone else’s dicks, too.” “We’re filming this, by the way,” said Strickland, pointing to a camera in the corner. “We want to document your initiation. I don’t care if that makes you uncomfortable. Frankly, in just a few minutes, you won’t care either.” I watched as Coach Pitt secured a rubber strap to his own bicep. Then Strickland handed him a syringe and swabbed my arm with an alcohol pad. “Coach Pitt is gonna do his slam at the same time as you,” Strickland said to me. “That way he can talk you through the initial rush. I’ll slam second. And then, little buddy, we’re both gonna get you fuckin’ pregnant.” He removed the orange cap from the syringe, tapping it to remove any air bubbles. He found a good vein and inserted the needle. He looked back at Coach Pitt, who was doing the same. “Just tell me when you’re ready, Pitt,” he said. I watched as Strickland pulled the plunger back from my syringe, and it turned deep red. “I’ve got a register,” said Coach Pitt. “Fuckin’ do it.” And with that, Strickland undid the rubber strap from my bicep and began pushing down on the plunger. I watched the red liquid disappear into my vein, then felt a scratching at the back of my throat. I coughed violently as a rush of blood and chemicals went to my head. My heart began beating in double time. “Hold your arm up, boy,” said Strickland, showing me how to keep a finger over the entry point. I heard Coach Pitt exhale loudly, growl, and say “Fuck yeah” under his breath. Strickland went off to do his own slam, and Coach Pitt approached me, his giant dick bobbing in front of him, rock-hard. He, too, had his arm in the air, and his eyes were full of crazy, devilish intensity. Meanwhile, I was a little panicked. The rush was more intense than anything I’d ever felt. I couldn’t even begin to process what I was feeling. “It’s OK, boy,” said Coach Pitt, gently. “Just go with it. We gave you a REALLY big hit. Does this make you feel any better?” He ran his hands across my chest, tweaking my nips, then slowly moved his fingers down to my stomach. “Or this?” He inserted two fingers in my hole, and my eyes immediately rolled back in my head. Coach Pitt laughed. “Fuck yeah, boy,” he said. “This sweet little fuckhole’s all slammed up, and it’s ready to get fuckin’ pozzed. You want my dick, boy?” “Fuck yeah,” I said, completely blown away by the intense sensation of his fingers in my hole—it was like his fingers were everywhere on my body at once. In fact, my body felt like nothing but a hole. And all I could think was that I needed Coach’s big dick inside me, I needed his sweet fuckin’ seed, I needed his virus, I needed him to mark me, own me, use me, wreck me. “Here you go, pig,” he said, resting the head of his dick against my fuckhole. “Strickland and I are gonna fuck you raw. We’re gonna breed you full of our poz seed. Then we’ll have some buddies come over to work all that cum up inside you, blasting you full of more virus. We’ll do everything we can to get you fuckin’ converted, I promise you.” That’s when he inserted the head of his cock inside my hole. My ass radiated with hunger. My mouth dropped open and my eyes fluttered. Coach Pitt grinned his evil grin. “Want more?” I nodded emphatically. Then I felt him pushing his massive raw shaft inside me, about a half-inch, then pausing, then a half-inch more. “Goddamn,” he said. “I tell ya, Strickland, there’s nothing hotter than fucking a virgin hole that’s just been slammed for the first time. It’s this combination of crazy tightness and insane hunger. His hole is grabbing onto my cock, doing its best to devour it, and his little cunt muscles are trying to catch up. You OK, boy? You want more dick?” By this point, I was grinning stupidly as he slowly impaled me on his raw shaft. I didn’t need to answer. He could see the complete bliss on my face. My wrestling coach, my dream man, was slowly filling my hole with his dick. Surrendering to his cock, feeling him invade me and claim me, I’d found my purpose, or at least part of it. My purpose was to serve and worship men like Coach Pitt, offering my raw hole for them to pound and breed. “I’m not gonna last long,” Coach Pitt said. “This hole is fuckin’ incredible. Boy, you’re gonna get so much cum tonight—you have no idea. How’s that slam feeling?” “I didn’t think it was possible to feel this good,” I said, still grinning from the sensation of being filled by this stud’s giant dick. “I didn’t think I would ever get to see your cock, let alone feel it push inside my fuckhole.” With that, Coach pushed the rest of the way into me, his heavy balls resting against my asscrack. I looked up at him, my vision blurred by the waves of pleasure running up and down my entire body. No rubbers, no barriers—just the skin of his fat mushroom head rubbing against the skin of my hungry virgin hole. “You want my cum, don’t you?” he said, starting to thrust his dick into my jockbutt. “I so fucking want it,” I replied. He smiled. “I’m so glad I get to poz you, Lance. I’m so glad I’m the one who gets to flood your virgin hole with my virus. I’m gonna mark you. You’re gonna be mine. You wanna be mine?” “Yes, Coach,” I said. “Make me yours. All yours. Please. Poz me. Infect me. Give me your virus. Work my slammed-up hole with your raw dick until you pump a load deep. Please.” “I like to hear you beg, boy.” I heard his breath grow shallow. His thrusts went a little deeper. He was close to shooting. “I like to hear you beg for my toxic load. I fuckin’ love it. Sweet little jockboy like you with a hungry bubble butt. You want a poz load, boy?” “Fuck yeah. Poz me. Please.” “Here it comes, you little fucker. You little neg bitchboy. I’m about to blast you full of my fuckin’ poison. Fuckin’ A, Lance—sweet hungry tight virgin fuckhole. Fuck! You know what I’m doing right now, you hot little faggot? I’m. Stealing. Your. Fucking. Boyhood. Fuuuuuuck!” With that, he thrust deep, his whole body convulsing as poz cum pulsed out of his raw dick. Then another pulse. Then another. I felt a wetness and warmth began to flood my guts as Coach’s cock unleashed a ******* of infected seed into my defenseless body. Finally, after the eighth or ninth pulse, he came to a stop. His dick was still hard, still lodged in my cumhole. He looked me in the eye, grinned a huge grin, and said with a growl: “Welcome to the fuckin’ brotherhood, baby boy.” MORE SOON…

PART II When I finished up in the shower, I walked back to Coach Pitt’s office, where I found him sitting on the couch, jacking his giant dick to some homemade porn. On the computer screen there was a hot jockboy on his back, legs spread, getting piston-bred by a hung stud top. When the top pulled out, his cock glistened with a thick layer of cum, and a steady stream of seed poured out of the boy’s ripped-up fuckhole. Then I looked a little closer. Wait a second, I thought—I know this boy. “Is that Tom Goldsmith?” I asked Coach Pitt, totally shocked to see someone I knew spreading his sloppy hole for raw cock in a homemade sex tape. Tom Goldsmith was team captain the year before me. He was one year ahead and one weight class heavier. I idolized him. I’d also found myself staring at his giant swinging cock and heavy balls during every single weigh-in. “You got it,” said Coach, placing the image on pause, then turning to me, saying “I filmed this almost exactly a year ago, just after his 18th birthday. He was curious about cock, but didn’t want to get fucked, so for a few weeks, Strickland and I broke him down little by little, plying him with drugs, jacking our dicks while we watched porn together, showing him our homemade videos. He resisted for awhile, but finally he broke, and in the end, he turned into one hot, hungry, twisted fagboy cumdump.” I stared at the frozen image on the screen where I could see Tom stretching his fuckhole as widely as possible, staring intently at the raw cock that was making a beeline for his wide-open cum-soaked cunt. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Listen, buddy—don’t you worry,” said Coach, motioning for me to sit down next to him. “I know this looks really intense. You don’t need to go this far. We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable doing, boy.” As I sat down, Coach’s fingers drifted down to my newly shaven hole. He placed his index finger gently against the entrance to my cunt and massaged it, causing me to let out a guttural moan. My legs spread a little wider. He dug his finger deeper. Then I gasped: “I want to be that kind of boy for you, too.” Coach inserted a second finger into my hole. “Good. I’m glad you want that, Lance,” he said, adding “It just might take some time. A true cumdump surrenders to raw cock, no questions asked. You beg for each dick to plant seed deep inside your body. Tom took 22 loads on the night we filmed this. It’s not a safe way to play.” He reached for the remote, turned up the volume on the monitor, and pressed play. Through the computer speakers I could now hear Tom saying “Yeah,” I heard the jockbottom growl. “Yeah?” replied the top man who was about to shove his raw cock inside Tom’s leaking pussy, “You want this, fag?” Tom spread his hole wider, answering “Yes please, fucker. Please fucking poz me. Shoot your virus into my guts and take my fuckin’ hole to the dark side.” With that, the top shoved in. I was mesmerized. As I stared at the screen, precum streamed out of my rock-hard dick. Coach gathered the fluid with his fingers and worked it into my fuckhole. “You like that, huh?” Coach remarked, pulling me closer to himself as he put the movie back on pause. “You like hearing Tom beg for poz cum?” “Coach, I love it.” “Good boy. I’m so glad to hear that.” I paused for a moment, terrified to say what I was thinking, but somehow I just couldn’t stop myself. Coach encouraged me, asking "What is it? You can tell me anything, Lance." My reply blurted-out: “Can I do that tonight, Coach? Please?” “Do what, Lance?” “Get my hole fucked full of poz cum.” Coach grinned, pulled me into a hug, and kissed me deep while his hands continued to massage and relax my hungry jockbutt. Then he looked deep into my eyes. “Lance, I would so love to see this pretty virgin hole get knocked up with HIV. But are you sure you’re ready?” “It scares the fuck out of me, but yeah, I want it bad.” “Then let’s get you knocked up, boy. Tonight.” “Fuck yeah. Thank you, Coach.” “No, boy—thank you. I’m so proud of you for embracing the poz pig you’re destined to be. But first, I have one more thing to show you.” He hit play again. From the monitor, I heard Coach’s voice—apparently he was the camera operator—saying, “Here, Strickland. Hold the camera. I want to give this boy another load.” The camera jostled, then steadied again. I saw Coach’s muscular chest, defined abs, and giant cock enter the frame. “You want more?” Coach asked the bottom boy, who grinned and nodded, answering “Please, Coach, pump my butt full of another load of your sweet poz cum.” I turned to look at Coach. He was watching me, grinning as he massaged my hole with two fingers. His dark eyes glinted as he nodded approval, and I nodded back. “Yes,” was all I said. Then his smile got bigger. I looked back at the monitor where I saw Coach’s fat dick enter Tom’s sloppy cumhole. Tom groaned. Then I heard Coach say to him: “Fuck yeah, you little pozzed-up slampig.” Meanwhile, Coach worked a third finger into my hole. I looked back into his eyes and he kissed me, deep and rough. “Damn,” he said with a growl, “You are somethin' else, Lance. I can’t wait to pound a poz load deep inside my boy's hungry butt.” “Please, Coach.” “Yeah, boy? Is that what you want?” “Yes. Please make me yours. Poz me up. I want everything you’ve got.” “Absolutely, you fuckin’ jockpig,” he said, pulling me close to him and pressing his dick against my partied-up fuckhole. “Tonight you become all mine.” MORE SOON...

PART I In the summer of my senior year in high school, I had just turned 18, I suddenly started looking less like a boy and more like a man. I gained 20 pounds of muscle, jumping two full weight classes on the wrestling team. My chest became muscular and defined almost overnight. My boyish stomach developed into six distinct muscles that flexed and tightened on demand. In addition, my ass wasn’t flat anymore - it was a genuine bubble butt, a jockboy muscle ass. Even my dick seemed to get fatter and longer. Girls started noticing me. And something else started happening, also: when I walked around town, the occasional man would shoot hungry glances at me, devouring me with his eyes. The truth is, I wanted to be devoured, and every night, when I quietly jacked my dick under the covers, I’d think about my wrestling coach, Mr. Pitt. He was in his late 30s, with jet-black hair and dark, playful, wolfish eyes. He always had a thick layer of scruff on his square jaw, and his torso was just fucking perfect: I’d never seen him with his shirt off, but he definitely had a hairy chest, and his hard pecs were always visible under his tight-fitting polo shirt. From the moment I met the guy, I jacked off almost every night wondering what his cock looked like, imagining what it would be like to touch that chest, that hair, those nips. The assistant wrestling coach, Mr. Strickland, was every bit as hot. A former college wrestler now in his mid-20s, he was a dirty-blond, green-eyed Midwestern jock dude with a massive bulge in his crotch. One time I happened to see him playing basketball shirtless, and I just stopped and stared: his schlong bounced up and down in his loose gym shorts, and his muscled chest was covered with a sexy layer of dark-blond fur. Coach Pitt and Coach Strickland—the brown-haired dude and the blond guy. They were like the Hardy Boys, all grown up, strutting around the halls of our high school with their dress pants stretched tight around their cocks. At the beginning of my senior year, Coach Pitt started paying a lot more attention to me. He made me team captain. He and I would often demonstrate wrestling moves together, and sometimes his hand would linger on my ass after he’d pinned me to the mat. And like all team captains at our school, I was responsible for helping him clean up the equipment after practice - which meant that I got to the locker room 30 minutes late every night, after all my teammates were gone. Then I’d shower by myself, get dressed, and head home. But something funny happened about a week before Christmas: after my shower, I was toweling off in front of my locker, bending over the bench to grab my briefs. And I swear I felt someone staring at me. I turned back toward Coach Pitt’s office, but he was concentrating on some paperwork at his desk. I began slipping my briefs up my calves and thighs, snapping the elastic around my butt, and again I sensed someone was watching - but when I looked up, Coach Pitt wasn’t looking at all. I figured my mind was just playing tricks on me. The next night was even weirder. After I got dressed, I walked past Coach Pitt’s office. His office was composed of two rooms: the front room facing the lockers, and a back room suited for physical therapy and private meetings. The door to the backroom was just barely open, and through the crack I could see Coach watching something on a computer. His back was turned to me, but as I looked closer, I could see that it was porn. And not just any porn - it was gay porn. From what I could tell, Coach Pitt had both of his hands on his cock, jacking like crazy to a scene where some dude was pounding a tight muscle hole. But then he suddenly froze in place, as if he could sense me watching. He tilted his head to the side, listening. And before he could turn around, I ducked out of the locker room and into the night. The next day was the last day of school before Christmas break. As I showered up, Coach Pitt poked his head into the shower room. “Hey, buddy,” he said. I looked over at him. He was only wearing a towel loosely draped around his hips. I stared at his perfect hairy chest, his taut abs, the dense thicket of hair just above his cock bulge. His body was even hotter than I’d imagined in all my jack-off fantasies. A few moments passed before I realized that I was staring. Startled, I looked toward the wall. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Lance,” Coach said, cracking a devilish grin. “Do you mind if I shower in here? The shower in my office is on the fritz.” I shrugged, trying not to reveal my excitement. “Cool,” I managed to croak. He swaggered to the opposite wall and turned on a showerhead. Meanwhile, my cock, no longer a boy’s little dick, but a man’s cock, fat and veiny, began to throb and grow. Then I heard his voice “You’re looking really great these days, Lance.” I turned around to look at him, and saw something I hadn’t even dared to see in my dreams. Coach Pitt stood under a full stream of water, his eyes closed, his face turned upward into the shower, shampoo streaming down his torso, down his abs. As my eyes descended down his body along with the water and the suds, I saw that everything was cascading around his giant cock. He was completely hard. His beautiful dick extended a full nine inches from his abs - a man’s cock, that made me feel like a boy all over again. Panicked, I turned back to stare at the wall. My dick was also now totally hard. I wasn’t sure what to do. Then Coach Pitt spoke. “Hey, Lance? Everything okay?” After a moment’s hesitation, I rotated my torso to face him, trying to hide my giant boner. He was still standing underneath the water, but now his legs were shoulder-width apart, his hands tweaking his nips, his hard cock visibly twitching. And there was a big ol’ grin on his handsome, scruffy face. I stared openly. I didn’t want to say anything. If this was a dream, I didn’t want to wake myself up. “You have the cutest fuckin’ butt, dude,” he said, reaching down to yank on his dick. “I’ve jacked my cock so many times thinking about your little jock ass.” He paused, then smiled. “You like my dick, huh? I knew you were a little cockhound the moment I saw you at your first practice back in freshman year.” I kept staring. He let out a low chuckle, then gripped his cock with his hand, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he began jerking off in front of me. “You wanna touch my dick, Lance?” he asked. “It’s cool, buddy. Just say it. You wanna touch Coach’s cock, huh?” I nodded. “What was that, boy?” “Yes, Coach, I want to touch your dick.” His smile got even bigger. “Good boy,” he said. “You smoke weed?” “Yes, Coach.” “C’mon, then,” he said. “Let’s go to my office. Hang out. Have a little fun. Cool?” “Yeah, OK,” I said, my body shaking with excitement. I followed him through the front office and into the back office. He closed and locked the door, then turned to face me. He brushed his hand against my chest, then reached around to the small of my back, drawing me closer to him. I could feel the heat of his breath. “Actually,” he said, “wanna try something even more fun than pot?” “Sure, yeah,” I answered. At that point I would have done anything - absolutely anything - to keep this dream from ending. He walked over to a desk drawer, opened it, and removed a glass pipe. “You’ll like this, buddy,” he said. All I could do was nod. I couldn’t believe I was standing in Coach Pitt’s office, the two of us in nothing but towels. “Here: put it to your mouth. I’ll light it. Wait. Just wait for it. You’ll see a little wisp of smoke coming out of this hole here, and then you start inhaling. Now. Start. Good boy. There you go. Keep inhaling. Good.” I blew out a cloud of white smoke. “Do it again,” he said. I obeyed. And a third time. And a fourth. Then he took the pipe and lit it for himself, blowing the smoke into my mouth, then kissed me, his beard rough against my lips. He growled, asking “How ya doing, buddy?” I wasn’t sure how to answer that. My head was buzzing. My cock was unbelievably hard. And something in my butt - well, it almost ached. Like the beginning of a hunger pang I’d never felt before. Coach Pitt dropped his towel, then removed mine. He stepped closer, rubbed his nips against mine, his cock against my stomach. Then he kissed me as his hands wandered down to my jock butt, each hand on an asscheek, spreading my hole. I arched my back just a little bit, and my ass spread wider. He grinned. “That smoke made your hole hungry, huh?” I nodded, and he laughed again. “I’ve got a confession, boy,” he said. “My office shower’s actually working. I just wanted an excuse to get naked with the hottest little stud on my wrestling team.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and this time I kissed him back, hungrily. He growled as his fingers hovered over my hole. “You ever take a man’s cock in this sweet little cunt?” I shook my head. He pulled me closer, grinding his abs against mine. “You gonna give up your smooth, pink, tight virgin ass to Coach? Let Coach dick you deep, slap his balls against your ass, pound you like the sweet hungry fagboy you are?” “Yes, Coach.” “Yes Coach what?” “Please fuck me, Coach. I want your dick inside me so fucking bad.” “Thatta boy," he said, then paused. He lowered his voice. "You gonna make Coach wear a rubber?” I didn't answer right away. Everyone's supposed to use rubbers, right? But then Coach slipped his hand back around my butt and spread my fuck hole with two fingers. “Your Coach fucks the way men are supposed to fuck. Raw. Natural. I want to feel the skin of my fat cock head splitting your little jock butt wide open. I want to feel the heat and hunger of your virgin hole against my bare dick. And you’ll let me do that, won’t you? Because you’re Coach’s good boy. Right, Lance?” “Yes, Coach. Fuck me the way you want.” “That’s what I like to hear. A true bottom boy surrenders his hole to raw dick. That right?” “Yes, Coach. Fuck me raw.” “And I won’t pull out until I’ve pounded my boy’s hole full of seed.” I don’t know why, but with those words I almost shot my load without even touching myself. Coach saw my eyes get big, and he grinned. “See? You know, and somehow you’ve always known, that a man’s cum is what you need in this sweet little butt. I want to train my boy to spread his boy hole for cock. Beg for seed like a good bottom. The best bottom.” “The best bottom,” I murmured, nodding. “Let’s get you cleaned out, boy. I’ll show you how to get your ass ready for Coach.” With that he took me back to his private shower and pointed to a little red plastic bulb. “This has some liquid in it already,” he said to me. “It’s a homemade recipe to help my boy get ready for dick.” He reached down, spread my pink hole a little bit, and inserted the tip of the douche. Then he gave a hard squeeze. “Clench your butt, Lance. Keep it up in there.” At first I didn’t feel anything, but then my head began to tingle, and my dick twitched, and I felt a warmth and a deep, dark hunger radiating out from my guts. My butt seemed to pulse with a need to be touched, licked, fingered, fucked, filled. Coach Pitt smiled. “You feel that?” I nodded. “That, boy, is what it’s like to douche with your Coach’s slam piss. You don’t know what slam piss is, but you will. Enjoy the ride. Just enjoy it. But keep your hole nice and tight. Nice and tight for Coach. Good boy.” He turned me around, cautioning me “Keep that hole tight,” as he rubbed his cock up against my crack, adding “You’ve got some fur on this hole, boy.” I nodded. Just a few months earlier I’d started to get hair around my ass, and just a little bit on my chest. “Listen,” he said. “I love a furry hole on a man. But a boy like you? A boy getting his cherry popped? That boy needs a smooth fuckin’ pussy. You OK with me shaving your boy hole, Lance?” “Yes, please.” “Yes, please what?” “Yes please, Coach.” While his chem piss continued to radiate waves of pleasure all over my body, Coach smeared shaving cream on my ass. Then I felt the brush of a razor against my hole, and as he shaved me, I swear I could feel every hair surrendering to his blade. “There you go, buddy,” he said, slapping my ass. “Now go release that special brew that Coach squirted up your hole, then come back and I’ll fill you with the rest.” After a second dose of slam piss flooded my guts, Coach handed me the little bulb and told me to finish up. “And then you know what happens?” he asked. I smiled eagerly, responding “You fuck me, Coach?” “Not quite yet. First we’re driving back to my place, and we’re gonna hang out with Coach Strickland. He’s dying to see your boy hole. Would you like that?” “Fuck YEAH.” “Such a good boy. You want both of your coaches to pound you full of their seed, huh?” “Fuck YES. Please, Coach.” He paused. Then he drew me closer to him, kissed me, and brushed his beautiful dick across my abs. I could feel the pulse of his cock, so full of blood. I looked down at his massive, swinging balls, so full of cum. Then I heard his voice again. “I want to hear you say, ‘Please knock me up, Coach.’” “Please knock me up, Coach.” “Good. Now: ‘Wreck my boy hole, Coach. Please.’” “Wreck my boy hole, Coach. Please.” “Good boy. And finally: ‘Make me yours forever.’” “Make me yours forever.” “Very good, boy. Now go clean up. We’re gonna make this the fuck of your life.” MORE SOON...