verbalBTTM

24 minutes ago, PozBearWI said:

Ah but of course.  Well equipped home dungeon here as well.  Lot's of gear as well.  

🙂

Spoken like a gentleman 

I know this isn't a typical porn post for this site, however I felt it important in order to bring up a modern tragedy. This poor young man has to ask a woman to peg him for the pleasure he wants. I feel this is a failure of our community and we should be trying to reach out to all those young men who may not be gay, however love to have their asses played with. Let's see about helping a brother out shall we. I know I've done my part in the past and stand at the ready to assist others in need.

 

[think before following links] https://barebackbastards.com/86911/young-guy-pegged-and-jerked-off-im-gonna-cum/

4 minutes ago, PozBearWI said:

Interesting.  That seems to suggest there is data corruption across the member database.  Although I wouldn't mind being local to you.

Well I do have a sling, and a couple of trunks of gear to make hosting company an event to be sure.

Just now, PozBearWI said:

I have had two NKP sourced hookups this year.  It's been at least a year, probably closer to two since bbrt resulted in a meetup.  But, all these sites seem to evolve relatively quickly.  

NKP as a site has been unstable for at least the last couple of years.  It might be that they're getting hammered with DOS activity.  I have a website I maintain and we've had to put in countermeasures for that.  

There appears to be; or dare I say there is; a significant portion of our fellow citizens who think we should not be communicating with each other and seek to disrupt it.  Especially when they believe we are "controversial".  

I don't go on NKP often, but I've noticed whenever there's an outage, like the cloud flair DDS attack: the ability for NKP to recover takes well over a week. The biggest thing I noticed was the location data for profiles. Guys in the Midwest were popping up as locals in Brooklyn NY. 

Part 2

The next morning hit like a fever dream that refused to break. I woke up tangled between them in the tent, the air thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and spilled whiskey. Sunlight cut through the nylon walls in thin, golden blades, striping our naked bodies. My hole throbbed, tender and used, a dull ache that made me shift and immediately feel the dried cum cracking on my stomach and face. Ryan was already half-hard against my thigh, his morning wood pressing lazily into me like it belonged there. Jack was behind me, his arm slung heavy over my waist, his breath warm on the back of my neck.

 

Neither of them spoke at first. Ryan just rolled over, grabbed the back of my head, and fed his cock into my mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. No "good morning," no hesitation—just the salty taste of him, already leaking, sliding over my tongue while I was still blinking sleep from my eyes. Jack stirred behind me, chuckled low, and reached down to spread my cheeks. He spat once, and pushed two fingers into the mess they’d left. They slipped in easily, no resistance, just a wet sound and my own muffled moan around Ryan’s cock.

 

“Still open from last night,” Jack muttered, his voice rough with sleep. “Good boy.”

 

They didn’t rush. They used me slowly, like I was part of the morning routine. Ryan fucked my throat steady and deep while Jack worked me open again with his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock—bare again, sliding in raw and slick with leftover lube and cum. I took it without thinking. My body knew what it wanted now.

We didn’t crawl out of the tent until noon. When we finally did, it was like nothing had changed, and everything had. The world felt sharp and overly real after the close, humid dark of our nest. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the musky, scents of debauchery and whiskey that still clung to my skin. There was an unspoken choreography to our movements. I started the fire back up, while Jack wrestled with the grill and Ryan set up the percolator, the clatter of metal and the hiss of the stove the only sounds between us. It was almost domestic, almost, in a primal sort of way.

 

After we’d choked down breakfast, I took the stack of greasy plates down to the lake’s edge. The water was a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the sky. I was on my knees, scrubbing at a plate with sand, when the stream hit me. It was hot and shocking, arcing over my shoulder and splashing across my back. I flinched, looking up to see Ryan smirking, pissing on me with a lazy, confident arch.

 

“Taste it, freshman,” he laughed, the sound echoing across the water.

 

Before I could even react, Jack came barreling past me in a flying leap, hitting the water with a tremendous splash that soaked me to the bone. “Get in here, you filthy whore!” he yelled, surfacing with a gasp. Ryan laughed and jumped in after him. The cold was a physical blow, a vise closing around my chest, stealing my breath. They were on me in an instant, their hands rough, scrubbing me raw, calling me their filthy whore while I grinned and splashed back.

 

Later, naked on our camp chairs, we air-dried under the sun like lizards. Our bodies glistened, and the warmth seeped back into my bones, chasing away the cold. We passed a joint back and forth, the smoke curling up into the pines, each hit followed by a long pull from a cold, sweaty Pabst. The world felt soft again, hazy at the edges. Every time I bent over to grab another beer from the cooler, a hand—Ryan’s, Jack’s, it didn’t matter—would connect with my ass, a sharp, stinging slap that was more punctuation than punishment.

 

We fished air drying naked on the chairs, our bodies glistening in the sun, passing a joint back and forth along with some cold Pabst's. They’d slap my ass when I bent over to grab another beer. Ryan, sitting closest to me, put his hand on my thigh, pulling my leg closer and spreading me open. He aggressively found his way into my hole again. "You’re still hungry, aren't you, freshman?" he said.

 

“You’re gonna be sore for days,” Jack grinned from his chair, watching the show, smirking while sipping his beer.

 

Ryan grabbed my hand and led me to the truck, where he slammed me down onto the cool metal of the tailgate. The sun was on my back, but his shadow fell over me. He leaned in close, his fingers teasing my rim as he whispered, “You want some dick, bro?”

Jack appeared at his side, phone in hand, the lens already pointed at us. He held the small brown bottle to my nose. “Yeah, freshman. Open that hole for my bro.” The poppers hit me like a wave, a dizzying rush that melted my bones and turned the world into a pulsing, urgent thing. With both hands, I reached back and spread myself open for him, an offering.

 

Ryan spat on my hole, the impact a sharp spark. He smacked my tender ass with the head of his cock, then pushed. He entered me slow and blunt, a deliberate, unyielding pressure that stole the air from my lungs. I recoiled, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming delight of my own submission. He pulled out, spit on himself again, and sank back in, deeper this time. A yelp escaped my lips.

 

“Take it, bitch. You know you want it,” Jack said, his voice tight with excitement.

 

With my head turned to the side, writhing in a pleasurable agony, I found the words. “Fuck me, bro.”

 

Jack hopped into the flatbed, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and fed his cock into my waiting mouth. “Choke on it, freshman.” He was filming, not with malice, but with a kind of pride, as if he were capturing the exact moment I shed my old skin and became this new, hungry thing. Ryan’s pace quickened, spurred on by my muffled moans and the sound of me gagging. He came in a series of sharp, jerking thrusts, a warmth that bloomed deep inside me. A moment later, Jack’s grip tightened in my hair, and he held me down as he filled my mouth.

 

We were so lost in our own world, our own little universe of sweat and skin, that we never heard the car pull up. Not the crunch of tires on the gravel, not the footsteps on the dirt. We only heard the throat-clearing, the loud, pointed “Ahem,” that cut through the haze like a knife.

 

We all froze. A park ranger stood by the fire pit, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, his expression unreadable as he scanned the scene: me, naked and bent over the tailgate, Ryan and Jack with their dicks still out, the phone still clutched in Jack’s hand.

 

“What’s going on here, boys, huh?” he asked, his voice flat and clinical. He commanded, “Go put some clothes on and get me the beers.”

 

We scrambled, the spell broken. We did exactly as he said, our movements clumsy and sudden. He let us off with a warning, his lips a thin, disapproving line. “I’ll be back. Keep it clean, boys,” he said, then got in his truck and headed off down the trail.

 

A heavy silence descended. “Shit, man,” Jack said, finally breaking it. “That fucker took the weed.”

 

“Don’t worry, bro,” Ryan said, a slow smile spreading across his face as he nodded toward the trail. “We have backup.”

 

The tension from the ranger’s visit evaporated in the crackle of the fire Ryan built back up. As the flames took hold, he laid four thick steaks on the grill, the scent of searing meat and wood smoke a powerful, grounding force. We were still buzzing with adrenaline and the lingering thrill of being caught. It was in that charged quiet that I heard it—a low, distant rumble that grew into the distinctive, guttural roar of a motorcycle. It pulled into our clearing, engine cutting off to leave a ringing silence.

A young man swung off the bike, helmet tucked under his arm. He was lean, with a sharp, confident gaze that took in the three of us. “Hey,” he said, nodding at Jack and Ryan. He shrugged off a heavy backpack, setting it down with a thud that sounded like a promise. He unzipped it, revealing a dark forest of beer, and a gleaming flask of whiskey.

 

“Got the goods?” Jack asked, a hopeful edge to his voice.

 

The guy—Alex—smiled, a slow, knowing thing. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small, baggie, the green inside vibrant even in the dimming light. A collective sigh of relief went through us. We rejoiced, the moment feeling like a successful heist, and returned to the fire, our spirits renewed. The brothers introduced me, and we all fell on the food like wolves, devouring our meal under the darkening sky, washing it down with cold beer.

 

The firelight danced in Alex’s eyes as he looked at me, a new, hungry appraisal in his gaze. He set his beer down, his voice cutting through the crackle of the flames. “You want to drink my beer, smoke my weed, then you eat and fuck my hole,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He looked from me to the brothers. “I always bitch out for these two, but now you. Eat my hole, faggot.”

 

He stood, unbuckling his pants and letting them fall. He bent over a log, grabbed the back of my head, and shoved my face right into his ass. The world shrank to that single point of contact—the heat of him, the taste, the raw intimacy. He went down on Ryan as he ground against my face, his movements fluid and practiced.

 

“Alex is a good friend,” Jack said, his voice a low rumble of approval. “He always gets us off. I think he likes you, freshman. Now get in that boy’s ass.”

 

I pulled back, gasping for air, but Jack’s frustration was immediate. “No, freshman,” he growled, pulling my head out by the hair. He pressed the poppers bottle to my nose again. “Deeper.” The rush hit me, and the world dissolved into a haze of need. Jack shoved my face back into Alex’s ass, and this time, I lost myself completely. Alex started to wiggle, gyrating on my face, his moans vibrating around Ryan’s cock. I felt Jack’s hands on me, slick with lube, stroking my own hard cock, jerking me in time with Alex’s movements.

 

“You like this boy’s ass, freshman?” Jack asked.

 

I could only manage a muffled, “Uh-huh.”

 

“I think you should fuck him, freshman,” Jack commanded.

 

“Fuck yeah, bro,” Alex mumbled, releasing my head. I rose, my legs unsteady, and guided myself into him. He was tight, hot, and yielding. I started to move, finding a rhythm. Alex pulled off Ryan’s cock, turning his head to look back at me. “Come on, bro, fuck me,” he urged. I grabbed his ass with both hands and dug in, burying myself to the hilt. Jack fed Alex more poppers, and Alex’s body went pliant, then he started to ride me, taking control.

 

“Who taught you how to fuck, bro? Your mother?” he taunted, his voice breathless and sharp. In a sudden, powerful move, he pulled off my cock, spun me around, and pushed me to my knees on top of a log. He kicked my legs apart and rammed his cock into me. It was thick and blunt, a tree trunk of a thing that forced a yelp from my lips.

“This is how you fuck, bro,” he grunted, pounding me without mercy. The pleasure was so intense it was agony.

 

“Yes, sir,” I moaned, my voice breaking.

 

“Take it, bitch,” Jack said, appearing in front of me. He fed me poppers and shoved his cock in my mouth, the dual assault overwhelming my senses. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the spit and precum.

 

Ryan moved around us, a shadow in the firelight. “Hold your hole open, freshman,” he commanded. I reached back, spreading my cheeks for him as he took a photo. The flash was blinding in the dark, a sudden, harsh light that captured my total surrender. “For the memories,” he said, his voice a low, satisfied smirk.

 

I didn’t even flinch. I wanted them to have it. I wanted to be a memory, a story they would tell. I wanted to be theirs.

 

They used me in turns, a slow, deliberate rhythm. One in my mouth, one in my ass, then they would switch without a word. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire, the wet slap of skin on skin, and my own moans, guttural and unashamed. I was a conduit for their pleasure, a vessel to be filled. The poppers were a constant, a chemical haze that kept me floating just above the pain, lost in a sea of pure sensation. Moaning like a bitch every time one of them used me. I begged them to “breed me”, words I’d never said out loud before that weekend. When they did, one after the other, I came so hard I saw white.

 

When Ryan obliged, his thrusts becoming short and sharp as he emptied himself deep inside me, my own orgasm ripped through me. It was violent and blinding, a white-hot explosion that left me shaking and spent, my body convulsing in the dirt. Jack followed, then Alex, each one leaving their mark, their warmth mixing inside me until I was overflowing with them.

 

When they were finished, they simply pulled out and retreated to the chairs, leaving me kneeling and gasping in the firelight. They sat back, sated and watching me with a lazy, proprietary gaze. “Beer,” Jack said, not a question, but a command. I pushed myself up on trembling legs, my body aching and numb, and walked to the cooler. I fetched them fresh beers, my hole slick and leaking, my legs unsteady. I served them, then knelt by the fire, feeling their cum ooze out of me, a slow, warm trickle down my thighs. I felt like a grateful little slut, and I’d never been more content in my life. We eventually passed out in the tent, the four of us, a tangled pile of naked limbs, wrapped in each other's filth and warmth.

 

Sunday morning was softer. The light was amber and hazy, the fire nothing but glowing embers. I awoken last, the taste of them still in my mouth. I crawled out of the sleeping bag and knelt by the fire, giving morning head to whoever stirred first, then the next, then the next. They passed me around like a joint, their hands sleepy and gentle in my hair as the coffee pot gurgled over the flames.

 

After the coffee, they bent me over the familiar log one last time. They fucked me slowly, almost reverently, in the quiet morning light. Ryan first, then Jack, then Alex, each one finishing in my ass while I knelt in the dirt, a grateful supplicant. Their combined release oozed out of me, mixing with the sweat and the morning dew.

 

My legs numb and shaking, Ryan wiped a thumb across my hole, pushed it into my mouth. I sucked it clean for him. Fuck that taste is amazing.

 

As we started to break camp, I noticed the fishing poles in the back of the truck, pristine and untouched. A smile touched my lips. We never once touched them. Can’t wait to go fishing again

 

On the drive home I sat in the middle again, my head on Ryan’s thigh, Jack’s hand tangled in my hair. Every time we hit a bump in the dirt road, I felt a phantom echo of them inside me, a deep, satisfying ache.

 

Ryan traced lazy circles on my neck. “Same time next month?”

 

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, I said, voice hoarse. “Any fucking time you want bro”. My throat raw, body wrecked, sore and floating, heart pounding like I’d finally found where I belonged.

 

The lake disappeared behind us, but I could still taste wood smoke and them every time I breathed in. That weekend was a sacred bond between us, and a fantasy come true. Fishing with the boys had a new meaning for me after that, which repeated as often as we could.

 

For me the color doesn't matter, it's the person who owns the cock. I prefer a dirty minded pervert who is a pig in bed. I'd gladly take a smaller cock for the vibe.

99% of the time I'm 3,4,9,12,16 & 16

Such a shame his life ended at such a young age.

1 hour ago, PozBearWI said:

Well done!  Story read as complete, so satisfied if this is all there is.  Whether you continue or write a new story, I want to keep reading what you write. 

More is coming, been thinking up a few things to complete the weekend.

Chapter 6

 

After a respectable number of men have blessed our holes with their relentless cocks, the four of us—danny, harry, arthur, and I—collapse onto the sticky, grime-slicked floor, forming a depraved, impassable circle. Our hungry mouths dive into each other’s holes, sucking with a feral intensity that echoes through the musky labyrinth. My tongue burrows deep into my best friend’s ass, chasing the hard-to-reach treasure of cum and sweat buried in his tender depths. Our bodies quiver with each ravenous lick and slurp, the air thick with the wet sounds of our debauchery. I hear Master’s heavy breathing, a low, primal growl, as he watches us devour one another like starved animals in this sleazy pit.

 

My eyes flick upward, catching Master and Dom Igor stroking their thick, throbbing cocks, their gazes locked on our writhing circle. They notice my desperate glance and exchange a wicked smile. Master’s voice cuts through the haze, “See what I mean.” Dom Igor, his eyes gleaming with lustful confirmation, murmurs, “We should…” as their voices drop to a conspiratorial whisper, plotting something filthy. My stare lingers, my slender twink frame trembling with anticipation, yearning for what these two beasts might do to me.

 

Master interrupts our butt-munching faggot circle, yanking arthur from the floor with a possessive grip. He drags him to a chaise lounge, ready to savor his tender, now broken-in hole. Dom Igor follows, a predatory grin splitting his face. Master settles into the chair, holding arthur up by his armpits like a rag-doll, slowly impaling him on his beastly, lube-slicked cock. arthur’s hole yields with a soft whimper, swallowing Master’s girth as Dom Igor binds each of arthur’s wrists with leather restraints and coarse rope, fastening them to hooks in the ceiling above. His arms are spread wide, forcing his sweat-soaked body into complete surrender, a helpless offering to these insatiable men in the flickering, cum-stained glow of the room.

 

Meanwhile, danny, harry, and I remain on the floor, our mouths still working each other’s holes, tongues plunging deeper, driven by a insatiable hunger. The room reeks of sex and surrender, our moans blending with arthur’s gasps as Master and Dom Igor take turns ravaging his trembling frame. My eyes dart back to them, my body aching to be next, to be torn apart and claimed in this grimy paradise. Thank you, oh Lord, for guiding me to this sleazy heaven, where my parents think I’m camping. Happy fucking birthday to me.

 

Then a Mentor and an Omega stalk over, their eyes locked on harry as if he’s their prize in this sordid game. They snatch him from our filthy circle, his body still trembling from the tongue-fucking, and whisk him toward the Saint Andrew’s cross in the corner. The Mentor’s grin is all teeth, predatory and dripping with intent, while the Omega trails behind, clutching a bottle of poppers and a coil of leather straps.

 

Another man, an Omega, kneels before me, slurping greedily on my cock, savoring every slick drop of my precum as it starts to ooze from the tip. His tongue swirls, desperate for more, while his eyes glaze over in submissive bliss. I glance over to see harry, bound tight to the Saint Andrew’s cross, leather cuffs biting into his wrists, held firm by a Mentor and an Omega. His boyfriend, arthur, is being manhandled, forced to impale himself on Master’s throbbing cock, hoisted up and down like a filthy rag-doll in a seedy backroom. The air’s thick with sweat and lust, and harry’s jealousy burns raw, his eyes narrowing as he watches his lover’s hole get claimed. Just then, Dom Igor saunters in, a predatory grin on his face, joining Master to ravage arthur’s trembling flesh, their hands groping every inch of his surrendered body, mind, and soul in a haze of depravity.

 

The two men feast on arthur’s tight, young hole, slick with lube and desperation. One cock slams in as the other pulls out, a relentless rhythm that echoes through the dim, musky room. arthur, usually a strict top, now writhes in ecstasy, his wrists bound by coarse ropes hooked above, his face a mix of shame and surrender. These two beasts take him apart, forcing him to face harry while they fuck him like a cheap toy. His eyes roll back, whites flashing, drool spilling from his slack mouth as he howls, lost in the pleasure of being used. His body jerks limply, a plaything for their insatiable cocks, his soul laid bare in this sleazy dungeon of desire.

Not one to let a faggot go to waste, a Mentor struts back over to harry's front side, a wicked glint in his eye, trailed by an Omega clutching a bottle of poppers. Helpless, harry’s cock twitches as the Mentor drops to his knees, swallowing him whole while probing his tight hole with a slick finger. harry, a lifelong bottom, surrenders instantly as the Omega forces poppers under his nose, the chemical rush melting his resistance. His hole clenches, then blooms, begging for more. The Mentor, reading his squirming body like a filthy book, widens his circling finger, then slides in two, then three, stretching harry’s eager ass in the flickering light of this sordid scene.

 

Still unsatisfied, harry’s voice cracks as he begs, “I need more, sir, stretch my fuck hole, sir.” His plea is raw, like a wounded animal whining for release in this den of debauchery. The Mentor smirks, feeding him four fingers, but harry’s greedy hole demands more. Another hit of poppers from the Omega, and harry’s squatting now, thrusting desperately, trying to fuck himself on the Mentor’s hand like it’s his boyfriend’s cock. “Give me more, please, sir,” he screams, “I beg you, sir, feed my fuck hole, sir.” The Mentor, delighted by this pathetic display, tucks his thumb in, reshaping his hand into a slick, narrow wedge. With a generous slather of lube, he pushes deeper into harry’s quivering cavity, the room reeking of sex and surrender.

 

A crowd gathers, drawn to harry’s depraved cries, watching his ass swallow the Mentor’s hand inch by filthy inch. His face twists in gleeful bliss, arms straining against the ropes, legs shaking uncontrollably. A deep, guttural exhale rips from his throat as the Mentor’s fist breaches him fully. harry’s torso juts forward, welcoming the invasion. Poppered up again by the Omega, he’s a drooling, shaking mess, his hole stretched wide, craving more. The Mentor twists his hand inside, and harry’s moans drown out the room’s sleazy hum. “Push your hole out, faggot, PUSH… PUSH FAGGOT!” the Mentor growls. harry’s head slams back, eyes and mouth wide, as if witnessing gods descent. His drool cascading onto his chest as a primal, bassy roar—OHHHHHH FUUUUUUUCKKKKKKK—echoes through the labyrinth, a sound so raw it barely seems human.

 

No one can look away from this obscene spectacle. The Mentor’s fist is buried deep, harry’s body a twitching puppet on his wrist. The Mentor’s eyes lock with harry’s, a silent exchange of dominance and gratitude, before he twists his hand again, sending harry into another spiral of impossible bliss. Drool spills, his cock leaks, his body spasms to the rhythm of the Mentor’s slightest movements, played like a filthy fiddle in this grimy underworld. harry’s hole, stretched to its limits, knows this is where it belongs. Even danny’s massive cock, a beast that’d break most, couldn’t sate harry’s true hunger. Now, with his eyes vacant and his face screaming spiritual awakening, he chants, “FUCK MY CUNT OUT, SIR,” over and over, a glistening twink boy drenched in sweat and drool, reborn in the depths of his wrecked asshole.

 

Driven by raw, wanton lust, harry’s rectum seems bottomless, a gaping void of need. Jealousy flickers as he glances at arthur, double-penetrated by Master and Dom Igor, their cocks pistoning like tools in a filthy workshop, arthur’s mind lost to the world. danny and I, watching this debauched scene, lock eyes, a silent pact that there’s more to conquer beyond our own horizons. We drop to the grimy floor, asses pressed together, feet touching, holes spread wide, begging for anyone to claim us in this sleazy pit of desire.

 

An Omega, still licking the precum from my cock, notices our desperate display and dives in. One finger, then two, then three, my precum flowing like a faucet as he stretches me. He turns to danny for his own pepsi taste test, impaling himself on danny’s massive, ass-destroying cock, pushing until he hits a limit—danny snarls, refusing to accept. A towering figure, danny grabs the Omega’s head, commanding him to dig deeper into our fuck holes and down his cock. “Open our holes up, faggot, feed our cunts,” I chant in chorus, my hunger a gnawing void. An Alpha strides over, forcing poppers under our noses, the chemical burn fueling our depravity.

 

A Beta joins, latching onto my needy cock, sucking with fervor. The four of us, lost in lust-fueled chaos, revel in our filth, a proud display for our brothers in this dank maze. Dom Marcus positions himself above me, as if doing push-ups, and rams his generous cock down my wanting throat, muffling my moans. He shoves the Beta aside, grabs my thighs, and yanks my legs back, circling a chubby lubed finger in my hole. Unsatisfied, he hoists me up like a sack of potatoes, planting me on all fours, my face buried in the Omega’s fucked open hole while my ass gapes for him. Lubed by my own slobber, he slams his cock in, each thrust a brutal jolt that leaves my limbs trembling and numb in this sleazy haze. danny, seeing me unravel, grips my wrists, holding me steady as I begin to shake apart.

 

Dom Marcus is a god in this moment, giving me exactly what my filthy soul craves. (God, how I wish someone would piss on me.) My torso collapses to the cold floor, unable to do anything but take his unrelenting thrusts. Mindless, used, drooling into a puddle of my own spit, I mumble gibberish, content in my blissful ruin. Then comes the final thrust—a torrential flood of hot, thick cum surges into me, pulsing with his heartbeat, searing my insides with liquid fire. Each spurt stretches me further, my muscles clenching to hold it in, claiming this fleeting mark of ownership.

 

My body quakes, nerves sparking, a raw jolt shooting from my wrecked hole up my spine, leaving me gasping in the dim, sweaty glow of the labyrinth. As he pulls out, his cum dribbles slowly, tickling my raw flesh with each warm drop as it descends. I collapse, silent, head to the side, drooling with a vacant, fucked-out stare, my sweat-soaked body a testament to my surrender.

 

Dom Marcus, seeing my lifeless state, scoops me up and carries me to a chaise lounge, sparing me the cold floor. Once layed to rest, an Omega flips me over like a spit-roasted pig, spreading my limp legs and parting my cheeks to feast on my hole, chasing Dom Marcus’s seed. It’s buried so deep, no tongue can reach it, but his relentless sucking pulls me deeper into surrender. Drop by drop, the cum oozes out, teasing my ravaged insides as his tongue probes further than I thought possible. harry, placed beside me, grabs my hand, his eyes wide with disbelief as we lie there, spread out like a buffet for these ravenous Omegas. God bless their insatiable hunger; it feels divine, and I pray it never ends as I drool, lost in this haze, my eyes nearly lifeless.

 

Thank you, oh Lord, for guiding me to this sleazy paradise, this grimy heaven on earth where I told my parents I’d be camping. Happy fucking birthday to me.

 

 

 

Saturday, June 26, 1993, 11:23 PM

My Mentor approaches with a glass of lemonade, its cool tang a welcome relief. He settles beside me, draping an arm around my shoulders. I lean into his warmth, craving the comfort of his presence after the night’s intensity.

 

“You did well tonight,” he says, voice low and proud. “Really well. I didn’t expect someone so young to embrace it like that.”

 

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “Embrace what?”

 

He smiles softly. “Your freedom. Your openness to explore. Most guys hold back, but you dove in. I’m proud of you.”

 

His words spark warmth in my chest. “With you all, I feel safe,” I admit. “Safer than I’ve ever felt.”

 

Mentor replies, "This is about more than just physical pleasure; it's about the trust and devotion we share. When you submit to me, you're placing your faith in my care, and that's a profound act of love. In return, my guidance and control are a testament to my commitment to you. I'm here to watch over you, much like a protective older brother would."

 

The Beta approaches, his grin easy. “Mind if I join?”

 

Mentor waves him over, and the Beta slides in on my right, enveloping me in warmth. His hand grazes my belly, then strokes my hair, making me feel like a cherished pup. “You’ve blown us away,” he says.

 

“What were you expecting?” I ask, curious.

 

Mentor chuckles. “You’re a pledge. We don’t expect much at this stage. But you’ve got potential.”

 

“When’s the next gathering?” I press, eager.

 

The Beta’s fingers intertwine with mine, resting on Mentor’s torso. “That’s for you to decide,” Mentor says. “This life has to feel right for you.”

 

“I’m having a blast,” I say, grinning. “And not just because of the sex.”

 

“Good,” the Beta replies, his tone warm. “You’re one of us now.”

 

I press a gentle kiss to Mentor’s bicep, a quiet thank you. He adds, “You need some polishing, though. A bit rough around the edges. But we’ll get there.”

 

Master strides by, Scotch in hand, his presence commanding. “faggot worthington,” he says, “I hope we didn’t push you too hard earlier.”

 

arthur, lounging nearby, smirks. “No, Sir. That was incredible. I’ve never been fucked like that.”

 

Master’s lips curl into a smile as he leans down, planting a Scotch-tinged kiss on arthur’s forehead. He checks on us briefly before sauntering off, his confidence magnetic.

 

My eyelids grow heavy, and Mentor notices. He guides me to the bedroom, where we collapse in each other’s arms, soon joined by the pack, our bodies a tangle of warmth and trust.

 

 

Sunday, June 27, 1993, 07:16 AM

 

Sunlight streams through the windows, warming my skin as I wake, cocooned by my pack brothers. I feel both trapped and secure, surrounded by their steady breathing. With them, I can let my guard down, like a child safe with family.

 

Their acceptance emboldens me to face desires I once buried. Mentor catches me staring out the window, kisses my forehead, and murmurs, “Good morning.” I smile, reaching for his hand, sharing a quiet joy. The Omega stirs, growling softly as he clutches me, demanding my touch. It’s 08:03, and we rise for our ritual shower.

 

We lather each other with care, hands gliding over every inch, a perverse act of love. Clean and dry, we tidy Master’s house, a gesture of respect.

 

We divide into teams: one preps breakfast, while my group ventures into the forest to gather wild blueberries, ripe and abundant. Thorns snag my skin, but I pick with focus, returning with a brimming haul. I rinse the berries as the griddle sizzles, and soon we serve wild blueberry pancakes and sausage—a feast laced with playful innuendo.

 

Over breakfast, we relive last night, harry’s fervor stealing the spotlight. “What a pig,” someone laughs, recalling his desperate pleas for his Mentor’s fist. Master, smirking, adds, “Next time, boy, Dom Marko and I will handle your needs.” harry’s eyes blaze with anticipation, locked on Master’s.

 

 

Sunday, June 27, 1993, 09:22 AM

 

Master gathers us, his voice firm. “You faggots face a choice: reaffirm your oath to us forever or walk away. This commitment isn’t light. The path ahead holds challenges, responsibilities to us, yourselves, and the community. Your dedication must be unwavering. Take some time to decide.”

 

He removes our collars, leaving us to reflect. We four—Danny, Harry, Arthur, and I wander into the woods, the sound of rustling leaves beneath their feet. They discuss what they've learned and how they've changed, they unravel the revelations of their weekend, each confession a mirror reflecting their transformed souls. What they’ve learned is not mere knowledge but a seismic shift in being, as they ponder the depths of their newfound self-awareness. Unsure of the road ahead, they contemplate the pitfalls that might lie in wait, their hearts heavy with the weight of uncertainty. The scent of pine needles dominating their senses, each step they take feels like a journey into the unknown, a path that promises both danger and transformation.

 

When they reach the cliff, the boys gaze at the waters below. Harry speaks, his voice a mix of awe and trepidation: “I would have never jumped this before.” Arthur nods in agreement. Danny adds, “I might have on a dare, but with these guys, I had no fear.” The four nod, a silent understanding passing between them.

 

Suddenly, Dietrich leaps off the cliff into the waters below, his scream of exhilaration echoing through the canyon. “Come on, guys, we’ve made it this far,” he shouts, his voice rising over the soothing rush of the water. The three exchange glances, hearts pounding, and jump together. The cold water shocks their skin, but the jolt quickly gives way to a rush of adrenaline and relief.

 

The four young men emerge out of the water, bodies trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. Dietrich extends his right hand, palm down. Danny joins him, glancing at the couple. Arthur says to Harry, “It sure was intense,” as Harry places his hand in the stack. Arthur adds his on top, sealing their bond. They agree to see this through, no matter where the road leads. As they stride back, confidence in their steps, the weight of their decision lifts, and the burdens of their former lives fade away.

 

 

Sunday, June 27, 1993, 11:27 AM

 

At the compound, the scent of grilling meat and lively chatter greet us by the pool. We approach Master, kneeling before him in a final act of submission. In unison, we declare, “My name is faggot bindel, and I am a worthless faggot. I seek discipline, training, mentoring, and respect, Sir. I now reaffirm my pledge of submission, fully of my own volition, to you and my brothers as a permanent bond between us. I will never betray the trust you have bestowed in me.”

 

Master claps, and Dom Chris presents four boxes. Opening the one marked faggot bindel, Master reveals a collar inscribed with “F” and a hood—symbols of our new identity. “Only your brothers may claim your hole; it’s sacred to us. You’re one of us now, forever a brother, do you accept this?”

 

“Sir, yes, Sir,” we each affirm.

 

Collars encircle our necks, masks cloak our faces, marking us as Brothers. “You are faggot bindel until you prove yourself more,” Master says. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.” Pride swells within me, as if knighted by the king, as I take my place among my faggot brothers.

 

 

Sunday, June 27, 1993, 12:20 PM

 

A feast awaits: steak sandwiches on rye with Marsala sauce, golden bacon mac and cheese, and a crisp garden salad—fuel for our souls. At the table, my re-commitment feels like home. My brothers’ congratulations warm me, grounding my pride in humility.

 

Mentor’s voice lowers. “Soon, you’ll train at my place.” The Omega smirks, “And I’ll teach you to deep-throat without gagging—a faggot’s essential skill.” Laughter ripples through us.

 

One by one, my brothers offer to guide my growth. I’m not alone; I’ve found my tribe, a family bound by shared desires. This meal is our communion, each bite a sacrament sealing our Brotherhood. The table is our altar, our bond sacred.

 

danny, harry, arthur, and I are inseparable, but our circle has grown. With our pack and beyond, we’re part of something vast, a family of brothers who hide nothing. With their support, the future gleams with possibility, and I’m ready to face it.

 

End of Chapter 6

2 hours ago, Warmnsalty said:

Watch a couple guys fuck once using crisco as lube, that was a new one for me. Seems like a emergency alternative LOL 

Crisco is a great lube, especially for fisting when used in combination with J, or K lube

Let me tell you a little story about those two boys; they invited me for a "fishing trip," and I believed them.

 

Jack and Ryan were the kind of sophomores every freshman notices: easy laughs, sun-browned arms, always together. I’d been finding excuses to sit near them in the dining hall all semester. Fortunately for me, Ryan sucked at chemistry, and that gave me my in.  
After a while we became friends, and one day they invited me up to the lake for the long weekend. My stomach flipped so hard I almost said no from pure nerves. Fortunately, I had the balls to say yes.

 

The weekend away with Jack and Ryan felt different from the start. This was a chance to escape the concrete hum of the dorms for the quiet rhythm of water and the woods. The three of us piled into Jack's truck, the bed filled with the sharp, clean scent of new gear and the promise of a weekend unscripted.  

We arrived at dusk, built a fire, the water a bruised mirror of the sky. Setting up camp was a comfortable dance, our movements syncing in the fading light, a silent collaboration. The tent was big enough for three sleeping bags side-by-side, and I silently pretended that was normal.

 

As the fire settled into a crackling heart of orange and red, Ryan (the one in the white shirt) produced a bottle of whiskey. Its warmth, a slow burn spreading through my chest. Jack, ever the pragmatist, followed with a cooler of Pabst Blue Ribbon, the sweat on the cans beading like morning dew. The conversation grew looser, the laughter easier, punctuated by the hiss of cans being opened and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.

Everything felt normal until it didn’t.

 

It was Jack who broke the spell of camaraderie. He stood up, stretched, and without a word of excuse, turned his back to the fire and pissed right in front of me. He didn't turn away in embarrassment, or even make an attempt at being private. He just walked a few feet from the firelight, his movements relaxed and open. There was no aggression in it, only a simple, animal honesty. I watched, not with shock, but with a sense of wonder at his comfort in his own skin.

 

Ryan noticed. He was always noticing me, but his look wasn't calculating; it was gentle, questioning. He rose and joined his brother, and in that moment, it felt like they were inviting me into their world, a world without pretense. Their silhouettes framed by the firelight tempted me like never before. An unspoken challenge hung in the air, thick as the smoke.

 

I don’t remember deciding to stand, only that I was on my feet. My hands trembled on my zipper. I couldn't go, not with them watching. "It's okay," Ryan murmured. "Just breathe." Jack reached over, his fingers brushing my arm. The touch was so light it was almost a question. Something deep inside me unclenched. The sound that came out was a sigh, followed by the steady hiss of my piss hitting the ground. It was the most liberating moment of my uptight life.

 

It felt stupidly intimate, the three of us in the dark. The sound of it loud, as it sprayed against the leaves.

 

When I finished, Ryan stepped closer, his hand finding mine. His skin was warm, his grip firm. He guided my hand down, placing it on his cock. A current ran through me, a jolt of pure, terrifying exhilaration. Jack moved to my other side, his fingers tracing the line of my spine. The firelight danced on the skin of our legs, turning us into creatures of shadow and flame. Jack began to stroke me, his touch clinical, detached, and my body betrayed me, hardening under his expert manipulation. They knew. They had known all along.

 

My pants felt heavy, useless, and they pooled at my ankles without a thought. I sank to my knees, not from desire, but from the sheer weight of their will. It was easier to submit than to fight. When Ryan put his cock in my mouth, it was an act of possession which I relished. Tasting salt and fire smoke, the raw, unvarnished truth of the moment. A small brown bottle appeared under my nose, Ryan's voice a low murmur, "Breathe." The sharp chemical scent cleared my head, sharpening every sensation until all that was left was the fire, the earth, and the three of us.

 

The little brown bottle was a tool, a chemical key to unlock the final door of my resistance, to ensure I was pliant and willing for whatever came next. The world narrowed to a pinprick of light, the sounds of the night fading into a dull roar. I was an instrument, and they were the players. I answered by curling my fingers around him, feeling him respond to my touch. Jack knelt beside me, his hands stroking my hair, his lips peppering my neck with soft kisses as I took Ryan deeper into my throat. It wasn't a performance; it was exploration.

 

It was an embrace, pure and simple. It was an act of my surrender to a feeling, not a force. Again the bottle was offered to me, this time without pressure, a suggestion to "make it feel even better," and the rush was a wave of pure sensation that washed away any lingering self-doubt. Choking on Ryan's cock with tears pooling around my eyes, Jack found my hole and started to probe. My moans betrayed me as they grew louder with his continuing advance into me.

 

With a subtle command from Ryan motioning me to rise, the three of us moved together toward the tent, leaving our clothes behind like discarded inhibitions, breadcrumbs to our night. The zipper of the tent had barely closed behind me before Ryan pushed me down onto the sleeping bags, the chemical rush from the bottle still burning through my veins like liquid fire. My head spun in the best way—every heartbeat throbbing in my cock, every one of my nerves screaming for more.

 

Jack was already on his knees behind me, spreading my cheeks with rough hands. I felt the cool night air hit my hole for only a second before his tongue was there—hot, wet, relentless—rimming me like he’d been starving for it. I moaned around Ryan’s cock, the sound muffled and filthy, drool running down my chin as Ryan fucked my throat, slow and deep.

 

“Fuck, he tastes so good bro,” Jack muttered, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me down until my nose pressed against his brother's pubes. The smell of whiskey, sweat, and smoke still clung to all three of us, mixing with the sharp tang of sex in the confined space.

 

Jack pulled back just long enough to spit on my hole, then he slid two fingers in without warning. I bucked hard, choking on Ryan’s cock, but Ryan only laughed low and held me down, forcing me further into my natural desires of submission to them.

 

The brown bottle appeared again—Ryan uncapped it and held it under my nose while Jack worked a third finger inside me. “Deep breath, freshman.”

 

I inhaled hard. The rush hit like a ton of bricks, my hole relaxed instantly, greedy and open. I pushed back against Jack’s hand, like a slut in heat. Jack didn’t make me wait long. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. I withdrew my mouth from Ryan's cock, looked back at Jack, and said, "No, man, I want to feel you fuck me." Jack smiled as he slicked up his cock with lube.

 

Then the pressure—thick, blunt, perfect. Jack’s cockhead breaching me, stretching me further open inch by slow inch while Ryan fucked my face in rhythm. I was stuffed from both ends, helpless and drooling and loving every second of it. Like the faggot I always jerked off to being one day.

 

They took turns after that. Jack pounding my ass until I saw stars, Ryan choking me on his cock until tears ran down my face, then switching—Ryan’s thicker cock splitting me open while Jack fed me his balls, making me lick and suck, worship them like the needy little faggot I’d just discovered I was for them.

 

At some point they flipped me onto my back. Ryan folded me in half, knees to my chest, and slammed in so deep I felt him in my throat. Jack straddled my face, grinding his sweaty ass down onto my tongue while teasing the head of my leaking cock in time with Ryan’s thrusts.

 

I came first—hands-free, untouched, just from Ryan’s dick nailing my prostate and Jack’s hole smothering me. My orgasm ripped through me like a seizure, cum splattering across my stomach and chest in thick ropes while both of them laughed and called me their “freshman faggot slut.”

 

They didn’t stop. Ryan pulled out and shot across my face, thick streaks painting my lips and cheeks like a cheap whore. Jack followed seconds later, adding his load to the mess, marking me inside and out.

 

I lay there wrecked and trembling, covered in cum and sweat, while they kissed lazily above me—tongues tangling, hands roaming, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

 

Eventually Ryan reached for the whiskey bottle, took a swig, and poured a splash across my chest. Jack leaned down and licked it off my skin, slow and filthy. “Welcome to the club, bro,” Jack breathed, his lips brushing mine, his stubble scraping like sandpaper as he kissed me deeply, letting me taste the whiskey and a mixture of our cum.

 

I passed out between them sometime after, sticky, wrecked, and happier than I’d ever been in my life.

 

Let me know if you want me to continue this story. Special thanks to @pupHawaii for posting the top picture.

13 minutes ago, 1Exhibitionist said:

As many of the frequent posters on FetLife would reply: “FetLife is NOT a dating or hook up site!”

FetLife is a good site for finding local area munches, classes, and events if you are interested in BDSM / kink topics.

That's its strength, however there is an add-on I heard about that can filter out for age, sex, or location. If you like give these a go

 

[think before following links] https://github.com/fabacab/fetlife-aslsearch

 

[think before following links] https://www.crx4chrome.com/extensions/npiplmoaekhkgpppcgdafjkgdalojejo/

39 minutes ago, loadgiver said:

it ends up with the same result, people quitting the gym, and people complaining to management. The problem is that this indiscrete cruising behaviour works for them just often enough for it to be reinforced.  To be clear I'm talking about a normal gym steam room/sauna, not a bathhouse.

Yeah they don't pick up on the social ques like we do, and are horrible at dealing with rejection. I can get laid with a couple of stares while playing a game of pool, while they are franticly typing away on their phones for a guy on Sniffies 6 miles away. They also appear to be obsessed with the picture perfect guy to hook-up with, while I know the guy who's a little rough around the edges is going to be a better night. 

I've never had an issue hooking up at the gym, at an actual sauna. There's a dividing line in the generations in our ability to hook-up anywhere, if you grew up with out an internet connection you'll be fine anywhere, if you didn't you'll be lost.

17 minutes ago, Niceroundass said:

Hello, 

How is FetLife.com???

Is it worth signing up?

 

It's horrible for meeting people, however the topic threads have some good posters. I consider it a source for some inspiration for bondage ideas and toy reviews. I consider it the "hot topic" of kink, a bunch of not to serious people posting pics looking for attention. The people you'd want to meet are either to far away, or inactive. Many profiles are filled with memes, or old pics.

 

I've met a few people from there, all of them were subs with no experience.

I always breed balls deep until I have delivered every drop as promised. 

country boys are something else

FetLife.com has some quality members to look for ideas 

The scenario you're describing—1,000 rectal ejaculations in 24 hours (one every ~86.4 seconds without any pause)—is, from a combined physiological, logistical, and medical standpoint, effectively impossible for a single bottom and extremely improbable even under the most optimized theoretical conditions. Here’s a breakdown of why, focusing on the hardest constraints:

 

1. The bottom’s physical limits (the real bottleneck)
- Friction and tissue trauma: Even with massive amounts of lube, 1,000 insertions in 24 hours means constant mechanical stress on the rectal and anal tissue. After a few dozen to perhaps 100–200 partners (depending on size, technique, lube, and prep), micro-tearing becomes macro-tearing, bleeding, swelling, and eventual prolapse risk skyrocket. The rectum simply wasn’t designed for that volume of traffic.
- Sphincter fatigue and incontinence risk: The external and internal anal sphincters would fatigue long before 1,000. Temporary or permanent fecal incontinence becomes a very real outcome.
- Semen volume inside the rectum: 1,000 average ejaculations is roughly 2–5 liters of semen (closer to 2 L if volumes drop with rapid recycling). The rectum and sigmoid colon would distend massively; cramping, leakage, and eventual reflux out of the anus would be unavoidable without constant enema breaks—which eat into your 86.4-second window.

 

2. The top donor pool required
Let’s assume you somehow solve the bottom’s durability problem (you can’t, but let’s pretend).

- Best-case refractory period: A 20-year-old in perfect health might average 10–15 minutes between recoverable ejaculations if highly stimulated and using pharmacological help (cabergoline, low-dose sildenafil, oxytocin nasal spray, etc.). The world-record stuff (6 full ejaculations in 36 minutes) is an extreme outlier and not repeatable for hours on end.
- Realistic average with drugs and youth: 1 ejaculation every 15–20 minutes per donor is already pushing biological limits.
- Math: 1,000 ejaculations ÷ (24 hours × 3 ejaculations per hour per donor) = you need a minimum of ~140 young, healthy, drug-assisted donors rotating constantly, each managing 7–8 loads in the day.
- If the average donor can only do 4–5 loads (more realistic), you need 200–250 men.

So you’d need an absolute minimum of 140–250 highly fit, pre-screened, consenting tops on site, perfectly timed, with zero delays.

 

3. Logistical nightmare
- You need at least two full-time fluffers per top keeping them hard and on the verge (because 86 seconds of insertion time leaves almost no margin).
- Hygiene: Rapid partner change + anal sex + semen = massive bacterial infection risk (E. coli, gonorrhea, chlamydia, shigella, etc.) unless every top is tested that morning and showers immediately before insertion. Fortunately this is breeding zone, so who cares about that.
- Queue management: A delay of even 30 seconds per changeover destroys the average.

 

Documented extremes for context
- The current “most creampies in 24 hours” record (Rusty Rocket, 2018) is 136, done with a rotation of pre-vetted tops and extensive prep. That’s 1 every 10.6 minutes—already 7× slower than the needed 86-second pace.
- Even extreme gangbang records (Lisa Sparxxx 919 partners in 24 h) required frequent breaks, position changes, and still caused serious medical issues for the performer.

 

Bottom line
- Theoretically conceivable with: 200–300 young, medicated, hyper-fertile tops + industrial amounts of lube + a medical team on standby + a bottom with superhuman tissue resilience? Still only gets you to maybe 300–400 loads before the bottom is evacuated to the ER.
- Human biology simply says no.

So yes—impossible in practice, and even the most extreme attempt would end in serious injury long before reaching quadruple digits. 

That's quite an order sir. It speaks to a certain decisive confidence. One must admire the sheer, unapologetic scope of it. I shall speak of your deeds when I convene with the great counsel of elders.

I love making my bottoms cum, I try to time it to my orgasm. Otherwise I'll edge it out of them 

10 hours ago, Cutedelicategay said:

I enjoy the end of the bar time when men are generally drunk horny and bartenders are getting ready to find a hole as well. Have had quite a few encounters during that time..

We always have the pick of the litter 

Sounds like closing time at the bar I used to run most nights of the week

On 11/19/2025 at 11:10 AM, Bokkierob said:

When manning a glory hole

I just love how you phrased this, as if you're at some battle station awaiting the moment of glorious combat.