ErosWired

This reminds me of a time when I was pegged by a short crackerjack of a blonde at a mixed BDSM demo. Unlike @SubAssNH, I found it an even more submissive experience (even though I’m not about FemDom at all) because I had an acute sense that my bottoming in that situation placed me at the very basement of the sexual pecking order, prey to all. And do you know what she said, out loud, to everyone watching, while she hammered me? ”Whoo-hoo! Public property!” I shit you not.

A Pearl of Wisdom. (Pearls are hard, too.)

This weekend I attended the October CumUnion in Indianapolis, one that I will remember as "Bigcockapalooza" because the whole damn weekend long I got fucked by one big cock after another. I'll remember no. 3 particularly, because he speared me with all eight thick inches of it in one single strong thrust. But that fuck was only the third of 20, so there would be plenty to come. The great big cockhead, the long, long nine-inch session, the ram-it-home guy... and all of these before the main event even got underway. But there were plans. I had agreed to hook up with breedingzone member @FelchingPisser and let him have full use of me. In fact, I even gave him the Deed to my body, made out in his name(see below), for the duration of the weekend - I was his to do with as he pleased. And, he pleased. If you haven't had the privilege of being bred by him, he has fearsome endowment, but more importantly, mad skills in using it, and unbelievable stamina. Over the course of four hours, he fucked me five different times, ending with a full breeding. I don't want to exaggerate the experience, and I don't want to gush - but I feel the need to express the remarkable nature of some of what I experienced while servicing him. Our first coupling was more of a get-reacquainted fuck, reminding each other of what we felt like, stretching me to accommodate him, remembering good angles, and so on, just a teaser of things to cum before he went out to sample the other offerings at the bathhouse. I can't relate his thoughts at that point, but I felt a shiver of excitement that I would be responsible for pleasuring him later. I have signs that I post in my room when I go to the bathhouse - they read: "Cunt for your Cock", "Fuck the Slut", and "Go For It - You Don't Have To Ask, That's What He's For". As other men came in and fucked me, I looked up at the first sign (which hangs right over me, with an arrow pointing down) and more than usually, I began to think of myself as a cunt, a pussy, a focal point for men to enjoy themselves. I wanted to be that thing. When FelchingPisser returned, he intended to take me in the sling, but by the time we got to the sling room, someone else had occupied it. So we returned to my room for a second round there. What happened then has never happened to me before - he penetrated me so deeply, so intensely, rode my prostate so precisely, and - well, I don't know whether I forgot to breathe, or held too long on the edge, or exactly what happened, but for an instant I actually blacked out from the intensity (no, I hadn't taken any kind of drugs) and when I came to I was completely disoriented with a massive cock reaming out my ass. In a way, it was the purest fuck I have ever experienced, because the only thing I was sure of was that I was being fucked, and fucked completely. Later, we did end up at the sling, a first for me because no one had ever fucked me in a sling before. Again, unbelievably intense (really, you have to see his erect cock to fully appreciate the effect), especially when he decided to jackhammer my prostate. By the time we took a break, I could barely stand. In hindsight, I realize now that I take the vast majority of the cock I take on my belly - I hadn't realized how sensitive I am to assaults while I'm on my back. In a sling, you can't leverage your hips the way you can on a bed; you're far more vulnerable to a Top's whims. I'm definitely going to have to do more sling-work. I am much obliged to FelchingPisser for the tutorial. The fourth encounter, as I expected, took place in the steam room. He had enjoyed me there the last time we had met at CumUnion, so I was sure he would want me there again because of the likelihood that others would join in. What I hadn't expected what for him to say, "I brought my friend - he's bigger than I am." I barely had time to think Bigger than you? How is that even possib- before a massive, curved anaconda touched my anus and then slithered all the way up, balls deep. There's something about steamroom serial fucking, the way several guys will go at an ass sort of brutally, then all clear out at once, leaving you weak-kneed and hole-gaping, that never fails to leave me feeling like breeding genitalia. A cunt on two legs. When I stumble out of the steamroom shortly after, and I see the eyes watching me shower off, with those odd little smiles, I know that they know. They know what I am. I had a little time to think about what I was as my time at the bathhouse drew short that night. More than 15 men had penetrated my body with their cocks since I arrived for the weekend. More than two dozen men had done to men what men do to women, and most of them had left their semen inside me. I still held all of it. Anyone could insert his finger into my ass and feel the proof that there is no difference whatsoever between my male ass and a woman's cunt. There are men who would never, ever allow themselves to be used that way. Those men will always be able to say that they have never surrendered their masculinity to the pleasure of another male. I can never say that again. There are some men who have no problem maintaining their masculinity even in the face of this, but for me, I can't turn my mind away from the image of my ass taking cock in the most submissive way, not as a man, but as a cunt. The final fucking of the night underscored that fact for me. FelchingPisser and his enormous friend came to my room not long before I was going to have to leave. It was time for them to nut, and they were going to nut in me. A small entourage tagged along behind them, and without wasting any time, they began to breed me. I say "breed" not in a metaphoric sense, but in the actual sense of animal reproductive breeding - their rutting was animal, and so was mine. They penetrated as deeply as physically possible, pushed as hard as possible, thrust as rapidly as possible, to get their cum as far inside my cunt as possible. The sounds of liquids turning into froth seemed extra loud to my ears. They slapped my ass again and again, the watchers, cheered them on, cocks exited and entered in turns, and when it was at last over, the final thing I remember was an exquisite sensation of cum dripping, drop by drop, off the lip of my cunt. @FelchingPisser, Sir, it was a rare honor and privilege to serve you. My experience with you reshapes my state of mind, and will help me better service other Tops. Thank you. My ass is yours always. . *** Now you can read FelchingPisser’s own sizzling account of the same evening on his own blog. Check it out at http://felchingpisser.blogspot.com/?m=1***

{ There will be a brief intermission while the author gets brutally fucked by a series of strangers at CumUnion. The story will resume shortly. Thank you for your patience. Drinks, popcorn and lube are available in the concessions area. }

I notice there have been several views of this listing since I posted it. I'm headed up today, and I feel like a fucking bitch. in. heat. I'll be at the Super 8 on Southport Road tonight; hit me up for the room number, and get ready to breed some great bareback ass that feels like warm, wet velvet. I promise I'll make it worth your while...

The Golden Coin - Part III Ben lost track of time in Andros Manor. When he asked how long he had been there, no one would give him an answer. Ben had endured “cleaning” twice now, and the Gray May would only say how much he had enjoyed their “conversations” - though Ben could not recall what any of them had been about. He was certain, however, that at least a week had passed since he arrived. He had eaten at least that many meals, and Jamail had been escorting him to a room with workout equipment and instructing him to lift weights – Ben had apparently told the Gray Man he had been wanting to build up his body but had never had the opportunity. Ben did not remember saying this, but Jamail pushed him hard, and his body felt sore as a consequence. One day after lunch, John informed Ben that he was called for. The Gray Man met him at the foot of the broad main stairwell. "Benjamin,” he said. “Please go upstairs to the first room on the left. I will be there in a moment." As Ben climbed the carpeted stairs, he could hear no sound except the ticking of a clock somewhere, as though all sound in the house were muffled. At the top he found the room and entered. The room contained only four items, the most prominent of which looked something like an elaborate exercise machine; next to it, a small table, a stool, and nearby along the wall, a cupboard of some kind. Ben heard the door close, and saw that the Gray Man had entered. "Please go over to the frame," the Gray Man instructed him. “Look,” said Ben, “I figure I've been here almost a week. People are going to be wondering where I am. I could lose my job.” “You are still thinking like a man with limitations,” said the Gray Man. “Everything is in order. Your employer was quite satisfied – one might say ecstatic – with the compensation he received in lieu of your extended absence, and your job – whatever it might have been – will be waiting for you should you ever choose to return to it. You have no dependents, and your extended family understands that you are recuperating from a sudden illness at an exclusive health resort, with the best of care. Your bills are paid, your debts are in hand, your cat is with your sister. As I said, I guarantee that you will succeed on the course you have chosen. Now please, go over to the frame.” Ben numbly approached the metal framework and the Gray Man positioned him in front of it. The man attached a leather cuff with a metal ring to each of Ben's ankles, and his wrists, then attached the rings to points on the framework. He shifted a lever, which tilted the framework backward, raising Ben nearly horizontal to the other man's hip level. Moving to Ben's head, he placed a blindfold over Ben's eyes. Ben then felt him wrap something around his head, securing the blindfold in place and blocking the slightest ray of light. From that point, every sound seemed amplified, every touch magnified. Ben tried to determine by sound what the Grey Man was doing, but the room seemed to fall silent. As minutes passed into more minutes, Ben's anxiety began to build. An unexpected tug on the hem of Ben's pants was followed by the metallic snip of shears, and the rip of fibers as the sheaers cut through the leg of his pants all the way to his knee. A hand silently ran along the exposed flesh, then did the same with the opposite leg. Bit by bit, moving from leg to arm to the neck of Ben's shirt, the shears continued cutting and ripping his clothing – the hands testing, kneading, caressing each part of his body as it was revealed. Pulling the cloth away from Ben's chest, fingers lingered over his nipples, one at a time, thumbing and flicking them until they became tense and hard. The shears slowly cut downward, exposing Ben's belly, and with equal deliberation the scissors crept up the inside of his thighs. They snipped and pared with precision, until only Ben's fresh pair of tight briefs remained, then two slices along his hipbones left only loose fabric covering his most private areas. For interminable minutes the hands did nothing, touched nothing, until at last they snatched away the last vestige of modesty and Ben's cock felt the cool of the open air, and, as Ben imagined in his humiliation, the intensity of the Gray Man's gaze. Though Ben saw nothing from beginning to end of the ordeal, his mind's eye displayed crystal-clear images of what the hands did to him from then forward, though he could only guess at the tools. The hands gathered his balls and pushed them through a tight metal cockring, then pulled his cock through behind, and then strokked his penis to an unwilling firmness in the slightly tight ring. They pulled his scrotum taut so that his balls stood out like tight, shiny orbs. Some narrow implement next was traced down the lines of his body, now down his inner thighs, now across the contours of his belly, now up the length of his bobbing shaft - then, SNAP! Something whipped painfully across the end of his cock, directly across the frenulum. Ben gasped in pain and surprise. THWAP! He gasped again, this time for the dull impact across his straining testicles. Then, WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP, the feeling of my cockshaft being whipped without mercy, punctuated by strikes to his balls, his belly, his thighs, the insides of his arms, and his nipples, as rapid as an expert on a drum kit. Ben's breath came fast and shallow. The narrow implement was then applied to the bottoms of Ben's feet, repeatedly, and behind knees, but shortly returned to another round of cock-whipping. After a few moments, the whipping suddenly stopped, and Ben sensed movement to his other side, where the table stood. The clink of metal caught ear. A hand deftly raised his cock upright, and Ben felt the cool of some thick liquid applied to its head, then the cooler sensation of some smooth metal touching the tip. In the next second his breath caught - the smooth metal had entered the end of his cock and had begun worming its way inside. Before, when Jamail had used his fingers to milk him, he had not imagined being more intimately violated – now he realized how mild an intrusion that had been. This object, creeping deeply into his shaft, worked its way to the root of the most private sensation he could feel. It paused, impaling his rigid cock, and then by gravity invaded to his core. Ben couldn't hold back a moan… and he heard, from the other, a sound of satisfaction. A soft laugh? Perhaps. Not content with this debasement, the hands removed the metal rod and substituted it with a thicker one, stretching the inside of Ben's shaft. The hands seemed to take pleasure in raising the rod up again and again and then releasing it, allowing gravity to draw it downward, deeper, each time overcoming the resistance of Ben's body a bit more, until it defeating him completely. At last the hands left the rod impaled at its deepest penetration within Ben's cock, and turned back to the table. Ben heard now for the first time a sound he would later come to fear - a loud BZZZZZZZZZZ of some device, which without warning connected against the handle of the metal rod. An intense vibration passed along the rod and beat violently against Ben's prostate deep inside. He writhed in his restraints, crying out. After minutes of this treatment that left Ben's chest heaving, the hand withdrew the rod. After a moment a new object was placed over his glans, circling around the head of my cock and entering a short distance into the slit. Ben felt his finger at my anus, touching it with cool, thick liquid, quickly followed by the cold feel of metal, but thicker. With a push the hand forced the steel plug into him, settling the base snugly in his hole. Ben heard the click of buttons, and then his sphincter clenched involuntarily as a buzz of electricity shot through his pelvis, searching its way up the length of his cock to find its pole in the electrode placed on his cockhead. Pulse after pulse after pulse caused Ben's cock to spasm and bob involuntarily, in time with the clenching of his asshole. Ben began moaning, unaware of his own sounds. Soon he discovered that his tormentor could vary the pulse of the electricity, and its intensity, and with each new pattern of shocks Ben's body reacted on its own, in a new way. The hands applied pads of some sort to Ben's inner thighs, to his lower belly, to his sac, each time forging new paths for the current, each time intensifying it. Ben's mouth hung open in silent cries of shock and pain. Finally all the electrodes were removed except the original ones at Ben's cockhead and ass, and the power began gradually ramping upward… up… and up… and up… until the surges of current felt as though they were convulsing Ben's entire pelvis. At this point another sensation - WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP – the narrow switch began mercilessly whipping Ben's cockshaft again. Ben's mind rebelled - his eyes rolled in his head and he began to drift in a haze of pain, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. And then it all suddenly stopped. Ben sucked in breath audibly, his chest heaving. In a moment, he heard again the BZZZZZZZZ of the device that had touched the rod in his cockshaft. This time, the hand planted its buzzing head squarely on his asshole. "GAAHH!" Ben cried, from the intensity of the vibration, and again when it shifted it to his nutsac. The hands were testing, seeking those places where Ben's body would betray him, to reveal his sensitivity. In the next instant, they found their target. They placed the thing - Ben could only think of it now as some evil Thing - underneath his cockhead, directly on his frenulum, pressed downward slightly, and BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. "Oh, GOD!" Ben shouted - he had never experienced a stimulation that intense in his life. "Stop! Please stop! Ohhhhhgggggg….. I'm going to…. " The device stopped. Ben's body heaved in sweat and sexual frustration, drawing ragged breaths. Suddenly, the blindfold and wrapping were pulled away, and he found himself blinking at the intent face of the Gray Man, who was holding something in front of Ben's face. “Benjamin! Look carefully. Look very carefully at what I am holding. From this moment forward, this is the token of your future life. This is the call you must always answer. This is who you are. This is your body, and your soul. LOOK.” He held before Ben's eyes a golden coin. In the next second, the electricity surged again, igniting Ben's entire sexual being. WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP went the switch onto his cock and balls. BZZZZZZZZZZZ – the device assaulted his frenulum. “Now,” said the Gray Man, “open your eyes and look upon this coin...” Ben forced his frantic eyes to look at the shinging gold circle as every single aspect of his being shrunk to a single, inescapable conclusion. “Benjamin,” said the Gray Man, “CUM.” Ben's mind unspun. His back arched, his toes curled obscenely, he strained every restraint, and his cock pulsed against his will, shooting thick ropes of cum across my belly and chest in spite of the electrode blocking his slit. Each pulse of liquid cum increased the intensity of the electric charge coursing through his cock, causing it to contract with greater violence. This could not be called an orgasm – this had been ripped out of him. It could be described no other way. When Ben's cock stopped convulsing, the Gray Man turned off the power and removed the electrodes, put away his tools, and stood up. Of the golden coin there was no sign. He wiped off his hands with a hand towel and left it on the chair. Ben still lay in the frame, his semen liquefying and running down his body onto the floor. Ben could smell it pungently. The Gray Man went to the door and opened it. “You were superb,” he said, glancing back. “Good boy. I now have no doubt in the ultimate outcome of your training. I can scarcely wait to get underway.” He exited the room, and the door closed behind him. **As a little Easter Egg, for those of you kind enough to have read this far, I'll share a secret - a big chunk of this chapter is autobiographical. ?

[@Petereater - Sorry - I'm a novelist. I suck at short stories. This is likely to go on for a little while. (: ] The Golden Coin - Part II “What is your name?” asked a voice, deep and foundational. “Benjamin... Ben.” Darkness surrounded him, and when he tried to move, his body did not seem to obey him. “Why can't I see? Where am I?” “This is the Adjustment Layer,” said the voice. “This is the place you've chosen for us to have our conversations. You chose this place because it is warm, and you are safe here. It is a good place. We have been enjoying our talks, you and I.” The Gray Man. The voice was his. “Why can't I move?” “There is no need to move. You are completely relaxed. We are in the Adjustment Layer, and you are safe here, just where you chose to be. How old are you, Ben?” “I'm 34.” “Are you married, Ben?” “No.” “No. I remember. that is what you told me before.” When? Ben thought. When did he ask me before? Yet he had a strange sense that this conversation had already taken place... more than once, even. “The beauty of women is not to every man's taste,” the Gray Man said. “I believe you are a man with varied tastes, as befits a man who is meant to live an unfettered life. What do you think of my butler, John? How does he look to you?” Suddenly a light came on in front of him, a spotlight shining downward on John, who stood naked facing him. John's arms were raised, his hands clasped behind his head, creating a classic V physique. The arrow of muscle terminated in a large penis, hanging turgid, pointing eight inches toward the ground. The light went out. “What about Samuel?” Another spotlight to his left illuminated Samuel, also nude, posed sidelong to Ben's view, his belly taut and chiseled, his fully erect cock pointed skyward and throbbing up and down with each beat of Samuel's heart. The light went out. “What do you think of Jamail?” To Ben's right, a spotlight reflected off Jamail's rounded biceps and bunched chest muscles, as he gripped a nine-inch cock with both hands and pointed it it at Ben, and tilted his head back in passion. The light went out. “These are images from your own deepest desire, Ben. We are in the Adjustment Layer, where everything is what you desire. This is where you learn the truth about yourself, from the one who knows you best... you. “It has been remarkable to have these conversations with you – to witness such drive, such motivation to become something new, to see a man reach deep within himself to convert his innermost desires into fuel for permanent change. “I have hardly ever seen a man with such focus on a calling, but each time we speak of this, you summon up the same images – images of superior men who could value you. Such men will value you. You yourself have revealed your purpose, through the images embedded deep within your own subconscious – you are meant to serve superior men, and you will be excellent.” As the Gray Man spoke, his voice seemed to surround Ben, to pass over and through him. Was it actually the Gray Man speaking, or Ben's own mind explaining itself to him in a voice he found filled with authority? Those men – Samuel, John, Jamail – had he really been having thoughts of them naked? Really, deep down, and not realized it? Ben had never done anything with a guy before... he was just... awkward around other people. “Ben, this has been a very interesting conversation. I think we have made excellent progress today. We can return to the Adjustment Layer any time you wish. All I have to do is say the words, “Adjustment Layer,” and we'll be back here again, warm and safe, just as you have chosen. For now, though, it is time for you to wake up. When I say the word “arise”, you will count slowly to ten, and then you will find yourself fully awake and refreshed, and sexually aroused like a healthy male. Ben, arise.” Ben counted, “One, two, three, four... “ and everything around him seemed to gradually brighten. When he reached ten, his eyes opened to a fully lit room with a simple couch and a chair, adjacent to a large tiled bathroom. He found himself wearing only a towel around his waist. He was alone. He felt a familiar need, and his cock began to stir. The glass door to the bathroom then opened, and Samuel, also towel-clad, entered and beckoned to him. “Time to clean,” he said. Samuel's body looked exactly as Ben had seen it in his mind. Ben couldn't stop himself from wondering if Samuel's member also looked the same under his towel. The bathroom had a spacious showering area with multiple shower heads connected to extensions so that they could be lifted off to shower different parts of the body. Samuel started a shower and adjusted the temperature. As he did so, Jamail and John both entered, both in towels. “Is he ready for cleaning?” Jamail asked Samuel. “As ready as he'll ever be.” The three of them removed their towels and set them aside. Ben's eyes moved from one crotch to the next, confirming that the images he had seen had been real. John lifted the shower head of its hook, and Ben noticed that the head seemed unusual – very narrow, streamlined, and smooth. In one quick move, Samuel pulled of Ben's towel, and Jamail quickly brought him to a kneeling position, then forced his chest to the floor. “Wait, what - “ “We're helping you clean,” Jamail said. “Don't struggle. It's gonna take a while.” Ben felt a finger touch his anus with some slick substance, then slowly force its way in. “Mm,” said John. “Verrry tight. He'll definitely have to be loosened up... you know, before.” “Oh, fuck yeah,” said Jamail. “He'll get split in two otherwise.” A moment later, hard metal replaced the finger as the shower head made its way inside Ben's hole. He felt the warmth of the water begin to fill him inside, and he started to wriggle in Jamail's hold, but the black man clamped down. “Let it in, baby. Let it in. We're gonna fill you up and rinse you out til you're hollow.” Samuel gradually increased the water flow, and Ben felt his belly swell. The current ran across his prostate, stiffening his erection. After a few minutes, he gasped and began to breathe heavily, and Jamail pulled him up. John ran strong hands over Ben's taut and bulging gut. “Hold it in until I tell you,” he said. He went behind Ben and brought his hands around Ben's front and began massaging his abdomen. Ben could feel John's cock pressing against him from behind. Samuel reached down casually and ran a thumb up the underside of Ben's cock, teasing out a long thread of precum. He smirked. “Okay, go to that toilet and let all the water out,” John said. Ben hobbled quickly over and released his bowels, embarrassed, as the others watched intently. After the first release, John came over and massaged his gut again to prompt him to release twice more. “Right,” he finally said. “Let's go again.” “What!” “Til you're hollow,” repeated Jamail. By the third time, Ben didn't think any part of his insides could get any wetter. By the fifth time, Ben began to feel violated. The other three men had started to use their fingers to spread his hole open to peer inside, and explore. After the seventh filling, the water from Ben's ass had all come out clear. “Is he hollow yet?” asked Samuel. “Almost,” said Jamail. Jamail bent Ben over and and Samuel took hold of Ben's cock by the root, behind his balls. Then Jamail inserted two of his long, strong fingers into Ben's waterlogged hole, sought out ben's swollen prostate, and pressed hard. “AH!” cried Ben. “Oh, no!” Ben felt a gush of cum rise up from the depths of him and flow like a stream out his rigid cock. He wasn't cumming – they had just milked him, like an animal. Jamail pressed even harder, and another pulse of white liquid gushed out. Ben felt a wave of shame begin to wash over him... but then he saw their eyes – shining with excitement, with triumph at what they'd been able to make him do. “Now he's hollow,” said Jamail. “Yeah," said Samuel, "but that's wasteful.” “True,” said Jamail, and Jamail reached over and held Ben's mouth open while Samuel, who had caught Ben's cum in the cup of his hand, emptied what he held onto Ben's astonished tongue. Jamail then held his mouth closed, and Samuel stroked Ben's throat until he swallowed. “Now everything's cleaned up,” Samuel said. He, Jamail and John tidied the shower area, gathered their towels, and left Ben on his knees on the tiles, water still dripping out his ass, and the taste of his own semen lingering on his tongue. Ben knew he would never forget that taste. It tasted of something he had done, he himself, with his own body, that had pleased those powerful men. He had excited them. They had been interested in his body, explored his body. What if he could always... He stopped, and shook his head. What was he thinking? What the hell just happened? He shivered suddenly, found his towel and wrapped it around him. How long had he been in this bizarre mansion, anyway? It was time to find the door... “Benjamin,” said a voice over an intercom, deep and foundational. “Adjustment Layer.”

In half an hour our plane would land and I would be home. Too bad, I thought. I enjoy flying. At least, I enjoyed it when I could get a window seat and look out at the cloud tops. They always made me feel free and completely unbound. This had been a particularly good flight for that – a front moving between Dallas and here had set an army of clouds in motion. Had I known what else had been set in motion, I might have enjoyed the sense of freedom more. As we approached the last leg of the flight, I turned my attention away from the window to the passenger seated next to me, a slightly older man with a hint of grey in his sideburns. He wore a dark suit and a silver ring on his right hand, with a striking stone set in it, a swirling mix of translucent gold and amber that transfixed my eye. I seldom spoke to other travelers, but this time I asked, “Pardon me, but what is that stone?” He looked away from the portfolio he was inspecting and glanced at me, then the ring. “It is pietersite,” he said, “also known as 'tempest stone'. It is symbolic of control.” “Ah. I see. Very nice.” His voice was deep and foundational. I caught a glimpse of the contents of the folio, which had spread open as he spoke. In it were photographs of naked men, taken in sexually vulnerable poses. I looked up quickly, and found him staring at me intently. “Does this offend you?” he asked, opening the folio so I could see it plainly. “Um... no,” I said, not looking at it. “I guess I just never quite understood how anyone could have something like that open on an airplane.” The man was silent for a few moments, considering. Then he said, “I've met many men like you. All too common. Men whose lives are stifled by needless constraint, self-imposed limitation, pointless morality, or simple fear of the unfamiliar. Men whose potential goes unrealized, or worse, wasted.” He closed the folio. “I, on the other hand, seize life. I enjoy the things I want to the full. I experience no frustration or anger, but simply employ my strengths without hesitation and act upon my desires.” He leaned toward me, and his voice dropped. “You do not have to be as you are. You do not have to live a small, uncertain life. You can experience what it is for a man to have exactly what he wants.” “Wh-what do you mean?” He reached into the jacket of his suit and pulled out a card. “Come for dinner at my home. I will explain. Shall we say Wednesday next, 7:00? Please be punctual.” Then he turned away as if I were not there at all. Shortly we landed, and in the bustle of bags and disembarking, he disappeared. His card bore no name. It simply said ANDROS MANOR and gave the address of a very upscale area on the outer reaches of the city, on the banks of the river. * I would have been made to accept such an invitation. The man didn't sound normal, after all, and the material he was looking at certainly wasn't something the average Christian missionary would be carrying around (well, you never know). Yet somehow he had plucked a string inside me that resonated – I had been aimless for so long, wanting something more in life. Maybe everybody does sometime or other, wonder whether he's failing to grab the brass ring in his life. Anyway, something he said intrigued me. So, on the following Wednesday, I called an Uber and found myself at the gate of Andros Manor. “Dude...” said the Uber driver when he saw my destination. “Posh. Should I wait?” “Nah. I'm going to have dinner before I go home. Thanks for the ride.” I paid him and he drove off, then I pressed the button at the gate. A camera moved on its mounting to point at me, then the gate swung open, allowing me access to the long path to the front doors. A butler – of sorts – greeted me at the door. He was a handsome man, short-haired, dressed in a white sleeveless shirt with a cantonese collar, a black vest, and black pants, but bare feet. He gestured inward with a muscled arm, but did not speak. Andros Manor boasted masculine architecture; robust stone columns supporting spacious interiors with angular, not curved, beams of solid oak. Ample outside light shone through broad windows of stained glass in colors of light yellow to rich red-gold. Rugged oak furnishings occupied flagstone floors among relatively spartan walls, decorated only with only isolated paintings, strategically placed to catch the light – but each painting seemed inspired by something from the likes of the pages of the grey man's folio. By this time I half expected to be led into a massive dining hall with a twenty-foot-long banquet table with a seat at one end and a seat all the way at the other, and four different forks next to the plate. When the butler escorted me in, however, I found my host seated at a modest round oak table with four chairs, ordinary if quality settings, and a roast beef steaming in the center. He rose. “Welcome, my friend. I had so hoped you would join us. I knew you would, from the moment I saw your eyes. You have the look of exactly the sort of man who can hear the truth when it's spoken to him. It's a rare man who can learn simply from being told something, don't you find? Most have to learn the hard way, but I could tell you are a man of intelligence. Please! Join us at table.” The “us” he referred to included two other men, slightly younger than myself, I thought, one Asian, one black, both uncommonly good-looking and well-proportioned. They were both dressed in the same way as the butler. I sat opposite my host. The two at my right and left observed me intently, with peculiar smiles. “These are Samuel and Jamail,” the Grey Man said, “dear friends of mine whom I have asked to join us for dinner. They are gentlemen who share my philosophy of life. You have met my butler, John, of course. John, would you mind?” John came around and set glasses of wine in front of each of us, mine last, which gave me a moment of surprise; I don't drink, but it seemed like a very bad time to mention it, so I decided to just go with it. “John, one for yourself as well; please join us. A toast, gentlemen!” said the Gray Man, raising his glass. “To Men – To their power and desire, and to those who fulfill it body and soul! Now drain your cups!” I have no idea what tastes good or bad in wine, because it all tastes bad to me, but I managed to get it all down. Then we sat to eat. “I'm sorry,” I said to my host, “I didn't catch your name.” “You may recall my saying to you on the plane,” he replied, “that you can experience what it is for a man to be exactly what he wants. The question is, how does a man know exactly what he wants? Can you say that you know?” “Ah – well - “ I fumbled for an answer. “I doubt you can. There, you see, is where most fail. The map is useless without the destination. There is no purchase without the coin.” The smell of the roast beef swept over me strongly; it seemed unusually fragrant. The bare foot of one of the other men, Samuel, bumped into my calf. He smiled at me. The Gray Man continued, “I have learned, now that I am a man of means, that the greatest gift that I can bestow on another man is not material goods, or influence, but to give him knowledge of himself. I make it my business to find those capable of receiving the gift of understanding who they truly are and what they are truly meant to become. Once they receive that knowledge, I then use my power to ensure that they reach that potential.” My hands began to feel numb. I dropped my fork. Jamail, to my right, picked it up and used it to raised a bite of wild rice to my lips. In a growing daze, I allowed him to feed it to me. Samuel, I noted, had begun rubbing my left thigh. “You,” the Gray Man said, “are the raw clay of ambition. I doubt you have any driving goal of your own, but you are still young enough that the desire to become something of great worth burns like a fire within you. Yes. You will become something of very great value to many men. You made the decision yourself, this day, when you chose to come to this place. No one chose that for you. Everything that happens from this moment forward is the result of your own choice. Remember that. This is what you have chosen for your life. I warmly congratulate you, and I will ensure your success.” My vision began to swim. The room seemed to swelter. “Some water... please?” I said (I think). Then Jamail pulled back my chair and began unbuttoning my shirt, and Samuel positioned himself between my legs and deftly released my belt and unzipped my pants. Between them they alternately pushed and lifted me so they could remove both articles, leaving me in my briefs, while John handed me a small glass of water. The air on my body felt better, but the water tasted odd. It did not help my twirling head. Then someone held something under my nose and told me to breathe very deeply. After a moment my consciousness became aware only of the sensations of my body and the instructions of the man telling me to breathe even more deeply again. The last thing I knew was that someone... Jamail... was cutting my briefs off my body with a steak knife, and I heard Samuel whisper in my ear, ”You are soooo fucked.” Then hands, all over my body, and I saw black.

What an interesting topic. So often I’m taken from behind by men who don’t give a tinker’s damn about my eyes, I seldom get to see theirs... But every once in a while a Top will come along who wants to stare into my soul while he breeds me, and positions me so he can gaze into my eyes. Those eyes trasfix mine - I can’t look away, can hardly even blink - yet I hardly ever notice their color. I wonder if it’s because by that point most men’s pupils are very dilated... in fact, the only sense I can recall is of being intimately fucked by men with dark, hungry eyes...

Guys, just a reminder - whoring out is one of my favorite topics, but our ability to talk about it here depends on us not giving any impression that units of exchange are in any way involved. We’ve got to make sure the site doesn’t draw legal attention so RawTop can keep the place open for us to be ourselves in.

I've been conditioned to orgasm so easily that there's no way I could ever let it interfere with what a Top wanted to do or keep doing. Plus, I often get the cum fucked out of me, so I'm used to giving up my own cum at a Top's whim and then just carrying on. In some ways, my ability to let another man own my orgasm is one of the results of my training I'm most proud of.

The gold standard for me is for a Top, and especially one with a plus-sized cock, finds a position where he is able to penetrate me as deeply as he possibly can - and holds it there until he's sure I realize how completely he's taken me. Another favorite moment, and it doesn't happen every time, but often, is when the Top's fucking gives way to instinct. I can tell because of the way he suddenly mounts me from behind, on top of my legs, bunches up his ass and thigh muscles, angles his cock for reproduction, and starts rutting me. His animal fervor becomes infectious, and my mind abandons all thought except that I am a pulsing cunt made to receive his load. The other thing that I live for sexually is when I'm being fucked in front of other people. Sometimes I'll have a moment when I look around me at all the eyes watching what the Top is doing to me, and I think to myself, They can all see. They will all always know that another man fucked me. They saw me cum. They can see anything they want and there's nothing I can do. Then my eyes roll back and close, and I let the feeling wash over me while the Top continues his work, and the others keep watching.

Not at all. I'm not saying you owe this dude anything, either. If you've found personal fulfillment and growth (like I have) in giving yourself to the pleasure of anonymous men, then I hope you'll be able to forget about this guy and glory in it.

I worded that badly. It was not my intention to call you an asshole, but to suggest that you use that term as a tactic in describing yourself to the other guy. Self-deprecation can be disarming, and you want to cast yourself in as unfavorable a light to him as possible to dissuade him from pursuing you. I still believe that this may be a self-inflicted problem, but by that token it may be that no one can solve it but you.

Of course it’s possible. You have a hole; with enough force, a cock can penetrate it. It’s just a question of overcoming friction. How naturally wet you are inside will determine how much discomfort is involved. Personally, I don’t understand why any Top would choose to fuck a dry socket - a *very* satisfied Top who was thoroughly enjoying me the other day just kept repeating, “It’s sooo wet!” I lube up for satisfaction.

I’m sorry, but this now sounds like a problem entirely of your own making. You do not paint a picture that inspires sympathy. Judging by your account, you calculatingly used another boy for his friendship and then threw him away when you felt you had grown better than him. You mock the fact that he developed an attaction to you (that will clearly be unrequited), and cruelly throw it in his face by taking meaningless anon cock right in front of him minutes after you walk right past him. Please disregard my earlier advice. The kindest thing that you can do is tell him plainly that you’re an asshole who only ever used him and now wants him to fuck off. That way he can be free of you and move on, hopefully, to find someone who appreciates him.

You say that you realized that after you stopped being buddies that he wanted it to be more than that - in what way could you tell? Was there an incident, and how did you handle it at that time? In terms of him knowing where you live, are you concerned that he will tell your parents about your visits to the park? The simplest protection against this is to point out to him that if he makes such a claim he would have to explain why he was there as well. Of course, he could always do so anonymously, but that would give you latitude to explain it away as someone simply trying to cause trouble for a reason that you invent. Be wary of him taking photographs. You say you think it could get scary. Do you consider him threatening or violent? Do you feel as though he might harm you physically? Simply ignoring him is unlikely to resolve the matter, at least in the near term. If he attempts to speak with you, perhaps you could simply ask, "Is there something you want with me?" and use that as a basis from which to explain that you know that the two of you spent time together in the past, but right now you're moving on with a different part of your life, and you wish him the best. Express it with firmness and finality, and leave no room for doubt, but try to sever the connection as amicably - or at least as neutrally - as possible.

I couldn't really find a choice in the poll that fit me, to be honest. I think maybe it's because I perceive a difference between arousal and lack of hygiene. I think this has a lot to do with the source of the smells in question. Apocrine sweat glands are located in places like the underarms, genital area, and perineum. Apocrine glands are usually involved in emotional sweating related to fear, stress, pain, or sexual stimulation. Most of the smells we're talking about are the result of bacterial decomposition of apocrine sweat once it's been secreted; the longer it's on the skin, the longer bacteria has time to break it down. So, if a guy hasn't washed for a week, the bacteria have had quite a while to work up an odor. But by that time, the potency of the odor may not just signal arousal - it may also signal that you're covered with bacteria, and thus put some guys off. I'm probably one of those. I like men's sex smells, but not their odors. A light muskiness is pleasant, but not a rank pit or foot. When a guy has been horny for a couple of hours (or even for a day or two) I can get heady from the smell of his cock and his perineum when I get my face into it. But I've been presented with nut sacks of men who clearly haven't washed in a week, and I can't do it. It's ironic, as my sense of smell is lousy, but it knows when the fruit is too fucking ripe. And ass odors are a non-starter for me, I'm afraid, but that's why I take cock up my own, which I can be sure of keeping clean. When I'm hosting (such a quaint word; think 'slutting') in my hotel room, I try to keep tabs on my own scent. I arrive washed and clean, but without any sort of deodorant. Then, after each fuck, I check myself to see whether I've reached the point where I would consider myself too unclean/smelly (Would I fuck me?). If I'm okay, I'll wipe myself down but not so much that I eliminate the smell of sex on me, and get my ass back up in the air. If I'm a bit ripe, I'll wash up until I get to an acceptable point, but not squeaky clean - unless I get a specific request from a man who asks me to "please be showered and ready". That sometimes happens, too. In most circumstances, there's not much I can do about the cum leaking out of my ass, regardless, so I don't worry about it. And if I end up bumming a little myself along the way... I have been known to dab a little of it up around my neck just so the scent lingers...

Oh dear... ‘slimvbottom’... that’s... unfortunate.

I sometimes describe myself as an “insatiable” bottom. For me, this is simply an accurate description, because I have honestly never yet reached a point where I wouldn’t have liked to have had at least one more cock. Even after some thug brutally fucks my hole and leaves it in poor shape to handle another cock, I’ll still take the other cock because the mind is still willing. But every now and then I run across a Top who will say to me, disapprovingly, “You’re insatiable. You can never get enough.” I’m not sure what to make of this, inless the Top is telling me he thinks that I place no value on our personal interaction. In fact, the opposite is true - when someone is inside me, he is the focus of my world - I pour everything I have into that coupling, and let him take all of me he wants. Perhaps it’s the intensity of that connection that makes me crave another each time, but I treasure each experience. How do you feel about “insatiable”? Do you avoid such guys? Seek them out? Please share your thoughts and experiences.

I’ll be back in Indianapolis on Friday, October 12 hosting in my hotel room for breeding Tops. Open door, anon okay. Contact me to be given the room number. On Saturday, October 13, I will be giving it up all day long and through the CumUnion party at night at The Works bathhouse, until about 1:00am. Contact me to get my room no. there, or just find me in my silver collar and fuck me in the steam room, in public, or wherever you want. From 2:00am until 10:00am Sunday I’ll be back in my hotel room taking cock again. **If you are a Top who enjoys whoring out another man, I’ll make myself available to you. I’m for real, I’ve done it before, I don’t flake, and I can take cock. Hit me up.**

@deeptopjock - I can see why a certain sort of Top (my favorite kind ? ) might take particular pleasure in having control over another man’s sexuality and choosing who fucks him - because he has hands-on involvement (as it were) or is otherwise involved in the proceedings first-hand. It’s less clear to me why a Top would be willing to spend time to orchestrate these arrangements from a distance, if the only pleasure he derived was the knowledge that his work was resulting in a bottom far away getting bred. If, as a poster above mentioned, an arrangement were made for photos or video, it would be more understandable, but I just wondered if you could explain the appeal of this to you. I think it’s great, by the way, that you would do this, regardless of your reasons. I very much hope to one day encounter a Top who would want to whore me regularly. I would put out so much ass...

Sorry for the confusion - My error was in assuming that the Truvada used for PrEP would be, or could be, the same formulation as in the Genvoya I’ve been taking for two years. Which begs the question: If the FDA considers it safe and effective enough for patients to take as ART, why isn’t it considered safe and effective for use as PrEP? Perhaps @barecub85 could shed some light on this?

For an excellent sampler of the work of a number of contemporary artists in gay male erotica, I highly recommend a book titled Stripped: The Illustrated Male (2006, Bruno Gmünder), if you can find it. It’s probably out of print, but the publisher, Bruno Gmünder, is very much still in business, and you can find book compilations of some of the best in the field. Go to brunogmuender.com. It’s a German site, but look under Büchen (books) and then Comics. They don’t just have books, either. If you want to dress like a Tom of Finland man, they can set you up. They also have the single most horrifying ass plug I have ever seen. Leave it to the Germans...

PrEP, or Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis, is usually accomplished via a prescription for Truvada (tenofovir). But not all Truvada is the same. A 2015 study funded by Gilead, the makers of Truvada, compared the safety and effectiveness of tenofovir disoproxil fumarate (the standard formulation for Truvada) and the newer tenofovir alafenamide. The results found that Tenofovir alafenamide showed equal or slightly better results in viral control and significantly less risk of renal and bone toxic effects. tenofovir disoproxil fumarate, taken over the long term, predisposes the user to the possibility of kidney disease, and bone loss that can result in more frequent breaks. If you're on PrEP, take a close look at the formulation of the version you're taking. If it contains tenofovir disoproxil fumarate, ask your doctor if there's an alternative available containing tenofovir alafenamide. Both should be coformulated with other drugs like cobicstat, elvitigravir, and emtricitabine, but it's the tenofovir you need to look at. Which all just goes to prove that there ain't no free lunch, men. If you want to read the study yourself, you can find it at: http://www.natap.org/2015/HIV/PIIS014067361560616X.pdf