30 Seconds That Could Have Changed Everything

[PozBearWI]

I thought for sure he was going to empty that opened up condom directly into his relaxed open hole....

[Menbendovr]

4 hours ago, PozBearWI said:

I thought for sure he was going to empty that opened up condom directly into his relaxed open hole....

I thought the same thing was going to happen.

[kitpig]

8 hours ago, cumslutw said:

To everyone who has read and commented—thank you! Your feedback has been incredible, and it’s a huge rush to know you’re feeling this journey right alongside the character.

I want to be direct: this story is about me. While I've written it as fiction, every single encounter and feeling in these chapters is something I have experienced myself in one way or another over the years. I've simply woven them together into a new narrative to tell the story.

At its heart, this is about my life as a gay man torn between two worlds. On one hand, the life I‘ve built—the stable, loving marriage, the successful career, the respectable facade. On the other, a deep, gnawing craving for something that threatens to burn it all down: the raw, dangerous, and transformative act of being pozzed.

I move between periods of seeking safety and plunging into sleazy, bareback sex. It's a simple, brutal math: the greater the risk, the harder I cum. But it's never a straight line. It's a messy, back-and-forth battle, and I hope that's what comes across in the ups and downs of my experience.

It is mindblowing to read that some of you can relate to this, feeling like I was in your mind writing about your own longings and desires. The realization that I am not alone in this is the greatest source of my courage and the reason I must continue, and for that, I thank you for coming on this very personal ride with me. I've already started writing the next chapters, and I hope you're ready for what cums next.

Definitely not alone... many of us are secretly (or not so) lined up alongside you on this journey!

[cman54]

11 hours ago, PozBearWI said:

I thought for sure he was going to empty that opened up condom directly into his relaxed open hole....

I thought so too. I hope he gets with this guy again. 

[PozBearWI]

Indeed @cman54.  

[cman54]

Yes PozBearWI  Hopefully he gets with him soon before he goes on his meds and tells him to forget the condom. Just do me bare and real.

[cumslutw]

Thanks for all your comments!
So here's the next part of the journey. Hope you enjoy.... 

Part 4: The Biohazard Archives: Poz Stories and Porn

The calm lasts for the rest of the night. It's a lie, of course, but a comforting one. You sleep soundly, the secret in the freezer a cold, quiet anchor. But the next morning, the lie shatters. You're making coffee. You open the freezer. The condom is still there, but that's all it is. A memory, a pathetic little trophy frozen in time. A toxic bomb, now defused and dead. The risk is gone. Without its poison, it's just a sad piece of rubber. The magic is gone.

And in that moment, you realize the chilling, undeniable truth: the memory is not enough. The fantasy is not enough. The hunger is a demand, not a request. And a demand cannot be satisfied by watching. It has to be hunted.

You sit back down at your laptop. The screen's glow is a sterile comfort in the dark room. You don't go to the usual apps, the ones filled with "safe" men and "normal" hookups. You go to a search engine and type in the words that have been echoing in your mind. You find a place called Breeding Zone. It's a forum, a digital promised land, and you click through the warning page without a second thought. Creating the profile feels like a clandestine act. The username is a string of random letters and numbers, untraceable. For the avatar, you don't use a picture of your face or your body. You use a close-up, macro shot of your PA ring—the heavy, 00g tribal dream circle of steel. It's a signal. A flag.

And then you are in.

The forum titles hit you like a physical blow. They aren't coded in polite euphemisms; they are raw, honest, and terrifyingly familiar. My First Pozzing Story. Toxic Load in a Public Toilet. Neg Bottom Looking for My First Gift. A wave of relief so powerful it makes you dizzy, washes over you. You're not a monster hiding in the shadows. You're home. These are your people. They speak your language. They understand the hunger, the need, the dark, beautiful thrill of the chase.

This becomes your ritual for the next weeks. Every night, you would return to the same story, the multi-part epic called "Sleazy Sauna." The thread is massive with hundreds of thousands of views. You start reading, your heart hammering against your ribs. From the first sentence, you are not just reading; you are remembering. You are the narrator. You are the safe, middle-aged neg guy walking into that run-down sauna, the smell of damp and chlorine in the air. You feel the eyes of Sid, the old, skinny regular, on you, the thrill of his directness as he compliments your tattoos and casually asks, "Want to fuck?"

And then you get to the line that makes you stop and re-read, your breath catching in your throat. When the narrator – when you - ask about a condom, Sid just keeps fucking and says, "I hate the things. Haven’t used them since I was diagnosed." At first, the word doesn't fully land. Diagnosed. It hangs in the air, a clinical, sterile word in the middle of this filthy, intimate act. And then it clicks. This isn't just some old man who prefers to fuck bare. This is a poz man who is planning to plant his toxic seed in your ass without a single thought or care as to whether you are neg or not. For a normal, safe guy, that moment should be a full-stop, a siren blaring, a reason to scream and run. It should be the definition of disturbing. But you can feel it happening to you—the shock, the fear, and the overwhelming, horned-up decision to just go along with it, to let the risk wash over you because the feeling is too good to stop.

But it's the second part of the story that truly destroys you. You are again the narrator, having been tested negative and handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. And yet, you are back at the sauna, your heart pounding, your hole twitching with a need you can't explain. You hear Bill at the counter warn the you, "We've a few more in today - couple of guys I 'ain't seen for a while 'cos they've been sick. They don't take meds so their immune system is fucked." You're hard instantly, stroking yourself as you read. You are in that dark room, being pulled between two unseen bodies. You know, with a sick certainty, that these are them. These are the two toxic trolls Bill warned you about, the ones with the highly charged, untreated loads. You are the one sandwiched between them, crying with shame and depravity, feeling the ultimate surrender as you push back and squeeze your hole around their thrusting cocks, eager to milk more poz cum from them and get yourself knocked up.

The words on the screen get you close, but they aren't enough to finish you. You need the visuals. You need the sounds. You minimize the forum and open the video file. You find the clip. It opens on a scene of profound intimacy. A bottom is on his back, his legs thrown up in the air, surrendering completely. A top is above him, moving inside him with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Their connection is palpable, a quiet dance of flesh that feels more like a shared prayer than a simple fuck. The gentle, rhythmic slap of skin is the only sound besides their soft moans.

Then, the top’s voice cuts through the quiet, a low murmur now laced with a sudden, sharp tension. "I think it broke."

And in that moment, you are the bottom. A jolt of pure ice-water panic floods your veins. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be safe. Your mind races, screaming at you to push him off, to stop this right now. But your body betrays you. The slow, hypnotic rhythm doesn't stop, and the pleasure is too exquisite, too all-consuming. The fear is there, a sharp edge, but it's dulled by the overwhelming sensation.

The top's words were a quiet confession, but to you, they are a test. He needs you to make the choice.

The bottom’s response is a choked whimper of pure, unadulterated need, his back arching to meet each deep, steady thrust. "Fuck me anyway. I don't care."

You understand that whimper. It's the sound of reason shattering. It's the moment the fear begins to curdle into something else—something dark and thrilling.

Your hand is on your own cock, stroking in time with the slow, hypnotic rhythm on the screen.

"Do you want me to pull out when I cum?" the top asks, his voice a strained whisper. He's offering one final escape, one last chance for safety.

"Of course not," the bottom moans, his voice thick with unwavering desire, pulling him in closer, a silent refusal to let him escape.

"But I'm positive," the top says, his voice a quiet, final warning. He's laid all his cards on the table. The risk is now real. It has a name.

"I don't care," the bottom breathes. "I want your seed so bad. I want your shit... so fucking good!"

That's it. That's the moment of total surrender. The fear doesn't just fade; it transforms into a desperate, all-consuming craving. The thought of his charged load, of his poz seed, is no longer a danger. It's the prize. It's what you want.

They continue, the sound of a poppers cap being unscrewed cutting through the heavy breathing. The camera is locked in a single, unchanging POV. You see nothing but the top's cock, now sheathed in the tattered, broken latex, as it slowly sinks into the bottom's ass, then just as slowly withdraws. You don't see their faces. You are the bottom, feeling that broken rubber dragging against your rim with every slow, deliberate stroke.

Then, a new sound. A deep sniff. The sound makes your own hand tremble with anticipation. You fumble for your own bottle, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your nostril, timing your own sharp, desperate inhalation to perfectly match the one you are hearing through the laptop speakers. The rush hits you, a warm wave washing over you, dissolving the last of your resistance. The fear is gone, replaced by a blissful, open hunger. Your mind is no longer thinking about risk; it's focused only on the feeling, on the need to be filled, to be bred.

Your head swims, your vision blurs at the edges, and your own moaning grows louder, more guttural, mingling with the sounds from the video until you can't tell where you end and the screen begins.

The cock on screen never stops its slow, deliberate motion. Then, another sniff, this time from the top. You hear it, and without hesitation, you take another hit yourself, your body in perfect sync with the men you can only hear. The second rush deepens the hunger, solidifies it into a single, burning purpose.

"Yeah, give me your seed," the bottom begs, his voice cracking with emotion. "Give me that fucking charged load, yeah, cum in me deep."

You feel the words in your own throat. You want to beg for it, too.

"Yeah, I'm gonna knock you up," the top growls, his rhythm finally beginning to speed up.

"Cum as deep as you can," the bottom cries out.

The top grunts, his body tensing as he unloads. He pulls out, and the camera holds on the bottom's gaping, red hole. A single, thick, perfect drop of white cum wells up and drips down. The sight of that charged drop, the sound of those words, amplified by the poppers flooding your system, is the guaranteed trigger. You cum, a huge, explosive load that shoots all over your chest and face, a desperate, solitary offering.

You slump back in your chair, panting. You look down at your new jogging pants. Another load soaking into the fabric. They're stiffening with dried cum, becoming a beloved cumrag, a physical testament to how deep you're being drawn in. It was a powerful, intense orgasm, but as the waves of pleasure recede, you're still staring at the screen. The forum is just a collection of words. The clip is just pixels. And you are still alone in your apartment, your pants stiffening with another load. The relief is temporary. The hunger is permanent.