30 Seconds That Could Have Changed Everything

[cumslutw]

Part 12: The Doctor's Gift as a Cure

As you reach for your jeans, a shadow falls over the stall door. You look up. He's standing there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The doctor. From your position on the floor, looking up at him, the bulge in his scrubs looks even more impressive, a formidable weight of flesh. His eyes are dark, fixed on you, and then they drift down to the mess on your chest and the trickle of cum leaking from your ass.

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.

"Well, well," he chuckles, his voice a low, calm rumble. "I was wrong. You do know what you're asking for. And it looks like you've earned my gift after all."

He pushes the door open and steps inside, closing and locking it behind him. He unbuckles his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulls out his cock, already hard and angry-looking. The thick, heavy metal ring is still encircling the base, making it swell to an angry-red, almost purple color, every vein standing out like a roadmap on the engorged flesh. Thick, clear beads of precum drip from the tip, falling directly onto your face, one hitting your eye, burning and clouding your vision. He wipes some off with his thumb, smearing it across your lips like lip balm.

"Taste that," he commands. "That's the real thing. Not that boy's little thrill. That's just the key."

He reaches down, not to grab your arm, but to press two fingers against your pulse point, feeling your heart hammer against his touch. Then he grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet. He spins you around and slams you chest-first against the grimy tile wall, just like in his office. You feel his body press against your back, his cock hot and insistent between your ass cheeks.

"That kid is just an amateur," he growls in your ear, his voice a venomous whisper. "Some college student chasing a thrill, fucking every bare hole he can find, exploring parties... a willing but innocent amateur. I saw his lab results: nothing a few pills can't fix. Importantly, HIV negative. So, a nice mindfuck, but no real risk there. But me... I have the real thing. He was the opening act. I'm the main event."

He lines up his cock and slams into you, his entry made slick and easy by the student's load. You cry out, a mix of pain and profound ecstasy. He doesn't pause. He doesn't tease. He immediately starts fucking you with a furious, punishing rhythm, his hips a piston driving into you.

"Feel that?" he grunts, his breath hot on your neck. "That's my toxic cock rearranging your insides. I'm chasing that boy's cum deeper into you, painting over it. Marking what's mine."

"You wanted to be converted? I'm going to fucking convert you."

His words are a torrent of filth and scientific fact, each one making you harder. "Every thrust is pushing my viral load closer to your bloodstream. That kid's reckless abandon is the welcome wagon for my army. The raw friction from his hard fucking together with whatever else he might have shared with you creates a perfect, fertile pathway. Essentially giving my bugs a ride to the front of the line. You're not just getting fucked, you're getting seized. Permanently."

His pace becomes relentless, brutal. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes in the small room. "You're going to walk out of here with my poison inside you. You're going to feel me for days. And when you get the flu, when your body finally surrenders, you'll know who did it to you. You'll know who claimed you – the person you seeked for help, who gave you the get-out-of-jail card that you decided to flush down the toilet. You deserve it!."

With a final roar, he buries himself to the hilt. He reaches around and presses his hand flat against your lower stomach. His palm is warm, solid. The gesture shockingly gentle. He's holding you, anchoring you both in this intense moment. The touch focuses every sensation on that single point of contact where the hard, deep bulge of his cockhead presses against your inner wall. As his cock begins to pulse and spasm, you feel it from the inside, and his hand presses firmly, as if trying to feel the throb of his own climax from the outside. It's an unspoken, shared experience, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection as he floods you with his essence.

He stays there, panting, his weight pinning you to the wall, his warm hand still pressed against your stomach, a grounding point in the aftermath. After a long moment, he slowly pulls out. As the flare of his bulbous cockhead pulls out your ass lips, a trickle of the toxic juice begins to escape. Before it can run down your thigh, he presses two fingers against your hole, pushing the escaping seed back inside you.

"Don't waste it," he growls. "Every drop counts." He then brings those two glistening fingers to his own lips, tasting the mixture of your ass and his cum, a final, possessive act.

He gives you a rough shove, stepping back. You slump against the wall, utterly spent, cum leaking from your ass and your own load drying on your chest. He calmly tucks his cock back into his scrubs, buckles his belt, and pulls a prescription pad from his pocket. He scribbles on it, tears off the sheet, and holds it out.

"Same as the college kid will get," he says, his voice once again cold and professional. "Standard dose." He pauses, then adds with a cruel smile, "For the other... there's no cure." You take the paper, your hand trembling. He turns to the door.

"See me in four weeks," he says, without looking back. "Maybe the result will be more to your expectations then." He unlocks the door and walks out, leaving you alone, shaking, loaded with two men's cum, and holding a prescription for the temporary distraction, while forever carrying the one you can't cure.

[sleazebugga]

Wow, that was intense 😈😈☣️☣️😈😈

[kitpig]

Wow… the pozzing cluedo continues… will it be the Dr with his lead piping… time will tell 😈😈

[Oldpeter51]

On 1/28/2026 at 9:31 AM, kitpig said:

Wow… the pozzing cluedo continues… will it be the Dr with his lead piping… time will tell 😈😈

 

[Oldpeter51]

WHEW!!!!  Oh so hot!!!!   Keep it going 

[cumslutw]

Part 13: The Biohazard Number and a Husband's "Hey Honey"

The evening finds you in bed, a knot of conflicting emotions so tight you can barely breathe. The day's events replay in your mind on a relentless loop: the disappointingly negative test result, the doctor's cold rejection, his seething confession, the way he forced your hand against his toxic bulge. Then the bathroom stall, the anonymous student, the feeling of his load of questionable status filling you. And finally, the doctor's return, his possessive rage, the intimate, terrifying connection as he flooded you with his essence.

Your hand drifts down between your legs. Your hole feels wonderfully puffy, swollen, used. You press a finger against it, feeling the tender, bruised flesh. You can feel the wetness inside, a mixture of two distinct loads, a potent cocktail of student and doctor, still resting deep in your guts. The thought of losing even a drop is unbearable.

You reach over to the nightstand and pull out your favorite dildo, a thick, veined thing that always hits the right spot. You skip the lube; there's more than enough left inside of you. You guide it to your sore hole and push it in slowly, a deep moan escaping your lips as it sinks home. You're not fucking yourself for pleasure; you're performing maintenance. You work the dildo in and out, shoving what is left of the precious, toxic loads deeper, making sure your body absorbs every last remaining drop of their gift.

As you work the dildo, your mind races, fixating on the student. You replay the encounter in your head, trying to decipher his true nature. Was he just a horny kid exploring his newfound freedom at college, chasing the thrill of anonymous bareback risk? Is his excitement about the unknown just a newfound kink, a horny reaction to walking the edge of a cliff? Or is he something more deliberate? A calculating hunter, excited by the possibility of a permanent change, even if he doesn't know what he carries? But then the doctor's voice cuts through your fantasy, cold and clinical. That kid was negative. The doctor would know; he knew his lab results. And as much as you wanted to believe the kid was a secret legend in the making, you had to trust the doctor's diagnosis. The student was just a gateway drug, not the main event. A fun, dirty, but ultimately temporary stepping stone.

Then you think about the doctor. He wasn't a bugchaser; he was a man who was pozzed unknowingly by the man he loved, a victim of betrayal. But in that office, something shifted. It wasn't your defiance that changed him; it was your submission. Your desperate, shame-filled honesty, your complete inability to hide your fear and desire—you didn't just challenge his medical authority; you laid your soul bare at his feet.

But there was something more, something undeniable. Even in the midst of his rage, you were aroused by him. You couldn't stop staring at the bulge in his scrubs, a fact he couldn't have missed. And when he confessed his status, that he was poz and highly toxic, your own cock didn't shrink in fear. It throbbed. He saw it. He saw the raw, undeniable proof of your desire for the very thing that had destroyed his life.

In your pathetic vulnerability and your unmistakable arousal, you showed him a new way to see his condition. You weren't horrified by his poison; you were drawn to it. You helped him discover that his "life sentence" could be wielded as power, that his poison could be a gift. You didn't just awaken his rage; you awakened his inner god. He wasn't just a man broken by it; he was a true toxic titan, reborn in that moment.

Your eyes drift to your phone, lying on the nightstand. The memory of the biohazard symbol on the toilet wall flashes in your mind. The phone number written beneath. Who would leave a number like that? The possibilities are endless. A fellow bugchaser, looking for a connection. A true giftgiver, a dispenser of destiny. A poz guy who just got his own positive result and is looking to share the "good news." Or maybe it's just a troll, someone's idea of a sick joke. The uncertainty doesn't deter you; it intoxicates you. The thrill of the unknown pulls at something deep inside you, a primal urge to explore who’s at the end of the line.

Your desire overrides your caution. You leave the dildo buried deep inside you, a constant, full reminder of the day's events. You grab your phone, your hand slick with your own leaking precum, and open your photo gallery. You find the picture of the number. Your heart hammers. A reckless, desperate urge takes over. You need to know. You need to hear the voice on the other end. You don't save the number. You don't give it a name. You just manually type the digits into the keypad, your thumb hovering over the green call button. This is it. An anonymous connection. A step further into the abyss.

You start to stroke your cock. You are hard as hell, massaging your cockhead with the precum flowing from your piss slit. You are building up to a climax.

You press it.

It rings once. Someone picks up.

"Hey honey."

The world stops. It's his voice. Your husband's.

The shock is so profound, so absolute, that it triggers a physical response. Your balls tighten, your ass spasms around the dildo, sucking it in to the hilt, your cock jerks, and you erupt. A thick, powerful rope of cum shoots from your slit, splattering across your chest and stomach. You almost drop the phone. It's a dry, shuddering, soul-crushing orgasm that feels more like a seizure than a release. You're gasping for air, your body convulsing on the bed as the waves of pleasure and horror crash over you.

"Hey," you manage to choke out, your voice a strangled whisper, still panting from your unexpected climax. "I... I think I butt-dialed you. Sorry."

There's a pause on the other end. "Oh, okay," he says, his tone completely normal, utterly unaware of the seismic shock and the simultaneous orgasm ripping through you. "No worries. Everything alright? You sound weird."

"Yeah," you lie, your throat tight, your own cum cooling on your skin. "Just... tired. I'll, uh, I'll see you at home on Friday."

"Okay, love you."

"Love you too."

You hang up. The screen goes dark. You're left in the silence of your bedroom, the phone feeling like a lead weight in your hand, your own load as damning evidence on your chest, the dildo still buried deep inside you. You're not just shaking; you're vibrating.

The realization doesn't just hit you—it unravels you. You knew he was a slut like you. You saw him at the rest stop, heard him beg for a toxic load. That's your shared sickness, your unspoken bond. But this... this is different. The rest stop is a playground. The clinic is a reckoning.

He wasn't just there for a quick, anonymous fuck in the dark. He was there in the light of day, sitting in the same waiting room, filling out the same forms. He was there with a purpose. The questions flood your mind, each one more chilling than the last. Was he there for PEP, trying to crawl back to safety? Was he on PrEP, building a wall against the very gift you both crave? Was he just treating another bug, a simple hurdle on the path? Or was he there for confirmation, just like you, and was he may be more successful?

You have no idea. The ambiguity is a chasm of uncertainty, and you are falling into it. The rest stop made you partners in sin. But this... this makes you competitors. The clinic is no longer just a buffet; it's a race. And you have no idea who's ahead, or even what the finish line looks like for him.

You lie there in the dark, the ghost of his casual "Hey honey" echoing in your mind, your own cum drying on your skin. But then, a new thought cuts through the haze of panic, sharp and cold. In this race, you might just have the advantage. You know about him. You've identified him at the rest stop, and now at the clinic. You've seen his secret life laid bare. Does he have any idea about you? As far as you know, you're still just his husband, his safe harbor. The thought sends a dark thrill through you. You're not just racing him; you're hunting him. And he doesn't even know he's being hunted.

The call wasn't the end. It was the starting gun.

[Niceroundass]

Another two great chapters.

The Doctor is in the restroom is WOW!!!

Made me feel as if i was against the wall!!!

[cumslutw]

Part 14: The Scorpion's Lesson and an Invitation from Two

The message sits on your phone for three days before you finally send it. Three simple words that feel like a confession of failure: "It didn't take."

You've been staring at the single line on your latest HIV home test for an hour, the stark, solitary mark mocking you from the bathroom counter. It is Sunday evening. The sound of your husband's car pulling away has faded, leaving the apartment in a sudden, echoing silence. He's gone for the week, back to his work life 400 kilometers away, and you are alone. This is the first ritual of your week of freedom: the test. Your heart pounds with a mixture of hope and dread, a lonely, desperate prayer in the quiet of your empty home. But the result is the same as always. Negative. Still negative. Still on the outside looking in.

Ten weeks. Ten weeks since that perfect night in the hotel with Mark, since you felt the searing heat of his toxic load claim you. You waited for the flu, the fever, the sign. It never came.

That negative result at the clinic stripped you bare. It sent you spiraling. You abandoned the hope of a perfect, emotional conversion and embraced a brutal, transactional reality. In a frenzy, you first took the student's questionable load followed by the doctor's poison in a filthy bathroom, anything to feel the change.

It's been four weeks since that day. And still... nothing. This single line on the test strip is a verdict not just on Mark's gift, but on the doctor's, on every desperate, filthy act you've committed. You are a fortress. An impenetrable, negative fortress, and the irony is so bitter it tastes like ash in your mouth.

Your thumb hovers over the send button. This isn't just a message to Mark; it's a plea. It's a confession. It's a prayer. You press send.

His response comes within minutes. Just two words: "Call me."

 

Your fingers tremble as you dial. The phone rings once, twice, and then his voice fills your ear, warm and familiar, like slipping into a favorite sweater on a cold night.

"Hey, you," Mark says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you."

"Hey," you manage, your throat tight. "I... I got tested again. It's still negative."

There's a pause, and you brace yourself for disappointment, for pity, for the awkward platitudes that people offer when they don't know what else to say. But instead, you hear a soft, genuine laugh.

"I'm not disappointed," he says, and his voice drops to a more intimate register. "Honestly? It just means I get another excuse to be with you, have fun with you, have another blast at my babies to take hold of you."

The words hit you like a warm wave, washing away the disappointment and replacing it with something else entirely. Hope. Anticipation. The familiar stirring in your groin that always accompanies thoughts of Mark.

"I was hoping you'd say that," you admit, your voice steadying.

"Good. Because I have plans." He pauses, and you can almost see him leaning back in his chair, that easy confidence radiating through the phone. "I'm coming to Frankfurt in two weeks. Conference. Three days, two nights. But I won't be alone."

Your heart skips. "What do you mean?"

"There's someone I want you to meet," Mark says. "His name is Stefan. He's... important to me. And I think he could be important to you too. I want all three of us to meet at my hotel."

The implication hangs in the air, heavy and intoxicating. Three of you. Together. The thought sends a jolt of electricity straight to your cock.

"Who is he?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Mark is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice has softened, becoming reflective, almost vulnerable.

"You remember our first night?" he asks. "When I couldn't do it? When I pulled out that condom because I was so terrified of the monster inside me?"

You remember. God, you remember. The hollow, frustrating safety of it. The way your cock softened when you saw the black XXL Magnum gleaming in the hotel light. The way he entered you, and it felt like nothing, like fucking through a wall. And afterwards, the desperate, depraved act of stealing his filled condom from the wastebin, smuggling it home inside you like a thief carrying stolen treasure.

"I remember," you say quietly.

"After you left that night," Mark continues, "I was a wreck. I felt like a coward. I hated myself. I'd had the most beautiful, willing man in my bed, a man who wanted exactly what I had to give, and I couldn't do it. I was too scared of what it would mean, of what it would make me."

You can hear the pain in his voice, the echo of that old fear, and your heart aches for him.

"So I went to a poz support group," he says. "Just to listen. Just to be around other guys who understood what it felt like to carry this thing inside you. I sat in the back, didn't say a word. Just listened to their stories. And that's where I saw him. Stefan."

"Stefan?"

"My colleague," Mark says, and there's a note of wonder in his voice, like he still can't quite believe it. "We'd worked together for years. Had coffee dozens of times. Talked about projects and deadlines and all the mundane bullshit of office life. I had no idea he was gay, let alone poz. Neither of us knew about the other. And there he was, standing up in front of the group, sharing his story like it was nothing. Like it was just a fact of his life, not a tragedy."

You're riveted, hanging on every word. The image of Mark, vulnerable and lost, sitting in a folding chair in some community center, watching his colleague reveal a secret neither of them knew they shared—it's almost too intimate to bear.

"After the meeting, he came up to me," Mark continues. "He could see I was struggling. He didn't offer advice or platitudes. He just said, 'Let me buy you a beer.'"

Mark's voice becomes more animated as he describes the pub. It was a small, dimly lit place near the community center, the kind of bar where the wood is worn smooth by decades of elbows and the bartender knows everyone's name. They found a corner booth, ordered two pints, and Stefan just... waited.

"He didn't push," Mark says. "He just sat there, drinking his beer, looking at me with these calm, steady eyes. And eventually, I started talking. I told him everything. About you, about my fear, about how I felt like a prisoner in my own body. About how I'd had the chance to give someone exactly what they wanted, and I'd been too scared to do it."

You can picture it perfectly: Mark, his powerful frame hunched over a pint glass, spilling his guts to a man he thought he knew but was only just meeting for the first time.

Mark's voice drops, becoming softer, more intimate, as if he's sharing a profound secret. "That's when it happened. That's when I really saw him. For the first time. All those years we'd worked together, I'd never... seen him. He was just Stefan. A colleague. Tall, blond, our age. But in that moment, sitting across from me in that dim booth, he was completely transformed.

I saw the man, not the colleague. I saw the way the dim bar lights caught in his hair, making it shine like a halo of spun gold. I saw his eyes—not just blue, but a piercing, intelligent blue that seemed to see straight through all my bullshit and into the scared man underneath. And that three-day beard... it wasn't unkempt. It was a shadow of masculine perfection, accentuating a strong jaw and lips that looked like they were built for both whispered secrets and dirty, sinful kisses. I saw a warmth radiating from him, a deep, empathetic calm that had nothing to do with the beer in his hand. It was in his posture, in the way he leaned forward, hanging on my every word. He wasn't just listening; he was feeling my story with me. I realized in that moment that he wasn't just a considerate person; he was an exceptionally rare, beautiful soul. And my god, was he sexy. It wasn't a loud, aggressive sexiness. It was a quiet, confident power. The sexiness of a man who is so completely at ease in his own skin, in his own poz body, that it becomes a magnetic force."

You can't help it. The way he's talking, the reverence in his voice... you have to ask. "Mark," you interrupt gently, "it sounds like you fell in love with him."

There's a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, not one of mockery, but of understanding. "Yeah," he admits, his voice warm. "I thought so at first, too. It's an easy mistake to make. When someone sees you that clearly, when they offer you that kind of unconditional acceptance... it feels like love. But it's something different. It's deeper in a way. He didn't want to own me, and I didn't want to own him. He just... freed me. He's not my lover. He's my brother. The brother I never knew I needed."

Mark takes a breath, and you can hear the awe in it still. "When I was done," he continues, "Stefan just nodded. He didn't offer pity. He didn't tell me I was wrong to be scared. He just said, 'I understand. But you're looking at it all wrong.'"

Mark's voice drops, imitating Stefan's quiet intensity. "'It's not a monster, Mark. It's a gift. And you heard it tonight in every story they told. The only relief they ever found was in the giving.'"

The words send a shiver down your spine. A gift. The idea was so simple, so radical. In that moment, Mark told, the heavy cloak of shame he'd been wearing since his diagnosis began to feel lighter, replaced by the first stirrings of a strange, potent pride. A monster you hide from is a curse. A gift you can give is a treasure, a source of unimaginable power.

"'And then he said, 'Let me show you what I mean.'"

Mark's voice drops to a low, conspiratorial whisper as he describes what happened next.

"We left the pub and walked through town. It was late, almost midnight. The streets were quiet, just a few people heading home from the bars. Stefan didn't say much, just walked beside me, his hands in his pockets. We cut through a park, and I started to wonder where we were going."

He pauses, and you can hear him take a breath.

"And then we stopped at this rundown public toilet, hidden between the bushes. I'd walked past it a hundred times and never even noticed it. It was one of those old municipal buildings, the kind they built in the seventies and then forgot about. Crumbling brick, graffiti on the walls, a single flickering light over the door."

You can picture it perfectly. You know places like this. You've been to places like this. Your memory of your encounter with the gaunt Peter and BREEDER flashes back – just as the image of you sitting drenched in cum and piss in the urinal trough. The thought of Mark, still new to his diagnosis, standing outside such a place with a colleague he barely knew, makes your cock twitch in your pants.

"Stefan pushed open the door and stepped inside," Mark continues. "I followed. The first thing I noticed was the smell. A thick, unmistakable cocktail of stale piss, disinfectant, and male musk. It was pitch black in there, the only light a faint, dirty glow from the clerestory windows near the ceiling. But I could hear them. Breathing. Shuffling. The creak of leather, the rustle of fabric. We weren't alone."

Your mouth is dry. Your hand has drifted down to your crotch, pressing against the growing bulge.

"Stefan squeezed my arm and whispered, 'Stand back. Watch.' And then he walked forward, into the darkness. I heard him unzip. Heard the stream hit the metal of the urinal trough. And it just... kept going. A powerful, neverending piss, echoing off the tiles. It was like a declaration, like he was marking his territory."

"Jesus," you breathe, your hand already pressing down hard on your cock through your jeans. "Mark, I'm rubbing my cock right now."

Mark's voice becomes hushed, reverent.

"And then... headlights. A car passing on the road outside. The light sliced through the clerestory windows, and for just a few seconds, the whole place lit up in a stark, silent flash."

He pauses, letting the image build.

"That's when I saw it. Stefan's cock, hard and solid, pointing up towards the trough, still dripping from his piss. It was massive—thick, uncut, with a heavy foreskin that was slowly retracting to reveal a fat, glistening head. And above it, on his hip, just visible above the waistband of his jeans... a scorpion tattoo. Black ink, sharp lines, the tail curving down towards his cock like an arrow pointing the way."

"Wow," you breathe, your hand already pressing down hard on your cock through your jeans. "A scorpion... fuck."

"And I saw the other men see it too," Mark continues. "There were maybe five or six of them in there, lurking in the shadows. When the light hit Stefan's scorpion, their eyes went wide. They knew what it meant. And in that moment, I understood. He wasn't hiding a monster, a curse to be kept secret. He was holding a treasure, offering a gift. They weren't backing away in fear; they were kneeling in desire. They moved closer, not to threaten, but to receive."

"God, they're all just a bunch of desparate hungry pigs, aren't they?" you groan, your voice thick with lust as you palm your hard cock. "Fuck, that's so hot."

"One of them, a young guy, maybe mid-twenties, dropped to his knees right there on the filthy tile floor," Mark says, his voice thick with the memory. "He crawled forward until he was right in front of Stefan, looking up at him like he was looking at the scorpion itself, made flesh. Another one, a skinny twink with bleached hair, bent over one of the sinks, his jeans already around his ankles, his pale ass glowing in the dim light."

You pant. "They couldn't help themselves. They smelled the poison."

"They were drawn to him like moths to a flame," Mark continues. "And Stefan just stood there, calm, letting them come. He didn't say a word. He just... accepted their worship."

You're stroking yourself now, slowly, the fabric of your pants creating a maddening friction against your aching cock.

"And then Stefan looked over at me, standing in the shadows, watching. And he smiled. Not a cruel smile, not a predatory grin. Just a knowing, gentle smile. Like he was saying, 'See? This is what we are. This is our power. They're not running from the poison. They're running toward it.'"

"Then he did something that changed everything," Mark says, his voice dropping even lower, becoming almost a growl. "He looked at the kid on his knees, the one who was now mouthing at Stefan's massive cock, worshiping it with his tongue. Then he looked at the twink bent over the sink, his hole twitching and winking in the dim light, desperate for attention. And then he looked at me."

"'Mark,' he commanded, his voice ringing through the filthy room. 'Give us your toxic cum.'"

You stop stroking, frozen, the words hitting you like a physical blow. "He didn't... oh my god, he didn't..."

"I was so hard it hurt," Mark admits. "I'd been hard since we walked in. I didn't even think about it. I just... did it. I pulled out my cock and started jacking, right there, standing in the shadows. It didn't take long. I was so wound up... I came in less than a minute. A huge load, thick and hot, spurting into Stefan’s waiting palm. I looked at it, this pool of my own toxic seed, and I felt... powerful. For the first time since my diagnosis, I felt a surge of pride, not shame. My cum was a gift, not a curse."

"Fuck, Mark," you gasp, your voice desperate. "I'm leaking so much right now. Your gift... I want it. I want it so bad. Please."

"Stefan held out his hand, not to me, but to the room. ‘Who wants this?’, he said, his eyes scanning the shadows. The kid bent over the sink—he couldn't have been more than twenty—he moaned, loud and needy. He wiggled his ass, a desperate, wanton invitation. 'Me,' he begged. 'Please, let me have it.'

"Fucking beg for it, you little slut," you hiss into the phone, your own need a fire in your gut. Your cock is throbbing now, leaking precum into your pants.

"He didn't even hesitate," Mark continues. "He walked over to the twink and used my cum as lube. He shoved two fingers, slick with my toxic seed, deep into the kid's ass. The kid gasped, then sobbed with pleasure, pushing back against Stefan's hand. 'More,' he begged. 'Please, more.'“

"Yessss," you moan, stroking your cock in time with his words. "Fucking stretch him out with your poison."

„And Stefan obliged. He worked my cum into that kid's hole, stretching him, opening him up, coating his insides with my poison. Then he pulled his fingers out, slick and gleaming. Before he lined up his cock, he brought those fingers to his own lips and tasted my seed. He looked me dead in the eye as he did it, a silent acknowledgment, a sacrament, and in that moment, watching another man taste my poison without fear, the last of my shame evaporated, replaced by a dark, exhilarating pride. He was tasting my power before he used it to claim another soul."

Mark pauses, and his voice becomes thick with intimacy. "And you have to understand... Stefan and I haven’t been intimate, we didn’t even kiss. And now he was using my toxic spunk—the most private, potent part of me—to lube this random kid. My essence was the lubricant for his pleasure."

"And then," Mark says, his voice a ragged whisper of memory, "Stefan fucked him. He fucked that kid hard and deep, mixing our loads together inside that willing, hungry hole. When he finally pulled out, the kid's hole was a mess, gaping and red, slick with a pearly mixture of both our cum. It was the most beautiful, most filthy thing I had ever seen."

"What a perfect fucking slut," you whisper, a wave of pure, unadulterated arousal washing over you. "Look what you did to him. You and Stefan. You ruined him for anyone else. God, I wish that was me. I wish my hole was gaping and dripping with both your loads right now."

"My mind was gone. The philosophy, the gift, the pride—it all melted away, replaced by a single, burning need. It wasn't about the scene or the kid. It was about him. About Stefan. I was so aroused by his power, by the sight of his cock claiming that hole, that I had a desperate, primal need to taste him. To taste his cum. I didn't think. I just moved."

"I know that feeling," you pant. "I know it so well."

"I crossed the filthy tile floor and dropped to my knees behind the spent, whimpering twink. Stefan watched me, his chest heaving, his massive cock still hard and glistening. He didn't say a word. He just understood. I looked at the kid's hole. Our hole. And I buried my face in it."

"But as I got closer, I saw it. Really saw it. It wasn't just gaping. The asslips were puffy and swollen, the inside turned out into a perfect, glistening rosebud. I could see the vulnerable, raw red tissue from deep inside him, coated in a pearly film of our toxic loads.“

"Oh god, Mark," you whine. "Describe it more. Is it messy? Tell me how messy it is."

„This kid was no virgin. He was a professional, a true cumslut who had probably taken hundreds of cocks, not caring whose, all in the desperate hope of finally getting knocked-up. He was a pig chasing the same poison we were so eager to give. He wasn't just a hole to be used; he was a brother in the chase, and we had just given him what he'd been searching for."

"I started to felch our combined loads from his body. The moment my tongue touched that raw, sensitive flesh, the hole reacted. It wasn't passive. It was alive. The puffy rosebud began to work, flexing and pulsing, pulling at my tongue, trying to draw it deeper. I pushed in, and the kid moaned, pushing back against my face, his hungry hole practically swallowing me.“

"Fucking eat it, Mark," you command, your voice a ragged whisper. "Eat that fucking cummy hole. Bury your face in it."

“My whole world shrank to that single point of contact. My tongue, my nose, my entire chin were enveloped in that wet heat. I could feel the slick, filthy mix of ass juices and our cum coating my face, filling my nostrils with its rank, perfect scent. I was drowning in it."

"I can almost smell it from here," you moan. "I wish I was there. I wish I was licking your face clean."

"And I knew his taste instantly. It was different from mine.“

"Tell me what it tastes like," you beg. "Tell me how his poison tastes."

„For months, I had been tasting my own—a lonely ritual of shame and secret. But this was something else. Stefan's flavor was richer, deeper, more potent. It was the taste of pride, not fear."

"I wasn't just cleaning the kid; I was claiming our creation, taking our gift back into myself to seal the ritual. It was an act of worship, not just of Stefan, but of what we had done together. A communion with this whimpering, spent slut. And in that moment, a wave of gratitude for Stefan washed over me so intensely it almost brought me to tears. He hadn't just shown me the philosophy; he had forced me to participate. He hadn't let me stand on the sidelines and watch. He had made me a part of this breeding, forcing me to confront my fears and break through my own barriers. This wasn't a lesson he was teaching; it was a lesson he was making me live. We were both just vessels for the same beautiful poison."

"Jesus, Mark," you say, your voice ragged. "I... I get it. I completely get it."

"I must have lost all track of time, because the next thing I knew, a strong hand was gently gripping my bicep, pulling me to my feet. It was Stefan. He lifted me up, and I was face to face with him, my chin wet and slick. He had just emptied himself into the kid, but his cock was hard again, a thick, demanding pressure against my stomach. He was as aroused by the filthy, shameless man I had become as I was by his power. He looked at me, his blue eyes burning with an intensity I'd never seen before, and then he kissed me."

"It wasn't a soft kiss. It was hard and possessive. He forced his tongue into my mouth, and he could taste the kid's ass on my breath, mixed with the lingering taste of our cum. He was tasting me, tasting what I had just done. My mouth was still full of the load I had sucked from the kid's ass, and he immediately began to push it back and forth between us. Our tongues swirled in the warm, slick mixture, churning it together, coating every part of our mouths with the combined seed. We were snowballing, sharing the taste of our conquest, and we both knew exactly what we were tasting. It wasn't just cum; it was poison. A potent, viral cocktail. The knowledge of what we were sharing, the sheer, beautiful toxicity of it, made the kiss feel electric. Our first kiss wasn't just a kiss; it was a communion, and it was perfect."

"The intensity of it, the sheer, depraved intimacy of sharing our conquest like this, was too much. I wasn't even touching myself, but I felt my cock, trapped against Stefan's stomach, begin to pulse. It was a sudden, deep clenching that started at the base and shot through the entire shaft. At the exact same instant, I heard Stefan groan into my mouth and felt his own cock do the same against mine. We were both cumming. Together. A hot, wet heat instantly flooded the space between our bodies as our toxic loads exploded at once, our cocks throbbing in unison, coating both our shafts and our stomachs in a shared, slick mess of seed."

"Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!" you cry out, the image so powerful you can't hold back. Your own cock explodes, a thick, hot load shooting across your stomach and chest. "I'm cumming, Mark! I'm cumming listening to you!"

You're both panting on the line, the shared moment of ecstasy hanging in the air. "We broke the kiss, both of us panting, our chests heaving. We stood there for a moment, slick with sweat and cum, our bodies glued together by the gift. The other men in the room were still watching, their eyes wide with desperate longing, silently begging for a taste of what we had just shared. But this second load wasn't for them. It was a gift for no one but us. A private treasure, given and received in the same breath, sealing our bond in a way their public desire never could. In that moment, we weren't just colleagues or brothers. We were a team.”

"A team," you repeat, catching your breath, your chest sticky with your own release. "A fucking toxic team. God, I want to be on your team."

“He had given me the philosophy, and I had shown him I understood it with my body."

"Fuck," you breathe, the image so powerful it's almost painful. "Just... fuck."

"That was the moment," Mark says, his voice filled with a quiet wonder. "I wasn't a victim anymore. I wasn't a monster. I was a creator. I was giving that kid something he was desperate for, something he was literally begging for. Stefan didn't just help me accept my status; he taught me how to transform my shame into pride. He helped me become its master."

He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath.

"After that night, everything changed. Stefan and I became close. Really close. We're not boyfriends—we're both tops, for one thing." He laughs softly. "But we're brothers. We meet up whenever we can. We compare notes. We send each other pictures of our latest lab results. A close-up shot of that viral load number, circled in red. It's our version of a dick pic. We brag about our viral loads like other guys brag about bench presses or stock market gains."

"Just last week," Mark says, his voice dropping with conspiratorial pride, "I sent him my new results. My viral load had jumped by fifty thousand points. I didn't just text him the number. I took a picture of the printout, but I circled the number in thick, red marker. Right next to it, I drew a single, fat drop of cum. He replied ten minutes later with a picture of his own results—his were even higher—with a simple two-word caption: 'Catch up.' It's our game. Our way of pushing each other, of celebrating our potency. Every number is a victory."

You can hear the affection in his voice, the genuine warmth.

"We push each other to stay potent, to stay powerful. No meds. Just us, at our rawest. Over the last weeks, we've bred dozens of guys together, at rest stops and parks and sleazy hotels. We've watched each other work, learned from each other, pushed each other to be better. And every time, we feel that same rush, that same power."

"But it's not just about the virus," Mark continues, his voice becoming more serious, more tender. "It's about connection. About trust. About sharing something so intimate with someone who truly understands. Stefan cares for me, and I care for him. We love each other, in our way. Not like boyfriends, not like lovers. Like brothers. Like warriors who've been through the same fire, forged in the same poison."

"And now," Mark says, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur, "we want to share that with you."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

"You're special to me," he continues. "What we have... it's not just about breeding or bugs. It's about something deeper. I felt it that first night, even when I couldn't go through with it. I felt it when you stole my condom, when you carried my seed home inside you like a treasure. And I felt it even more the second time, when I finally gave you what we both wanted."

You remember that night. The way he entered you, bare and real and perfect. The way he came inside you, flooding you with his toxic seed. The way he kissed you afterwards, the taste of blood and cum on his lips.

"Stefan knows all about you," Mark says. "I've told him everything. Every detail. And he wants to meet you. He wants to welcome you into what we have. Not as a conquest, not as a notch on a bedpost. As a brother. Someone we care for. Someone we share this with."

His voice is soft, sincere, and utterly compelling.

"So come to the hotel," he says. "Spend the night with us. Let us take care of you. Let us give you everything we have, together. Our loads, our power, our love. And when it finally takes... you'll be one of us. Not because we made you, but because you chose it. Because we all chose each other."

You're silent for a long moment, your mind racing, your cock aching, your heart full to bursting.

This isn't just an invitation to be fucked by two men. It's an invitation to belong. To be part of something built on mutual respect, shared desire, and genuine affection. The "race" with your husband suddenly feels distant, almost irrelevant. That's a competition, a game of secrets and one-upmanship. This is something else entirely. This is family.

"Yes," you say, your voice steady and sure. "I'll be there."

"Good," Mark says, and you can hear the warmth, the joy, the relief in his voice. "We'll be waiting for you. Both of us."

There's a pause, a moment of shared silence that feels more intimate than words.

"Two weeks," Mark says. "I'll send you the hotel details. And... thank you. For trusting me. For trusting us. This is going to be special. I can feel it."

"I can feel it too," you say.

"Good night," he says softly. "Dream of us."

"I will," you promise. "Good night, Mark."

The line goes dead, and you're left in the silence of your apartment, your cock still hard in your pants, your mind filled with images of Mark and Stefan, of scorpion tattoos and dark public toilets, of toxic loads and brotherhood.

You look at the single line on the test strip, still sitting on the bathroom counter. Soon, you think. Soon, there will be two.

[Niceroundass]

WOW, Excellent!!!

Can not wait for the few chapters!!!

Thanks... 

[sleazebugga]

A very powerful, amazing chapter.

[Oldpeter51]

5 hours ago, sleazebugga said:

A very powerful, amazing chapter.

He’ going to leave hubby and join Mark and Stefan

[biboy85]

Soooo hot

[cumslutw]

Hey everyone — time for the next part!
Mark is back, and this time Stefan, his brother-in-arms, stands beside him as they move to seal the deal.
I can’t wait to hear what you think. Thanks so much for sticking with the story!

Part 15: The Two-Headed God

The elevator doors slide open, and the scent of the corridor hits you first—that sterile, lemony cleaner smell that always promises something dirty is about to happen. Your heart isn't just pounding; it's a frantic drum against your ribs, a primal beat of pure, unadulterated need. Room 714. You've been staring at that number on your phone for two weeks, tracing the digits with your thumb while you jacked off, imagining this exact moment. Now you're here, your cock already a hard, heavy line in your jeans, about to meet the two men who are going to poison you. This isn't something that's happening to you. This is something you're choosing. Every step down this corridor is a conscious decision to walk toward the fire, to finally feel the heat you've been chasing for months.

You knock. The sound is loud, final. The door opens and your world shrinks to the man standing there. Mark. It's not just seeing him; it's a physical blow, a wave of pure emotion that almost buckles your knees. The air rushes from your lungs. All the weeks of waiting, of fantasizing, of aching for him — it all collapses into this single, overwhelming moment. He's shirtless, and your eyes drink him in like a man dying of thirst. That darkly-haired chest, the landscape of muscle and thick, wiry hair you've been dreaming of touching, is right here. He's wearing grey sweatpants, and the thought that he might be commando underneath, that his potent cock is just inches away from being free, sends a jolt of pure electricity through you. His bare feet on the carpet, the casual, domestic intimacy of it all — it's everything you've craved. This isn't just lust; it's a profound, aching sense of coming home. Your balls tighten with a desperate, possessive need, and all you want is to fall into his arms and never leave.

He doesn't give you time to say a word. He grabs you by the front of your shirt, pulls you inside, and slams the door shut behind you. His mouth is on yours instantly, a hungry, possessive kiss that tastes of him — just him, that familiar, intoxicating flavor you've been craving for weeks. You've been starving for this, and you can feel he has, too. His hands are everywhere, gripping your ass, pulling your hips against his so you can feel how hard he is. "Great to see you! Fuck, I've missed this," he growls against your lips. "Missed you."

When you finally break apart, gasping, you see him. Stefan. He's on the sofa, and even sitting down, his presence fills the room. Your eyes are first drawn to his face. His blonde hair is styled neatly, with a slight wave that softens his strong jawline and warm, expressive blue eyes. He looks like a man at ease — relaxed yet alert, powerful yet approachable. A slow, knowing smile plays on his lips, as if he can read every filthy thought running through your head. Your gaze travels down, over the simple white tank top that exposes his broad, muscular shoulders, the material stretched tight across his well-defined chest. It's so thin you can't miss the glint of fat nipple piercings — not typical straight barbells, but big chunky rings that highlight his prominent, pinky-sized nipples, a testament to years of heavy tit play. Then, you allow yourself to look lower, to the powerful, muscular legs exposed by his silky white boxer shorts. But it's the heavy, distinct bulge in the front that makes your breath catch. The fabric is tight enough to promise a formidable weapon even at rest. As you watch, mesmerized, you see it — a slow, thick pulse. A single, powerful beat of his heart making his heavy cock throb against the thin silk. It's a silent, arrogant display of potency. You can't see the scorpion tattoo yet, but you know it's there, coiled and ready at the base of that impressive shaft, a promise of the power he's about to share with you. Every inch of him screams that he is a man who knows exactly how to use the weapon he carries.

He rises with an easy grace and crosses the room toward you. His face breaks into a warm, genuine smile, and when he reaches you, he pulls you into a firm, welcoming hug. His strong arms wrap around you, and you feel the hard warmth of his chest against yours, those chunky nipple rings pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. But it's not just his chest you feel. Lower, unmistakable, the heavy weight of his cock presses against your thigh, thick and warm even through the silk of his boxers. It's not predatory. It's not sizing you up. It's the embrace of a brother welcoming you home.

"Finally," he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble that you feel in your chest. "Mark hasn't shut up about you for weeks. I feel like I already know you." He holds the embrace a moment longer, his lips brushing your ear as he adds a whisper meant only for you. "Wanna feel my scorpion sting you from the inside. Poison you for life." As he says it, you feel his bulge give a slow, powerful throb against your thigh, a silent, filthy confirmation of his words.

Then he pulls back, his hands still on your shoulders, his blue eyes warm and sincere. "Welcome. Truly."

You feel it instantly—the same ease, the same connection you feel with Mark. There's no awkwardness, no jealousy, no competition. Just filthy warmth. These two men are a unit, and they're opening that unit to include you.

"He's been excited," Stefan adds with a knowing grin. He gestures toward Mark's sweatpants, and your eyes follow. There, at the front, is a dark, wet stain spreading across the soft fabric. Mark's cock is now visibly hard, tenting the material, and it's been leaking so much precum that it's soaked through. "We've both been saving up for you. Haven't cum in days. Our balls are fucking aching."

Mark doesn't look embarrassed. He looks proud. He palms his wet bulge and grins at you. "All for you. Been saving up every last drop. My viral load's been climbing. Fucking potent right now."

"Let's get you comfortable," Mark murmurs into your ear, his breath hot. His hands move to your jacket, and then your shirt, pulling them off. Stefan's hands go to your jeans, deftly undoing the button and zipper. They work in tandem, a seamless, silent team, stripping you down until you're standing in just your underwear, a black v-neck t-shirt with matching black underpants, your skin tingling, your cock straining against the fabric. Then they guide you to the sofa.

The heat in the room is a palpable thing, a warm, living presence that seems to radiate from their bodies. They sit first, and Mark pulls you down between them. You sink into the soft cushions, and immediately you're enveloped. Mark's muscular arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you tight against his bare, hairy chest. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against your back. Stefan scoots close on your other side, his thigh pressed firmly against yours. It doesn't feel like being trapped. It feels like being held. Like being home.

The room is cozy, lived-in. A bottle of whiskey sits on the coffee table with three empty glasses, and the faint, sweet smell of cannabis hangs in the air. Mark picks up the bottle and pours three generous measures, the amber liquid catching the warm lamplight. He hands you a glass, and you take a sip. The whiskey is smooth and peaty, with a hint of smoke that reminds you of campfires, of late nights with close friends, of secrets shared in the dark. It tastes like trust. Like belonging.

Mark picks up a joint and lights it, taking a deep drag before passing it to you. You inhale, the sweet smoke filling your lungs, and the buzz starts to creep in, loosening your muscles, quieting the noise in your head. You pass it to Stefan, your fingers brushing, and he takes a long, slow pull, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile.

"To us," Mark says simply, raising his glass. His free hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "To our shared poison," Stefan adds, his voice a low, warm rumble, his eyes locking with yours. "To the gift," Mark corrects with a grin.

You raise your own glass, and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be. "To the gift," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

The clink of glasses is the only sound needed. The words hang in the air for a moment, and then the silence returns, filled with a new, thicker kind of electricity. The talking is over.

But beneath the words, there's a current of electricity. It starts with Stefan's fingers tracing a prominent vein on your inner thigh, each hair he is touching giving you goosebumps of excitement, a slow, deliberate path upwards that makes your breath hitch. At the same time, Mark's hand slides under your t-shirt to your chest, his fingers combing through the hair there, his thumb circling your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. A sharp bolt of pleasure shoots directly to your cock, and you feel a sudden, warm wetness as you leak precum into your underwear.

Emboldened, you reach across, your own fingers exploring Stefan’s tight stomach, feeling a solid six-pack beneath the thin fabric of his tank top. You brush against the hard metal of his chunky nipple rings, teasing them just as Mark's teasing you. A low groan rumbles in his chest and you feel it—the heavy bulge in his shorts gives a powerful, answering throb. You lock eyes with him, a deep, silent acknowledgment of the power you all hold over each other.

Stefan's gaze drops from yours, down to your crotch. He sees the dark, damp spot spreading on the front of your black underwear. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his lips. He moves his hand from your thigh, his finger pressing directly over the wet fabric, feeling the heat of your leak. He holds your gaze as he brings his finger up, glistening with a smear of your precum, and extends it toward Mark.

Mark leans in, his eyes never leaving yours. He first takes in the smell of your cum, then takes Stefan's finger into his mouth, sucking your precum off with a soft, possessive hum.

Stefan's eyes twinkle with devilish delight as he pulls his hand back. "I think he's ready for our treat," he murmurs, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. "Time for show and tell."

 

Mark stands, and with a deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness, he pushes his sweatpants down just enough to reveal his neatly trimmed dark pubes and the top of his cock, which is straining to break free. He takes your hand and guides it down, pressing your fingers into the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. "Feel it," he murmurs.

You explore the warm skin with your fingertips, and then you feel it—a slight, raised texture. You lean in closer, your breath catching. There, almost invisible unless you're touching it, is a small, black biohazard symbol. It's not a loud, proud brand meant for the world to see. It's a secret, a quiet affirmation, the lines still sharp and dark against his skin. It's a testament. A declaration. He went from shame to pride, and this is the proof — worn not on his sleeve, but in the most intimate place he has, a promise made only to himself and to the men he shares this with. Visible only to those who are close enough, willing enough, deserving enough to know.

"My new testament," Mark says, his voice soft with emotion. "I got it last month. For me. For us. For what we are."

Stefan rises next. He grabs the hem of his white tank top and peels it off over his head in one smooth, powerful motion, tossing it aside. The movement reveals his broad, muscular chest covered in a thick golden fur and the impressive nipple rings. He turns slightly, giving you a profile view, but his eyes are locked on yours. "This one," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "you have to feel in motion."

He takes your hand—not gently, like Mark did, but with a firm, possessive grip—and places it directly on his hip, over the large, bold scorpion. The black ink is stark against his warm skin. He then uses his own hand to guide yours, forcing your fingers to trace the thick, raised lines of its body. He makes you follow the curve of its tail, an unmistakable arrow pointing downward.

"Mark told you about my stinger, didn't he?" he murmurs, a wicked glint in his eyes. He guides your hand all the way across his six-pack, down his trimmed pubes, pressing your palm flat against the heavy, throbbing bulge in his shorts. "Feel that? That's the power behind the poison."

He releases your hand, but you keep it there, mesmerized by the heat and the pulse. He taps the tip of the scorpion's tail, right where your hand rests. "Got it the year I was diagnosed. It's been pointing the way for every toxic load I've ever given. And tonight..." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "...it's pointing right at you."

They both look at you. It's your turn. But you don't move. Stefan does. He closes the distance between you, his eyes holding yours. He doesn't kneel; he just squats slightly, his hands hooking into the waistband of your black underwear, pulling them down in one slow, deliberate motion. Your cock springs free, semi-hard from the charged atmosphere. And there, glinting in the warm light, is your heavy stainless-steel Prince Albert. A thick, 00-gauge circular barbell, the weight of it pulling your cockhead down slightly, the metal warm from your body heat.

Stefan reaches out, not to touch the metal, but to cup the weight of your cockhead in his palm, feeling the heft of it. "Fuck," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine awe. "That's some serious metal."

"My testament," you say, your voice steadier than you expected. "I got it years ago. It's always felt like a mark of who I am. Who I want to be."

Mark moves behind you, his chest pressing against your back, his chin on your shoulder. He reaches around, his own fingers tracing the warm metal ring, a reverent touch. "I've always wanted to feel one of these from the inside," he growls softly in your ear. "Maybe next time. Because tonight... tonight is all about us breeding you."

Stefan's gaze is intense, analytical. He uses his thumb to gently flick the heavy barbell, watching your cockhead bob in response. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. "It's the perfect tool for breeding," he says, his voice a low, confident rumble. "That heavy ring is solid steel — harder than any cock. When fucking, it'll clap against the bottom's prostate with every thrust, milking him from the inside, sending him into heaven while at the same time causing some serious damage. Ripping you open so the poison takes hold for good."

The image is so potent, so filthy, that a fresh bead of precum wells up at your tip, gathering on the steel. Stefan looks from your cock, up to your eyes, and while looking over to Mark, licks it off with his tongue. A new kind of intensity crosses his face, a decision being made in real time.

"I'm getting one," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. It's not a question. It's a declaration. "To match these." He flicks one of his own chunky nipple rings, making a soft tink against the metal. "We'll all have steel. A matching set. A triad of toxicity."

Mark's eyes light up, tightening his arm around you from behind. "Fuck yes," he growls, his voice thick with emotion. "Us. Forged in steel."

Stefan releases your cock and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic bag. Inside are three home HIV test kits. Your stomach flips. "But first," Stefan says, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, "a ritual. We need to know where we all stand."

 

He hands out the kits, and the three of you sit back down on the sofa, side by side, performing the tests together. The prick of the lancet, the drop of blood. Nobody speaks. The only sound is breathing. The silence is thick as the liquid creeps across the test strips. Stefan's result comes first. Two lines. Bold, prominent, undeniable. He holds it up, and you feel a jolt go through you — not of surprise, but of finality. This is real. All the talk, the bravado, the stories of him being a potent giftgiver... it wasn't just a fantasy. He wasn't just bragging. Here is the proof. 

Mark's is next. Two lines. Just as clear, just as strong. You've seen his before, but seeing it again now, next to Stefan's, feels like watching two pillars of a new world being erected.

And then yours. You stare at the strip, praying for a second line to appear. But there's only one. A single, stark, mocking line. Still negative. Still on the outside looking in. The disappointment is a familiar, bitter taste in your mouth, a knot of failure in your gut. You've tried so many times, and still nothing. Your body is a fortress, its gates locked tight, and you hate it.

Stefan takes your test strip from your trembling hand. He holds it up next to his and Mark's, the contrast stark and undeniable. Two bold, confident lines on theirs. One lonely, pathetic line on yours. Black and white. Poz and neg. The evidence of your separation, displayed for all to see. A stark reminder that you are the one who is still empty.

 

Stefan leans closer, his blue eyes boring into yours. Mark pulls you back into his arms, his warm palm on your chest, holding you in place.

"You can still walk away," Stefan says, his voice a low, intense whisper. "Right now. Go home, stay negative. Live your normal life. No one will judge you." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "Are you really sure you want to move on?"

Your heart hammers against Mark's palm. You look from Stefan's piercing eyes to the torn pieces of your test strip on the floor. "Yes," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm sure."

"This isn't a game," Mark murmurs into your ear, his breath hot. "What we're about to do... it changes you on a cellular level. It rewires you. The second line – once it is there, it will never disappear. There's no undoing it. Ever. Are you ready to be poz for life?"

The finality in his voice makes your cock throb. "Yes," you say, louder this time. "I'm so ready."

Stefan's gaze doesn't waver. He holds your eyes captive. "Once you take our seed, you take our strain. You become part of us. Our brother. You'll carry this with you forever. Is that what you want? To be ours?"

"Yes," you breathe, the word filled with a desperate, aching need. "I want to be yours."

Instead of pulling back, they both press in closer. Stefan's hands grip your thighs, while Mark's arms tighten around your chest, trapping you between their bodies. Stefan's intense expression softens into one of knowing, predatory understanding.

"We knew you would answer like that," he says, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "We knew you would commit. You've already gone too far. You've felt the thrill too many times.

"It starts with the thrill of a stranger's raw cock in your ass, doesn't it? That moment of surrender where you throw away the condom and feel his skin against yours, every thrust a gamble. You're not just getting fucked; you're playing Russian roulette with your own blood, wondering if this is the one, if his load is the winning ticket.

"Then it evolves. It's no longer enough to just risk it. You start actively seeking the poison. The thrill of taking a poz load and feeling it burn inside you, that warm, toxic heat spreading through you, marking you from the inside. You lie awake at night replaying it, your hand on your hole, trying to feel the ghost of his cum still inside you, praying it took hold.

"And the obsession consumes you. The thrill of jerking off for weeks afterward, not just to the memory, but to the symptoms. Every little cough, every fever, every swollen gland becomes a sign, a miracle. You're not just praying to get sick anymore; you're worshipping the virus as your new god. You're praying for the conversion flu, for the moment your body finally surrenders and is reborn. There's no going back to safe sex for you anymore. This isn't a choice; it's an inevitability. You are more than ready. You're already one of us in your head. We're just here to make it official."

A slow, warm smile transforms his face. He nods, a gesture of profound welcome.

"Good," he says. "Then let's get started."

 

They guide you to the bed, and the atmosphere shifts from ritual to something rawer, more primal. You're already naked from the reveal, your skin prickling with anticipation. Mark sheds his sweatpants, freeing his hard cock —t hick and veined, the familiar weapon you've dreamed about for weeks. Stefan strips off his shorts, his massive cock springing free, and settles at the edge of the bed. He wraps his fist around the thick shaft and strokes slowly, his gaze never leaving you, watching you like a gift he's about to share.

Mark lays you down on the soft sheets and positions himself between your legs. He reaches for the lube on the nightstand and slicks himself up, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I've been thinking about this," he murmurs, positioning the head of his cock against your hole. He doesn't push. Not yet. He just rests there, the hot, spongy tip kissing your entrance. You feel a warm slickness begin to spread—his precum, leaking steadily onto your vulnerable skin.

"Feel that?" Mark whispers, his voice thick with lust. "That's my precum. Already toxic. Already soaking into that thin skin around your hole. My poison is touching you right now, seeping in before I even start fucking you."

He circles his hips gently, smearing more of his slick fluid around your opening. The sensation is maddening — so close, but not yet inside.

"One last time," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Are you fine with this? Are you aware of what's about to happen? Once I push in, I will not pull out anymore before I cum. There's no going back. My charged cock is going to be inside you, leaking poison with every stroke. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," you breathe. "I want it. Please."

He pushes forward, and you gasp as the head of his cock breaches you. It's slow, deliberate, savoring. He fills you inch by inch, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every throb of his heartbeat through his shaft. Then he stops. You can feel him pressing against your inner ring, that second gate that guards your deepest places. The stretch is intense, and your body instinctively tenses.

Stefan moves then. He rises from the edge of the bed, his hard cock bobbing as he climbs over to your side. He lies down beside you, his warm body pressing against yours. His palm finds your chest, fingers threading through your fur, feeling the rapid hammer of your heartbeat.

"Breathe," Stefan murmurs, his voice low and soothing. His fingers find your nipple and begin to play with it, rolling and tugging gently. "You know you want this. You've wanted this all along. Your body knows. Just let it happen."

He leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, his tongue exploring your mouth with a tenderness that contrasts with the pressure inside your gut. You melt into the kiss, and you feel your body responding — your inner ring relaxing, widening millimeter by millimeter, surrendering to the inevitable, the inevitable Mark.

"There you go," Mark whispers, and he begins to sink deeper, gliding through that second gate, filling you completely. When he's fully seated, his balls pressed against your ass, he pauses, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight of him inside you.

"There," he whispers. "Right where I belong."

He starts to move. First slow and short strokes, barely pulling out before pushing back in, letting your body adjust to his presence. Then longer, deeper strokes, his rhythm building. It's everything you remember. Passionate, rhythmic, intimate. He maintains eye contact, whispering endearments, telling you how beautiful you are, how perfectly you take his charged cock, how much he's missed this.

Stefan stays at your side, his hand still on your chest, his lips near your ear. "That's it," he murmurs. "Let him in. Work for his gift. Squeeze his cock. Milk his poison out of him."

His words send shivers through you, and you clench around Mark's shaft, drawing a groan from him. Mark's strokes are deep and measured now, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans, his pace quickening.

The room fills with the wet sounds of fucking, the slap of skin against skin, your mingled moans and gasps. Stefan watches, stroking his own cock slowly, his eyes burning with hunger.

"I'm close," Mark warns, his voice ragged. "I'm going to fill you up. Going to knock you up. Once more — really last chance: You want that?"

"Hell, yes," you gasp. "Give it to me. Now! Please ..."

He buries himself to the hilt and freezes, his whole body shuddering. You feel his cock pulse inside you, feel the hot flood of his toxic seed coating your insides. He groans your name into your neck, his hips jerking with each spurt, pumping you full of his poison.

His body shudders to a halt, but he stays buried inside you. His cock remains a rigid, pulsing spear of flesh, so engorged with blood that deflation is a distant thought. He resumes a gentle rocking, his strokes no longer for pleasure but for purpose. He's massaging his seed into you, pushing it deeper, churning it into your guts until every drop is settled where it belongs.

"Let it soak in," he whispers against your lips. "Let my babies find their new home."

Only when his cock finally begins to soften does he slowly, reluctantly pull out. You feel the emptiness immediately, the loss of his presence. But you also feel the warm, heavy weight of his load settling deep inside you, exactly where it belongs.

 

You feel the emptiness immediately, the loss of his presence. But it doesn't last long. Stefan is already moving, his eyes blazing with a dark fire. He's been stroking himself slowly on the edge of the bed while watching Mark breed you, and the sight has clearly pushed him to the brink. He loves this. Loves sloppy seconds, loves churning another man's toxic load into a willing hole.

"My turn," he says, his voice a low growl, thick with lust. "On your stomach. Now."

The command is sharp, and you obey instantly, flipping over. Mark, recovering but far from finished, moves in front of you. He sits back against the headboard, his legs spread, and pulls your head into his lap. His softening cock rests against your cheek, sticky with his own cum. He strokes your hair, his touch gentle, grounding you.

Stefan doesn't use more lube. He doesn't need to. Mark's toxic load is already inside you, slicking your channel, preparing you for him. He kneels behind you, lines up his massive cock, and pushes forward. The angle is deeper, more intense. You feel every inch of his intimidating girth forcing you open.

"Fuck," he breathes, sinking in to the root. "So wet. So sloppy. Mark did a good job priming you."

He starts to fuck you, and his style is immediately different. Harder. More assertive. His strokes are powerful, almost punishing, driving deep into your guts with each thrust. The sound is obscene — a wet, squelching, churning noise as his cock pistons through Mark's load, pushing it deeper, mixing it.

Mark tilts your head up and kisses you, soft and deep, a stark contrast to the brutal fucking you're receiving from behind. "That's it," he murmurs against your lips. "Take him. Let him churn my load into you. Feel how deep he's getting? Let him seal your fate!"

"You hear that?" Stefan grunts, his hips snapping forward. "That's the sound of conversion. I'm stirring his poz cum into you. Pushing his babies right up against your gut. And then I'm going to add mine. We're going to mix our strains inside you and create something new. Something that's part of both of us. A part of you."

Suddenly, Stefan slows his thrusts. "Mark," he grunts, a command in his voice. "Get under there. I want you to taste this."

Mark moves with a fluid grace. He releases your head and slides down the bed, maneuvering his body until he's lying on his back, his head and shoulders nestled between your thighs and Stefan's knees. His face is now directly beneath your hole, and his hardening cock, still sticky with his seed, rises right in front of your lips.

Stefan resumes his powerful rhythm, and the moment he pulls back on an outward stroke, a new, shocking sensation electrifies you. A wet, firm pressure. It's Mark's tongue, laving over your stretched rim and lapping at the base of Stefan's cock, relishing in the cum being pulled out.

You gasp, your mouth falling open, and Mark takes the opportunity to push the head of his now-hard cock against your lips. The taste of his dried cum on his skin is intoxicating.

Stefan slams back in, driving the air from your lungs, and the cycle begins. On every inward thrust, you're filled with Stefan's massive cock. On every outward pull, Mark's tongue is there to worship your hole and clean Stefan's shaft. It's a relentless, overwhelming rhythm.

"Here it comes," Stefan warns, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Time to seal the deal. Going to add my load to his. Make you ours forever."

He slams deep and holds, his cock swelling, and then you feel it — the hot pulse of his cum, jet after jet of toxic seed flooding your already-full channel. He grunts with each spurt, a deep, guttural sound of primal satisfaction. As he floods you, Mark's tongue laps at your stretched rim, trying to catch the overflow, desperate for every drop.

When Stefan finally pulls out, you don't feel empty. Mark's mouth is immediately there, his tongue plunging into your gaping, well-fucked hole, sucking and swallowing the combined loads that are now pouring out of you. He's not just cleaning you; he's feasting on the evidence of your breeding.

Stefan, still kneeling behind you, watches with a look of profound satisfaction. He reaches down and runs a hand through Mark's hair, a gesture of affection and ownership.

"Just like in the toilet," Stefan says, his voice a low, rumbling memory. "Remember that kid, Mark? The first one we bred together? How you felched our combined toxic juices from his hole?"

Mark moans into your ass, his tongue working even more frantically, his answer clear without needing words. He's reliving that moment, that first time they shared a hole and feasted on the result. This is a ritual for them, too. A dark sacrament they are performing again, this time with you at the center.

After a long moment, Stefan gently pulls on Mark's hair, guiding him up. "Come here," he murmurs. "Don't be greedy. Share."

Mark rises, his face slick and shining with a mixture of lube and cum. He moves towards you, and you turn your head to meet him. Stefan leans in from the other side, his face close to yours. You are now the center of their attention, caught between them.

Mark presses his lips to yours, and you open your mouth to receive his gift. The taste is immediate and overwhelming — salty, metallic, and profoundly intimate. It's the combined essence of all three of you. He pushes the thick, warm load into your mouth with his tongue, and you accept it willingly.

Before you can savor it, Stefan's lips are on you, too. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then captures your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue dives in, chasing Mark's, gathering the shared cum, and swirling it together. It's a three-way exchange, a messy, passionate tangle of tongues and lips and shared poison.

The load passes back and forth between you, a sacred toxic cocktail being shared and tasted by all. It's the ultimate act of brotherhood. You are no longer separate individuals, but a single entity joined by spit and seed. You are finally, truly, one of them.

 

The three of you collapse together on the bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and satisfied sighs. The room smells of sex, smoke, and skin. Mark reaches for the joint on the nightstand, lights it, and takes a deep drag before passing it to Stefan. The smoke curls toward the ceiling as you come down from the intensity of the fucking, your body buzzing and boneless.

"You took that beautifully," Stefan says, his hand resting possessively on your stomach. "Both of us. Like you were made for it."

"He was," Mark agrees, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your chest. "I knew it the first time I saw him. Knew he was one of us."

The praise washes over you, warm and intoxicating. You feel claimed, cherished, part of something bigger than yourself. The three of you lie there in comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth, trading soft kisses and softer words, letting the smoke and the high rebuild your energy from the inside out. It doesn't take long. The post-fuck clarity is replaced by a new, hungry hum.

Mark's hand drifts down from your chest to your cock, which is already stirring against your thigh. He strokes it lazily, and you feel yourself responding instantly, your flesh filling his palm. Stefan watches, his own cock twitching back to life against his thigh, a clear, thick monster already rising again.

"That hole of yours must be feeling lonely now," Mark says, his voice low and teasing. "Ready to be filled again?"

"Always," you breathe, the word a promise. 

 

Mark lies back on the bed, his cock standing proud and hard against his stomach. He reaches for you, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips, and as you position yourself, it's Stefan who guides Mark's cock to your slick, gaping entrance. You sink down onto him, and the feeling is indescribable. You're so wet, so loose from their breeding, that he slides in effortlessly, filling you completely. You settle onto Mark's chest, your heavy PA resting against his stomach, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "Just stay there," he murmurs. "Feel me inside you. Feel how full you are."

You feel Stefan moving behind you, positioning himself between your spread legs. You assume he's just getting a better view, maybe preparing to take his turn again. You rest your head on Mark's chest, content to feel him pulsing inside you, enjoying the fullness.

But then, a new pressure. Stefan's slick cockhead presses against your stretched outer entrance, right where Mark's shaft is already buried inside you. The pressure is immediate and intense. Your entire body goes rigid. A jolt, not of pleasure, but of pure electric alarm, shoots up your spine. You tense up, your body instinctively resisting the impossible intrusion.

"Shhh," Mark soothes, his hands stroking your back. "Breathe. Relax for us. Let him join us."

He produces a small brown bottle from somewhere and holds it under your nose. "Take a deep hit for me."

You inhale, and the poppers hit you like a wave. Your head spins, the room tilting, and a wave of heat washes over your skin, making every inch of you feel flushed and alive. Your muscles loosen, and a warm, buzzing pleasure spreads through you. You want this. You feel yourself opening, but it's not enough. Stefan pushes, and the pressure at your outer ring is immense, a burning wall of resistance.

"Again," Stefan commands, his voice tight with strain.

Mark holds the bottle to your other nostril. You take another, deeper hit. The world dissolves into a haze of lust. Your body goes limp, your entrance fluttering, trying to obey. You push out, trying to open, and you feel yourself stretch a little more, but the thick head of Stefan's cock is still being held back by that final, stubborn gate.

"One more," Mark whispers. "Give us one more. You can do it. Let us break that first gate together."

You take a third, desperate hit, and this time, the poppers overwhelm you completely. Your mind whites out. Your body is no longer your own. You feel a dissociative thrill, a sense of floating outside yourself as you feel your outer ring dissolve, melting away in a wave of chemical heat. You push out with everything you have, a deep moan escaping your lips.

And then it happens. An incredible, overwhelming slide. The head of Stefan's massive cock pops past the ruined muscle, joining Mark's inside you. You cry out, the sound somewhere between agony and ecstasy, as your entrance stretches beyond anything you've ever experienced. He slowly slides in, the channel slick and open, sinking several inches of his thick shaft into you before he stops again. A new, even tighter pressure deep inside. Stefan has hit the second gate. Your inner sphincter, the one that barely yielded enough for Mark's cockhead to pass, now clamps down defiantly preventing the entrance of a second invader.

"Fuck, there it is," Stefan grunts, his voice a mix of frustration and awe. "The inner gate. The last wall of your neg body."

"We knew this would be the hard part," Mark says, his voice calm and reassuring in your ear. "But you can do it. We can do it. Together. We're ripping you open from the inside, tearing down that wall. Making it easier for our babies to take hold." He kisses your temple. His lips are soft, a stark contrast to the brutal pressure at your core. "Just like before. Open for us. Let us break this last gate. Let our mushroom heads kiss inside you."

"That's it," Stefan adds, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. "Push out for me. Let me in. I want to feel my cockhead kiss Mark's inside you. When they kiss, we'll release our toxic babies together. My bug and his... they're a team. Gonna conquer what one alone couldn't. A joint load, shot with the force of both of us..."

The words send a primal terror through you, a desperate, overwhelming need. It's a full-body craving, a psychological hunger so intense you start to lose awareness of yourself, your entire being focused on the single point of impossible pressure inside you. "Yes!" you cry out, your voice ragged. "But I need more! Please, two more hits! I need the poppers to open the final gate! I need you both as deep inside as possible!"

"Anything for you, for us," Mark murmurs, and he brings the poppers back to your nose. "Two big hits for this one. The final gate. Open it for us. Let us in."

You inhale deeply, the chemical rush so powerful your vision tunnels. You hear them both talking to you, a chorus of praise and encouragement. "That's it... almost there... such a good boy... open up... let us in..." You take the second hit, your body trembling, and then you bear down with every fiber of your being. You feel the slick sweat on your brow, the burning in your thighs, the taste of blood on your lip from biting it so hard. You feel it—the inner ring giving way, tearing open, surrendering. Stefan slides forward the final inch, and you scream as their two cockheads push past, finally meeting deep inside you.

You are impossibly, wonderfully, terrifyingly full. It's not just fullness; it's a feeling of being fundamentally reshaped, your guts rearranged to accommodate their combined mass. You can feel their two different viral loads already leaking from them, coating your insides, a toxic, warm balm preparing you for the main injection. Two cocks, two shafts, two sets of veins pulsing against each other inside your overstuffed channel.

"There," Stefan breathes, his voice thick with awe. "We're in. Both of us. We broke your gates. Fuck, you're incredible."

Now Stefan is doing all the work, moving his spear back and forth ever so slightly. With each tiny movement, their two cockheads grind together deep inside you, the most sensitive parts of each rubbing against the other in a slick, electric friction. The friction is so intense it’s like a live wire wired directly to your soul. All the while pressed closed to one another in the tight space of my inner chute, tighly held together by my inner ring. The dirty talk, the impossible fullness, the knowledge of what they're doing to you — it's too much. You feel your own cock, untouched, throb in time with their grinding, a droplet of fluid leaking from the tip, a physical testament to the pleasure building in your ass. You feel your orgasm building, a deep, primal pressure that has nothing to do with your untouched cock. It's coming from somewhere deeper, somewhere that their cocks are hitting with every stroke.

"I'm going to cum," you gasp, the words surprising even you. "Without touching myself. I'm going to —"

It hits you like a freight train. Not a wave, but a white-hot nova of pleasure exploding from your core, radiating outwards until every nerve ending in your body is firing at once. Your cock, pressed between your stomach and Mark's, erupts without warning. Hot, thick ropes of your still-neg cum spray across Mark's chest and stomach, painting him with your seed. Your hole clenches around both cocks, milks the double sword inside of you, the rhythmic, uncontrollable spasms so violent they feel like they might tear you apart from the inside out. The sensation is so intense you see stars.

"Fuck!" Mark cries out, and you feel his cock pulse inside you. "Take my strain! Take it deep! Get pregnant with my bug!" You feel the hot, distinct pulse of his load as it shoots into you, a deep, primal warmth. The feeling of Mark‘s orgasm, the trembling of his whole body, the pulsing of Marks cock, the toxic wetness that is spreading deep inside of you triggers Stefan, and with a roar, he slams deep and unloads. "And here's mine! My viral load knocking you up! Sealing the deal! You're one of us now!” You feel a second, even hotter flood join the first, the two of them mixing, filling you so completely you feel it in your throat.

The three of you are frozen in a tableau of ecstasy — Stefan buried to the hilt, Mark pulsing beneath you, your own cock still dribbling the last of your load onto Mark's cum-splattered chest.

When the waves finally subside, a profound bone-deep exhaustion sets in, your muscles liquefying until your body feels like a ragdoll. Stefan carefully withdraws, and you feel a river of cum pour out of your gaping hole. Mark slides out next, and the flood intensifies, soaking the sheets beneath you. You collapse onto Mark's chest, utterly spent, utterly wrecked, utterly perfect. You're so thoroughly wrecked that you don't even close up. You stay open, a hollowed-out vessel, and in the quiet that follows, you feel the cool air of the room soothing your cum-slick inner walls—a stark, blissful contrast to the blistering heat that just filled you.

Mark's hand moves through the puddle of your cum on his chest. He scoops some onto his fingers, brings them to his own lips, and tastes you. His eyes flutter closed, savoring. "Beautiful," he murmurs. "Even your neg cum tastes like it's ready to change."

He offers his cum-slicked fingers to you, and you lick them clean, tasting yourself, tasting the salt of your own desire. Then he gathers more, reaching past you to offer them to Stefan. Stefan leans over you and takes Mark's fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, his blue eyes locked on yours.

And then, as if choreographed, the three of you come together for a kiss. It's not a simple kiss. It's a communion. Three mouths, three tongues, sharing the taste of your cum, passing it back and forth in a wet, intimate, filthy exchange. You taste yourself on their lips, taste whiskey and weed and something deeper—the taste of belonging, of being claimed, of becoming part of something bigger than yourself.

 

When you finally break apart, you're all breathing hard, foreheads touching, sharing the same air. You lie between them, your body aching in the best possible way, their combined loads slowly leaking from your used hole. Mark strokes your hair, and Stefan's hand rests possessively on your hip. "Tonight was just the beginning," Stefan says, his voice soft but full of promise. "Our welcome. Our reconnection. Our first steps together."

"Tomorrow night," Mark says softly, picking up the thread seamlessly, "is something different."

You look up at him, curious, exhausted, already hungry for more.

"We're taking you out," Stefan says, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "We're going to a bathhouse. One of the big ones in Frankfurt city."

Your breath catches. A bathhouse. Public. Anonymous. The thought sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through your exhausted body.

"We've been on the apps and forums all day," Mark explains, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "We posted an open invitation for a group breeding session on the regular forums like Romeo. In Romeo’s bareback and poz communities and on Buddy, we were even more explicit." His hand tightens slightly on your shoulder. "No loads refused. Poz and toxic preferred for maximum impact. Age and looks don't matter. Only cock size and viral load count. Last, we've been hitting up every toxic top we could find to make sure they get the message. One guy, his profile pic was just his AIDS-wasted body — he was so dedicated he even put us in touch with two of his friends who were obviously deep in their journey. The response has been... overwhelming."

"We've booked a sling room in the most trafficked area," Stefan adds. "You'll be in the sling, blindfolded. You won't see who comes through that door. You won't know their names, their faces, anything about them. All you'll know is that they're there to breed you, many of them poz, some highly toxic, and that we are there to watch you and watch out for you."

Your cock twitches despite your exhaustion. The thought of it  —anonymous, faceless men, one after another, using you, filling you with their poisoned seed while Mark and Stefan watch over you, guide you, protect you...

"Tonight was about connection," Stefan says. "About us, the three of us. About quality."

"Tomorrow is about sheer quantity," Mark finishes. "We're going to flood you with so much toxic cum that your body won't have a choice. Every load is a gift, and tomorrow, you're going to be opening so many presents. We're going to make sure you're properly gifted. That test is going to show two lines if we have to invite every poz cock in Frankfurt to make it happen."

Stefan leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll be right there. We'll be the gatekeepers, choosing who gets to fuck you. We'll feed you poppers when you need them. We’ll give you a break, if we feel you need a rest. We'll take care of you in every way. We'll take care of your body, and we'll take care of your future. You'll be safe. You'll be ours, our pride, for everyone to see. And in between visitors, we'll enjoy all those anonymous random loads in your gut, while we fuck you too, adding our own to the mix, making sure the viral titer in that cum soup stays high and toxic, to do the job right.

You close your eyes, their words washing over you like a promise, like a prophecy. Tomorrow. A bathhouse. A sling. Blindfolded. Used. Bred. The thought is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. But then, another thought surfaces, "What if..." you begin, your voice hesitant. "What if someone I know shows up? Someone who recognizes me?"

You ask the question, and the room goes quiet for a moment. Mark just looks at you, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face, but he says nothing. He just leans down and kisses you, a deep, possessive kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and answers you without a single word.

"Rest now," Stefan whispers, pulling the covers over the three of you. "You're going to need your strength."

You're pulled under, enveloped in an intense three-way cuddle. You're a warm, tangled nexus in the center of the bed, your legs intertwined with Mark's hairy thighs, Stefan's muscular frame presses against your back, and every inch of skin is in contact. You can feel the soft weight of their massive cocks and heavy balls resting against your own, a trio of spent beasts sleeping together, trying to merge into a single body of pure masculine heat. Their promise of tomorrow echoes in your mind, and just as you begin to truly relax, just as you float on the edge of sleep, you feel Stefan's hand trail down your spine. His fingers find your used, tender hole, circling the rim before dipping inside. "Wow," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're still open as hell and leaking. Can't have all those precious gifts going to waste. Gotta keep the seed inside where it belongs. Gotta let it take hold." He shifts, and you feel the nudge of his semi-hard cock against your entrance. With a slow, possessive push, he slides back into you, plugging you up. He brings his cum-slick fingers up to your lips, and you taste the three of you as Mark leans in, joining you for a final, good-night cumkiss.

Two lines. Soon. Very soon.

[billy88666]

This is an incredible piece of writing. I felt like was in the hotel room with them, it was so vivid.