leatherpunk16

Your first name (or a name you'll respond to): Scott or Shannon Your cell number (for texts and voice calls): no number, I don't need extra calls. Just message me here and I'll see your request. Plan in advance, not sperm of the moment! I won't see messages after 8pm any day. A location (be at least as specific as a zip code): 61109 Times you're generally not available: Sunday mornings, late nights (10pm CST-7am CST) Age: 40 but don't tell anybody Height: 6.1 Weight: 195 and growing Ethnicity: Irish

All right, you asked for it, lol. Here's the final instalment. Epilogue Several months later… I left the crowd behind me as I stepped on to the back porch of the fetish bar, not caring about the almost negative wind chill, and winter’s hateful snowfall. Thank goodness that whole nonsense with the Covid is over, and people are out enjoying themselves again. And the boys are as hungry as ever, making up for lost time, and plundering holes and nutsacks as much as they can. A lot of earlier limits don’t matter so much now - barely legal, geriatric, pretty, overweight, meth heads, toxic - they are all practically foaming at the mouth for sex. The best part is they don’t even ask status anymore. I’ve put a significant number of notches in my bedpost since my summer visit with Rick as a result. I pulled the Asylum from my motorcycle jacket’s front pocket, clicked open the torch, and a blaze erupted before my face. I turned the thick stick in my mouth, puffed hard, and when the cherry was fully lighted, off went the torch. Rick was right - I *am* a cigar pig, and while my bank account isn’t too happy with the new deduction (nor are my lungs or my doctor), I don’t give a fuck. I’m connected to this, and it’s a great memory of a man I no longer see. As the smoke curled upward, I began to reflect on how I got here. Rick’s bugs did the trick. I went home and back to my normal life, though by the end of the weekend, I bought a full box of fat cigars, a guillotine, and a torch. My house is now powerfully impregnated with their odor. When my sister came to visit, she said, “It smells like a humidor in here.” And every time I fire up, I remember her saying that and how Rick gave me what I wanted. Then the seroconversion came twelve days later. I awoke in the night, frying and freezing at the same time. The bedsheets were already quite soaked with sweat, and it didn’t take me two seconds to realize that Rick actually did it. All it took was one dose of his toxic poz seed, and my destroyed hole, and we were there. I actually had my doubts prior to this night, and talked myself into believing that Rick refused to break character until I was out the door. Ten bucks says he went straight to his chest of drugs and resumed his medication. Then I got only silence from him. No contact whatsoever. No follow-up, no text saying “Hey, how’s your hole doing?”. Just … nothing. The first morning after the conversion, I texted him briefly. “Yo, Rick. It’s happening. I feel like I’m dying. Congratulations, you’re a poz dad! And thank you.” A few minutes passed, then I got back a single emoji as a reply: 😈 No other words accompanied it. Didn’t hear from him again. I think he’s mad at me. It was entirely his decision to come off the meds, but I think maybe he hates himself for it, and doesn’t want to deal with me. I broke his perfect healthy world with my request, and maybe he couldn’t take the stress of it. I really don’t know what happened. His friends say he’s fine, just “super busy”, but no real details of anything about him or his life. But I choose to not cling to people that don’t want to talk to me, so I let it go after a few weeks. And I was unbelievably horny after I was able to walk again. The sickness lasted only a couple days, and it was no worse than the usual flu, though I did have diarrhea rather badly at the start. And then it was over. But the horn - it never fucking stopped! As soon as I felt like myself again, I got on my hookup sites, changed my status on my profiles, and let the world know I was poz. An avalanche of messages and winks and woofs suddenly popped into my message centers, and I was a very busy boy! My hookups went from me just being a bottom ho to a full-on top poz breeder. After the first three days of constant sex, I had to give myself rest. My dick was rubbed so raw that I was getting a scab on the shaft, and my balls were shooting out less and less cum from being emptied so often. They couldn’t turn it out fast enough! So far, I’ve had eleven confirmed conversions, but most of the others are unknown. They didn’t report any change, so I didn’t ask. I fuck them, I dumped a hot charged load in them, and leave them. On to the next one, and I seldom see the same guy twice. It’s about quantity while I’m still super infectious. Guess I’m making up for lost time, too. Eventually it caught up to me when I nailed a prissy bear, and when I told him, “I’m going to infect you now,” he screamed the walls down until his neighbor came, and seeing the bear in restraints - which was his fantasy - and me naked over him… Well, let’s just say I lost a tooth that day. It’ll be a long time before I go back into that part of the city. But I have no regrets. I would have liked to have more control over when it happened, but as it was my inevitable destiny, I may as well embrace it. And I did. My toxic seeds are being spread by others, some known, others not. And it’s fucking empowering. I’m like a nasty poz god, corrupting countless men’s holes without ever leaving my street. It made me chuckle. While lost in these memories, I realized I’d smoked nearly half the cigar, and have been out here almost twenty minutes. I silently stared at the night sky. So many stars. And for some reason, I said aloud, “The seeds that go out from my body. Look at the stars. I cannot count them, but so shall my seed be.” It was a perverted quote and I found it hilarious. As my mind wallowed in the humor of the situation, I flicked my ash over the wooden balcony. “I never took you to be a biblical scholar,” a voice suddenly said next to me. My head quickly turned to the left to face the voice, but I couldn’t make out the face. The alley back here was too damn dark to see distinctly if it wasn’t directly in front of you, plus this space was quite smoky. The person came closer. My eyes widened. It was him. He gave me the once-over at my new look. “Looks like my work was more thorough than I thought.” I was stunned. “Rick! Shit the bed, how have you been?” I was overjoyed at this unexpected reunion. I hugged him tightly and released him quickly. “I’ve been asking around about you since the summer, and no one could give me a straight answer, but fuck! It’s good to see you!” “Easy, bro,” he said, raising his gloved hand. “After we fucked, I needed to get away, so I took a long trip around America. I needed to be away from people, and Covid, and politics, and just took a long extended vacation. I’m back on the meds, and healthy again.” “That’s good.” “Are you happy with the life you’ve chosen?” His usually musical tone was suddenly monotone and discordant. I looked away for a second. I put the Asylum back in my jaw, and pulled up my leather pants by grabbing the belt buckle with both fists. I posed seductively as if for a motorcycle calendar. My Muir cap tipped slightly, and I said, “What do YOU think?” with a big grin on my face. He gave several small nods of the head in approval. “Very good, you look like a genuine leatherman. But what have you done with my… gifts?” He said that last word rather knowingly. I turned my head away ever so slightly. “Oh, you know, the usual. Seedin’ and breedin’. Staying off the meds as long as I can take it. Life is for the living, and I am doing it on my terms.” Non-committal responses? “Steve, you’re an asshole,” I thought to myself. Rick’s face contorted to incredulity. “You’re still not on them? Dude. Fuck.” He shook his head, blinked once or twice, and sighed. “It’s your life. Do what you want. Also, do this.” He pulled his right hand forward, and for the first time, I saw a chain in his hand as a smaller body came forward from behind him. It was a human pup, completely dressed in his fetish gear. A few extra pounds, but his color was definitely blue, and he didn’t speak unless spoken to. The chain in Rick’s hand ended around the pup’s neck. “Dog. I picked this one up in Florida. MONSTER COCK and deadly as fuck.” Rick said proudly. “I’m showing him a good time while I still can. AND he has a greeting present for you. Dog?” The pup cocked his head, listening. “Give him a Cuban Delight,” Rick said to Dog in an evil voice, followed by a grin to match. “Ruff!” He did his best imitation of dog panting. “You’re gonna die tonight.” I could see a fire behind Dog’s eyes. He was also charged, like Rick and me, but with… something different. Curious. 🤔 I stubbed out my cigar, smiling wickedly. I knew I was about to get another upgrade. “This oughta be good.” THE END

I am not fond of "pussy". Here's how I see it. Hole: for dumping loads Cunt: for well-fisted holes Pussy: something that women and trans people have Sorry, I like men. And men have dicks most of the time. That statement is not imply an anti-trans sentiment, but if you present yourself as a man, and we hook up, I have the expectation to pull off the pants and find a penis. I wouldn't know what to do with the other option.

Thanks for the comments, guys. I just let the words come naturally, and tried to not overimpress with the need to outdo the previous entry. I think I ought to do the follow-up ending. Give me some time, and you'll have it.

Who said it's finished? LOL I might do a follow-up segment, but I'm a little stumped for what to include in it. It's not like I can continue the story, but maybe show how Steve turned out. And ... that's probably about it.

Definitely unplanned for me. I had been seeing a married man on and off for a couple years, and we had been fucking with condoms every time. He was afraid he might give me something that one of his other hos gave to him, so he would always insist on them. I didn't mind. Then on one visit, I was in his studio basement, and we started the usual handjobs and BJs. He turned on bestiality porn, which surprised me because I had never seen or heard of it, and didn't think he'd be into that. We didn't watch it, it was just background noise on a labtop. Anycrap, he got me bent over a barstool and proceeded to fuck me. No condom. It felt amazing. We would have finished, too, but we got interrupted by the early arrival of his student. So we threw clothes back on, rushed upstairs, and he shoved me out the backdoor while letting his student in the front. I tiptoed back to my car, and drove home. Never got that load from him. #sadpanda

I can relate. After breaking up with my first boyfriend, I almost instantly went back to the life that I was missing while I was with him. Two weeks after our breakup, I was nailing a guy in a backroom at a piss party. And I continued to be a ho. Then I met the man who would be my husband. On our second date, we ended up at the Jackhammer in Chicago. And I spotted someone I once played with during that grey area. I fisted him right in front of the guy I was dating. It was clear what colours I sailed under, and instead of the jealousy or anger that would accompany such an act, my man only said, "I want you to do that to ME when we get closer." We spent too much time around such energy that would deviate from a happy relationship, so we decided to quit such places until we DID get closer. But I never stopping hooking up with other guys. I was getting dick and ass left, right, and sideways through those first six months with my man. And he would always say, "You boys go have fun." But it affected our relationship when he would go do those things. Especially since that's what killed him. It upset me that he would be a ho himself, and because of his impulsiveness, he gave me cause to be suspicious. I never got details about his sexcapades, and it was clear that he was withholding information that would answer a few questions. Which is how I got left in the dark about his death. A bareback sex party with a friend of his turned into a meth orgy, and he was never the same after that. Died two weeks after that party. Tragic. We had love. We had sex, but usually with other people. In the long term, I don't think we would have been happy unless it stopped entirely, and we were both too horny and hungry to stop chasing other guys' holes and cocks.

Part 4 Rick undid the straps, and guided me over to a soft-looking couch I had not previously noticed. He put down a dog training pad on the seat, and said, “Kneel on it.” I climbed on to the couch with a wobble, still not fully balancing after he inflicted such torture on my hole. Rick got the lube bottle from the sling, slicked himself up, but gave none to me. I looked at him quizzically. “No lube?” “Nope. Your blood will provide all the lube you need.” I dropped my head as I positioned my ass in the air. Whatever happened next, there was no going back. I wanted to tell him to stop, that I can’t continue because of the bleeding. Blood play isn’t my thing at all. As he climbed on the couch and positioned himself behind me, I let out a small whimper. “This is it,” I thought. “I brought this on myself. But it feels so right...!” This time, Rick’s cock caressed my hole. He let out a soft gasp as he entered me. The lube was nice and cool, but alternated between pain and pleasure. Rick took his time now, and fucked me in a way that suggested he wanted me to feel every second of this. But it didn’t last. The angle was no good, and he kept sliding back off the couch on his left foot. Rick pulled out and stood up to full height. “Flip over,” he ordered. I complied, happy to be back on my back and off my elbows. I raised my legs and pointed the toes at Jebus. Rick got on the couch again, and returned to fucking me. “This hole’s great,” he said. “Good hole… good hole… good hole… good POZ hole…” He was almost in a trance. The instinct to breed and destroy had fully taken over. I couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but I could certainly see his face. It was suddenly angelic - calm, peaceful, relaxed. “This is his natural environment,” thought I. “He’s doing it, and it feels amazing.” I was suddenly in heaven, and forgot to worry about my bleeding rectum. His cock was stopping the bloodflow, maybe? I like to imagine that it was. Rick continued to plow, and then his body felt really hot against mine. I saw his otherwise shapeless physique go tense, and he dropped a bead of sweat on me. His features finally came into full view as he suddenly pitched the head downwards to look me square in the face. “This is it,” he groaned. “Breathe your last as a neg man, Steve. You ready for it?” I gave a dramatic pause. “Yes. Do it,” I fearlessly answered. Rick’s motions increased, his physical power overwhelming me, his rhythms gaining speed. He was drilling me HARD, and pain was becoming the dominant feature of our fucking. His cock rammed in and out of my hole in a blink. He would fully withdraw, then slam back in. Withdrew again, and re-enter with force. My balls began to ache from all the tension and physical assault. And within a few seconds, his torso lurched up toward the ceiling head first as he let out a primal scream of uncharacteristic fury. The deed was done, and his potentially charged swimmers were moving to a new location in my red district. I suddenly envisioned a cartoony image of toxic sperm shooting down a bright red shaft and making a right turn at the gash created by the metallic condom, and it made me chuckle. As Rick’s thrusts slowed to stillness, he asked, “What’s so funny? Hardly a time to be laughing.” I inhaled deeply, and let out a loud sigh of relief. “It was nothing,” I lied. “I just… can’t believe I did that.” He tried to stand up, and nearly fell. “What do you mean ‘what YOU just did’? I think I deserve an honourable mention,” he said jokingly. “Right, sorry,” I quickly answered. “What WE just did. That was incredible.” I decided that the cruel condom didn’t matter, and didn’t even acknowledge it. I wanted to bask in the moment, and consider this crossed off my Fuckit List. So I put my legs down to rest, and just lay there in all our natural juices. Rick let me remain, and went back to the ashtray. He found our cigars had put themselves out, but were not fully smoked, so he relit them. Brought mine back to me for a post-coital smoke. He motioned for me to sit up so he could join me on the couch. I did so. Neither of us spoke, and he just held me in his arms. The post-pozzing bliss was welcoming, and I noticed for the first time how silent the room was. All I could really hear was his breathing, mine, and the occasional sizzle of burning tobacco. As I came down from the high, Rick finally broke the silence. “Steve.” I turned my head toward him as much as my neck would allow. “Yeah?” He hesitated before continuing. “Welcome to the club.” I fully turned myself on the couch to look fully at him. “Club?” I enquired. “Yep,” he said, voice as colourless as glass. “This is what you wanted. And now you’re going to be poz. For real.” I wanted to be horrified, angry, frightened. He deviated from the script completely, and the thought crossed my mind to stick my lighted cigar right in his eye socket. But I felt that wouldn’t do justice to what I was feeling. But exactly WHAT was I feeling? Pride? Horny? Accomplished? Violated? Yes, all four. But three of the four were positive feelings, so I did not respond in hostility. I went for a neutral reaction. “That wasn’t what I asked you to do,” I said in an even tone. “Sure, the sex was great, though the condom surprised me, but this was supposed to be a fake conversion. To see if I could go through with the real thing.” Rick’s facial expression didn’t change. He looked at me stoically and said, “You just did. And how did that make you feel?” I considered it. “Empowered. Bold. Turned on as hell!” He sucked hard on his stogie, and inhaled deeply, saying nothing. Instead of exhaling the smoke, he grabbed my face and shotgunned it into me with a kiss. “Then you were ready.” His breath was hot and dry, and my own cock reawakened at this. I realized I hadn't got off myself, no last neg load, but... maybe I didn't need it? His tone went lower, and he continued, “But if you decide that you’re NOT, you can go to the clinic in the next couple days, and reverse it.” He leaned back on the couch, and propped his left leg upon his right knee. “But I don’t think you will.” Another draw on the cigar. He was serious. He actually came off his meds to poz me. In total conflict with his message for his leather title, he went against his public standards and spread the bug just because his friend asked him to. So I brought it up. “What about your platform? That speech you recited at Mr World Leather about protecting others from the bug?” He practically dismissed the question, saying, “Well, nobody’s perfect.” His hypocrisy actually didn’t bother me. I had what I wanted, and he obliged. He committed fully to the part, and while it wasn’t precisely what I envisioned, the overall result was better and more fun. Better him than some random bathhouse fuck, and that massive dick made it worth it. Another guy might not have been so kind to me, or put in as much variety. And now I knew I could handle it. “You did really well. And I’ll be here if you need help through the conversion,” he said. “But for now, let’s get you cleaned up.” He stubbed out the cigar; I did likewise. We rose from the couch, and he guided me upstairs carefully, completely forgetting our clothes. Rick and I climbed the stairs and went into his bathroom. The place was spotlessly white. I wish I could say the same for my ruined butthole. “Stand in the tub and face the back wall,” he said kindly. I did as requested, and placed my hands on the wall for support. “You’re not going to start rimming me, are you?” Didn’t want this dude felching out the load or drinking my blood. That would be too much. “Naw, we’re just gonna have a look at your gape,” he said, getting down to his knees to see. He probed gently with a finger, and silently inspected. “Yep, it’s in there, all right,” he finally announced. “And it looks like the bleeding stopped.” I turned round to face him. “The tear is actually very small.” He put both his hands on my shoulders, and faced me head on. I dropped my head and gaze in submission. “Look at me, Steve.” I raised my head and suddenly felt shame. “Are you okay?” I blinked once, maybe twice. “Yeah, I will be.” He looked satisfied. “Okay. But remember -- you asked for it!!”

I got some this summer, but not at all what it used to be.

I had a similar experience. In 2016, I went home with a guy after a leather contest, and we fucked. He bled all over my dick, and THEN told me that he is positive. The nice guy I came home with was very different once we got naked, and I was already not attracted to him. Looked different out in public, and yes I could see nor was I wearing the beer goggles. The blood freaked me out. He said was undetectable, but I didn't trust him, so I don't know. When Monday came, I called the clinic and said what happened in full detail. The receptionist said this was a non-exposure, and there's nothing to worry about. So yes, chances are super low and would require unusual circumstances to poz a top.

Note: I introduced a couple new elements I have no experience with, and I hope I got them mostly right. If they're wrong, I'm sure you'll tell me, and accept that THIS part is what makes it fiction. LOL ----------------------------- Part 3 The hips began to thrust, and I felt every inch of him inside me. His balls were smacking against mine - there was no warmup to this at all, not even a courtesy finger - and Rick fucked like an animal. It was everything I dreamed it would be. I found it hard to hold the cigar while we rocked back and forth, so I wedged it back in my jaw. Rick did likewise with his own, and continued to nail me. “You’re a filthy chaser, aren’t you,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question. “Mm-hmm,” I said, gasping for air. Man, this sensation in my ass was incredible! I thought it would hurt without the warmup and relaxation of the hole, but there was indeed enough lube to keep his dick from burning me from the inside out. I could feel it running down my buttcheeks on occasion. I drew hard on the cigar as best I could; being a novice with it, I was not successful. There was far more suck than there was smoke, and Rick said surprisingly little about it after the last command about it. Rick slowed down his strokes, and began to pull nearly out before thrusting back in. My hole loved this sensation. “Yeah, take it, you fucker,” he whispered. “This is… what you… goddamn bugchasers… deserve! I’m … gonna poz this hole… so fucking hard… you will never… want to chase… AGAIN!” I answered him not, and just let him do what he knew how to do best. At length, Rick removed my feet from their suspensions, and placed them over his shoulders. I held on to the straps of the sling for support as he pulled me deeper toward him. This was either heaven or hell, I couldn’t tell which. “Ugh… I came off my meds for this,” Rick said. “You better appreciate what I’m giving you.” That got my attention. “Was he…? No, he wouldn’t! This is just fantasy, this is just fantasy, part of the script, he’s not toxic…” I was mentally trying to convince myself that I was totally safe, and it was all talk. Part of the experience. I tried to not tighten up in reaction. Rick grew bored of this position quickly, finding he had nowhere to thrust to, so he stopped momentarily. “Get up, and go get in the chair,” he said with an effort. His breath was definitely shorter, and I could see already a sheen of sweat glistening. I pulled myself to standing, and instantly felt the lube run down my right leg. While getting my balance, I looked at the small puddle that formed on the mat beneath us. The lube was there, certainly, but something else. It looked a little red. “Must be a trick of the lighting,” I thought. I definitely didn’t FEEL like he tore me open. I turned round in the small chamber, and saw what he wanted. The leather chair I spied when we came in. As I got near it, I could see it was no ordinary seat. It looked… different somehow. It had a flat back, straps all over it, and two hard-looking footrests. “Is this a Lucifer chair?” I asked with interest. Rick didn’t answer the question, but gave a low, throaty chuckle. I climbed in, and continued smoking quietly. I wasn’t going to ruin the scene with a lot of chatter, or show any kind of uncertainty by babbling. Rick took away my cigar, strapped me in, and spread my legs. He then turned away, and his movements suggested he was putting something on his dick. My mind initially registered it as a cockring or maybe a shaft extender, but when I actually saw the weapon coming at me, it was wrapped in … chainmail? I looked at him quizzically but didn’t form a question. Rick saw my expression, and read it instantly. “This is a special kind of condom,” he said venomously. I was taken by surprise yet again. “A condom? That wasn’t what we agreed upon.” Rick pulled the cigar from between his teeth, and said fiendishly, “You’ll see.” As he came at me with this thing around his cock, I started to wonder what I got myself into. “Holy fuck, he’s serious,” I thought. “But that goes against... “ My train of thought abruptly ended there as the weapon now brushed against my hole. It was cold to the touch, and I felt something quite new rubbing against me. Before I could respond or even form a question, Rick was pushing into my hole, and it hurt like hell. I cried out and tried to back away from it. But back away to where? I was in a corner and seated with no clear exit, and strapped to the chair. “Shhh…” he cooed. “Just relax. This is supposed to hurt, and it’s part of the scene. Trust me.” From nowhere, he whips out a small brown bottle, uncaps it, and shoves it into one of my nostrils. I recognized it instantly. Poppers. And they were fairly new - still strong and heady. I inhaled deeply, knowing that it was beyond my control to do much else. Within seconds, I was flying. Rick at once detected it, grinned wickedly, and took a hit of them himself. He quickly recapped the bottle and flung it away from us. “That’s your only anesthetic,” he growled. And my hips began to rock again. I didn’t even notice him finish his entrance, and I just let him do the work, wincing all the while. Now that I knew what he was intending, I just laid back and let it happen. In between his grunts, Rick said something that sounded like, “Just open yourself up to all the pozzibilities I will show you.” The poppers made it sound distorted, so I wasn’t sure if he actually said it or whether I imagined it. I didn’t respond to it, lest it be the latter and he starts yelling at me again for talking out of turn. Rick continued to plow. His look was a mix of disgust and sheer ecstasy. “You dirty bugchasing fuck. I’m gonna teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” By now, the poppers had completely worn off, and I was feeling the full force of the thing inside me. And boy did it hurt. This was suddenly not fun for me. I needed to move my arms and legs. I needed that tearing up inside me to stop. I suddenly needed water. The room had grown unbearably hot between our activities, the humidity, and the smoke, and I needed a break. At last, I said, “Rick, I need … ow! You to stop --- fuck!” He considered this, and slowed his motions, then instantly began jackhammering my hole. “Nope! You’re done,” was his swift response. I couldn’t bear it anymore as I felt him rip me open from stem to stern. I had no coherent thoughts by this point, except an inward wish that he would cease his movements and I could die in peace. All I could do was cry out. But then his mood changed. He suddenly pulled himself out of me, and my hole welcomed the release. I put my head back as far as it would go, and just shut my eyes. "Shit, I was about to cum," he hissed. "I want this to last as long as possible." He pulled the strange device off, and I heard it hit the floor. Rick got down in a crouching position, and gently poked me with a finger. After a couple seconds, he took back his finger, and held it up before his eye. “Yep, as I thought!” He raised his open palm to me, and ordered, “Look. I’m showing you something.” I carefully opened one eye to see. His whole finger was a bright red colour, and this time, I was sure it wasn’t the light of the room. I suddenly remembered what this was called, and why he was doing it. The phrase “cruel condom” ripped through my brain, and now I had to accept it. He was genuinely pozzing me. That, or a damn convincing scene, I wasn’t sure which. And I wasn’t about to ask. All I could think of was the pain I was feeling at the moment. I returned to closing my eyes and feeling only pain. Rick only stood there over me, studying me, and letting his dick deflate a little while he hauled away on his cigar. He let me sit there, motionless, and just bleed. “This is all part of the process,” he said slowly. “It hurts now --” “I want out of this chair,” I interrupted. “There, there, you sick fuck, it will all be over soon, and you will be free.” There was something cryptic in that statement, but it was just talk. Just talk. The fantasy, right. “When he’s done fucking me, we’ll go upstairs, he’ll put an ice pack on my fanny and bandage me up, and all will be well,” I told myself. Alas, this was not to be.

Sometimes we all get strange cravings that we can't explain. It's part of being human. You know how one day you suddenly get the hunger for a Big Mac or a Whopper or something like that? You don't know where it came from, maybe you never eat like that, but you can't stop thinking of it. And you finally go and get it, and eat it, and maybe feel satiated afterwards. And then you're good for like six months. This may be one of those things. If you feel you really need it, first talk to your SO. They may be open to the idea or repelled by it, but at least you are being honest and showing that you value the relationship over a quick fling. Then act accordingly.

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.