The Cup That Runneth Over

[aussieamylpig]

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.

[xxbjn2]

Great story from a hot piggy slut 😀

[aussieamylpig]

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.   

[nicktheslut]

Nice work. Great writing. Just enough detail to know the characters and environment (If you are an aussie, you would understand a BBQ party and have fond memories of your own), but pulled back enough so the reader can fill the gap with imagination. Loved it.

[BiBtmCyclist]

damn thats a hot story and I can vouch for xxbjn2 has the hottest hole to breed and can't wait to load him up again soon

[nymidtowneast]

Now that's my idea of a perfect bbq!

[Niceroundass]

Yes excellent story!!!  The poppers, the men all of it!

[sleazebugga]

wow, great story! thank you 

[Alaric]

Pulled pork with plenty of Hot Sauce to add to the memories.

[cumhole1919]

Well written, and I really identify with the cluelessness.  I just wish I'd ever gotten an invitation like that.

[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.

 

[jagmanaz]

One hot scene, thank you for this

[Movietheaterslut2]

That was FUCKING hot!! Thank you!!

[KinkyTallBottom]

Great continuation!  Love to see more!

[sleazebugga]

Another great chapter 😈☣️☣️😈