leatherpunk16

I almost never notice when he's put his load into me. I nearly always have to ask if he did it. There's no interior feeling or warmth or anything for me. Maybe the cumshots are too small for me to notice? Or maybe I'm broken.

As yet, I have never once had a guy who was actually MY ideal type. Whether I was top or bottom, it simply hasn't happened, so there's been a lot of compromise and lowering of standards, sometimes to my regret. When a man appears before me with a large cock, I willingly waive the question of his appearance. If I have my face buried in a pillow or am facing a direction where I don't have to look at him, I can imagine an appearance that I like better. I'm all about the cock at that point. Similarly, when a decent-looking guy made himself available to me, I gave into his dick or hole, and let myself have a good time with him. Regardless of dick size or tightness of hole, we fucked. Sometimes it was worth it. Other times, meh.

Since you freaks can't wait, I'll put in the 2nd part now. ------------------- Part 2 Rick led me down the narrow steps into the basement of the brownstone, still grasping my dick. I could smell a little mildew and the remains of a recently-burned cigar. The beige-carpeted floor seemed unusually stiff under my feet. To my great surprise, we encountered no cobwebs that basements are known for growing. Rick opened a door on his right, which led to an enclosed room with the furnace and water heater, and another door beyond them. Rick unlocked this door, finally releasing my throbbing cock (which was begging for release at the anticipated event). He went into the lightless room, flipped a switch on the wall, and it was suddenly illuminated in dark red. I could make out a sling, shelving on one wall with a variety of bottles that I assumed were either lube or alcohol, a large number of small identical cases that were probably porn DVDs, and an odd-looking chair in an opposite corner. The details of the room were not immediately clear to me, and the deep red of the lights confused my view. Rick closed the door, and ordered me to strip naked. As I did so, he stood silently against the wall and watched me. I gathered up my clothes, which he took and placed somewhere on the other side of the dungeon. “Hop in the sling,” Rick ordered. “I’ll be just a minute.” I did as he instructed, and climbed into the sling. The springs squeaked under my weight, and I began to put my feet through the holders. As I was doing this, Rick was doing something that I couldn’t clearly see, and I heard movement, but my activity with the feet kept me from focusing on whatever he was doing. I heard a drawer open, a little rustling, two sharp snaps, and the drawer closing. I had my feet elevated fairly quickly and awaited his return. I heard a metallic “click”, then the hiss of a torch. The sudden illumination allowed me to see that he was lighting not one but TWO thick cigars. He got the cherry burning in each, and the room was suddenly fragrant with the odor of sweet tobacco. Rick walked over to me and stuck one of the cigars in my mouth. “We’re going to blacken your lungs, faggot,” he said with a shift in his voice. I started to protest, “I don’t smoke, buddy,” but he stuck it in my mouth mid-sentence. “Trust me, you do now. You wanna be a poz pig like me? This is part of that. Optional, but much better if you give in to it. Let me know if it’s too strong for you.” I took a draw on the stick. The acrid taste of burning tobacco filled my mouth, and although I expected it to be akin to a mouthful of fire, it was not. Not one bit. Smooth and cool, and actually quite flavourful. It was clear I had no say in this matter, so I at least gave it a chance. I stuck the big thing in my jaw, and just got used to the feeling. I think I like a cock there better, but whatever. Rick walked to the shelf with the bottles and kept his back to me. I had correctly guessed they were lube bottles. He took one down, popped it open, and turned it upside down to pour into his hand. He might have been checking the thickness of the lube because he closed it loudly, put the bottle back on the shelf, wiped his hands, and got a different one. Rick opened the new bottle, poured some into his other hand, and closed the lid. “This’ll do.” He returned to the sling and placed the bottle in the holder. I tried to regulate my breathing, but between anxiety and the unexpected cigar, it resulted in a lot of loud exhalations. Rick noticed the gar burning in my jaw, and with annoyance, he said, “Hey, those are expensive. Smoke it right or die.” I took the burning rod in my hand and let instinct guide me on smoking it, though I had no idea what I was doing. Rick placed his own cigar in a nearby ashtray, and began to undress. His body was almost totally white as if he had never spent an hour in the sun in his life. The frame was just as I remembered - slender with no muscular development, and a bit of a paunch at the bottom of his abdomen. His dick was a sight to behold - a good eight or nine inches with no foreskin, average thickness, and curved slightly upward. I didn’t get a good look at his ballsack, but I remember they were not particularly droopy. A brown mole sat on the right side of his pelvis. And then I saw something new -- a small but unmistakable biohazard tattoo on the opposite side. Why had I not noticed it before? “Oh, right”, I thought to myself. “He was wearing a jockstrap that night in the bathhouse. The waistband probably covered it so it would be a surprise for anyone lucky enough to remove it.” Rick took the lube bottle in his hand and slicked himself up. Then he brought the bottle right to my butthole and squeezed it hard to get the lube inside me. He began to push hard on the bottle as well, and I felt the breach of plastic in my sphincter. “Ouch,” I said. “Take it easy.” “I thought I told you to smoke, fucker.” This guy had flipped a switch since we were upstairs. I was no longer with a trusted friend, but a guy bent on doing some damage to me for the fun of it. I found myself holding my breath a bit while this passed through my mind. Then Rick replaced the bottle in the holder, crossed the room again, and after wiping his hands, took up his cigar again. He pulled hard on it, and turned back to me. His nose jet resembled a dragon, ready to spit flame and fire at me. It was fucking hot. I was now more acclimated to the cigar, and the room began to get a little foggy. Rick returned to me, and bent over my waiting form in the sling. He got right in my face, and said, “This is your last warning. Are. You. Sure. Because when this train begins, there is no stopping it until you are bred.” Again with the doubt! I trusted him, and while I was enjoying the dominance he was displaying, his demeanour was not something I had mentally prepared for. My mind screamed, “Do not do this!” But I brushed it away, and all hope of reversing this scene was lost when I answered him, “I have to know. I want to be a poz pig.” He weighed my answer with no change of emotion or expression, and without warning, he rammed his cock into me. I winced in surprise, almost burning my chest with the lighted cigar. “Then welcome to hell,” he growled in a low voice. “You’re going to die today. But don’t forget - you asked for it!!”

Thanks guys. I'll have more later in the week. I didn't realize how long it would be, so I'm breaking it up into sections. That way you don't have to power through it all in one sitting.

Disclaimers: This is my first story on BZ. This story is based on an actual experience. Feel free to contribute your own ideas to help me flesh out the story - I'm not really a writer, but I felt this had to be told. Enjoy, piggies! ---------------------------------------------- Part 1 The heat of a July afternoon in the Midwest can get really intense. But I barely noticed it as I drove toward the metropolis with an anxiety in my stomach. The car sped along the highway merrily as I grew ever closer to my destination… and my destiny. Five weeks since, I decided to take a bold step. I’ve been a bugchaser for years, but I really didn’t act on those urges and try to get myself infected. They just happened as part of the ho life, and I dealt with them accordingly. I’ve had a few STDs - the usual maladies of chlamydia and gono and the like - but this time, I was chasing down a big one. Sorta. I got in touch with a friend who has been positive for many years, and undetectable. Rick is known for HIV activism in his community, including volunteering for the clinic and AIDS hospice. He ran for a leather title a few years back and his platform that won him the title was about love and acceptance of the afflicted not only in his community but worldwide. So it’s a curious thing that he agreed to do this for me. Because I can’t get bugchasing and converting out of my head, I hatched a hair-brained scheme to find out for myself what the other successful chasers were raving about. I asked Rick to pretend to poz me. “Dude, that is not okay!” was his opening response to my request. “This bug is no picnic to live with. I get it’s not a death sentence like it used to be, but this shit will fuck you up, and your hunger to get charged up will get you in trouble.” I was prepared for this. “Rick, it’s just fantasy,” I answered. “All you have to do is fuck me like the bitch that I am, and work some poz talk into the scene. I’m not asking you to come off your meds so I can live this fantasy. It’s just that. Fantasy.” Rick went silent for a while. I suddenly felt like I crossed a line. When he finally spoke again, he said calmly, “I’m gonna send you some links to websites, some information. You don’t seem to be educated on what this all involves, and if you’re serious about doing it, then you should be informed of the commitment this lifestyle requires. And believe you me, this WILL change your life in ways you can’t imagine, Steve.” “Okay, I’ll take a look at it.” “I’m serious, Steve,” he quickly said insistently. “What you’ve asked me to do is really disrespectful, and I … I really need to think about this. I admit I’m attracted to you, and after seeing your sweet hole that night at the bathhouse, I wanted to pound you into oblivion. But I don’t appreciate you asking me to violate my boundaries like that, even though I’m undetectable, and yes it’s just play, but I’m concerned you’re going to go and seek out the real thing.” True to his word, Rick emailed the information to me. I read it, and only got more turned on. This was something I *needed* to do. Personal fulfilment, Rick’s warnings be damned. Four days after this uncomfortable phone conversation, Rick shot me a text message. “Did you read it? Are you still set on a fake conversion scene?” I hesitated. I didn’t want another lecture. I just wanted to fuck, and convert, and live my new life charging up other guys. “Hi Rick. Yes, I read it,” I texted back. “And yes, I still want to do it.” I didn’t ask him a direct question, and left it for him to fill in the blank. A few minutes passed before he answered. “Okay. I’ll do it. But we are going to have a talk about this in person when you get here. If this is what you want, then I’m going to make sure you never chase again. Understood?” I practically jumped out of my seat when I read this. I didn’t think he’d actually agree to it. I didn’t want to appear over-eager, so I gave a non-committal reply. “Yes, we need to talk about it as much as you think is necessary. When should I come visit?” “Five weeks. How’s the 24th looking for you?” I checked my calendar. I had no commitments that day. “That’s fine.” “Come to the brownstone. 4pm sharp.” Our conversation ended there. As I entered Rick’s neighbourhood, a growing mood of nervousness and anxiety began to manifest itself in my environment. I parked the car a few blocks from the brownstone, and just sat there for a minute. I need to get moving. It’s nearly 4 o’clock, and if I don’t show, I won’t enjoy having to ask him for this again. I looked in the rearview mirror at myself. Something behind my eyes told me Don’t do this. My dick, however, was standing fully erect while my mind raced. Remember, you’re totally safe. He’s undetectable, you’re going to be fine. And his monster dick will make you feel good. That was all the convincing I needed. I exited the car, paid for my spot, and began the trek to the brownstone. Rick was waiting for me outside when I arrived. I could smell his fat cigar well before I actually saw him. He was seated on the patio, scrolling mindlessly through his phone while hauling hard on a cock-sized stogie. He wore a simple t-shirt over his slender, underdeveloped frame, and tight khaki shorts, and had his aviators over his eyes. While not the picture of masculinity, there was a certain sexiness about the whole look. I walked over to his table, and could see a near-empty water bottle. The wind blew gently giving us a short break from the humidity of the afternoon. “I’m here,” I cheerfully announced. Rick looked up from his phone. “Good to see you made it, Steve.” He stubbed out the half-smoked cigar, and rose from his chair. The water bottle rolled off and I bent over to catch it, and missed. I suddenly felt his hand on my ass. “Hey, we’re not doing this out here,” he said. “But thanks for the preview!” “Let’s go inside,” I said, smirking. “I’ve gotta piss so bad I can taste it.” “Dirty boy! But later!” he said with a laugh. We entered the brownstone, and Rick sidestepped so I could rush to the bathroom and relieve myself. I unzipped, and my piss poured forth in a hot, thick stream of golden yellow. I couldn’t believe how much I was holding, but I also had to remember how much water I drank on the way here. The road to the city is a long one, and combined with July heat made for a very thirsty chaser. After washing my hands, I left the bathroom and found Rick on the couch, quite comfortable. He poured a drink for each of us, and patted the seat next to him gently. The conversation was more of what we discussed on the phone, and was frequently a carbon-copy of that conversation. “This really isn’t my thing,” Rick admitted. “When I was first diagnosed, I had to think of all the guys I played with around that time. And because I didn’t know I was positive, I infected someone I really liked.” He seemed to be remembering it as if it were yesterday. “When he got sick, I felt so guilty. I locked myself in my room for days, and just couldn’t stop crying. Not for me, but for this guy. And I had the unhappy duty of telling him in person that I was the one who pozzed him. He socked me right in the nose for that, and I never saw him again. Too bad. Dave was a sweet guy.” “You don’t know what happened to him?” I asked. “Nope. He blocked me on social media, and although I looked for him at the clubs a couple times, he was just gone. It broke my heart. So I want you to know that your actions today will have consequences that will hurt others if you’re not careful.” “I am quite prepared,” I said. “You did a good job educating me on the subject, and I am making the choice that is right for me.” I wasn’t about to let him change my mind because then we might not fuck. Rick then took one of my hands, and squeezing it, he said, “Are you ready?” His tone was all seriousness, and he was letting me know that I was in control of what happened next. Doubt crossed my mind for a second. I think it was at this point when I began to feel the most nervous about it. “Yes,” I answered as fearlessly as I could. He released my hand, and exhaled loudly through his nose. Rick then looked away, giving one of his thousand-yard stares that he was known for when something that questioned his morals crossed his path. “Okay,” he said with resignation. “If this is REALLY what you want, okay. I’ll help you. But remember - you asked for it, and if you can’t handle the fantasy, you have the power to stop it.” Something about the way he said that made me wonder what kind of script he was going to follow. And my hard dick made itself known again. Rick saw the rise in my shorts. “I think I already know the answer,” he said with a smile, grabbing my growing cock. He stood up while holding on to my swelling member, and said, “Come on. Let’s do this.” I obediently followed Rick to his playroom, guided all the way by his pulling of my dick.

Or he knows very well what the Sir is doing. Servants hear much more in a house than most people realize.

The first guy who nailed me ALWAYS insisted on condoms. He had a nice black python of a dick, thick and full, and I needed that load. He was married and also banging other girls, but I was the one man he was screwing. I think he was more concerned about what the sluts might have given him that he might pass to me. I told him I didn't care about that, and he should just do it raw. I certainly didn't have anything to share - he was like my 3rd sex partner ever, and the others were years earlier! But he insisted, and as I saw that it was either condom or no fuck at all, I let him do it. Never ended well. Most of the time, the condoms were not quite big enough for him, and he just ended up jacking off over me. I never once got that sweet load.

I used to trade underwear in my early porn days. Some guy sent me his bikinis, and I sent him a couple of my Andrew Christians and a thong. I gave away at least two for a charity thing. I don't do this so much anymore, and maybe now that I have some clout, it might be profitable.

I did not have a scene with this guy, but it is the closest I came to one. I moved into a new house in 2012. The dishwasher was barely functional, so as part of the home warranty, we got service on things for no charge. This attractive young guy with a scruffy beard comes over and repairs the problem. When he went to leave, he handed me his business card and said "Call me if you need anything." I looked at it in my hand, then at him, and said "What if I just wanna say hello? 😉" His face turned beet red as my meaning became clear, and he eventually said, "I meant the dishwasher. But yeah, no, I'm married." And that was that. For a couple days, I schemed about breaking the dishwasher so he would come over again, but I never did it.

Yes. I'm mostly polite, and that guy went to the trouble of brewing that load, then sharing it with me. The least I can do is thank him for it. If I had a good time, I at least want the possibility of being asked back, and not leaving the impression of an asshole who just takes and takes without ever acknowledging gratitude. That's just how I function.

Yep, I've got a couple. I was wearing my white one on the night I met my husband. But if you're new to harnesses, remember this: the buckles need to sit over the front of your shoulders, not the back!

I figured it out on my own. What my triggers are, how much to grip, what speed to go at, and whether I like my balls pulled at the same time. Don't think I've ever been caught, though there were a few times I came close! - beating off in my college dorm room, and not a minute after busting the nut, my roommate comes in - my husband and I went to bed, so I started spanking it quietly, but it rocked the bed and he wanted to know "Who put a quarter in YOU?" 😆 - beating off in the downstairs bathroom, and I hear my sister come down the stairs above me Shit like that. Unless I'm with a sex partner, I don't think anyone has caught me with my dick in my hand like that.

Excellent and engaging. You've definitely got a good concept here.

Good. Thank you. I'm poking at a story which kinda requires this unfortunate event, and it provides the catalyst for the resolution of it. Will be unlike anything else on BZ.

Here's one that adds a sober element: We are not allowed to include snuff, yes? Does that also extend to someone taking their own life? This *does* indeed occur within the poz community by people who were diagnosed and can't live with that. Is that sort of thing permitted?

Eh, sorta. I went to Chicago Market Days 2012, and got picked up by a Latin bear at one of the bars. He asked me to go with him to the Alegria party - he had two tickets but no one to go with him - so I agreed. He really liked my looks, so he also invited me to stop at his hotel with him. We fucked, and I was the top. He put a condom on me. I think this guy was married to a woman, and me being a stranger to him, did not trust me to keep his marriage intact. Anyway, we fucked, and almost as soon as I shot my load into the receptacle, he yanked the condom off me! BIG OUCH!! He went to flush it. I hate everything about that story. He was not a good lay, and while he put me up for an overnight in a nice hotel, it was probably one of the least satisfying hookups of my early 30s.

Indeed you did, but what is one without the other?

This is curious to me. PreP is supposed to protect us from getting HIV so we can be big sluts. But how can we be big sluts without a sex drive? What's the point? It's like chemically induced abstinence. I never needed PreP to have a low sex drive - it dropped off while my husband was still alive. It reminds me of a Looney Tunes cartoon in which someone starving had a can but no can opener. Then they had the can opener and the box of cans had floated out to sea. Can't meet the need without BOTH of the ingredients in the same place.

I'm sorry you didn't find that helpful. My advice is based on my own experience and what worked for me. And given the current state of the world, it may not be helpful right at this moment. But I have to agree with Dr Scorpio on this one - it sounds like a confidence issue. And confidence attracts. Your responses to him and to me indicate a poor self-image and perhaps a chip on the shoulder. I will not put you down or make jokes, and most of us here on BZ don't post memes at the expense of others. But I won't continue to make suggestions or give advice if you won't adopt them, and I'm totally okay with that.

Mine is way more recent than a lot of guys here. Here I go with another long-winded story, LOL. When my husband died, I had to clean out our place in a hurry, and get rid of all the sex stuff before his son found it. I grabbed a large box that was full of condoms he had collected over the years from Pride and IML and such events, and had stored jeremy case he ever needed them. (Not that he used them, lol.) I brought them home with me, put them in a drawer, and forgot about it. Nearly two years after his tragic death, I found the box right where I placed it. I looked at this and thought "All these condoms, and they are far too old to even consider using. Screw it, I'm a bugchaser now, they're toast." And I threw them out. And I cleaned the entire drawer to make sure none escaped my purge. The ONLY time I will accept condoms anymore is if they are in a packet with lube packets. I'll separate them later.

When I was 18, I was engaged in creating my first opera production. It was a studio recording of an obscure show meant for the stage, but I had no money or singers to mount it, so we did a studio recording. I cast around the area for a studio, and found one just a couple miles from my home. I went and met the owner - a known local musician whose name I mercifully withhold. He's known for reggae and funk music, and was operating his own recording studio in those days. A tall black man in middle age (I'll call him Ben for this story) met me and showed me the studio. We had our recording done there, and he would quite randomly call me long after it was concluded. I didn't know what he wanted, but I put it down to trying to drum up additional business from me. Nearly two years later, Ben is still after me for some reason. He catches me during the day (for once), and tells me something deeply personal. He's bisexual, and he's had an attraction to me since the day I came to his studio. He wants to suck my dick. I was shocked. This guy was married, and had kids, and was so bold in his statement that I didn't know how to respond. But I knew I was safe with him, so I told him that I'm gay (which he was probably betting on). We talked about it for a while, and he was frequently beating off over the phone with me. When he came, he'd end the conversation and that would be that until next time. But when I hit 21, it changed. I used his studio again, and when he had me all to himself, he made his move. We went into the sound booth so we would have a layer of warning if we were going to be disturbed. We just jacked off together while drinking beer. When I was at the university later that autumn, I would jack off and think of that day. I kept wishing that I let him breed me. When I was home for the summer of 2002, he resumed his advances. This time got more aggressive. I had to use his studio one last time, and he wanted an outrageous price for the rental. So I offered him a lower figure "and a good time". He accepted that, and we got together, and fucked. I swallowed his enormous dick which felt great in my virgin throat, and swallowed that entire load. That sealed the deal. As the months became years, we would screw as often as possible, but he never got to breed me. I was too tight, and besides, he always wore condoms. BOOOOOO!!!

It took me YEARS to get to 100. I built that number up by not refusing anyone who showed interest, and I made sure to show some myself. Even for guys I had no sexual attraction to - it was about getting experience with these 2-star and under gays in my town. Eventually I started going to places where the gays congregate. I don't have to go out and think "I've gotta get at least ONE guy tonight!" because that sets me up for disappointment. Especially if I go and find nothing that appeals to me, or the pickings are really slim. I let the sex come to ME on occasion, but I wasted a lot of energy in my youth pursuing specific individuals, which did not serve me. I don't recommend going out with an air of desperation, because it's not attractive and you can end up regretting the results. Some ideas: create a profile on a hookup website. Adam4Adam or ManHunt or Recon (if you're a fetish guy) will do. Would stay away from Scruff or Grindr because a lot of guys set up profiles and never come back. Waste of time. Be honest about what you like and yourself. Include pictures - men are very visual and like to see who people are. When the pandemic ends (IF it ends), commit yourself to going to a big gay event - Pride, leather contests (even if you aren't into it that much), IML is a big one but can be scary if you're inexperienced or a vanilla guy. And of course take care of YOUR needs. When you are trying to attract sex partners, you want to show your very best self. Take care of your skin, keep your hair neat, be open to things even if that's not your scene (never say "EWW" when proposed a sex act that is not your thing), and KNOW YOUR STANDARDS AND LIMITS. But don't just settle for whatever comes. People get hurt that way, sometimes in ways they can't reverse. And of course, talk to people when you can. Some guys like to get to know someone before they fuck. And when the time does come, let yourself enjoy it. Don't worry about being "good", just be concerned about enjoying the moment. Does this help?

My ribs get in the way. Must be a lot of forward folds.