The First Chaser

[infinite290]

He wonders who the first chaser was. The first time—before it even became an actual thought, before it crystallized as an urge. He wants to know what cocksucker got the idea in the first place, before it was conscious, before it had language.

 

Did this faggot read about the gay cancer and immediately get a boner? Did his body recognize the drive for destruction before he himself knew it? Did he just feel that initial warmth rush to fill his cock, then his hole, causing it to twitch.. and that was that?

 

He wonders about the sequence of events. When the dick ditch of a man, on his back with his hole gaped open, uttered the plea: “give me your poz seed,” or some desperate variation of it. And then like a virus, it spread. The drive, the hunger… do we only recognize when we are told, like the age old “don’t know what you dont know?” Or did this urge exist in all men regardless of sexuality?

 

Maybe he had no choice. Maybe he gave in when he realized he was too small to stop what fate had already decided. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the Top was the unwilling one, like it was for Matthew. Resisting until he finally found himself balls deep, raw, finally letting go and relishing the sublime feeling he’d denied himself for so long, all in the name of… what? Safety?

 

There’s nothing safe about sex. There never has been. The danger has always existed. We can do our best to prevent it, but at the end of the day—at the very end of the day—this is what we are: men. Not just gay men, but men. Men who like to fuck and seed, no—need. And no amount of latex or rubber will ever get in their way of men, ever again.

 

With that, Matthew exhales and allows the warm grip of the twenty year old cumdump’s hole begin its work of milking out the last drops of his toxic seed. He lets the pleasure settle in his body and cock, feels the hole squeeze and relax, feeling the poisonous load drain from his formerly heavy balls. He doesn’t even realize what’s happened—how hard and deep he’s come—until he opens his eyes and sees that he’s still fucking the dump, his hole wet with death seed being pounded deeper and deeper in long, forceful strokes.

 

His cock, still hard, is coated in slick. The deepening tinge of pink grows with every thrust. red-streaks on his shaft, pink cum foam gathering at the base of his dick. He relishes the sense of power he gets when  he’s fucked hard enough to draw blood, and the sight makes him come again almost immediately. Another quick hammered drills that make the bottom tense up, surprised by the post-climax onslaught, and the sharp pangs of pain that follow. Another shot of poison. Another toxic bullet. Deeper. Harder. Deadlier.

 

Seven months later, he Matthew finds himself slamming his cock into the same cumdump. Now he can see how the hole has changed—puffy, loose. The body beneath him is frail, spotted with signs of death. He’s so young, he thinks to himself…but before that thought could even take hold, his cock pulses, thickens and the grin that landed this young faggot7 months prior appears like a mask just slipped on. And Matthew aggressively pulls his cock all the way out and back in, then side to side, hard and slow, for an hour. He sees bruises on the body where he gripped too hard. He sees the bruising on his face from the punches he landed on the side of his face. The blonde hair that once lifted into the sky had been shaved off, leaving the fuck hole looking even more unhuman. He’s an evacuated, skeleton of his former bright self. And as me jackhammers toward his orgasm, not quite there, that’s when he feels it. The hole has finally stoppped gripping. He watches the faggot beneath him, waits for his chest to rise, and fall. Nothing. Then, a small rise and relief floods his chest, and he continues to pump. This time, hard. One last load. He keeps fucking till he climaxes just a few seconds later, the idea of such power, being able to fuck a man into his final breath pushes him over the edge. He withdraws and watches the cum dribble out.

 

How natural, he thinks. And how this would have disgusted him a year ago.

 

He lets his breath catch up, his body ready to collapse with exhaustion. He has afterall, been up now for two days straight.

 

With reverence only men like Matthew can understand, he slowly drops down to his knees. He closes his eyes, leans forward, and like an animal deprived of water, begins to hungrily lap up what he can, his tongue digging deep, the familiar tasting warmth leaving that cool shiny film all over his face. When there’s no more to suck out and swallow, no more to lick up and relish, he gets to his feet. He leans over the boy, scans his face, taming him in. He wants to burn in the destruction that he caused this boy. He wants to think of him, lying here, passed out from too much G, wide open and available to whomever decides to walk past the slightly open door that he will soon leave ajar. Matthew imagines the next man to slip into the room to find him now in this condition with few rigs scattered about, and what they might do. He knows what he wants them to do and it is this very thought that sends the blood southward and out into his cock. The slow revival of his cock once again urges him forward—to move on and find another faggot to fuck the days away.

Edited 8 hours ago by infinite290
wrong version.

[swimslut]

oh fuck yes! This is so hot! I want it bad. 

[brycereed]

Fuck yes. This is such a great start to what I hope is a long series of conversion stories. 

[backpackguy]

"One last load. He keeps fucking until he climaxes just a few seconds later, the idea of such power, being able to fuck a man until his final breath pushes him over the edge.  He withdraws and watches the cum dribble out."

Fuck, infinite, this is one sizzlin story: More, more, more Poz conversion 🧑‍🦰🕳️🍆💦☣️☣️❄️🗯️🚀🔥😈🐽 stories...pretty please!!! 😛😋