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"Motherfucker!" That was the moment I realized that what's his name had not left the video booth to go get poppers, lube, Molly and coke. In fact, I was almost 100% sure that if I walked out the side exit and around towards where he had parked his car, it would be gone. This sucked for a few reasons. First, I had just electronically sent him $160 to fuck me. Second, I was staying in North Portland and he had just ditched me at Mr. Peeps in Beaverton with no way home. Third, he had left three cheap torches, a sack of meth, two cheap glass pipes that had seen better days but were full of melted shards, and another bag of powder on top of the video console. I was in gym shorts with no underwear, and a tank top. If I tried to walk out with most of this stuff, I'd be clinking and clanking and far too obvious, unless I got the least judgmental Uber driver in the universe. It had to be done - I lifted the cheap plastic garbage can that smelled faintly of cum on the inside up to the level of the top of the console and swept all of paraphernalia and drugs into it, then tucked it back under the video console. Time to leave and figure out how to get home and I can't risk being distracted right now. Now that was taken care of, I grabbed my hoodie and stepped out of the booth into the main video store.

Tommy adjusted the straps on his backpack for the third time since leaving the subway station. The weight of the gear inside made his shoulders ache, but it was a familiar discomfort, one he welcomed like an old friend stopping by unannounced. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement as he rounded the corner, the neon sign of Club Z buzzing faintly in the distance. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but the heat hadn’t let up—sweat dotted his temples, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand, careful not to smudge his glasses. He wasn’t usually the type to arrive this early, but tonight was different. The sling room wasn’t cheap, and he’d spent the last two weeks meticulously planning what he’d bring, what he’d wear, and how he’d set everything up. The ad had gone live three hours ago—already, his phone had buzzed twice with responses, but he’d ignored them. First things first: the room had to be perfect. The bouncer at Club Z barely glanced at his ID, just waved him through with a bored nod. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and something muskier underneath—like leather left too long in the sun. The club wasn’t busy yet, just a few early birds nursing drinks at the bar or lounging on the sofas near the back. Tommy kept his head down as he made his way to the stairs, the backpack shifting awkwardly against his hips. Room 309 was smaller than he’d expected, but the sling dominated the space, bolted to the ceiling with thick straps dangling like an invitation. He dropped his bag onto the vinyl-covered floor, the sound muffled but heavy, and took a slow breath. The adrenaline was starting to prickle at the base of his skull, that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation. He unzipped the backpack with practiced efficiency, laying out the cuffs, the gag, the toys in neat rows on the dresser. His phone buzzed again. This time, he checked it—a message from someone with a wolf emoji in their username. *Saw your ad. Still looking?* Tommy bit his lip, then typed back, *Yeah. Room 309. Give me twenty to set up.* He hesitated, then added, *Bring your worst.* Tommy’s fingers trembled slightly as he fastened the last strap of the wrist cuffs to the sling’s frame, giving it a firm tug to test its hold. The metal D-ring didn’t budge. Good. He stepped back, surveying the room—the harness draped over the dresser, the ball gag gleaming under the dim overhead light, the gas mask with its fogged lenses staring blankly at the ceiling. Everything was in its place. Almost. He adjusted the blindfold, folding it neatly beside the rest, then wiped his palms on his thighs. The room was warmer now, the air thick with the scent of rubber and his own nervous sweat. A knock at the door made his stomach lurch. Too soon. He hadn’t even changed yet. Tommy hesitated, then called out, “Twenty minutes, remember?” The knock came again, harder this time, followed by a low chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. But you said *worst,* pigboi. You really wanna keep me waiting?” The voice was rough, edged with amusement, and Tommy’s breath hitched. He crossed the room in three strides, yanking the door open before he could second-guess himself. The man on the other side was taller than he’d expected—broad-shouldered, with a close-cropped beard and eyes that flicked over Tommy like he was already taking inventory. He wore a fitted black tee, sleeves rolled to show off thick forearms, and a pair of boots that looked like they’d seen more than a few dungeon floors. “You’re early,” Tommy said, and immediately cringed at how breathy it sounded. The man grinned, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “And you’re not even dressed.” He nudged the backpack with his toe, then picked up the harness, turning it over in his hands. “Nice gear. You break it in yet?” Tommy shook his head, pulse thudding in his throat. The man’s presence filled the room, his energy like a live wire. “No. It’s—it’s new.” Another chuckle. “Good.” He tossed the harness back onto the dresser and closed the distance between them in one stride, crowding Tommy against the wall. His hand came up, calloused fingers brushing Tommy’s jaw. “Blindfold first,” he murmured. “Then we’ll see how much of that *worst* you can take.” Tommy's breath stuttered as the blindfold was pulled tight over his eyes, the sudden darkness making his other senses flare to life. The man's calloused thumb traced the hinge of his jaw before gripping his chin, tilting his face up. "Eyes on me, pigboi," the man murmured, though Tommy couldn't see a damn thing—just the heat of his breath, the press of his body pinning him to the wall. A shiver raced down his spine when the man's other hand slid down to his belt, working the buckle with a practiced flick. The leather hissed as it was pulled free, and Tommy's stomach tightened. He'd expected commands, roughness, maybe even a slap—but the slow, deliberate way the man undressed him was worse. Every brush of fingers against his skin felt like a brand. His shirt was tugged over his head, the cool air hitting his sweat-damp chest, and then the man's palm flattened over his sternum, pushing him back until his shoulders hit the sling's straps. "Arms up," came the order, and Tommy obeyed without thinking, his wrists slotting into the cuffs dangling from the frame. The metal clicked shut, snug but not biting—yet. A low whistle. "Look at you." The man's voice had dropped, rough with approval. Tommy could hear him circling the sling, boots scuffing against the vinyl, and then a warm hand gripped his hip. "You even shaved for this." The touch trailed down, teasing along the crease of his thigh, and Tommy jerked against the restraints, his breath coming faster. The man chuckled, the sound dark with promise. "Gag next. Open." The ball gag was slick with spit before it even touched his lips, the man pressing it into place with a thumb hooked under the strap. Tommy whined around it, the stretch of his jaw immediate, the drool already pooling under his tongue. The man patted his cheek, almost affectionate. "Better." Then, without warning, a sharp slap landed on his bare thigh—stinging, bright, just shy of too much. Tommy gasped, his body arching, and the man hummed. "Oh, you *like* that." Another slap, higher this time, and Tommy's cock twitched against his thigh, shame and want twisting together in his gut. The sting of the slap still burned on his skin when the man's fingers dug into Tommy's hips, yanking him forward until his back left the support of the sling. The sudden shift made his shoulders protest, the cuffs biting just enough to remind him they were there. A grunt escaped around the gag, muffled and wet. The man’s laugh was close, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. "You’re gonna take what I give you, yeah?" Not a question. Tommy nodded anyway, his throat working around a swallow. "You gonna rush so hard pig" SLAMBOSS ordered. The first touch of the harness against his bare chest made him flinch—cold leather, stiff with newness. The man made a tsking sound as he adjusted the straps, pulling them tight enough to make Tommy’s ribs ache. "Breathe," he ordered, and Tommy did, shallow and quick, as buckles were fastened with methodical precision. The harness hugged him like a second skin now, the D-rings digging into his flesh with every expansion of his lungs. A finger hooked under one of the straps, tugging sharply. "Color?" The word was clipped, no-nonsense. Tommy forced out a garbled "Green," around the gag. The man’s hands dropped lower, palming Tommy’s cock through his briefs, and he arched into the touch with a whine. "Eager," the man mused, then yanked the fabric down in one rough motion. The air hit Tommy’s exposed skin like a shock, his cock twitching against his stomach. A thumb swiped over the head, smearing precome, and Tommy’s hips jerked uselessly in the sling’s hold. The man chuckled, stepping back just out of reach. "Not yet, pigboi." The clink of metal made Tommy’s breath hitch—the cock and ball toys, he realized, being lifted from the dresser. The man’s hands were sure as he fitted the ring around Tommy’s base, the cold steel a sharp contrast to his heated skin. Another whimper built in his throat as the man tightened it just shy of painful, then attached the weights with a satisfied grunt. "There." A slap to Tommy’s inner thigh, lighter this time, almost playful. "Now you’ll remember who owns you tonight." The weights swung heavily between Tommy’s thighs, each slight movement sending a jolt through him, the metal cool and unyielding against his overheated skin. The man’s boots creaked as he stepped back, and Tommy strained his ears, trying to track him in the darkness. A hand suddenly fisted in his hair, yanking his head back. "You’re shaking," the man observed, voice dripping with dark amusement. "Good." The grip tightened, forcing Tommy’s throat into a vulnerable arch just as something smooth and cold—the gas mask—was pressed over his nose and mouth. The straps cinched tight behind his head, the rubber sealing with a faint suction. Panic flared for a split second before the man’s thumb stroked his temple. "Breathe," he murmured, and Tommy did, the air hissing through the filters, his own exhales loud in his ears. The world narrowed to touch and sound. The man’s calloused palms dragged down Tommy’s chest, tweaking his nipples through the harness straps until they ached, then lower, tracing the divots of his hips. A finger prodded at his hole—dry, just shy of cruel—and Tommy jerked, a muffled noise escaping the gag. The man chuckled. "Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide when." He withdrew, and Tommy heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. Anticipation coiled in his gut. A slick sound—lube, Tommy realized—and then two fingers pushed into him without warning, stretching him open in one ruthless thrust. He cried out, the sound trapped behind rubber and silicone, his body clamping down instinctively. The man shushed him, working his fingers deeper, crooking them just enough to make Tommy’s toes curl. "There it is," he muttered, pressing harder, and stars burst behind Tommy’s eyelids as pleasure sparked up his spine. The fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving him clenching around nothing. The head of the man’s cock nudged against him, blunt and insistent. Tommy braced, but there was no slow build—just one relentless push, seating the man to the hilt in a single stroke. The gasp that tore from Tommy’s throat was ragged, his body arching against the restraints. The man stilled, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. "Fuck, you’re tight." A hand gripped Tommy’s hip, holding him in place as the man pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in. The pace was brutal from the start, each thrust jolting Tommy forward in the sling, the D-rings of the harness digging into his flesh. Tommy’s body jerked with each thrust, the sling creaking under the force, his wrists pulling against the cuffs until the metal bit into his skin. The pain was sharp, bright—a counterpoint to the pleasure coiling tighter in his gut with every snap of the man’s hips. The gas mask fogged with each ragged exhale, the filters hissing, and Tommy could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, louder than the slap of skin against skin. The man’s fingers dug into his thighs, holding him open, and Tommy could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, pooling in the hollows of the harness straps. A particularly rough thrust knocked the breath from his lungs, and the man growled, low and approving. “That’s it—take it.” His voice was gritted, strained, like he was holding back just as much as Tommy was. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through him, his cock twitching against the steel ring, the weights swinging heavily between his legs. The man’s hand slid up, gripping the harness straps at Tommy’s chest, using them like reins to yank him back onto each thrust. “Fuck, you look good like this,” he muttered, his breath hot against Tommy’s ear. “All trussed up and taking it.” Tommy whined around the gag, his hips canting up helplessly, trying to meet the man’s rhythm. The man chuckled, dark and knowing, and slowed his pace deliberately, drawing out each stroke until Tommy was writhing, his muffled pleas lost in the rubber of the mask. “Patience, pigboi,” the man murmured, his thumb brushing over Tommy’s bottom lip where it stretched around the gag. “You’ll get what you came for.” The sudden change in angle was brutal—the man shifted, lifting Tommy’s legs higher, and the next thrust hit *just there*, forcing a choked scream around the gag. Then, like a switch flipped, the man pulled out completely, leaving Tommy trembling and empty. The absence of the man’s cock left Tommy shuddering, his body straining against the restraints, every nerve alight with frustrated need. Then—a new sound cut through the haze: the sharp *click* of a lighter, followed by the acrid, chemical tang of smoke curling into the air. Tommy’s nostrils flared beneath the gas mask, the scent unmistakable. His breath hitched, and suddenly, the filters clogged—thick, cloying smoke flooded the tube, pouring into his mouth and nose with each desperate inhale. Panic spiked through him as his lungs seized, the smoke scorching his throat. He jerked against the cuffs, his gagged cries muffled by the mask’s rubber seal. The man’s voice, now laced with something darker, slithered into his ear: "Breathe, pigboi. You wanted my worst." A rough hand gripped the back of the mask, tilting Tommy’s head back further, forcing him to swallow the smoke as it coiled deeper into his chest. His vision swam, the edges blurring with tears, but the man didn’t relent. "That’s it—take it all." A second voice, unfamiliar and rasping with amusement, cut through the fog. "Look at him—goddamn smoke pig." Fingers, calloused and reeking of nicotine, tapped the mask’s lens. "You ready to really earn that name?" Tommy’s pulse hammered in his throat. He hadn’t known there was someone else in the room. The realization sent a fresh wave of dread—or was it excitement?—coursing through him. The sharp bite of the needle was unexpected—Tommy jerked against the restraints with a muffled yelp, the sting radiating from the base of his cock like a lit fuse. The man—no, *SLAMBOSS*—grunted, his fingers pressing hard against the injection site to stem the tiny bead of blood that welled up. "Trimix'take the edge off," he muttered, though the rough edge of his voice suggested it wouldn't be the kind of relief Tommy was used to. The drug hit fast, a slow burn spreading through his groin, his cock twitching against the steel ring as it began to swell beyond its usual limits, the weights swinging heavier between his thighs. Cold lube splashed over his balls, dripping down his perineum in thick rivulets. Tommy gasped around the gag as SLAMBOSS's fingers spread it roughly, coating every inch of his sac and the tight furl of his hole with slick, clinical precision. The man's chuckle was low, predatory. "Gonna milk you dry, pigboi." The words sent a jolt through Tommy’s gut, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the trimix turning every pulse into a slow, aching throb. The milking began without ceremony—SLAMBOSS’s fist closed around Tommy’s cock, stroking with brutal efficiency, the lube making every pull a slick, torturous slide. The trimix turned his nerves into live wires, every drag of the man’s hand sending sparks up his spine, his balls drawing up tight. The second man exhaled another plume of smoke directly into Tommy’s gas mask tube, the fumes mixing with his ragged panting. "That’s it," the stranger crooned, tapping ash onto Tommy’s bare chest. "Let it fuck you up." Tommy's orgasm coiled tight in his gut, a white-hot wire about to snap—then the cold, blunt press of the dildo breached him, spreading him wide just as SLAMBOSS's fist twisted brutally around his cock. The sensation tore a garbled scream from his throat, the gag muffling it into something pathetic and wet. His hips bucked wildly, the sling's straps creaking under his thrashing, but the man holding him didn't relent. The dildo pushed deeper, the ridges catching on his rim with each merciless inch, stretching him beyond what he thought he could take. A rubber strap slithered around his right bicep, tightening with a sudden, clinical *snap*. Tommy flinched, the pressure sharp enough to make his fingers tingle. The second man's breath was hot against his ear as he adjusted the strap, his voice rough with amusement. "Gotta keep that arm still, smoke pig. Wouldn't want you squirming out of your fun." The strap bit into his flesh, the restriction oddly grounding even as the dildo began to move in slow, deliberate thrusts, fucking him open with methodical precision. SLAMBOSS's grip on his cock shifted, his thumb pressing hard against the slit, smearing precome in tight circles. "Feel that?" he growled, the dildo hitting a spot that made Tommy's vision whiten. "That's your fucking prostate. Gonna milk it like a cow." The comparison should have been humiliating—but all Tommy could focus on was the relentless rhythm, the way his body clenched around the intruding toy, the way his cock pulsed in SLAMBOSS's fist like it was trying to fucking *beg*. The second man exhaled another lungful of smoke into the mask's tube, the acrid haze flooding Tommy's senses just as the dildo twisted inside him, pressing hard against his sweet spot. His back arched, his toes curling, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, he teetered on the edge—right there, *right there*—but SLAMBOSS's hand stilled abruptly, his grip turning punishing. "Nuh-uh," the man growled, his thumb digging into the slit of Tommy's cock, smearing precome in slow circles. "Not yet." The words hit Tommy before the pain did. *"You're not Tommy anymore,"* SLAMBOSS growled, his voice grinding against Tommy's eardrums like gravel. A rough hand twisted in Tommy's hair, yanking his head back until his throat strained taut. *"You're PIGBOI now. Say it."* Tommy tried to shake his head—or thought he did—but the gas mask's straps bit deeper into his skull as SLAMBOSS tightened his grip. The dildo inside him pulsed, some sadistic remote setting making it twitch against his prostate. His vision swam, the trimix turning his cock into a swollen, aching weight between his legs. *"P-Pig—"* he garbled around the gas mask, drool soaking his chin. SLAMBOSS's laugh was a dark, wet thing. *"Good start."* His other hand trailed down Tommy's chest, nails scraping over the harness straps before pinching a nipple hard enough to make Tommy jerk. *"PIGBOI doesn't think. Doesn't say no. Just takes—cocks, drugs, fists, whatever the fuck we stuff in him."* The second man—still nameless, still circling like a shark—exhaled another lungful of smoke into the mask's tube. Tommy coughed, his lungs seizing as the acrid fumes coiled deeper. *"Look at him,"* the stranger mused, tapping ash onto Tommy's heaving chest. *"Already halfway there."* SLAMBOSS's fingers dug into Tommy's jaw. *"Gonna make sure you don't come back."* He leaned in, his breath hot against Tommy's ear. *"Gonna fuck you so dumb, you'll beg for it."* The syringe glinted under the dim red light as SLAMBOSS tapped it with a fingernail, the plunger already drawn back to the 70cc mark. The liquid inside was thick, honey-colored, clinging to the glass in viscous streaks. PIGBOI’s breath hitched behind the mask, his chest rising and falling too fast—he knew what that was. Knew what it *did*. SLAMBOSS’s thumb brushed over the needle’s tip, testing its sharpness. "Last chance, pig," he murmured, though the words weren’t kind. They were a blade held to PIGBOI’s throat, a dare disguised as mercy. "You tap out now, you walk away with your pretty little brain intact." He leaned in, close enough for PIGBOI to smell the nicotine on his breath. "But once this hits your vein, you’re *mine*. Not Tommy. Not even PIGBOI. Just a fucked-out hole waiting for orders." The second man chuckled, his boot nudging PIGBOI’s splayed thigh. "Bet he’s already gone," he mused, flicking ash onto PIGBOI’s chest. "Look at him—*dripping*." SLAMBOSS’s fingers wrapped around PIGBOI’s bicep, squeezing until the vein bulged under his skin. The alcohol swab was cold, the sting of it sharp and fleeting. Then—the needle’s bite, deeper this time, sliding home with practiced ease. PIGBOI whined around the gag as SLAMBOSS depressed the plunger slowly, *so slowly*, the drug burning its way into his bloodstream like molten lead. "Count," SLAMBOSS ordered, his voice rough. PIGBOI tried. He *tried*. But the numbers dissolved before they reached his lips, his thoughts turning to sludge as the rush hit—a tidal wave of heat, of weightlessness, of *nothing*. His vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting dangerously. SLAMBOSS’s face swam above him, distorted and grinning. "Good boy," SLAMBOSS crooned, withdrawing the needle with a final, cruel twist. He pressed a thumb to the puncture, smearing the bead of blood across PIGBOI’s skin. "Now let’s see how much of you’s left." The second man stepped forward, his shadow falling over PIGBOI’s prone form. "Think he’ll remember his name?" he asked, voice laced with mock concern. SLAMBOSS snorted, cuffing PIGBOI’s cheek lightly. "Doubt it." He leaned in, his breath hot against PIGBOI’s ear. "Who are you?" PIGBOI’s mouth worked uselessly around the gag, spit pooling under his tongue. The words wouldn’t come—or maybe they weren’t there at all. His thoughts slithered like eels through the thick syrup of the rush, impossible to catch. SLAMBOSS grinned, wide and predatory, and gripped the gas mask straps. With one sharp tug, the mask came free, the cold air hitting PIGBOI’s sweat-slick face like a slap. Before he could gasp, thick rubber pressed over his eyes—a hood, its interior lined with something slick, sealing tight with a *pop* as SLAMBOSS worked it down over his skull. PIGBOI whined, the sound muffled and wet, as SLAMBOSS’s fingers pried his jaw wider. The dog bone gag clicked into place, the metal frame forcing his mouth open in a permanent, drooling gape. "Better," SLAMBOSS murmured, running a thumb over PIGBOI’s bottom lip. "Now you look like what you are." The rush hit harder then, a tidal wave of heat and static crashing through PIGBOI’s veins. His cock throbbed against the steel ring, the weights swinging heavy between his thighs, but the pleasure was distant—secondary to the *emptiness*, the yawning void where his thoughts used to be. His hole clenched around nothing, greedy and open, as if begging to be filled. The rubber-gloved hand pressed into PIGBOI’s hole with no preamble, slick lube smeared in rough circles before two fingers breached him without warning. He gasped around the dog bone gag, his body jerking against the restraints as the fingers twisted inside him, spreading him open with clinical efficiency. The stretch burned—just shy of too much—but the sting was already fading under the drug haze, his body yielding like warm wax. Above him, SLAMBOSS exhaled sharply, his free hand wrapping around PIGBOI’s cock with a grip that bordered on cruel. The trimix made every nerve hypersensitive; even the callouses on SLAMBOSS’s palm felt like sandpaper as he stroked PIGBOI’s length in slow, deliberate pulls. Precome dribbled from the slit, slicking SLAMBOSS’s thumb as it swiped over the head in tight circles. PIGBOI’s hips bucked helplessly, the sling’s straps creaking under his thrashing, but the fingers inside him didn’t relent. They crooked suddenly, pressing hard against his prostate, and PIGBOI’s vision whited out for a split second, his cry muffled by the gag. SLAMBOSS chuckled, dark and low, his thumb rubbing punishing circles into the sensitive spot under PIGBOI’s cockhead. "Look at him," he muttered, more to the second man than to PIGBOI. "Already fucking ruined." The fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving PIGBOI clenching around nothing, his hole twitching with the ghost of their presence. SLAMBOSS’s hand on his cock didn’t stop—if anything, the pace increased, his grip tightening just shy of painful. PIGBOI’s breath hitched, his balls drawing up tight, the pleasure coiling in his gut like a live wire. He was close—so close—but SLAMBOSS’s thumb pressed hard against his slit, smearing precome in slow, torturous circles. "Nuh-uh," SLAMBOSS growled, his voice rough with amusement. "Not yet, pigboi." The second man’s shadow fell over PIGBOI’s prone form, his boot nudging PIGBOI’s splayed thighs wider. "Think he can take it?" he asked, his voice laced with mock concern. SLAMBOSS snorted, cuffing PIGBOI's cheek lightly. "Rule's simple, pig," he growled, his breath hot against PIGBOI's ear. "Every load I pump into this greedy hole"—his fingers twisted inside PIGBOI without warning,, wrenching a garbled cry from his throat—"you pay back. One for one." He withdrew his fingers with a wet *pop*, holding them up to the dim light, glistening. "Starting now." The cold press of lube against PIGBOI's hole came next, slick and thick, before SLAMBOSS's cockhead nudged at his rim, blunt and unrelenting. PIGBOI's breath hitched behind the hood, his body straining against the sling's straps—but there was no preparation, no easing in. SLAMBOSS sheathed himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, the impact rattling PIGBOI's teeth around the gag. "First," SLAMBOSS grunted, his hips already pistoning, each snap of his pelvis driving PIGBOI deeper into the sling's unforgiving embrace. The pace was merciless from the start, the slap of skin echoing off the padded walls. PIGBOI's cock twitched against his stomach, swollen and aching, the steel ring biting into his base as the weights swung heavily between his thighs. SLAMBOSS's hand closed around PIGBOI's length on the next downward stroke, his grip tightening just shy of painful. "Pay up, pig," he snarled, twisting his fist on the upstroke, his thumb pressing hard into PIGBOI's slit. The dual sensation—SLAMBOSS's cock hammering his prostate, his hand working PIGBOI's oversensitive flesh—threatened to unravel him instantly. PIGBOI's toes curled, his back arching, but SLAMBOSS's free hand planted firmly on his chest, pinning him down. "Not yet," he warned, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Gotta earn it." The rhythm was relentless, SLAMBOSS's hips driving forward with punishing precision, his hand matching the pace on PIGBOI's cock. Every drag of his palm sent sparks up PIGBOI's spine, every twist of his wrist pulled another broken sound from PIGBOI's gagged mouth. The drug haze made it impossible to focus—pleasure and pain blurred into one searing, all-consuming feedback loop. SLAMBOSS's breath hitched suddenly, his thrusts losing their brutal precision. His fingers dug into PIGBOI's thigh, nails biting deep as he buried himself to the root with a guttural groan. Heat flooded PIGBOI's insides, the wet pulse of SLAMBOSS's release triggering a full-body shudder. SLAMBOSS didn't stop. His grip on PIGBOI's cock tightened further, his strokes turning ruthless. "Your turn, pig," he panted, his hips still grinding shallowly, milking his own orgasm as he worked PIGBOI toward the edge. The overstimulation was excruciating—PIGBOI's cock ached, the steel ring constricting his base, the weights tugging mercilessly at his swollen sac. The second man laughed, low and dark, his fingers trailing through the mess on PIGBOI's chest. "Think he'll pop just from being pumped full?" he mused, smearing SLAMBOSS's come across PIGBOI's trembling abs. SLAMBOSS's grin was all teeth. "Let's find out." He leaned in, his breath hot against PIGBOI's ear. "Gonna milk you dry, pigboi." His fist twisted brutally on the upstroke, his thumb pressing hard into PIGBOI's slit—and just like that, PIGBOI was gone. White-hot pleasure detonated at the base of his spine, his vision whiting out as his cock pulsed violently in SLAMBOSS's grip. Nothing came—the ring saw to that—but the dry orgasm wracked his body all the same, his hole clamping down on SLAMBOSS's softening cock in erratic spasms. SLAMBOSS chuckled, dark and satisfied, as he finally released PIGBOI's oversensitive flesh. "One for one," he murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess on PIGBOI's stomach. "And we're just getting started."

Please note! It's just a fantasy. All figures have reached the minimum age. Please be lenient, as I wrote the story in German and translated it afterwards. And my english is not the best…. Part 1 The eyes of all the girls and boys he crossed paths to hang on Jamal. But that was no wonder, the twenty-year-old Turk offered all sorts of things to look at. His dark hair fell wildly ruffled left and right from his head along the forehead down, on the side to just half over the ears. Some strands of hair hung from the side wavy in the direction of the eyes, as if modeled with wax. His green-blue eyes surrounded by a dark line of eyelashes, as if painted by a thin eyeliner, rounded off his eyes and revealed silent secrets of the Orient. Through both ear lobes he had a metal tunnel piercing with a black inside. Also at the bottom of the mouth he had left and right a piercing ring strapped vertically around the lips, parallel each down the end of the nose wing. Which made his lower lip even more voluminous and looked like the beginning of curved tracks leading into his mouth. His face was of a delicacy and flawlessness like the masterpiece of all boys. But it was nothing special for himself and his family, he just looked like that. He was big, very big. with his height of 1.90 meters and thin but muscular figure he made an impression. He could also be more than satisfied with his genitals of 21x4.5 centimeters. Everyone blamed his appearance for not having a girlfriend yet. He has already rejected many. He's probably waiting for one that's equal to him, they thought. But he knew that something completely different was the reason, because he didn't care, but nothing at all, about the female sex. One evening after he had already fallen asleep in the early afternoon and was bored, he decided to go to the local hammam and let himself be pampered. It was a very modern and yet traditional hammam in various warm gray marble shades. A large dome roof and a heavy door as entrance to the hammam. Away from this was a long tunnel with various open small dome rooms with resting blocks and a crossbar in the cross on one side with a kind of kitchen room and on the other side an oriental carpet room for the consumption of tea and hookah. So he rang the bell at the decorated old wooden door and a short time later two young male eyes peeked out of a recessed peepout door. He was admitted and the old wooden staircase was led up to his personal room. The personal wooden rooms were distributed in a circle over the entrance hall. Everything on this floor was made of old heavy wood and made a powerful impression. In his room he was allowed to take off his street clothes and there was a large, red and white tiled pestemal ready, which he immediately tied around his loins. The Arab-looking young Tellak had casually explained to him on the way from below that he was personally available for him tonight and pointed out to him the possibilities here. Now he studied in his kapause once again the different possibilities written on the wall on parlment and decided on the total offer with shisha, tea and hammam massage as well as all extras. Five minutes later, the Arab picked him up and asked if he had decided. He led him down the stairs to the shower room, which formed the entrance to the wet area, soaped his guest and washed off the sweat and dust of the day with a sponge. Then he led his guest through the long corridor into the steam room Hararet. Here several silver water outlets are bed with hot and cold water and in the middle a large heated fog stone, a Göbek Tas, which serves as a lying surface. He led him to the large stone sink, sat him there and scooped warm water with the ready Tas and poured it over Jamal's young hot body several times. He made him lie down on the fog stone and told him to relax, he would pick him up again. Jamal closed his eyes and his thoughts circled around this Arab Tellak. He looked good, very good. Many traits on the body of the Tellak reminded him of himself. Except that this one built much stronger and had big strong hands. He wondered what he would look like naked. If only I had seen him in white light cotton pants and a thin long shirt. However, the imprint of the Arab's tail through this fabric part did not leave his head. How he would like to touch it, maybe even take it in his mouth once and gently pamper the part. At 50 degrees and 65% humidity, his sweat glands were slowly set in motion. The pores opened and with the sweat slag and toxins penetrated from his body. At the same time, his body was loosened by the heat and the blood penetrated more and more into its best part. Due to the strong relaxation, he was almost in a trance. He didn't even notice how the Tellak came back and gently and slowly brushed his paw over the best part of Jamal. The Tellak again scooped up several ladles of warm water and slowly poured it up along the feet to his body. The boy slowly woke up again and looked shocked with a raised expression in his eyes at the Tellak, who asked him if he could have relaxed a bit. He said yes and hoped that the masseur did not see his extreme erection between his legs. The Tellak asked Jamal to come up slowly with a grin on his face when he had said that and a mischievous look at his room. He took off his pestemal and gave him a new dry one. He turned around to put his legs on his former berth and dry his legs. He didn't see the looks that the Tellak gave his plump hairless ass. When he was dry, he was led through the heavy door on the way back into the long corridor, to the front of the carpet room. Only now did the young Turk realize that in the meantime there was no one left in the whole walls except him and the Tellak. He was placed in a place in front of a shisha where already on a tealight a jug of freshly brewed tea, of which the young Arab gave him some of it in his tea glass in a cheerful and lively way. He got stuck just before him and went through a small stone inlet into a back room. Shortly after, he came forward with fresh glowing coals and set the water whistle in motion. He gave Jamal the mouthpiece in his hand and disappeared again. This caught the first puffs and leaned back relaxing. He had never felt so relaxed as he did right now. His body seemed to have separated from his mind and he was somehow absolutely beside himself. He had once heard that you have a strange feeling when you sweat too much and drink too little. That's why he reached for the tea and tried to empty the whole pot as quickly as possible. Every now and then interrupted by deep puffs of the shisha. At first he had only pulled it slightly, but in the meantime he pulled down the clouds deep, let them down a little and let the big clouds come out of his lungs again. Everything was different here and today than he was used to. The tea tasted woody and the shisha also had its own taste that he had never tasted before. What he didn't know was that it was a tea mixture of Yohimbee wood and G and what he pulled so joyfully into his lungs was not hookah tobacco but a mixture of tobacco and T. At first he briefly panicked when all the muscles all over his body began to tremble, and cold shivers flashed across his body. Just at that moment the Tellak came back, naked from head to toe like him. Both covered only with a cloth. He said it was certainly the deep relaxation. He is now ready for the massage. On the way back to the big Hararet he calmed down and his tail stood up and became rock hard. No matter what he was trying to think about, the erection did not go back. The Arab from whom he had learned in the meantime that this was called Cem, led him into the large dome room and helped him to the middle of the heated navel stone, took off his plague and told him to lie on his back. Jamal, who was still floating on a flying carpet, now knew that he could no longer hide his erection from Cem. He fetched his Kese, the exfoliating glove and began to free his body from pore deposits and skin scales with gentle pressure. Again and again accompanied by warm and from time to time cold water jets. He had to turn around and the same procedure took place in the back. Cem must be an expert he thought he also rubbed intensively on his cock and his scrotum as well as now on his ass gap around. He felt how something was lightly pressed into his anus and something was also injected there. It burned briefly but his anus reacted with great joy to this treatment, no it even spread forward into his cock and through the rest of the body. He had a desire for Cem to play with his anus even more than just the short rubbing. Cem felt his hand over Jamal's back and noticed that he was still not really relaxed. He knew how to change that and Jamal clearly said he had chosen the full program. Again Cem grinned mischievously, no almost even devilishly down and licked his lips. Well, if you say so, he said. Very short time later, he held a glass bong machine in front of Cem and pressed a remote control into his hand. He should press on it and when the glass ball has filled with the relaxing remedy, he should inhale deeply and then let go, keep the smoke a little down and then slowly blow out. The stupid boy didn't ask what kind of cure it would be there. Well, maybe it was also because his brain was already clouded with an acceptable dose of T. Anyway, he does as told and pressed the button of the piece in his hand. He heard and saw how a flame ignited in front and something in the Bong turned to smoke. After taking a deep breath, he briefly felt something go deep into his anus. The naive Turkish boy suspected and did not know that it was a booty bump. After a few more deep moves, Jamal was already really wide. He had to lie on his back again and his expert began to soap him up with the linen bale. He felt how something flowed out of his asshole and he became even more foggy but also much more uninhibited and horny. When his front body was over, he had to turn again. He was so stoned and relaxed that he almost couldn't do it with his own strength, Cem helped him. The stupid boy reached for the remote control button again and Cem shook his head laughing. The 20-year-old did not notice that Cem had been naked for a long time. Cem also soaped him in the back and as he was done he poured him with a few hot water pours to wash off the soap and a cold water pour to stimulate his circulation. The Arab took the bong machine away, the boy had already dropped the operation from his hand some time ago, and broke it back to the place where he had fetched it. Then he dabbed Cem's back with his cloth that was still almost dry on the side, grabbed a bottle of massage oil and began to massage the boy's back. He relaxed more and more, his pupils were already pitch black and huge from the many smoke. After the back and the arms came the legs and when he got there at the top he took care of the boy's ass. He spread his legs, inwardly hoping that the Tellak would also make him sexually happy. He was so horny. That exactly this was the goal of the Arab POZ stallion, since he could not know the horny young Turk, who was about to close the hammam, he could not know. He did not know that everything that had happened to him tonight had no other purpose than to make him unrestrained and willless, he did not know. The gay Tellak was nothing less than the son of the gay hammam owner and not an ordinary employee. He had separated from Cem's mother after he had come out. In his wild bareback games, he got the POZ epidemic. He infected his son during his nocturnal family rape games. Cem has only fucked bare around since then and from time to time there were special POZ parties with all kinds of drugs here in the hammam. That's exactly why everything was there that could offer support. Cem massaged the boy's hole like a world champion. Found that the boy was absolutely clean and flushed. But since he wanted the boy to be really tall, he tells him that the full program also includes the massage from the inside, and he had to be clean. He fetched a large bag of meth splitter solution and let it run into the boy. He let it work in the body of the young Turk for a few minutes. Cem now pushed a plug up Jamal's ass and pulled him up. He led the boy through the room to a rounding of the room where it had a shower head, turned on the water and wrapped his arms around the Turkish upper body. He knew that if the boy was tight now, the mixture in his guts would catapult him into a whole new level after elimination and be nothing compared to what was now. He pressed his now erect 20cm tail against the hole of Jamal. He was happy and thought he would be fucked now and began to relax. Cem quickly withdrew, just in time. Because suddenly a huge wave of chemical ass juice mixture came out of the boy's anus. He pressed and made and Cem knew, when the whole broth was dried up, that the boy was now not only completely clean but high in a different stratosphere. In the meantime, Jamal could not even walk by himself, so Cem had to carry him back to the warm stone. When they arrived, Jamal told his masseur that he urgently needed to be fucked by his horny fat cock, deep in his boy pussy. Jamal had reached his goal. The Arab POZ stallion took his tail in his hand and held it in front of the throat entrance of Jemal. He immediately opened his mouth and began to suck the part. Cem held the head of the loaded boy and pressed his fat part deep into the boy's esophagus and began to run his water that he had accumulated. He squirted the piss broth directly into the boy's stomach. He choed and tried to struggle for air, which he had a hard time. When Cem had pissed off, he withdrew and said this was easier than to get water. Jamal looks at him greedily with tears in his eyes. He again took Jamal's head in his hand and pressed it on his now rock-hard tail in the longing for the boy's ass. When he had fucked something in it, he pulled back and went to the back so as not to waste time and push his swollen masculinity into the boy. He didn't care how much it hurt the Turkish boy and he began to push his uncut cock into his hole. At the same time, he pushed down the boy's back and slammed centimeter by centimeter with ease into his long tail. Jamal groaned and let himself be plowed unrestrained. Cem had reached the places that Jamal loved to get fucked and had never felt it as horny as now. The bolt-stick tail dripped with pre-sap without protection straight deep in the middle of the channel and was soon able to inject his POZ seed. His hip and his balls hit each time with animalistic passion on the body lying under him. Then he heard the grunt of the Arab, who once again pressed deep into him. His cock staggered and throbbed powerfully inside and spit his juice into him in rashing thrusts. Jamal felt six bursts of the juice squirt along his intestinal walls and how his hole simply filled. Cem kept there for a few more seconds and squeezed out the rest of his sperm. Then he began to pull out his fat Dick. The ass milked its last drops from the exploded cock. Cem apologized that he came so fast but he just needed it now because he never jerks off until he comes. He sounded very satisfied with himself. But finally he was only at the beginning of this fuck night with the Turkish guest. He massaged around this plump ass and slowly pressed four fingers into it. His big paws were imposing but he wanted to sink his whole hand in this boy. Slowly he streened the rosette with his fingers. Millimeter by millimeter he came forward. Jamal felt the pain but he was somehow far away, so he didn't cramp and then suddenly with a plop the hand was in it. Slowly, Cem rotated the widest part to make sure that if he had a part of his arm digging in the boy, it would not close again and he would only come out again with the opening of the anus. But the sphincter relaxed and showed no signs of contracting again. Slowly but steadily, Cem pushed his arm into it. He was surprised how full this bitch inside was already after his first shooting of his infecting charge. The digging and feeling of the warm flesh that his hand was around made him horny and his tail grew again. His cock stood up again full and hard when he pulled his hand out of the already well filled ass with cum. He reached forward with his hand full of his juice, which he had previously pressed into this Kimme with his tail and put his juice-smeared fingers in front of Jamal's mouth for his entertainment. Submissively, he sucked first his index finger, then his thumb, then the rest of his hand. His legs were just twitching at the moment. The Turkish handsome was now also aware that his ass would no longer be the same after that night. How far the effects would extend, however, he could not yet guess in the least. The Tellak again put his tail, dripping in threads, in front of the twitching hole. Quickly and vigorously he pressed the part completely down to the balls deep inside. Jamal let out screaming moans and squeezed his fists tightly, while the sperm porridge was opened deep into his guts by the fuck bolt. The balls hit mercilessly like thunders on his ass. His Turkish beating that still stood like a one through the Yohimbeetee and it smelled of sperm and sex all over the large room. With further constant thrusts, the Arab evenly spoiled the young fuck hole that hurt dullly. Slowly but surely demanded a next load of POZ soup to be released in the walking Arab bulls. His constant fucking went into an uncontrolled threshing. The tail poded around, each time he hit in a different place. The Dick tensed and got bigger just before he surrendered. Cem went down with his head and with a kiss he wanted to dampen his cry full of ecstasy but it was too much with the shooting off of his second load he bit the boy with his teeth deep into the boy's flesh. That was also too much for the boy and he cramped up and spermed his own last negative charge between his loins and the warm stone. Then he fainted and Cem also collapsed on him. After several minutes, Jamal came back to himself. The Tellak was still on him and the meanwhile flaccid cock of the Arab stallion was still in the fucked up sperm cave. A few minutes later, Cem struggled up, poured Jamal with several ladles of cold water and carried the boy out into the long corridor to the carpet room. He put him down there and got him a pot of cool tea with G in it and treated himself to a refreshment. Time was already well advanced, outside it was already getting light. His father had to be awake by now, so he could inform him why he didn't come home that night. It wasn't a problem with them or anything, but he still didn't want him to worry. Secretly, he hoped that he might even want to come over to help him make the special guest happy. After ringing three times, it also decreased. Cem told his father that this night, just before they had closed, there was still a boy in front of the door and because he had liked him so much, he decided to let him in and use him for his diabolical game. Since both generations of the family had the same male taste, his father was passionate about the suggestion that he could join the game. The father instructed his son to hold the guest high. He himself wants to call the rest of the guys, who probably also wanted to celebrate today with a party. The boys were the rest of the hammam's employees. Since the whole staff was always horny anyway, a spontaneous POZ party could be convened. Even the two boys who were not gay were usually always there, for them the main thing was that they could shoot their evil seed into some twitching hole. An hour later, the remaining 17 players of this team were also all present. Everyone was enthusiastic and immediately ready to contribute their part to the success of the "Turkish Conversion" campaign. In the meantime, Cem had given his guest a special bong. He was quite loaded and relaxed in front of him, repeatedly broke the crystals with the lighter to develop into smoke and inhaled it deep into his lungs. The father was the first to be there. He was delighted with the appearance of the guest, which - which was to be expected - was entirely to his liking, as well as the condition of this boy. But he wanted to because it became even more loaded and so he prepared a syringe for injection with T in the shisha kitchen. Excited for the second part, or is it a waste of time?