aussieamylpig

PART 2 - Our little BBQ slut. Weeks blurred into a haze of self-discovery for Greg after that wild Melbourne Cup BBQ. His ass still slightly more loose than he would have liked it to be, and an ache faint from the relentless pounding, a constant reminder of the hot, poz seed that had flooded his guts. What started as a one-off thrill had awakened something primal—he craved the rush, the degradation, the way his body surrendered completely. Piss play lingered in his fantasies, the warm streams marking him as owned, and those amyl hits? They turned him into a quivering mess, hole twitching for invasion. Was he a bottom slut now? Was there any point to denying it? The uncertainty of his status fueled each session he jacked off with fire, but it had been weeks since the BBQ so he convinced himself he was okay. Seeking some kind of anchor, Greg fired up his laptop one rainy evening, typing 'support for risky hookups' into the search bar adding to the many corrupted searches he had done over time. Sites popped up all clinical and judgmental, but he scrolled past them. Then, buried in the results, a forum called Breeding Zone caught his eye. Curiosity piqued, he clicked through. What he found wasn't support—it was a rabbit hole of raw, unfiltered confessions. Threads overflowed with guys detailing bareback gangbangs, chem-fueled orgies, and the intoxicating high of chasing loads from strangers. Stories of conversions, glory holes dripping with cum, asses stretched wide for anonymous breeders. Greg's cock stiffened instantly. He stripped down, lubed up, and dove in, hours slipping away as he sniffer his fading amyl and gooned to the tales—edging himself to near-madness, hand flying over his shaft while reading about sluts like him getting turned out in dark rooms. One post mentioned local spots for real action: an dingy old video and adult bookstore down a city laneway with an upstairs backroom cinema where gay men prowled in the maze and shadows. The anonymity, the flicker of porn on screen, the scent of sweat and lust—it sounded perfect. Heart pounding, Greg showered, threw on loose jeans and a hoodie to hide his growing bulge, and headed out. The unlight old club sign loomed down the seedy laneway from the street corner, the neon buzzing to no effect. Inside, the clerk—a bored middle-aged guy—took his cash. 'Amyl for sale too,' the man grunted, sliding a fresh bottle across the counter. Greg snatched it up, the familiar chemical promise making his pulse race, then grabbed his ticket and went up the old wooden stairs. The room was a velvet-black void, lit only by the massive screen playing hardcore porn as it echoed off the walls, with the wet slaps of flesh on flesh. A dozen or so figures slumped in worn seats or leaned against walls, silhouettes shifting in the gloom. The air hung thick with musk, stale smoke, and something sharper, acrid. Greg's eyes adjusted slowly, spotting clusters of older men, their faces etched with hard living, clothes rumpled. He eased into a seat near the front, biting the top of the amyl cap he cut open the seal with his teeth for a quick sniff. The new bottle of rush hit like lightning, loosening his limbs, making his hole clench in anticipation. It didn't take long. A burly figure in the row behind him leaned over for a look, exhaling a thick cloud of vapor that toward Greg's face—sweet, chemical, not quite smoke. Greg realized dimly, the fumes tickling his nostrils and stirring a forbidden curiosity. The man, grizzled with a salt-and-pepper beard and yellowed teeth, grinned in the low light. 'Fresh meat,' he rasped, shuffling closer. Two others joined, one skinny with greasy hair, the other stocky and flannel shirt unbuttoned, tattoos faded across his gut. They circled like wolves, pipes glowing faintly as they puffed and blew more clouds his way, the haze enveloping him, making his head swim even before he inhaled. Greg's resistance melted under the amyl's and new glow the men had breathed on him. He slid or melted even to his knees on the sticky floor, the screen's glow illuminating his eager face. The bearded one unzipped first, hauling out a thick, veiny cock already leaking pre. Greg leaned in, lips parting to engulf the head, tongue swirling around the salty slit. The man groaned, hand tangling in Greg's hair, guiding him deeper. Soon, the skinny one flanked him, feeding his slender dick into Greg's mouth alongside, stretching his jaw as he slurped greedily, spit dribbling down his chin. The third man stroked himself nearby, watching with hooded eyes. Lost in the rhythm—suck, swallow, gag—Greg barely registered the bearded guy's pipe pressing to his lips. 'Open up, boy,' the man murmured, igniting the bowl. Greg's eyes widened, but the high from the amyl and the cocks in his face overrode caution. He inhaled deeply, the harsh burn racing down his throat, exploding into euphoria. Heat surged through his veins, every sensation amplified tenfold. His skin tingled, cock throbbing painfully hard against his jeans, and an insatiable hunger clawed at him. He needed more—more touch, more invasion, more everything. The men sensed the shift, their prey now pliant and ravenous. Hands roamed, yanking off his hoodie, tugging down his shirt. Greg helped, shimmying out of his pants until he knelt nude, body exposed to the cool air and leering eyes. The skinny one dropped behind him, spreading his cheeks to lap at his hole, tongue probing the tight ring while Greg deepthroated the bearded cock, gagging wetly. The stocky man took his turn next, shoving into Greg's mouth with rough thrusts, balls smacking his chin. They maneuvered him like a ragdoll—bending him over a seat, the skinny one sliding two fingers into his ass, twisting and scissoring while the others took turns face-fucking him. Greg's moans muffled around shafts, his body arching back for more, the high turning him into a vessel of pure want. One by one, they bent him further: the bearded guy mounting him first, spitting on his hole before ramming in raw, the burn exquisite under the drug's veil. He pounded hard, hips snapping, while Greg sucked the stocky man's dick clean of his own spit. The skinny one followed, his lean frame allowing deeper angles, grinding against Greg's prostate until stars burst behind his eyelids. Sweat-slick and trembling, Greg rode the waves, cum from the first load leaking down his thighs as the second man added his own, hot spurts painting his insides. The cinema's other patrons stirred, shadows closing in, but before more could join, a familiar voice cut through the din. 'Well, fuck me, if it isn't our little BBQ slut.' Victor stepped into the light, phone in hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He was dressed casual—jeans, tight tee hugging his dad bod his eyes burned with recognition. 'Got a pic texted to me from a buddy here. Some eager mouth on his knees, sucking like a pro. Had to come see if it myself. You look wrecked already.' Greg blinked up at him, glassy-eyed from the clouds and cocks, words failing as drool trailed from his lips. The men paused, nodding to Victor like old acquaintances, stepping back to give him space. Victor knelt, thumb brushing Greg's swollen lips, then trailing down to pinch a nipple. 'Missed that tight hole of yours. Want another poz load to keep you company? Bet you're starving for it.' Greg's nod was feeble, a whimper escaping as Victor unzipped, his thick cock springing free—familiar from the party, already hard and dripping. He hauled Greg up by the arms, positioning him bent over the seat's armrest, ass presented to the room. The other men watched, stroking lazily, as Victor rubbed his head along Greg's cum-slick crack. 'That's my boy,' Victor growled, then thrust in deep, the slide easy from the fresh deposits. Greg cried out, the fullness grounding his high, pleasure spiking as Victor set a brutal pace—long strokes pulling almost out before slamming home, balls slapping against Greg's. The cinema pulsed around them, moans from the screen mixing in with Greg's own. Victor gripped his hips, fucking with possessive force. 'You're mine to breed again,' he panted, leaning over to bite at Greg's ear. 'Take it you didn't convert last time or your still so naive. Do you want to convert?' As he pushed deeper.' Greg autonomously pushed back, lost in the rhythm, the smokes high and amyl blending into oblivion. Victor's thrusts grew erratic, body tensing, until he buried deep and unleashed—rope after rope of warm seed flooding Greg's hole, sealing the night's debauchery. As Victor pulled out, a trickle escaped, but he wasn't done. He spun Greg around, feeding his softening cock into that greedy mouth for cleanup, while the seedy trio closed in again, ready for round two. The cinema had claimed its newest regular, and Greg surrendered fully to the darkness.

well you actually were part of the inspiration, remembering that party we ran into eachother on the outskirts of the city. You were head down arse up, but that could be either of us.

Greg's pulse raced as he stepped into the sprawling backyard of the older man's house, the scent of sizzling sausages and beer mingling with the sharp tang of chlorine from the nearby pool. He'd met the host Victor just hours earlier in a dingy public toilet stall off the main drag, where Victor's thick fingers had pinned him against the graffiti-scratched wall while his cock plunged deep into Greg's eager hole. 'Come to my Melbourne Cup BBQ,' Victor had grunted mid-thrust, breath hot against Greg's neck. 'Bring that tight ass.' Greg, always up for more, had nodded, cum still leaking down his thighs as he pulled up his jeans. Now, under the Australian sun, the party buzzed with about a dozen men milling around, laughter booming over the clink of glasses. Greg didn't recognize a soul, his stomach twisting with that mix of nerves and excitement. He grabbed a scotch and coke from the cooler, the burn of liquor steadying him as he sipped, eyes darting over the crowd. Victor clapped him on the shoulder, haded him a shot and introducing him vaguely before vanishing into his guests. Another drink in, Greg felt the warmth spread, loosening his limbs. He wandered toward the edge of the yard, where a sturdy metal frame caught his eye—a sex swing, suspended from a reinforced beam on the patio, its leather straps swaying gently in the breeze. Leaning against the frame was a massive bear of a man: broad-chested, hairy as fuck, with a gut that strained his tank top and thighs like tree trunks in cargo shorts. His beard was thick and salt-and-pepper, eyes locking onto Greg with a predatory gleam. 'First time here?' the bear rumbled, voice deep enough to vibrate through Greg's chest. He extended a meaty hand. 'Name's Hank. You look like you could use some company.' Greg shook it, the grip firm and lingering. 'Greg. Yeah, just got invited by Victor. Don't know anyone else.' They chatted easily—about the race, the drinks, the heat—Hank's gaze dropping pointedly to Greg's crotch more than once. The scotch flowed, Greg's third now, blurring the edges of his caution. Hank's hand brushed his arm, then rested on his lower back, thumb circling teasingly. Suddenly, Victor's voice boomed over the speakers. 'Lads! Race is starting in five! Get ready!' A flurry erupted—shirts yanked off, shorts dropping to ankles. Men stripped down to nothing or jockstraps that framed bulging packages and furry asses. Cocks swung free, half-hard already, the air thick with musk and anticipation. Greg blinked, arousal hitting him like a freight train as naked bodies pressed close, hands groping freely. Hank grinned, stripping off his tank to reveal a forest of dark hair across his pecs and belly. 'Your turn, boy.' Before Greg could process, hands—Hank's and others—tugged at his clothes. Shirt gone, jeans shoved down, his own cock springing out, already leaking. They left him in his briefs, but Hank ripped those off too, leaving Greg bare and exposed. 'Into the sling,' Victor ordered, appearing with a wink. Greg's heart hammered as strong arms lifted him, settling his back against the padded support. Straps buckled around his thighs, spreading his legs wide, ankles hooked high. His ass hung open, hole twitching in the cool air, balls dangling vulnerably. The position arched his back, cock pointing skyward, pre-cum dribbling down the shaft. Hank dropped to his knees between Greg's splayed legs, face diving in without preamble. His beard scraped Greg's inner thighs as his tongue lapped broad and flat over Greg's hole, circling the rim before spearing inside. Greg gasped, head falling back, the wet heat of Hank's mouth devouring him. The bear ate ass like a starving man—sucking, probing, tongue-fucking deep while the TV blared the pre-race hype. Guests gathered, stroking themselves, murmurs of approval as Hank's saliva slicked Greg's crack, dripping down to his taint. The announcer's voice crackled: 'And they're into the gates!' Tension built, the crowd hushing. Hank pulled back, wiping his mouth, his own cock now free— a fat, uncut monster, veined and throbbing, at least nine inches of girth. He spat into his palm, slicking the head, eyes locked on Greg's. Gates clanged shut on screen. 'They're off!' the commentator yelled. Hank surged up, gripping Greg's hips, and rammed forward. No warning, no tease—his raw cock breached Greg's rim in one brutal shove, sinking balls-deep into the spit-lubed heat. Greg's cry echoed, the stretch burning fierce as Hank's girth split him open, pubes grinding against his ass. The bear didn't ease in; he pounded immediately, hips pistoning with ferocious speed, each thrust slamming home like a jackhammer. The race blurred on the TV—horses thundering, crowd roaring—but Greg's world was Hank's relentless fuck. The sling rocked with the force, chains rattling, Greg's body jolting forward on every plunge. Hank's balls slapped wetly against his cheeks, the raw friction dragging over his prostate, sparks exploding behind his eyes. 'Take it, you slut,' Hank growled, sweat beading on his hairy chest, one hand pinning Greg's thigh wider. The pace was merciless, Hank's grunts syncing with the announcer's calls—'He's out in front, by a mile, leading the pack!'—but Greg could only moan, hole clenching around the invading shaft, milking it greedily. His cock bounced untouched, leaking steadily, the public display heightening every sensation as eyes watched, cocks jerked. 'Photo finish!' The horses crossed the line, cheers erupting. Hank roared, burying deep and unloading—hot jets of cum flooding Greg's guts, pulsing thick and endless. The warmth spread, Hank grinding to wring out every drop before pulling out with a obscene squelch, seed oozing from Greg's gaping hole. No pause. A second man—lean, tattooed, jockstrap discarded—stepped up, cock rigid and dripping. He thrust in raw, using Hank's load as lube, fucking fast and shallow, hips blurring. Greg whimpered, overstimulated, ass slurping around the new intrusion. The man lasted barely a minute, groaning as he added his load, cum mixing and bubbling out. Third was quicker—a stocky guy with a pierced dick, shoving in without a word. He hammered erratically, the metal barbell scraping Greg's walls, before stiffening and pumping his release deep, grunting satisfaction. Panting, spent, Greg hung limp in the sling, hole wrecked and leaking a creamy trail down his crack. Victor helped lower his legs and climb out gently, helping him to his feet on wobbly legs. 'Welcome to the annual raw BBQ,' Victor said with a grin, clapping his shoulder. 'We are all POZ, fuck bare, share our DNA, keep the fun going. No loads wasted here.' Laughter rippled through the group, hands patting Greg's ass as invitations for more lingered in their eyes. Greg looked confused for a few moments as if trying to understand what Victor said. Greg's legs trembled as Victor steadied him, the slick mess from his ass trickling down his thighs, mixing with sweat under the relentless sun. The party's energy hadn't dimmed; naked bodies roamed freely, cocks still twitching from the race's excitement, the air heavy with the scent of cum and grilled meat. A few guys shot Greg appreciative nods, their eyes lingering on his reddened bum where the slings leather had pressed. One of them—a wiry guy in his forties with a shaved head and a tribal tattoo snaking down his arm—sidled up, bottle of beer in one hand and a small brown vial in the other. 'Hey' he said, voice gravelly from years of smokes. 'You look like you could use a hit .' He popped the cap, the sharp, chemical whiff hitting Greg's nose before he could react. Amyl nitrate—poppers. Nick pressed it under Greg's nostril. 'Inhale deep, mate. It'll make that ass sing.' Greg hesitated, but the post-fuck haze and the scotch buzzing in his veins won out. He sniffed hard, the fumes rushing up like fire, exploding in his brain. Heat bloomed in his chest, then lower, his hole clenching involuntarily around the emptiness, craving more. His vision sharpened, colors vivid, every nerve ending igniting. Suddenly, the world felt electric—cocks everywhere looked thicker, asses rounder, the need to get filled overwhelming. His resolve was crumbling under the rush, body arching toward anyone who glanced his way. Nick grinned, handing the vial away. 'That's it. Now, let's get you wet.' He grabbed Greg's wrist, pulling him toward the pool's edge where a cluster of men lounged on towels, stroking lazily. Without warning, Nick spun Greg around, shoving him to his knees on the warm concrete. 'Open up,' he was already bare, his semi-hard dick flopping out, foreskin peeled back to reveal a glistening head. Greg's mouth watered from the poppers' high, and he parted his lips instinctively. But Nick aimed lower, gripping his shaft and unleashing a hot stream of piss right onto Greg's chest. The acrid warmth splashed over his pecs, running in rivulets down his abs, soaking his pubes and dripping off his balls. Greg gasped, the humiliation twisting into thrill, his cock hardening fully as the urine hit his skin. Nick adjusted, pissing directly into Greg's open mouth—salty, bitter fluid flooding his tongue, forcing him to swallow or choke. Some spilled out, streaking his chin, while others at the party cheered, a couple joining in to add their streams, drenching Greg from head to toe in a golden shower. Soaked and reeking, Greg knelt there, the poppers keeping him pliant, eager. His hand wrapped around his own dick, jerking slowly as the piss pooled around his knees. Nick shook off the last drops onto Greg's face, then hauled him up by the armpits. 'Good boy. Now to the sling—more loads waiting.' They maneuvered Greg back to the sex swing, he climbed in willingly this time, legs spreading wide as straps secured him again, ass presented like an offering. The first of the two—a burly redhead with a beer gut and a thick, curved cock—didn't waste time. He hawked a glob of spit onto Greg's piss-slick hole and drove in raw, the slide easy from the cum already coating his insides. The redhead gripped the swing's chains for leverage, pulling Greg onto his dick with each thrust, balls slapping wetly. Greg moaned loud, the poppers amplifying every ridge and vein dragging inside him, his prostate throbbing under the assault. The redhead fucked steady, grunting with effort, sweat flying as he bottomed out repeatedly. Greg's body rocked, piss drying crusty on his skin, the degradation fueling his slutty haze. After a dozen deep pumps, the man tensed, slamming home and flooding Greg's guts with another hot load, cum churning with the previous deposits, leaking out in frothy white drops. Barely catching his breath, the second bloke stepped up—a lean guy with a trimmed beard and a long, straight cock that curved upward. He rubbed the head along Greg's crack, smearing the mess, then plunged in with a slick pop. This one went slower at first, savoring the sloppy heat, hips rolling to grind deep. More amyl and greg's hole sucked him in greedily, muscles fluttering from the overload. The bloke picked up speed, hands on Greg's thighs, nails digging in as he hammered away, the swing creaking under the rhythm. Greg's mind floated, lost in the sensation, until the man buried himself and erupted—pulse after pulse of seed painting his walls, the warmth seeping deeper. As the guy pulled out, a gush of mixed cum poured from Greg's ass, splattering the ground below. Victor helped Greg down again, but this time, whispers rippled through the crowd. Someone had overheard Greg's earlier chat with Hank—'Don't know anyone else'—and pieced it together. 'Wait, he's neg?' a voice muttered. Heads turned, eyes widening, then narrowing with wicked intent. Victor paused, brow furrowing. 'You serious, mate? Thought you were one of us.' The group closed in, cocks stirring back to life, a mix of surprise and opportunity lighting their faces. 'Well, fuck it,' Victor said, clapping Greg on the back. 'Looks like we've started your conversion party. No backing out now—you've already got four loads of poz cum swimming in that hole.' Greg's eyes widened, the poppers' fog parting just enough for reality to crash in. Poz? The word hit like a gut punch. He'd taken raw loads from strangers, bareback in the sling, and now... his ass clenched, feeling the fullness, the risk sinking in. Panic flickered, but the fumes lingered, dulling the fear, stirring a dark curiosity instead. These men, all carrying the virus, had marked him inside, their DNA mixing in his guts. The guests didn't give him time to dwell. 'Resolve's fading already,' Hank rumbled, stepping forward with his cock half-hard again. 'You're turning into our cum slut, boy. Embrace it.' Hands guided Greg to a table, bending him over the edge, ass up. His protests died unspoken as the first volunteer—a silver-haired daddy type—mounted him from behind, sliding into the cum-lubed channel with ease. He fucked deliberate and deep, whispering encouragements: 'Take our gift, convert for the party.' One by one, they lined up, each thrusting home raw, adding their loads to the breeding pool. Greg's body betrayed him, hips pushing back, moans escaping as pleasure overrode dread. Cum sloshed inside with every new cock, overflowing down his legs, marking him thoroughly. By the fifth or sixth, his resolve shattered completely—he begged for more, hole gaping and hungry, fully surrendered to becoming their poz cum dump. The BBQ stretched into the afternoon, Greg at the center, passed around like the main course, his transformation sealed in sweat, piss, and seed. Hope you all like it.

When will the next part be up?

yes love it, the length is awesome too.

fuck i love when people find these great stories deep in the forum pages and bump them back up. Great writing.

absolutly amazing please write more.

yeah damm this is HOT... More ASAP please..

yeah this is an amazing story, love the length of it and that you didnt keep us all waiting on follow up parts. Plus the images in this thread and story are fucking amazing.

was just trying to work a new big fat toy into my arse whilst reading that. It definatly had me feeling every description and action.

damm that is one great story. well done.

fuck i had a top just like that once.

laying here jacking off reading it out loud. fuck its GOLD

its like im living it. well done and keep it going.

this story is hot as fuck. Love the chapter lengths too

2nd that part two please.. Thats one hot story.

definatly keen for more.

once us pigs get that amyl under out nose its all over

we need more to this story. could turn very hot in deed

ohh come on, leaving me hanging on that ... please write more

Can’t wait until he willingly returns

Fuck this is hot. Adam hasn’t even discovered poppers yet.

Whispers in the Night Ryan, had always been curious about the darker side of his sexuality. His brown hair, tousled and slightly shaggy, framed his youthful face, which bore an expression of both eagerness and apprehension as he stood outside the unassuming door of a warehouse in the industrial part of London. The building was nondescript, save for a small, discreet sign that read "Members Only." He had been Invited to a secret sex and fisting party, one that promised to be an exploration into the depths of his desires and boundaries. He had heard whispers about this place, where older men, some HIV-positive, gathered to engage in raw, uninhibited encounters. The thought of it both excited and terrified him. Ryan had always been drawn to the [banned word], the forbidden, and the idea of submitting to men who knew what they wanted and how to take it was intoxicating. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, and stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of amyl nitrate, a heady combination that made Ryan's head spin. He spotted a bar in the corner, manned by a muscular bartender with tattoos snaking up his arms. Behind the bar, a tall, commanding figure caught Ryan's eye. The man had salt-and-pepper hair and a stern, dominant air about him. He was talking to the bartender, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Michael," the bartender said, "this one's new. Says he's here for the party." Michael turned to look at Ryan, his brown eyes scrutinizing him from head to toe. Ryan felt a shiver run down his spine under the man's gaze. "Well, well," Michael said, his voice like velvet, "look what the cat dragged in." He motioned for Ryan to approach. "Come here, boy. Let's get you a drink." Ryan hesitantly made his way to the bar, his eyes never leaving Michael's. "What's your name, boy?" Michael asked, pouring a clear liquid into a glass. "Ryan," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Michael smirked, adding a few drops of something from a small bottle. "First time here?" Ryan nodded, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Good," Michael said, sliding the glass across the counter. "Drink up. It'll help you relax." Ryan took the glass, the liquid inside shimmering under the candlelight. He sniffed it, catching a whiff of something sweet and alcoholic. He took a sip, the taste sharp and strong on his tongue. He felt a warmth spread through him, a pleasant buzz that made his muscles relax and his inhibitions disappear. "That's some strong stuff," Ryan said, his words slurring slightly. Michael chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "It's GHB, Ryan. It'll make everything feel... better." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But remember, boy, with pleasure comes pain. And you want the pain, don't you?" Ryan felt a shiver of excitement at the man's words. He nodded, his eyes locked onto Michael's. "Yes," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want it." Michael smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a jolt of anticipation through Ryan. "Good boy," he said, his hand resting on Ryan's shoulder. "Let's get you ready." He led Ryan through the crowd, the music pulsing around them like a heartbeat. They entered a room filled with an assortment of men, all older and bearing the signs of experience. Ryan's eyes widened as he took in the scene, his heart pounding in his chest. One of the men, a stocky figure with grey hair and green eyes, stepped forward. "He's a pretty one," he said, his voice gruff. "What's your name, boy?" "Ryan," he replied, his voice barely audible. The man, who introduced himself as Tom, chuckled. "Well, Ryan, welcome to the party. You're going to have a lot of fun tonight." Ryan felt a mix of fear and excitement as the men began to circle him, their hands reaching out to touch him. He could feel their rough, calloused fingers tracing the lines of his body, exploring every inch of him. He gasped as one of them, a tall, gaunt man with sunken cheeks, pinched his nipple, sending a jolt of pain through him. "You like that, don't you, boy?" the man asked, his voice like gravel. Ryan nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. Michael stepped forward, a small, silver object in his hand. "Before we start, Ryan," he said, his voice stern, "I'm going to pierce your nipples. It'll heighten the sensation, make everything feel more... intense." Ryan looked at the object, his eyes wide with anticipation. He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. Michael stood before him, his hands steady and practiced, his gaze intense as he prepared to carry out the delicate procedure. With care, he cleansed the area, his touch cool as he inhaled sharply, a mixture of nervous excitement and trust swirling within. There was no turning back now. The moment stretched, a heartbeat suspended in time. With a swift, expert motion, the needle pierced his left nipple, and then, as if by magic the right, the pain was intense but fleeting—replaced by a warmth that seemed to pulse something deeper inside. Michaels fingers, smooth and sure carefully inserted a barbell throught each nipple his touch lingering moments longer than necessary. “It's done,” he whispered, his voice hushed, yet reassuring as Ryan's eyes meet his, a silent understanding between them. What had begun as a simple act of adornment had transformed into something far more intimate—an exchange of trust, a bond forged in the quiet intimacy of the moment. He was hooked. Michael smiled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Good boy," he said, stepping closer. "Now, for your cock. Before we get started." The room was filled with the scent of sweat and sex, the air thick with anticipation. Ryan could feel men's hands back on him, exploring every inch of his body, their touches rough and demanding. He gasped as one of them, a muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair, grabbed his cock through his jeans, the touch sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "You're hard, boy," the man said, his voice low and gruff. "You want this, don't you?" Ryan nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," he whispered. "I want it." The man unzipped his jeans, his cock springing free, hard and ready. Ryan looked down at it, his eyes wide with excitement. He reached out, his hand wrapping around his own length, feeling the heat and hardness of it in his palm. "You like that, don't you, boy?" the man asked, his voice hoarse with desire. Ryan nodded, his hand moving up and down, stroking the length of himself. "Yes," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I like it." He gasped as Michael suddenly pressed the needle against the swollen head of his cock, the pain sharp and intense. "Fuck," he whispered, his breath coming in short gasps. "That hurts." Michael chuckled, his eyes never leaving Ryan's. "It's supposed to, boy," he said, his voice harsh. "Now, hold still." Ryan gritted his teeth as the pain increased, the metal piercing through his flesh. He felt a rush of endorphins, the pleasure and pain mixing together in a heady cocktail that left him dizzy. "There you go, boy," Michael said, stepping back. "You look beautiful." Ryan looked down at his chest and then to his cock, the silver piercings gleaming in the dim light. He felt a sense of pride, a sense of accomplishment. He was ready for what was to come. "Now," Michael said, his voice commanding, "let's get you fucked." He motioned to the tall, gaunt man, who stepped forward, his cock already hard and ready. Ryan could feel the anticipation building in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps. He felt a sense of excitement, a sense of dread, a sense of exhilaration. He was ready to submit, ready to be used. "On your knees, boy," the man said, his voice gruff. "And lean over the bench." Ryan complied, his hands shaking slightly as he positioned himself on all fours. He could feel the cold, hard surface of the bench against his skin, the anticipation building in his chest. The man stepped behind him, his cock pressing against Ryan's entrance. Ryan gasped as the man pushed inside him, the pain sharp and intense. He felt a rush of pleasure, his body adjusting to the intrusion, his muscles relaxing. "Fuck," he whispered, his breath coming in short gasps. "That feels... good." The man began to move, his hips thrusting against Ryan's ass, his cock sliding in and out. Ryan could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, the sensation intense and overwhelming. He moaned, his head thrown back, his eyes closed in ecstasy. "Harder," he begged, his voice hoarse with desire. "Fuck me harder." The man complied, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. Ryan could feel the pain and pleasure mixing together, the sensations overwhelming his senses. He felt a rush of endorphins, his body on fire with desire. "Yes," he screamed, his voice hoarse with pleasure. "Yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard." The man grunted, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. Ryan could feel his cock twitching inside him, the sensation intense and overwhelming. He felt the man's body tense, his cock pulsing as he came, filling Ryan with his first load of POZ seed. Ryan gasped, his body shaking with the force of his own orgasm. He could feel the pleasure radiating through him, his muscles trembling with the force of it. He collapsed onto the bench, his body spent, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. "Good boy," Michael said, his voice approval. "You did well." Ryan looked up at him, his eyes glassy with tears, his body still shaking from the force of his orgasm. He felt a sense of pride, a sense of accomplishment. He had done it. He had submitted, he had been used, and he had loved every minute of it. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. Michael smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're welcome, boy," he said, his voice softening. "And this is just the beginning." Ryan looked around the room, his eyes taking in the men who surrounded him. He felt a sense of anticipation, a sense of dread, a sense of exhilaration. He was ready for more. He was ready to be used again. "I want more," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I want more POZ cock." Michael chuckled, his eyes never leaving Ryan's. "Well, boy," he said, his voice low and seductive, "we've got plenty of that. Plenty of Poz cock, ready and waiting to use you." Ryan felt a shiver of excitement at the man's words. He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," he whispered. "I want it. I want all of it." Michael smiled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Good boy," he said, stepping closer.

mmm that is one very hot story. will there be a follow up?

damm, even the intro had me at attention but the rest including the poppers was just amazing.