DEEP INSIDE DALTON: Converting the Jock-Next-Door into a Chempig

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Before we knew his name, we called him Neighbor Boy.

Brian saw him first. On a gorgeous Saturday in May, I walked into the kitchen to see my husband jacking his fat dick while sneaking glances out the window. When he heard me approach, he flashed a piggish grin and motioned me over.

That’s when I caught my first glimpse of Neighbor Boy. He was shirtless, maybe 18 or 19, and hauling boxes into his family’s new home. His face, square-jawed and intense, was still boyish in a lot of ways, but you could easily see the drop-dead-handsome man he was becoming. And to make things even hotter, he was obviously packing a man-size piece of meat, judging from the package bouncing between his legs.


As sweat ran down the ridges of his abs, his shorts began to slip past the beltline, exposing just a bit of what appeared to be a bubble-perfect jockbutt. My eyes followed the dark line of sweat forming between his asscheeks; I wanted to bury my face in the fresh boy-musk around his crotch, his pits, his fuckhole.

Brian turned to me with an evil grin. “That boy is ours,” he said, still furiously jacking his cock. Then, with a grunt, he sprayed three powerful volleys of thick, unmedicated poz cum across the kitchen sink.

* * *

Brian and I have been together for 10 years. I’m 35; he’s 40. People tease us about looking like twins, and I can see why: we both have dark brown hair, beards, and hairy chests. We also have cocks that are roughly the same size, about 8.5” by 6.5”. And when our big dicks spring out of our jockstraps at the same time, we can usually turn a run-of-the-mill bottomboy into a trashy, knocked-up dickpig in no time at all.

It wasn’t always that way. Back when we met, Brian was a top. I was vers, but I wouldn’t let him fuck me raw. My reasoning was simple: I was neg, he was poz.

And then one night, he invited me to his house for a homemade dinner. It was my birthday, and he’d hinted at some kind of surprise. I had no idea what was in store: halfway through my first cocktail, I started to slur my speech. I remember asking him what was going on, but Brian just stood there, grinning like a demon and rubbing his cock through his jeans as I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I found myself suspended in midair, my body swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm. In my drugged-up stupor, it took me a few minutes to realize that I was directly underneath a large mirror on the ceiling. Very slowly, I managed to process the image I saw in the mirror: for some reason I was naked, with my legs splayed wide and arms tied back.

I’d heard of slings, but I’d never been in one. And just then, it dawned on me that my body was swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm because a total stranger was pounding my hole.

That’s when I heard Brian’s voice cut through the noise in that dark, crowded, sweat-stenched room: “The second booty bump definitely woke him up,” he said. Right about then, the guy fucking me started to convulse, and everyone in the room shouted encouragement as he thrust in and out of my hole frenetically. Next I heard a loud round of clapping and grunting from the crowd, followed by an odd sensation of warmth and wetness when that cock pulled out of me. My hole released the stranger's mushroom head with a subtle *pop*, and then I suddenly felt an emptiness in my ass, as if my knocked-up cunt somehow wasn’t complete anymore without a raw dick lodged deep inside.

But the emptiness didn’t last. Within a matter of seconds, I felt the familiar contours of Brian’s cock inside me. “Hey, baby,” he said, his big dick making an unfamiliar sloshing sound as he fucked away. “That was load number four, and you've just begun. It’s your birthday, remember? My gift is to get you fuckin’ pregnant. You want another poz load?”

I stared at him, uncomprehending. Then my eyes grew wide as I realized what all this meant. “No,” I said. “Fuck no. I don’t want to be sick. You know that. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oh, please—you have no idea what you want,” he replied. “From the moment we met, I saw right through you. You’re just another clean-cut, handsome boy waiting for somebody to give you permission to be a cumpig. I mean, just look at your dick right now—it’s harder than I’ve ever seen it.” I glanced down at my cock, and I could see it dripping beads of precum onto my abs. Meanwhile, Brian kept pounding me. “Your dick seems to be a few steps ahead of your brain at the moment, because your dick knows what you need,” he said. “And what you need, little piggy, is an ass full of fresh poz loads. Don’t worry—your brain will catch up to your cock before the night’s through. Until then, we’ll just gangrape you full of poz seed, OK?"


"Sorry, bud, but I'm pretty sure it's the other way around. You're the one getting fucked tonight, remember? You're getting fucked and bred and, if you're really lucky, maybe even pozzed. So...are you ready to beg for another dirty load, boy?”

“Fuck no, Brian. I don’t want this. Fucking stop, OK? STOP.”


He didn’t stop. Instead, he nodded to someone behind me, and I was quickly muzzled and blindfolded. Brian stopped thrusting for a moment, lodging his cock deep in my hole, and ordered me to stay perfectly still unless I wanted to get hurt. In the stillness that followed, someone wrapped a tourniquet around my bicep. I felt a pinch in my arm, and the tourniquet came loose.

Almost immediately, I gasped as a wave of dark energy rushed to my chest, my lungs, my cock, my ass. I coughed violently, and I struggled to catch my breath while the dark wave kept crashing through my nervous system. And just as Brian predicted, that's when my brain finally caught up with my cock.

I was in heat. I loved the feeling of Brian's raw dick pounding me full of toxic seed. And by the end of the night, I would whimper and moan anytime my hole wasn’t stretched around a charged-up cock. I'd been transformed from a neg condom queen to a bareback slampig in a matter of hours.

In the years since, Brian and I have developed a knack for initiating young men into the world of chemsex, feeding drugs to unsuspecting boys before knocking them up. The hottest of all, I think, was the seduction of Brian’s college-age nephew. And it didn’t happen on just any night, either, but on the night of our wedding. This kid was a hot little faggot with a naturally hungry butt. He was deeply closeted, but Brian and I saw right through him in a second. So after flirting with him on the dancefloor, then feeding him our dicks in a restroom stall, we took him back to the honeymoon suite, smoked him out with the glass pipe, and slathered Tina-laced lube all over his fratboy fuckhole. Within 15 minutes, he was taking a seat on my raw cock and bouncing on it like a natural-born bitch.


Eight hours (and two giant slams) later, Brian’s fratboy nephew was a confirmed chemwhore, proudly spreading his wrecked fuckhole while it oozed loads from 11 strangers. Even then, he was still shoving fingers hungrily into his cunt, pleading for another slam of Tina in his arm. Instead, we dropped him off at our dealer’s house with instructions to push every boundary possible until this boy was corrupted through and through.

Our dealer didn’t disappoint, and within a month or two our fratboy nephew was a slampig escort with a real talent for getting double-fisted. We couldn’t be prouder.

* * *

The day after we saw Neighbor Boy for the first time, we introduced ourselves to his parents. Over the course of a 30-minute conversation that included far too many details about the sister we didn’t care to meet, we found out exactly what we needed to know: Neighbor Boy’s name was Dalton, and he was finishing up his senior year at McKinley High. He’d just turned 18. He had a steady girlfriend named Melissa, and he’d landed a scholarship to be a kicker for one of the state university football teams.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Dalton’s father said to us. “We’ll be chaperoning our daughter’s class trip to Washington, D.C. at the beginning of June. Dalton is perfectly capable of running the house by himself for a week, but could you just make sure he doesn’t throw any giant keggers? We’d really appreciate it.”

We nodded eagerly, because we’d found our window of opportunity. As the conversation wrapped up, we slipped our hands in our pockets, attempting to hide the bulges from our rapidly hardening cocks.

* * *

When Brian and I returned home, we closed the door and fell into a deep, sloppy kiss. We would do whatever necessary to fill all of Dalton’s holes with chems. And if we had our way, he’d be going to college in the fall with poz blood flowing through his veins.

“I wonder if Jesse knows Dalton,” Scott said. “That could be hot.”

I nodded and grabbed my phone. “Let’s give him a ring.”

We love Jesse because he’s an evil pig. But we love him even more because he’s an evil pig who happens to look like a blond, buff Mormon. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hung like a lumberjack.

Like Dalton, he’s a senior at McKinley, and we’d initiated him about six months earlier after chatting him up on a bareback fetish site. We pozzed him on the day after his 18th birthday. He was already entertaining some very dark fantasies by the time we found him—apparently he’d been watching bareback porn and trolling fetish chatrooms for years. But unlike most of the naïve little faggots we corrupt with chems and impregnate with toxic seed, Jesse was eager to get slammed into the stratosphere, and he required no encouragement to spread his muscled boybutt for our poz dicks. And now, in the months since his seroconversion, he’s been helping us lure boys to the world of chem-fueled bareback fucking.


Jesse answered my call right away. Yes, he said, he was pretty good friends with Dalton, who was basically the hottest guy in the entire fucking school.

We asked if Jesse was planning to hang out with Dalton anytime soon. Yes, he replied: he’d be at Dalton’s pool party the following weekend. “You guys should come, because a lot of the parents will be there,” he said. “I’ll tell Dalton to invite you. And I'll tell you something else: everybody at school would swear he’s straight, but I just don’t know. I get a weird vibe from him. Maybe not a gay vibe, but like a curious vibe.”

“So you’re saying there might be a faggot buried deep inside that boy?” I asked.

“Just a hunch,” Jesse replied.

“Well, in that case,” said Scott, “it’s time for us to get deep inside Dalton and find out.”



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Fucking hot story. Keep it coming !


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I'mn liking this story very much.


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