Remembering my conversion

[Cutedelicategay]

As I approach 6th conversion anniversary, I present you with my conversion story. My stories are based on true events however, I try to add erotica. In my story while I am running through emotions of my conversion, I am imagining if my negative ass and his positive cock were to come alive...........

The seeds of my conversion were laid in a gay bar

The gay bar pulses with raw, unfiltered energy, a throbbing den of desire where the night air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat, spilled beer, and the faint, musky tang of arousal. Bass from the speakers vibrates through the sticky wooden floor, syncing with the rapid heartbeats of the crowd packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Strobe lights cut through the haze like knives, flashing over bare torsos glistening under the dim glow, hips grinding in shameless rhythm on the dance floor. Men of all builds—lean twinks, beefy bears, smooth jocks—press close, hands roaming freely, lips brushing necks, crotches bumping with deliberate intent. It's a place where inhibitions dissolve, where the line between flirtation and fuck blurs into oblivion.

I sat at the scarred oak bar, a fit guy in your mid-20s with a slim, athletic frame honed from gym sessions and runs along the beach. My dark brown hair is tousled just right, falling over my forehead in a way that screams approachable yet fuckable. I am dressed to tease: a fitted black shirt that hugs my defined pecs and narrow waist, unbuttoned enough to show a hint of smooth chest. Below, snug jeans cling to my thighs like a second skin, the denim molding over the firm curve of my bubble butt and the subtle bulge of my cock, which twitches occasionally as the club's vibe seeps into me. I've ordered a whiskey neat, the amber liquid burning down my throat as I sip, trying to play it cool. But inside, a storm brews. I've always been the safe one—condoms, regular tests coming back negative. Tonight, though, something feral stirs. The whiskey warms my belly, loosening the knot of caution, whispering temptations of risk, of letting go and getting lost in the heat.

My eyes scan the room, drawn to the dance floor where bodies writhe like a living organism. A guy nearby laughs too loud, his hand sliding down his partner's back to squeeze an ass cheek possessively. I shift on the stool, feeling my own hole clench involuntarily, a phantom ache building. The bar's energy is infectious, pulling me in, making my skin prickle with anticipation. I've come here alone, telling myself it's just for a drink, but deep down, I crave connection—raw, unprotected, the kind that leaves marks.

Across the crowded space, Jax locks eyes with me. He's in his mid-30s, rugged and commanding, with a build that speaks of hard labor or heavier lifts—broad shoulders straining a sleeveless gray tee, tattoos snaking up his thick arms, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a square jaw. His dark eyes smolder with confidence, scanning the room like a predator selecting prey. When his gaze lands on me, it sticks, raking over my body with blatant hunger. He smirks, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and jerks his head toward the shadowy back corridor—a dim hallway leading to who-knows-where, away from the main throng. My pulse hammers in my ears, louder than the music. My cock stiffens fully now, pressing insistently against the seam of my jeans, a damp spot forming where precum beads at the tip. I hesitate for a beat, glass halfway to your lips, but the pull is magnetic. I down the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, the fire spreading through my veins, and slide off the stool.

Weaving through the press of hot, sweat-slicked bodies feels like wading into a sea of temptation. A hand brushes my ass accidentally—or not—as I pass, sending a jolt straight to my groin. The air grows thicker, charged with pheromones, every inhale filling my lungs with the promise of sex. Jax waits at the corridor's mouth, leaning against the wall with casual dominance, his muscular legs spread wide, crotch outlined prominently in his faded cargos. He doesn't speak, just nods once, and I follow, heart thudding as the club's roar fades behind me.

The hallway swallows me whole, the noise muffling to a distant thump, replaced by the echo of my footsteps and ragged breaths. Graffiti scars the brick walls—crude drawings of cocks and asses, scrawled messages urging 'Fuck raw' and 'Breed me'. Dim bulbs flicker overhead, casting long shadows that dance like ghosts. Jax doesn't waste time. He spins me around, slamming my back against the cool, rough brick. His body pins mine, solid and unyielding, heat radiating from his skin like a furnace. I can smell him now—clean sweat mixed with cologne and something earthier, masculine. His crotch grinds into my hip, the hard ridge of his erection unmistakable, thick and insistent.

"That ass," he growls low, lips grazing my ear, breath hot and laced with beer. "Been teasing me all night, swaying like it wants to be owned." His hands are everywhere—fingers digging into my hips, yanking me closer, one palm sliding up under my shirt to thumb a nipple. I gasp, arching into him, my own hands fumbling at his chest, feeling the hard slabs of muscle beneath. The danger thrills me; I overheard him earlier at the bar, bragging to a friend about his status—positive, on a medical break and hence potent in reality. It should scare me, but instead, it ignites a dark fire, making my hole twitch with forbidden need.

Jax's mouth crashes onto mine, a bruising kiss all tongue and teeth, devouring me like he's starved. I kiss back hungrily, tasting salt and smoke, my cock throbbing painfully confined. His fingers hook into my belt loops, tugging my jeans down with rough efficiency. The zipper rasps, fabric pooling at my ankles along with my skimpy briefs. Cool air hits my bare skin, raising goosebumps, my erection springing free—seven inches of rigid flesh, curving upward, the head flushed and slick with precum. But Jax's eyes drop lower, to the prize: my plump cheeks framing a tight, pink pucker, the rim smooth and virginal in its untouched tightness, clenching shyly under his stare.

He steps back just enough to free himself, shoving down his zipper with a metallic snick. His cock emerges like a weapon, a girthy nine-incher, the shaft thick as my wrist, ridged with bulging veins that pulse with his heartbeat. The mushroom head is a deep purple, swollen and weeping a steady stream of clear fluid, balls heavy and low-hanging below a nest of dark hair. It bobs aggressively, pointing at me like an accusation, the slit oozing more precum in invitation. I know what it carries—the virus, humming in his blood, ready to rewrite me. My knees weaken, ass cheeks flexing as if already feeling the invasion.

Jax pulls a small brown bottle from his pocket, the label worn but unmistakable: poppers. He unscrews the cap with a grin that's all teeth and promise. "These are gonna make it good," he murmurs, voice a gravelly command. "Open you up wide, turn that tight ring into a hungry hole. Inhale when I tell you—deep hits, let it rush through you." He takes a snort first, eyes half-closing as the chemical high hits, his cock jerking visibly. Then he holds it under my nose. The sharp, vinegary scent invades my senses; I huff deeply, the vapors exploding in my brain like fireworks. My body melts, muscles loosening, blood rushing south as my rim softens, blooming slightly in readiness.

In this fevered haze, the world narrows to the intimate space between our bodies. Reality bends, and my ass and his cock come alive—not in flesh, but in sultry, internal whispers that echo in my mind like a private duet, raw and intimate, heightening every sensation. They face off, his tip hovering inches from my entrance, tracing teasing circles on my inner thighs, building the tension to unbearable levels.

HIS COCK (Jax's massive shaft, a deep, resonant baritone that rumbles through my core, the length flexing with each syllable, veins standing out as it inches closer, a fat drop of precum dangling from the slit): Look at you, tight little mancunt, all puckered and pink, clenching like you've been waiting for me your whole life. I've been trapped in these pants all night, watching that bubble butt grind against the bar stool, calling to me. Feel how hard I am? Throbbing, veins full of blood and more—I'm positive, loaded with my special gift, the kind that flips boys like you from safe and empty to wild and owned. Let me seduce you into it. Imagine my head pushing past that ring, bare and hot, stretching you wide till you're gasping. No rubber, just skin on skin, my precum leaking in first to tease what's coming. Then the flood—thick ropes of cum blasting deep, converting every cell, making you crave this rush forever. What's holding you back? That negative status? It's boring. Let me change you, make you mine.

MY ASS (my eager hole, a breathy, vulnerable tenor that quivers from the cheeks, the rim fluttering shyly toward the approaching heat, inner walls tingling with nerves): Oh god, you're so close... I can feel the warmth radiating off you, that drip from your tip almost touching me. I've been negative forever, clenched tight against anything that could change me. Guys poke and prod, but I stay safe, locked up. But tonight... you're different. Huge, veined, pressing like you own the air between us. Why me? What makes you think I want your conversion?

HIS COCK (nuzzling closer now, the broad head brushing my perineum, smearing a warm trail of slickness upward, voice dropping to a seductive purr, the shaft bobbing with restrained power): Because I see it in you—the way your cheeks tense when eyes linger, how your hole winks when you think no one's watching. Conversion? It's pure fire. I'll start slow, my crown dimpling that virgin ring, popping in with a burn that turns to bliss. Inch by veiny inch, I'll claim those velvet walls, dragging friction that lights up your nerves. You'll feel me pulse inside, leaking more precum to lube the way, priming you for the real change. But first, poppers—essential for this. They drop your defenses, make your muscles go slack so I can slide deep without fight. Jax is holding the bottle; snort now, deep and long. Let it hit you, melt that resistance.

I snatch the vial from Jax's hand, pressing it to my nostril and inhaling sharply. The rush crashes over me like a wave—dizzying, euphoric, my vision spotting as heat floods my body. My ass relaxes instantly, the rim softening, parting slightly as if inviting entry. Jax chuckles, low and dark, his tip catching on the loosened edge, testing the give.

MY ASS (blooming under the high, voice turning husky and needy, the pucker quivering openly now, pushing back instinctively): Fuck, the poppers... everything's spinning, so loose and electric. Your head's right there, teasing the edge. I... I'm seduced. That warmth, the promise—guide me through it. Show me how to take you, how the conversion works step by step.

HIS COCK (pressing forward with intent, the flared crown dimpling my entrance firmly, tone shifting to firm instruction, the slit oozing steadily): That's my boy—poppers are key, keep you open and hungry. Now, relax and push out like you're bearing down. Feel that? My head breaching, stretching the ring wide. Good—grip me as I sink in. We're going slow; first few inches to let you adjust. Those veins of mine? They'll scrape your walls just right, building the heat. Conversion starts here—my precum seeping in, marking you from the inside. When I hit halfway, poppers again; it'll make the deeper stretch feel like heaven.

The penetration begins with a sharp, delicious burn as Jax's cockhead forces past your sphincter, the muscle yielding with a slick pop. I cry out, the sound muffled against his shoulder as I clutch at his arms. Inch after thick inch follows, my walls stretching impossibly around his girth, the prominent veins dragging along sensitive nerves, sending sparks of pleasure-pain radiating outward. Jax rocks his hips gently, feeding more length, his hands spreading my cheeks wide for better access. The poppers' glow lingers, turning the fullness into a throbbing ecstasy, my prostate already brushing his shaft.

MY ASS (yielding to the invasion, inner muscles fluttering around the buried length, voice a muffled whine of sensation): Shit, you're huge—splitting me open, those ridges pulling at me. It burns so good... guide me more. How deep now? When's the next poppers?

HIS COCK (half-seated, pausing to throb inside me, the shaft pulsing rhythmically against my walls, voice steady and dominant): Halfway in, perfect—feel how your mancunt's hugging me, milking already? That's instinct, begging for the gift. I'm leaking deep now, that precum warming your core, starting the rewrite. Poppers signal: Jax is bringing the bottle—inhale deep as I push the rest. It'll loosen you further, let me bottom out without a hitch.

Jax presses the open bottle to my face; I huff greedily, the fresh hit amplifying everything—the stretch, the heat, the illicit thrill. My body goes limp with bliss, ass opening voraciously. He surges forward with a grunt, burying the final inches until his balls press flush against my taint, the head nudging deep into my guts. Fullness consumes me, every vein mapped against my insides, my own cock leaking profusely onto the floor.

MY ASS (fully impaled, walls clenching greedily, voice keening in overwhelmed pleasure): Yes—bottomed out, owning every bit of me. The poppers make it pulse so intense. Now what? How does the conversion build from here?

HIS COCK (holding still to let me savor it, then withdrawing an inch before snapping back, setting a slow rhythm, tone possessive and guiding): Locked in now, that's the spot—feel my tip kissing your depths? Each pull and thrust pumps more of me into you, my fluids mixing with yours. Conversion's ramping up; the virus rides every stroke, cell by cell. Poppers keep it smooth—important for the pace, prevents clenching that could slow the absorption. When I pick up speed, huff again; it'll sync your body to the pounding, turn it into waves of need.

Jax's hips begin to move in earnest, pulling out halfway before driving back in with controlled force. The wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the hallway—schlick, slap, my cheeks rippling from the impacts. Sweat beads on my skin, trickling down my back as he kneads my globes, fingers occasionally dipping to feel where his cock disappears inside me. My dick bobs untouched, precum stringing to the ground, the pressure coiling tighter in my balls. He slaps the bottle to my nose once more; I inhale, the rush hitting as his thrusts accelerate, turning the fuck into a relentless drive.

MY ASS (bouncing on the pistoning shaft, rim gripping slickly with each withdrawal, voice fracturing into moans): Deeper—pound it! I feel you swelling, that hot leak turning my insides to fire. The poppers... they're everything, making me take you raw, absorb the change.

HIS COCK (ramming harder now, balls smacking my skin with lewd pops, voice roughening with building climax): Fuck, you're tight and wet, sucking me in like you were made for conversion. Each slam delivers more—my seed's brewing, ready to flood and seal it. Poppers one more time: snort as I go full throttle. It'll drop you into the peak, let you milk every drop without holding back.

The final hit surges through me, head swimming as Jax's pace turns brutal, hips blurring in a frenzy. His cock fattens inside, grinding my prostate mercilessly, the veins throbbing against my walls. My orgasm crashes first—body seizing, cock erupting in thick jets that splatter the brick wall, hole spasming wildly around him, pulling him deeper.

MY ASS (convulsing in ecstasy, voice a shattered cry, sucking greedily): Cum now—flood me! Make the conversion stick, turn me positive and dripping!

HIS COCK (exploding with a roar, shaft jerking as ropes of hot cum blast into my core, tone triumphant): Take it—spurt after spurt, painting you full! Converted, boy—my hole now, buzzing with the gift forever.

He grinds through his release, cum overflowing, leaking down my thighs in warm rivulets. I slump against the wall, trembling, ass throbbing with the fresh, illicit warmth. Jax withdraws slowly, the wet pop echoing, his softening cock glistening with your combined fluids. He tucks himself away, pressing the poppers into my palm with a final smirk. "Hold onto these. You'll be back for more soon." He melts into the shadows, leaving me alone, fingers tracing the creamy drip from my hole, body humming with newfound hunger—no longer negative, but alive with craving.

The hallway spins faintly as the poppers fade, but the fullness lingers, a promise of nights to come. I pull up my jeans, the fabric sticking to the mess, and stumble back toward the bar's lights, already next to Jax at the bar raising celebratory drink and making plans with him for the rest of the weekend.

 

[negchaserlooking]

Fuck yeah!

[cman54]

Great start. I hope there is more. I feel it must be awesome knowing you are getting fucked by a poz guy who is not on meds. And knowing your ass is not protected against anything. Fertile and ready to get knocked up.

[Cutedelicategay]

2 hours ago, cman54 said:

Great start. I hope there is more. I feel it must be awesome knowing you are getting fucked by a poz guy who is not on meds. And knowing your ass is not protected against anything. Fertile and ready to get knocked up.

Yes.....there is a lot more to the entire conversion process. I am in the process of writing other chapters - the entire weekend where not only Jax but his other friends used me behind his back. 

I am also in the process of writing multiple chapters of my first and only relationship of 8 years. This one will be erotic but also a bit emotional. I hope guys enjoy my work. 

[Cutedelicategay]

The night continues..........

I stagger back into the main bar area, the roar of music and chatter slamming into me like a second high. My ass throbs with a delicious ache, Jax's cum still leaking warmly down my inner thighs, soaking into the denim as I pull my jeans up fully. The sticky mess clings, a secret reminder of my surrender, making every step a teasing friction against my sensitive rim. My face flushes, body buzzing from the poppers and the illicit thrill, cock half-hard and twitching at the memory of that thick shaft splitting me open. I spot Jax at a high-top table near the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by three other guys—his crew, all rugged and built like him, laughing boisterously over pitchers of beer. They look like a pack of wolves, tattoos peeking from sleeves, easy grins that scream trouble.

 

Jax sees me first, his eyes lighting up with predatory satisfaction. He waves me over, pulling out a stool with a foot. "There he is—my fresh convert," he says loud enough for his friends to hear, his German accent thickening with amusement. I slide onto the seat, thighs pressing together to hide the drip, but the way I wince draws chuckles from the group. Up close, they're all mid-30s, tanned from travel, with that backpacker vibe—faded shirts stretched over muscled chests, cargo shorts riding low on hips. One has a buzzcut and a scar on his lip; another sports a man-bun and piercings; the third is clean-shaven with a cocky smirk. All HIV positive, I had overheard Jax muttering earlier, on a medical break from treatments back home, turning their Canadian backpacking trip into a raw, uninhibited adventure.

"This is the guy I was telling you about," Jax announces, slapping my back hard enough to jolt me forward. "Tight as fuck, took me like a champ in the hallway. You should see his hole now—gaping and greedy for more." The friends lean in, beers in hand, eyes raking over me with blatant interest. The buzzcut one, Lukas, grins wolfishly. "Jax's cum is potent stuff, ja? One load and you're hooked. Bet your ass is already craving round two—milking him dry like a pro bottom." I flush deeper, but the words send a fresh spurt of precum into my skimpy briefs, my rim clenching around the phantom fullness.

Man-bun guy, Tomas, passes me a fresh beer, his fingers lingering on mine. "Heard you were negative before. Not anymore, eh? Jax breeds deep—turns safe boys into cumsluts. We'd all love a turn, but he's claiming you tonight." The clean-shaven one, Karl, laughs, raising his glass. "To conversions! Your bottom skills must be killer to handle that beast bare. Jax's loads are legendary—thick and sticky, sealing the deal every time." They toast, the lewd banter flowing as freely as the drinks, their flirting a constant press—hands brushing my arm, knees bumping mine under the table, comments laced with heat about how I'd look bent over for the group, Jax's seed marking me as off-limits at least for now.

The whiskey and beer loosen me further, the group's energy pulling me in. Jax's arm drapes over my shoulders possessively, his breath hot on my neck. "Stay with me tonight? My hotel's a dump—shared room with these pigs. Yours got space?" I nod eagerly, the plan forming amid the haze: he'll crash at my spot for two nights, fucking me senseless after dark, while days blur into hangs with his crew—sightseeing, beers, whatever. They cheer the idea, Lukas winking. "Don't wear him out too much, Jax. Save some for brunch tomorrow—we'll see how well he walks after your potent cum works its magic."

Hours slip by in a blur of shots and stories—tales of their German roots, wild nights across Europe, the freedom of their med break letting them fuck raw without a care. My ass twitches under the table, the cum shifting inside my, a constant tease. Finally, Jax hauls me up, kissing me rough in front of them. "Time to breed him proper," he growls, and they whoop as I stumble out into the night, his hand firm on my waist, guiding me to my nearby hotel.

The door clicks shut behind me, the room's dim lamp casting shadows over the king bed and adjoining bathroom. Jax wastes no time, stripping us both with efficient yanks—my shirt over my head, jeans kicked off to reveal the cum-streaked thighs and my still-swollen hole, puffy and slick. His cargos hit the floor, cock springing free again, already rigid and leaking, the veins pulsing like they remember my grip. He grabs the poppers from his pocket, tossing my clothes aside. "Shower first—clean you up just to dirty you again."

I follow him into the steamy confines, water cascading hot over our bodies as he soaps my back, fingers probing my crack. The once-bred ass and his potent cock awaken in the humid air, their voices a sultry echo in my mind, building on the hallway seduction with renewed hunger.

MY ASS (my hole, still tender from the first load, a husky whisper rippling through my cheeks as water streams down, the rim fluttering under Jax's probing finger): You're back... I can feel you swelling already, that familiar heat pressing close. Your first cum's still deep in me, warm and sticky, changing everything. But I'm greedy now—bred once, wanting more of your potent gift.

HIS COCK (Jax's shaft, bobbing under the spray, voice a deep rumble vibrating through the water, the head nudging my soapy cleft): Missed this mancunt. Look at you, loose from my load, begging for seconds. I'll fuck you clean in here, then fill you fuller. Poppers first—Jax is uncapping now. Snort deep; it'll make the water feel like lube, open you wide for my slide.

Jax presses the bottle to my nose amid the steam; I inhale sharply, the rush hitting with the heat, muscles melting as he bends me forward against the tile. His cockhead catches my entrance, slick with soap and his precum, pushing in with a wet squelch. The stretch reignites the burn-pleasure, my walls yielding eagerly around his girth, the veins scraping fresh paths.

MY ASS (yielding to the thrust, inner muscles clenching wetly, voice moaning under the water): Yes—breaching again, so thick in the steam. Guide me through it; how's this breed different, with your cum already coating me?

HIS COCK (sinking deep, hips snapping forward to hilt me against the wall, tone commanding as water splashes): Deeper this time—mixing loads, making it stick. Feel me grind your spot? Each pump stirs my seed inside, prepping for the new flood. Poppers signal: huff as I ramp up; keeps you relaxed for the pound.

He thrusts steadily, the shower amplifying the slaps of skin, my cock hardening against the cool tile as his balls smack my taint. Another hit of poppers loosens me further, turning the fuck into a slippery frenzy. My ass milks him, the dialogue fracturing into gasps.

MY ASS (bouncing on the pistoning length, voice keening): Harder—stir it all! Your potency's building, swelling me.

HIS COCK (throbbing near release, voice growling): Take the second load—blasting now, sealing you tighter!

He erupts with a grunt, ropes of hot cum joining the first, overflowing to swirl down the drain. My cum untouched, spurting against the wall, body shuddering. Jax pulls out, the water rinsing the excess, but my hole stays full, throbbing.

Toweled dry, I collapse onto the sheets, Jax pouncing like a predator. He flips me onto my stomach, knees spreading my cheeks to expose the bred pucker, now red and glistening from the shower load. Poppers bottle on the nightstand, ready. The voices return, intimate in the quiet room.

MY ASS (face-down, cheeks parted, voice muffled into the pillow, rim winking): Twice bred, but not enough—your cock's calling me again. I'm yours now, converted and craving.

HIS COCK (pressing the damp head to my entrance, voice a low purr as it dimples the ring): Good boy—feel how I'm leaking already? This load's for owning you through the night. Poppers: Jax is holding it—inhale slow, let it sink in with me.

The vapors flood me, ass blooming as he mounts and drives in balls-deep, the dual loads squelching around his shaft. He fucks prone-bone style, weight pinning me, cock grinding deep with long, deliberate strokes.

MY ASS (impaled and rocking, walls fluttering): So full—your veins mapping me again. Tell me how this breed cements it.

HIS COCK (thrusting rhythmically, balls dragging my skin): Mixing everything, flooding your core. Poppers keep the pace—snort when I say, turns pain to pure need.

Mid-fuck, another hit amplifies the ecstasy, his pace turning brutal, bed creaking. I claw the sheets, prostate hammered, as he floods me third—no, second for the bed, but the count blurs in bliss.

MY ASS (spasming): Cum—breed me deeper!

HIS COCK (erupting): Full again—my potent seed claiming every inch!

He collapses atop me, cock plugging the load, both drifting into sated sleep.

Sunlight filters through curtains as Jax stirs, his morning wood rigid against my thigh. I wake to his hand spreading me, the night's cum crusted but my hole slick and ready. Poppers nearby, the dialogue ignites with dawn's freshness.

MY ASS (morning-swollen, voice sleepy but eager): Again? Your cock's insatiable—three times now, but I need this final breed to start the day.

HIS COCK (rising hard, tip tracing my crack): Morning loads hit different—fresh and thick. Poppers wake-up call: huff it, open for my ride.

I snort, body igniting as he rolls me to my side, leg hooked over his hip for a lazy spoon-fuck. He slides in easy, the built-up seed lubing the way, thrusting slow-building to urgent.

MY ASS (grinding back, voice husky): Yes—stir the night in me. How's this one seal the two nights?

HIS COCK (pumping steadily, hand stroking my cock): Last for now—flooding you full before brunch. Poppers for the finish: inhale, milk me dry.

The rush peaks with his, cum jetting hot as I spurt over his fist, sealing the marathon.

We meet Jax's friends at a sunny café, legs shaky but ass humming with three loads. They smirk knowingly, Lukas sliding me a mimosa. "Looking bred, ja? Jax's potent cum got you glowing." Tomas winks. "Bottom skills on point—walk us through the night?" Jax laughs, arm around me, as banter flows, plans for the day ahead in their flirty pack.