Versipellem

Similar experience- was visiting a fuck buddy of mine but noticed he kept glancing at his phone- told me he'd invited someone else over and timing had gotten mixed up. Told him to just let the guy in- was another top but still very sexy- big chest and very hairy. Was happy to take turns plowing my fuck-buddy- that got rid of the recovery time problem so he always had a hard cock in him. Must have been three loads each we gave him by the time we were done

This morning at work- was all quiet so had a hairy otter-type from Scruff over. Sneaked him through the back door under the cameras, we fucked in a storage closet with the cleaning supplies. Him being nervous and spit for lube meant it took a while to get my cock in him all the way, but he had some baby oil and that made it easier. Fucked him up against the door for a long while- he hadn't cleaned too well so put me off a bit. When I finally blew my load in him it took us both by surprise, but he came about 10 secs after all the way across the door.

On the way back from work this morning. Young guy, skinny, not really my type but was lubed on all fours when I got there. Just finished 13 hour shift so was wiped. Held him down, drove it in, pumped for 10 mins and dumped. Got a message from him after, wants it again tomorrow.

[Author's Note: I've never really been interested in chasing/gifting fetish before so this is my first story; probably not that great. Lemme know how to improve. V] Why'd I do it? Fuck, I don't know. Maybe 'cause of who he was. Maybe 'cause of who I am. Whatever. But how'd it get started? Now that's easier to answer... That whole month, my life was shit. Had to quit my pharmacy-tech job before they worked out I was stealing, my dick landlord threw me out for the rent I owed him. So there I was, twenty-five year old guy, broke and on the street, pharmacology degree but no fuckin job. Well, I said on the street- I still had my van. An old black 80s heap, half rust, engine shot to hell. Found an old mattress in a dumpster and slung that in the back; that's where I slept, ate and drank as I tried to work out what to do. I'd been kicked out about a week when I parked down on Seventh, where the hipsters and the stoners hang out, trendy little coffee shops and expensive shitty little stores. Figured I'd sell what I had, y'know- mostly benzos and barbs, few hits of acid, MDMA, nothing special. Get that moving and I could look for a new place, new job. The van wasn't helping my prospects for picking up guys, either; the hottest dudes expect you to have a real apartment to screw in. So I parked the van in an alley near Seventh and Rose that evening at sunset, hung around by it looking for my regulars, anyone that'd buy the pills. And waited. No cops around, but the indie-kids and the stoners just weren't showing up. "Fuckin' hippies", I muttered to myself, when along comes this dark-haired young guy in a black Sunday-suit, smiling away, catches my eye and heads right for me and the van. Man, I was shittin' myself when I saw him coming- figured he was a cop for sure, one of those high-up agency guys with the initials for names. Was trying to decide whether to gun the van across the road or just run, when he takes a Bible out of his pocket. "Hi, I'm Mark!" he said brightly. "Could I talk to you about the Lord Jesus Christ?" What a fucking relief. Just one of those God-botherers, missionaries, whatever. I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off so I could pull some trade, when something changed my mind. Maybe it's how pissed off I was. Maybe it was the way he looked; about twenty, neat dark hair, suit all perfect, bright little shiny happy smile plastered across his face, while I had shit. So instead of cursing him out, I pulled it together.* "Why, sure, Mark!" I chirped in my best talking-to-the-Man voice. "I'm just heading home soon; why don't you sit in for a spell and we'll chat?" He looked a bit apprehensive staring at the van; that shiny little smile dimmed a little. But he must've been desperate for a sale or a convert or whatever-the-fuck you call 'em; I got in the driver's seat and he climbed in the passenger side. The alley was that dark, no-one on the streets could see in. So we got to talking; really he just jabbered on about salvation and prayer and shit like that, and I nodded and said "Uh-huh", a lot. Hell, I figured all that talking, he could use a drink. So I pulled two Cokes out of the back, and while he was flicking through his Bible, dropped a couple barbs in his can. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried phenobarbitol; they use it to kill unwanted pets, for Chrissakes. But with people, knocks them right out for hours at a time. I might be a drug-pusher and all-around-scumbag, but I know my shit; sat through enough medical lectures to get my pharm-diploma. Gave him just enough, calibrated for body-weight. One second he was jabbering on happily about God and Jesus and Moses, the next he was slurring his words and reeling until he slumped face down on the dashboard. "Perfect," I said as he passed out. "About time you shut the fuck up." I hauled him into the back of the van and put him on the old dumpster-mattress; I don't know what I had in mind at first; maybe stripping him and dumping him out in the alley naked. But I'd popped a couple octagons that evening; pink Brazilian speed that lights your circuits and gets your mind racing. So I called my buddy Rusty who works the night-shift at the local fetish bar, Saltire. "Hey Rusty," I did my best Southern drawl, "Guess what I got in this here van of mine." "You ain't got shit in your van but pills and stolen car stereos," he laughed.* "Guess again," I grinned. "Meet me round back, half an hour." I got the van grinding into gear and cruised round to Saltire; the disused parking lot round back, dark and deserted and covered in garbage. Rusty was waiting, already in uniform for his bar-shift; leather pants and chest-harness, studded boots. We're just buddies, Rusty and me- his whole smooth clean-cut college-boy look isn't my type. But that, and his red hair, drives the guys wild; most popular bartender at Saltire and he gets great tips. He smiled. "So whatcha got for me?" I opened the van's back doors; Mark the missionary was sprawled across the dirty mattress in his black Sunday suit and white shirt. "Fuckin' Christ!" Rusty roared with laughter. "You're even more screwed up than I thought." I shrugged- I was riding smooth on the speed. "Serves the asshole right for preaching at me when I'm working." I gave Rusty a sly look. "I know you like the first-timers; this guy deserves fucking up and I'm betting his cherry ain't been popped yet." Rusty licked his lips and his leather pants bulged outward; he was tempted. "Lemme see." He clambered into the van. "This heap is filthy," he muttered darkly. He rolled the boy over and had a look at his face; unbuttoned the shirt and checked out the body. "Fuck yeah, man- I'll do it, if he don't see me. But if you really wanna fuck him up, you should let the guys at the bar do him; they're as rough as it gets." "Sold," I laughed. "Your shift doesn't start til nine, and it's eight-thirty; go for it." Rusty helped me up into the van and closed the doors, clicked the light on and yanked down Mark's suit-trousers. He was still peacefully unconscious; I'd dosed him perfectly. Rusty grabbed a crusted jar of Vaseline out of my toolbox and unbuttoned the leather pants; I'd seen him hard before. Nothing special, but a nice looking cock, cut and about six and a half inches. He rubbed the Vaseline on himself and the kid's hole, then mounted up. "No kidding, this boy's a virgin for sure, no need for a rubber," he grinned, pushing his cock at the tight hole until it started to give. "Fuck!" he groaned as he got half-way in. "It's like it's squeezing me." He started sliding it in, wet and slippery, back and forth. "Aww yeah, nice and tight," he groaned again. He went at him in silence for a few minutes, slow and steady, then gave a loud moan as he spurted in the kid's virgin ass. He lay flat on him for a minute, then pulled out and wiped himself off. We both gazed at the suited figure, jacket pulled up, pants down, hole exposed, pink and moist. "I owe you one, dude. We gotta get the guys in on this," he said, panting. Then he tilted his head into the van. "He good for now?" "Two hours minimum," I answered. "Awesome," Rusty smiled. "I know just the guys." It was already hot and heavy when we got into Saltire a few minutes later. Black on the inside, chains hung from the ceiling; with the diagonal cross that gave the bar its name, mounted on the wall. Guys milled around, most in leather or rubber, talking here and there. It was still early, but plenty of talent on display. Rusty went straight up to a young bodybuilder in thick studded leather straps, murmured in his ear. Then a salt-and-pepper daddybear with grizzled hair all over. Then a skinny bald guy, middle-aged and wiry. They followed us out. Rusty had explained everything before he headed back inside for his shift. "Anyone got a problem with this?" I asked in the dark parking-lot. Felony date-rape wasn't a walk in the park; that's why Rusty had chosen the edgiest sleaziest guys he could find. The muscular young guy shook his head, so did the skinny dude and chain-hung bear. We all climbed into the van. Mark was still tapped out on the dirty mattress, ass in the air. "I'll go last," announced the skinny guy. No-one minded; maybe he liked sloppy seconds. The grizzled bear was first, quick and easy- a short stumpy cock and he shunted his load after a couple minutes into the kid's curvy butt, leaving without a word. The *built guy was different; pretty well-hung and thick, about eight inches, veined and uncut. The muscles in his ass and hips strained as he forced his dick into the young hole; the whole van shook as he held the kid down hard, pinning him like a wrestler. After a few hard deep thrusts it came out smeared with blood. He kept on screwing, deep as he could, whispering under his breath, "Yeah, take that raw cock," then spewed a thick load, half across the exposed back and half in the butt-crack. After the bodybuilder had fastened himself up and gone, I asked the skinny guy why he was last- he said, "You and Rusty and the other two are negative; I'm a poz dude." I laughed; Mark had a bigger surprise in store than a torn butthole. The skinny guy had a long thin rod that went in fast like a plunger and came quickly, buried deep and hard, grunting as he added his toxic juice to the mix. He excused himself and headed back inside; but he'd given me an idea. Alone in the parking lot with the dosed guy, I hit the message boards on my phone: "Newbie non-consenting hole needs raping; rough fuckers wanted, more hung and filthy the better." In half an hour I had five guys show up, wordless and waiting; they lined up by the van and took their turns one after the other, grunting and hissing as they climbed on the boy and went to town on his ass. One black dude had prison tattoos across his hands, a Hispanic one had a blade scar across his lip and slammed the kid's head against the mattress. These were the guys I needed, filthy sleazy fuckers to show up and dump their loads in Mark's rectum, to teach this clean-cut little kid the meaning of pain. None had washed in days from the smell; thick dirty cocks dripping with god-knew-what STDs. I'd saved the best for last; a tall bald muscular guy in his forties called Duke in plaid shirt and jeans; he'd advertised as being 'hung like a God'. You know how much that's worth online, specially with sleazy dudes; but when he opened his jeans I was speechless- it was more like a nightstick than a cock, had to be twelve inches, uncut and thick. By this time the Jesus-freak sprawled on the filthy mattress was a mess; suit covered in lube, shit and cum, pants and underwear torn, hole wide and leaking blood like an open pit. I'd had to dose him again to keep him under; no way would an awake person take this monster willingly. Duke looked at me appraisingly, giant cock hanging out- I gave him a quick suck before we got to business. I could barely manage the first couple inches, it was that big; but it tasted sour and salty and musky, dripping with pre-cum. Like cocks taste in dreams. "Who's the suit?" he growled.* "Some missionary kid," I shrugged my hair out of my eyes. "Does it matter?" "Not to me," he muttered. He wiped off the worst of the mess and positioned himself, greasing his club with the last of the Vaseline and aiming for entry. In one long smooth thrust he rammed it home; blood and grease and filthy spunk squirting around his dick as he fucked, hips like pistons, faint moans coming from the boy underneath; even unconscious, it had to be agonising. Duke's face was great to see; concentrating wholly on the task, the feeling as he buried his monster in the kid's guts. "Are you poz?" I asked, more to pass the time than as a serious question.* "Yeah," he answered between grunting thrusts. "Undetectable?" I asked hopefully. I had to admit I wanted to try that cock myself, if I could stay negative. Fuck, I was horny and high- it was messing with my inhibitions. He gave a short laugh, groaning harder as he got closer. "Nah, more like 300,000. Haven't cum in a week, either." Fuck- there went my chances of getting an awesome night of sex with Duke. I chuckled as I realised what a charged load the kid was getting, though. His ass flexed as he gave three last titanic rams, growling and grunting like an animal, dumping his thick toxic load in Mark's violated guts. My cock was hard as a rock just watching; I pulled it out and started to yank, unable to stop myself. Duke panted and withdrew, his footlong cock turning rubbery, leaning heavily against the inside of the van. He looked at me. "Your turn." I stopped jerking briefly. "Me? Nah- nearly a dozen guys have had his hole; probably half had high VL. Look, he's a mess." Duke put himself away but stared into my eyes intently, tucking in his plaid shirt. "You still want to. You want to be one of us. I can see it." He smiled cruelly. "You didn't get this kid drugged and rammed and ruined just for the fun of watching." I looked at the slumped figure on the cum-covered mattress, speed vibrating brightly in my head, and realised he was right. It was what I wanted more than anything, even if I couldn't admit it. Duke reached forward and took my dick in his hand; it was tender, almost paternal. I could feel the calluses on his palms. Gently he guided me down onto the stained bed, grinning widely as I gave myself up to the feeling. I aimed myself eagerly at that open cum-filled hole- it was a much bigger target than the tiny pink rosebud I'd offered Rusty hours ago. There was a thick squelch as I sank in deeply, the tenth guy taking this ass tonight, his muscles still hot and responsive, flexing around me. I was lost in it, lubed and slippery with the thick dirty cum of all the others. Duke's hands were warm on my back, urging me on; in minutes I came, squeezing the kid's cheeks together with my hands as the lube/blood/cum mix ran down his legs. It was an incredible feeling, better than I'd ever imagined; fireworks exploded in my head. "I bet you've been made, now," said Duke, rubbing his juice into my cock-head. "One of us." he was smiling like an idiot, and I realised I was as well. The speed was finally releasing its grip on me by 3am, and I'd tidied up Mark the Jesus-freak as best I could; surprisingly he didn't seem injured. Most of the mess wiped off; sure, he'd be sore for weeks, but no hospital needed- more than I'd expect for anyone on the receiving end of tools that big. He was coming to when I sat him down at the base of a tree in Hawthorne Park, groaning and clutching his rear. I whispered in his ear, "You spread the Word of God, boy? We've given you the Gospel of the Seed." I was up and gone by the time he opened his eyes and looked round. In two weeks, I'd sold off all my pills and got a new job as a pharmacy-tech at a private clinic in Cicero. Lax security procedures and all the drugs I could sell- rich lazy patients and fat paychecks. Life looked good. On my way down past the coffee shops, I caught sight of Mark, on his rounds, suited and strolling but looking flushed and groggy. Sure enough, he was fine- walking a little funny, but that was to be expected. I sat on the wall and waited patiently as he walked past; he glanced at me with no recognition- the barbs had made him forget it all. Suddenly he stopped and sneezed heavily, coughing and fumbling in a pocket. I passed him a pack of tissues. "Thanks!" he exclaimed with his old bright manner. "Flu, right?" I asked. "Yeah," he said thickly, blowing his nose. "Well, it's the season for it." I grinned widely and headed down on Seventh, to the docks where the hustlers plied their trade. Just like Mark, I was off to spread the Gospel.

Had a meet a year back who was mostly unsighted- was pretty good. No clue how he managed to log onto the Net though.

Thanks guys- appreciate the feedback. It's also available on Literotica at http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=510565. On that kind of site, they tend to focus more on having a convincing and descriptive storyline rather than it being all about the sex, so that was really what I was aiming for. It's had a very positive reception for a first story, I'm told- an editor said it might make it into the top 100. Needless to say, if I were writing a story for you guys, it'd be a lot more intense and edgy, with a hell of a lot more fucking!

Nice stuff- very dark and edgy.

I still use them pretty regularly- most guys insist on them, and I try to be pretty cautious at the moment. No arguments that it feels way better raw and bareback, both fucking and being fucked, though.

From having a quick browse through databases and websites, there's a great deal about the meaning of the scorpion in body art, ranging from advertising toughness to zodiacal meanings. Nothing much about that design as having a specific sexual meaning, especially in the same context as the biohazard tattoo often does. Maybe it's a sub-culture thing?

A combination of Phenobarbitol and alcohol should definitely do the trick- I believe that T.I.M used something similar when doing an unconscious-breeding scene a few years back. But you have to make sure to get the dosages exactly right- taking combinations of depressants is a very dangerous thing.

Fucked a guy after I got my first piercing down there- didn't get any complaints and tried my best to be careful about it. Wouldn't be keen on taking one, though- sounds uncomfortable.

I'm with disc on that- definitely helps to be able to relate in some way. As a versatile guy, my buddies and I take turns fucking most of the time, keeps things fresh and interesting.

Agree that the sounds of fucking are definitely a massive turn-on; porn soundtracks that are too loud/oppressive can be very annoying. Most of my fuck-buddies tend to be rockers/metalheads like me, so we usually have heavy metal in the background or something non-distracting.