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I've decided to post one of my favorite videos I've come across online. I don't remember where I found it and can't seem to find it anywhere else anymore. All I do know is that it's titled "BIKERTOP pozzing boy". It's a younger (20's-ish) guy bound down and getting fucked bare by an older guy in biker gear with a bio-hazard tattoo. If I remember the context and back-story that went with it, I think the boy is the bf or in some relationship with the camera guy who has enlisted the help of the top to convert his boy. Either way, the camera guy gets his own turn enjoying the boy's gifted hole in the end.



Weather or not all the back-story for the above video is reality, it makes for a hot story. Many of my long-time readers know, I myself was in an open relationship where not only was I encouraged by my bf to get fucked bareback by other guys because it turned him on but to do so by guys of unknown or poz status for the heightened thrill of it. I'm sure I will talk much more on that subject to come, but this all made me wonder if any of my readers out there have been in a similar arrangement or situation. Are there any couples that are chasing together? One partner who's poz and wanting to convert a neg bf? A neg bf wanting to get converted for their other half? Or guys that were unknowingly pozzed in a LTR? If so, tell us a little about it in the comments below!


Also, if anyone wants to share similar videos, comment below! :-)




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Damn AIDS was giving me night sweats, so I got up, took a shower, and went for a stroll in the park. I figured it might be deserted since it was a weeknight.

To my surprise a hot Latino Twink I'd seen tricking downtown was there in his short jogging shorts. I'd often wondered what male prostitutes did for recreation, and the answer is what they do best.

I had no doubt the Kid was looking for action, along with whatever scratch he could finesse, though he got nothing from me other than a couple of POZ Loads and possibly a new STD.

It was about 1 A.M. and there were just the two of us there. He pursued me into a copse. I stopped just out of sight of the drive so I could keep an eye out for the cops.

After the usual touchy-feely and a few minutes of sucking, he turned and bent over. With his little brown Pussy almost touching my Dick Head, it was as blatant an invitation as I've ever received.

He took a hit of his Poppers, and I slid my Cock up his Cunt—one teensy push and I was in up to the Balls. Remember how this Kid earned a living, so to begin with he was pretty stretched out. Bottom line was I ended up breeding his slack little Shitter while he zonked-out on Poppers.

Before I left I let him spooge down my throat. He had been so sweet and accommodating and the price had been right—so I invited him over to my place to spend the night. He declined, saying he had to get home or his Pimp might accuse him of cheating.

As he walked off into the shadows, I had second thoughts about withholding my Status, but concluded that, in his professional life, he'd taken as many POZ Loads as I had in my amateur one. Besides, I figured he might prefer not to know. Be bad for business if word got out he'd been bred.

Don, a truck driver Fuck Bud, cums to town 3 or 4 times a year. He's in his mid-50s, about 6'1" maybe 160, with a wasted AIDS look that makes my Ass quiver.

Although I'm a Top, I always take his Loads cause he's such a nasty Fucker. He's not on Meds and has a Viral Load over a hundred thousand. His Strain recharges my Death Seed and my psyche.

When I went to his motel last Sunday, he had a hot Muscle Jock stark naked asleep on the bed. I recognized the Kid as a Gym Bunny in his early 20's who worked out daily at the Spa. Don had hooked up with him through Gay.Com. The Bunny's profile said he was NEG and ONLY played safe.

"NOT ANYMORE," Don said with an nasty grin. Gym Boy had overdone the booze and pot, got sleepy, and passed out. My Bud had already dumped one Load of Toxic Cum up his Pussy, and I could see Bug Juice glistening in his Ass Crack.

I felched out some of that Baby Batter, used the rest to lube up my Death Stick, and rammed it up the Young Man's Cunt. The Twink stirred briefly, feebly tried to pull away, but I easily pinned him to the bed and worked the AIDS BUG up his Rectum.

Don gave the Kid an enormous hit of Poppers, and the Fucker just moaned and gripped the mattress for dear life. It was so fucking sweet breeding that Pretty Boy, knowing he'd pass it on to many of his Twink Cohorts.

I flooded his guts with rope after rope of POZ Spooge. I wanted to eat it, freshly-spewed, out of his Pussy; but his Mancunt was so lush and inviting, I couldn't help but shoot another Load.

Exhausted I collapsed on top of him, and Don straddled the two of us and rammed his POZ Shaft up my Shitter. I wanted to cum in the insensate Youth at the same time Don spewed up my Pussy; and, like clockwork, I spasmed just as my Bud shot.

The Punk drifted in an out of consciousness. Don and I swapped POZ Loads with each other, and gave Muscle Jock another tumble.

Don said he had Pals cuming over to give the Youth other Strains. I don't know how many Loads the Fucker took that afternoon, and worried that the little Shit might accuse ME of participating in the assault. But no sweat. The Fuck Session must have been too much for the Muscle Jock. He hasn’t been around since.

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Here’s a top view of that thick fucker. Not the best angle but…



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Last Saturday night I was chatting with this pretty 18 year old. He was sitting wide-eyed on a bench outside the showers, ogling the guys strutting their stuff. I sat down beside him and said, "Hi."

It was his first time at the Baths, and he was nervous. He found the atmosphere intimidating and was scared to death of "catching something." He wanted sex (at least he said he did); but all the guys were too old or fat or withered or diseased. And he was shocked by all the "unsafe sex."

Several guys walked by clutching little vials, and he asked me what Poppers did for them. He'd never tried them.

"They're no big deal, really. They just relax you and make you feel more sociable."

"Got any?"

"In my locker. Be right back."

But they weren't in my locker. I had 'em stuffed in the waist folds of my towel all along. I just needed an excuse to find my bud.

Adam was sitting in the TV Room. He'd already noticed the cute thing I was with, as had everybody in the Club by then.

"Gonna fuck him?"

"He's pretty green. It's his first trip here, and he's scared to death. I need your help. You get first dibs."

I told him we'd meet him in the Maze, then hurried back to the Kid. He was relieved to see me round the corner as some "Sleazy Old Trolls" had put the make on him.

I handed him the bottle and told him to take a little sniff to see how they affected him. He did so, maybe for a moment longer than I would have recommended, then moaned that he felt "nice and hot."

"Now there's the understatement of the year!"

I asked him if he’d like to take a tour; and he said, "Yes." Upon spotting the "Sleazy Old Troll" who'd groped his Ass, he kept close on my tail.

Once again he asked to borrow my Poppers. I told him to hang onto them. I had a feeling the Kid would need them a helluva lot more than I before the night was through.

"Geez, thanks." He took a deep whiff and turned red. "They sure work wonders. Lemme know when you want 'em back."

We entered the Maze and stood just inside the door, back lit only by a dim red light. The moaning emanating from the dark passages beyond was supplanted by the slap of flesh on flesh. Unnerved, the Youth uncapped the bottle and took another whiff. That's when Adam slipped behind him, and I stepped back into the shadows.

The Kid sniffed from the bottle while Adam worked his Ass. I don't know what sweet-nothings my bud whispered in his ear, but they took off for Adam's room.

As I waited for the outcome of their little tryst, I entered the bowels of the Maze in search of LOVE. An unlubed finger snaked up my Butt. Annoyed, I turned to confront my uncouth suitor, and discovered it was Alan. He led me to his room. The Kid was lying on his stomach.

"Why's he sleeping?"

"Well, he wanted to try something a little stronger than Poppers; and all I had was GHB."

"Great! We can't leave him here like this!"

But Adam is one of those imperturbable buggers whom nothing fazes. Between the two of us, we dragged the Kid back to the Maze and strapped him in the leather Sling.

The Kid looked so angelic, his legs in stirrups high above his head, his glistening Mancunt soft and beckoning. I guess Adam couldn't help himself. After depositing a 2nd POZ LOAD up the Boy's Mancunt, he took off, leaving me alone with Poisoned Beauty.

I reached down, dug my finger in his Pussy, and came away with a digit drenched in Spooge. I marveled at how salty. Adam's Seed is always salty.

"AH, POZ CUM!" I sighed dramatically, recollecting the day two years before when Adam confided he was POZ. I'd always suspected I'd been the one who bred his Ass, but never breathed a word of it to anyone.

I glanced down at Sleeping Beauty. Such a sweet Pussy! We were alone. He'd never be more fuckable. I shuddered as the 3rd POZ LOAD of the evening spurted up the Young Man's Ass. I headed for the showers to join my Bud, then to his room for a catnap.

2 A.M! Time to check on our Progeny. There was a lot of traffic in the Maze. One of the fabled "Old Trolls" stopped me excited. "Fuck! You should see what's going on."

Still secured in the Sling was our Sacrificial Lamb. As I nudged my way amongst the damp towels, I realized what I'd first perceived as a mulling muck of Cocks and Balls was actually an orderly queue of Bareback Tops intent on breeding the Young Twink.

"What's with the Kid?" I asked the Dude up next to dip his wick.

"A PNP Boy who's overdosed," came his educated guess.

"Then how cum he's strapped in like that?"

"Must be a Cum Addict as well. Look. Do me a favor. Save my place. I'll be right back. I gotta piss."

"No, wait. I know that Kid. He's into Watersports. Piss down his throat, then fuck his Ass." Word spread like wildfire.

And so it was that one Top after another, the old, the infirm, the obese, and the diseased, joined ranks to fill both the Youngster's Holes with Piss and Cum. I saw the Kid take five dirty Loads at least.

Of course he had it cuming. Justice rendered is justice deserved. They hadda take the Kid down a notch. The Punk was simply too goody two-shoes. I watched a pair of "Old Trolls," with purple KS lesions dotting their bodies, shoot up the Young Man's Butt. He was sure gonna be sore in the morning—not to mention the AIDS VIRUS which would make his life a Living Hell. I had to smile.

I had been barebacking for years and never asked guys their status. While I was never an overt chaser, the idea of taking POZ Cum turned me on. I loved reading Conversion Stories. Today I write ‘em. I suppose I wanted to get bred all along.

In the late fall I connected with a guy from Gay.Com. He was a real Bareback Pig.! We'd both stopped using Condoms, gloves, and other Safe Sex paraphernalia.

When he fingered my Pussy, I asked him to fuck me. He said he'd have to pull out cause he didn't want to cum up my Ass. I asked him why not; and he said that he was POZ, and I was still NEG.

I almost flipped! Never before had I known in advance that the guy about to fuck me was POZ. That was a first! In essence I got down on my knees and begged him for his Cum!

He got this shit eatin' grin on his face. "Let's see if I got this straight. You WANNA get POZZED ?"

"FUCK, YEAH! GIVE IT TO ME!"

He started to screw me like there was no tomorrow, ranting about the Bad Seed he was about to plant up my Butt; that there could be no turning back; and that, from that day forth, all my partners would be at risk.

I got rock hard. He told me he was gonna shoot. We both came—he up my Ass—and I, all over my chest—probably the most prolific Load of my life.

He stayed the night. I took a couple more Loads and gave him two back. I fisted him for over an hour. After that we talked of the BUG till the morning sun shone blood red on our Dicks. He made me promise to call him if and when I got "the Flu."

Nine days later I woke up sick as a dog and soaking wet. I called him and told him I didn't feel so good.

He stressed how awesome it would be if I hit the Baths—while my immune system was depressed and my Viral Load was outta sight.

THOUGH I FELT LIKE SHIT, I dragged my Butt down to the Tubs. I ended up taking five Loads up the Ass and two down my throat. But there was a price to pay for my contagious escapade—I almost had to crawl home to bed where I stayed put for a week.

It was spring before I finally got tested. I don't know why I postponed it so long. The Baths were offering free HIV testing, and I availed myself.

Two weeks later I called and gave my code-number to the little Fairy on the other end of the line. He hemmed and hawed, and ended up making me an appointment with a Counselor. She turned out to be a loquacious old spinster, who commiserated with me for half an hour before pronouncing me POZ. I could barely keep a straight face.

That night I had dinner with my NEG ex-Lover. As usual, I fucked his Ass. So far I have 5 confirmed Conversions to my credit, the first being the aforementioned ex-Lover, and the latest, a neat little drama student down the hall.

One of the precepts of social protocol at the Baths is that it’s best NOT ask about Status. Yes, you may be asked to put on a Condom, but rarely will you be asked if you're POZ or NEG.

It's generally assumed, erroneously so, that POZ guys will either seek out other POZ guys or do without. Case in point:

I invited two hot Latino Boys to my room. They were Lovers, and had never done a three-way before.

We started off sixty-nining, and the older one whispered that he'd love to see me fuck his BF.

The BF in question was maybe five years younger, early twenties, slender, and really cute. I was all about tagging his Ass, so I mounted the Cunt. Just as I was about to slide in, he said, "Wait! Put on a Condom!"

I tried to hide my vexation, and thought I could start with a Condom and slip it off later. But once I had the Rubber in place, the Kid changed his mind, and wouldn't let me fuck him at all.

Frustrated, I made myself clear. "OK. I'm gonna to lie back and close my eyes. Either one of you climbs on my Dick, or there’s the door."

The Older One eased his Cunt down on my rubber-coated Shaft. Though the Latex cut the sensation, he made a valiant effort, rocking back and forth on my Rod, as his nervous Lover looked on. While the Kid was distracted unscrewing his Poppers, the Boyfriend slipped off the Condom and pressed it into my palm.

NOW THAT WAS MORE LIKE IT! I could feel his slimey Pussy milkin' my Death Stick. He whispered in my ear, "Bareback is Better!" and he didn’t know how right he was.

We switched positions so that I was on Top fucking him Doggy style, and he leaned forward and whispered to his young Paramour that it was cool cause we were doing safe sex.

The Youngster was getting fucked up on his Poppers, so he was slow to react when I pulled out of his Lover and plunged into him.

Between his high from the Poppers and the exhortations of his Lover, he was more amenable to getting fucked than before. He made a few futile attempts to see if I was still sheathed; but his quick-witted Lover arrested his hand, assuring him I was okay.

It didn't take long for the older Dude to shoot all over us, and my own Balls were tingling. I didn't let on as I began to spasm and spurt, so the Youth didn't have a clue I was breeding his Ass.

To top it all off, I made a great show of toying with the discarded Rubber, like I was rolling it off.

As they left, the Senior blew me a kiss. In response I ran my hand over his departing Butt. My lone regret was that I had only one LOAD to share between the two of them, and I hadn't bred the Elder, too.

It was the late 90's. I was 35; married; 3 kids; a good boy, always trying to please; more (or less) faithful to my wife, to whom I'd been married for 15 years; providing my family with a steady income from my run-of-the-mill accounting job. And I hated it. Still I was reluctant to give in to my homosexuality, regarding it as a blemish on my character. But my hormones often got the best of me, and I ended up at the bars and baths—rarely—but with increasing frequency.

I developed an affinity for blowjobs, which progressed to getting laid. I was always the passive one, the Bottom. Back in those days, to my detriment, I played it safe and hardly ever fucked without a Condom. After each tryst, I felt guilty and ashamed, but on each occasion less and less. And I kept fucking my wife bare.

Just when I didn't want to go on with such duplicity, becoming more and more conflicted everyday—just when I was seriously considering leaving wife and kids—salvation came in the form of a new job, offering 200 travel days a year. With a generous expense account and a salary I'd heretofore only dreamt about, I jumped at the opportunity. Ironically, I kept our family together by keeping us apart.

I became very creative at seeking out the most popular Gay haunts—the leather bars, bath houses, tearooms, rest stops, parks, adult theaters, and bookstores. I left no stone unturned. I grew comfortable in my new role as a kinky, if somewhat masochistic Bottom, a sometime Slave, but always the Slut. During my trips home, I played the role of loving husband fucking his wife, while cuming to reveries of Male Cunt.

Sucking, felching, rimming, along with the ubiquitous Poppers became my daily regimen. I got fucked more and more. I developed tastes for spit, watersports, armpits, feet, and B&D and S&M. I loved Gay Sex and invited guys to my hotel rooms all hours of the day and night. Still I couldn't get enough. I started fucking bare on the proviso that they pull out. Of course there were the inevitable accidents. I knew I took a risk since I always bled when I got fucked. I wasn't yet amenable to taking Cum up the Ass, but more and more that turned me on.

It also turned me on fucking my wife, sharing the risk, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, as I pumped my NEG Gay Sperm up her straight Pussy. I'd hinted at an occasional Gay rendezvous, but never breathed a word about bareback sex.

Gradually my guilt and reluctance dissipated as I sacrificed quality for quantity. I no longer had to strive to be a Cum Pig; I HAD BECOME ONE. I felt powerful and bad. I manipulated the Tops who thought they were manipulating me—into barebacking—in hopes that one or both of us would be inseminated with the Blessed Seed.

And I continued to fuck my wife—with my Fist and up her Ass. How she raved about our new "open" relationship—the little Fool—my meal ticket to the family values so treasured by the outside world. I never told her how I'd cum to worship unsafe sex.

The turning point came when I got invited to a party in L.A. I emailed the host and asked if barebacking were permissible. He wrote back that he and several buds actually preferred it that way. Sometimes they had special little get-togethers for barebackers, and there was one such Friday night. He never actually said the words “Conversion Party.” I told him I was a relative newbie to group sex. "On the contrary, I think you'll fit right in. Be here at eight, and we'll talk it over.

Marky seemed an all right kind of guy—not pushy, just hospitable. He assured me I'd enjoy myself. And no one would force me do to anything I didn’t want. That sounded great.

"But Marky, are your buddies NEG?"

" Who really knows his status, Sport? Just get here early, and we'll talk."

On my drive down to L.A, I thought a lot about getting POZZED. There seemed to be distinct advantages—no longer having to worry about the Bug was the biggie that came to mind. And the disadvantages were too morbid to contemplate. Maybe POZ was not nearly as NEG as it was made out to be.

It was a little after eight when I rang the bell. I was stressed from the long drive, and Marky noticed it.

"Have a Cola, and let's share a joint. Help you unwind. I got some other stuff. Ecstasy, GHB, Coke. Just ask.” I took a few tokes, and he suggested I clean up.

I told him I didn't do drugs, but I’d love to douche. He flashed me a quick smile. "Trust me. Chems have their place. They just make it a little easier to accept ourselves."

Afterwards we shared another joint. We were looking at the profiles of his bareback friends as he chatted online. Marky whispered in my ear about how beautiful I was, how I deserved the Gift, and other bullshit, and gave me another Cola. Foggy as I was, I didn’t think a thing of it. He told me he hosted a party every month or so. He usually invited 15 or 20 guys. Five or six regulars always showed up; the rest, depending.

"I start inviting guys around 6 PM, by phone and on the Net. The party starts at 10. The guys who can make it pop in anytime between then and 6 AM. I'll try to get hold of my friend, Nigel. He lives right down the block," Marky smirked, massaging the PreCum pooling on my Piss Slit all over my Dick Head.

I felt so warm and comfy. I lay on the mattress besides the computer, jacking off, watching two Studs go at it on TV. The music was growing deafening; the room lights seemed to dim; and, overall, I felt quite pleasant and relaxed. On hands and knees I crawled over to Marky and sucked his Dick. He none too kindly rammed it down my throat. "Horny Pig! Must be the GHB. You're feeling it."

"But I didn't want to do drugs!" I protested, thinking of the next drug test. Actually, I felt downright evil, hot, and sexy. I often have a problem with the gag reflex. But that night, no problemo at all. I wanted him down my throat, but he pushed me away.

"Not yet, Cunt! I know you want it, but not nearly bad enough. Time for a pill, an XTC. The GHB got you horny, but you're way too laid-back. Take this, and you'll be fuck meat for the guys when they arrive."

As I popped it down my throat I exploded. "I WANT TO BE RAPED, DAMN IT!" Marky gave me a devilish grin. "Give it to me, please!"

The doorbell rang. There was a commotion in the hall, followed by silence. Marky told me Nigel had gone to take a shower, and it was time for us to play. He knelt down to rim me and kissed me as he entered me.

"My God, Your bare Cock feels so good in me!"

He gave me a joint and then his Poppers. The drugs, combined with my predilection, had rendered me a total Slut. I wanted him to cum in me. But once again Marky spurned my advances and pulled out. He told me to turn around. I hadn't heard Nigel enter the room. I was astonished. He must have been 6’, had the deepest, darkest eyes I’d ever seen, the widest mouth, beautiful muscles, with an incredible 8 inches topped by a massive PA. He was perfection personified! I crawled over to him. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up. He was like a faucet forcing Spittle down my throat. He commanded me to suck his Dick. I took a lengthy hit of Poppers as he ground that huge Tool down my throat. Was I imagining things or did intense Gregorian music fill the room as Marky massaged something up my Butt?

"Just a little aid to relax your Pussy." But it didn't feel good at all. My Butt was on fire!

"What the hell..." I started to protest, but was silenced in astonishment as Nigel ordered Marky to work a Butt Plug up my Ass—in tandem with his uncut Cock. Nigel was pissing down my throat, while Marky twisted the latex Dildo in besides his Dick.

"YEAH, BOY! WE'RE GOING TO IMPREGNATE YOU!" Show him the Dildo, Marky." It was slimey and BLOOD RED.

"He's ready now, Marky. Cream away."

Marky gave me another sniff, but it wasn't Poppers.

"Coke!" Marky grinned. "Like the stuff up your Ass. You'll be a better fuck for it."

Marky plowed my bleeding Butt while I sucked Nigel's mammoth Cock. He pissed again.

"Yeah, Pig! Swallow my sick Piss, you Filthy Slut!" Needless to say, I was preoccupied when Marky shot his Cum in me.

With the pervasive music, the twirling lights, Marky's tongue in my ear, his POZ Spooge dripping off my hairy Balls, and Nigel's massive rock hard Rod fucking my face—I imploded from sensual overload. I started to cry.

Marky spoke in singsongy, condescending voice. "Your first big test, boy; and you passed it well. Let's take a break."

"NO BREAK!" I screamed. "I WANT IT NOW! I WANT NIGEL TO RAPE MY ASS!"

Nigel took my face between his hands, looking deep into my teary eyes.

"BEG FOR IT, SLUT! BEG FOR MY AIDS CUM!"

I didn't even hesitate. I searched his deep black eyes. "IF THE DEVIL EXISTS, NIGEL, YOU'RE IT. Just give me what you got. No ifs, ands or butts."

"You sure, Slut? Once we start, there's no turning back. I always finish what I start. So be sure. Be very, very sure."

"I'm sure," but suddenly I was scared. The drugs were wearing off. It was still early—9 PM. I could make a break for it. As I watched Marky and Nigel prepare the Sling, I plotted my escape. I pulled on my trousers, grabbed my tee, and made a mad dash for the door.

The doorbell rang. Shit! Nigel turned and saw me. He tackled me, inadvertently bloodying my nose, and drug me to the Sling. My fate was sealed. I'd met my match. There’d be no escaping now. To add insult to injury, I had rug burns on my knees, and puked all over my bare chest. Dressed in black leather, an Asian Twink named Tuan came, in, took in the scene, and helped bind my feet and hands and clean me up.

Marky prepared another Cola, adding a vial of GHB. He dug another XTC down my throat. It was either swallow it or choke. Tuan took a sniff of Coke, then sprinkled some on my soiled, bloodied handkerchief and held it tightly to my lips while Marky pinched my nose.

As you might expect, Nigel plunged his enormous pierced black Cock up my Ass, Marky's Cum the only Lube. I felt his P.A. searing me. While Marky kissed me, Tuan sucked my Cock. I came as Nigel exploded up my Ass. Marky felched me and we kissed—our lips a crimson kaleidoscope of Cum and Piss and Blood. After that Tuan took his turn and dumped yet another POZ LOAD up my Ass.

The rest was almost anticlimactic. It was 10 PM. The party had barely begun, and already I'd been bred. More guys came in. I was only half awake. I don't know how many Loads I took, but one thing was for sure: I got POZZED that night and two weeks later was laid up with the Fuck Flu. Feverish though I was, my joints protesting every move, I screwed my "shield of respectability," while fantasizing about Shit Holes and Mancunt.

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I got my ass mauled by a Bear last night. Twice.

The guy and I have fucked before, but not for a year or so. He’s 3 bills, easy, and is probably 6’2”.

Super nice guy. Quiet. A “gentle Ben” sort. And with a massively thick 7.5 incher!

Anyway, I bumped into him online last night, and we decided it was time we fucked again.

He arrived and we immediately got down to business. I started sucking his thick, uncut fuckstick and got him good and hard.

I’d forgotten how thick he really was! My thumb and middle finger will just touch around my wrist.

There is at LEAST a 3/4 inch gap between them at the fattest part of his dick!

His cock is also one of those that is fattest in the middle, so once it’s all the way in it’s like being knotted by a dog. And when it goes past the middle on the backthrust, it wants to pop all the way out.

Anyway, I got good and lubed and crawled in my sling, took a big hit of poppers, and prayed he’d go easy.

He was so horny he just pushed it all the way in. Hard.

I gasped in pleasure and pain.

When he was completely buried, I started milking him with my hole. He LOVED that!

Then he started fucking. Slowly. But he was giving it all to me and my ass was being severely stretched and abused.

He lasted maybe 10 minutes before he told me he was gonna cum.

He’s so massive that I really felt every pulse of his dick inside me as his cum coated my colon.

He stayed buried in me and worked my nips, slowly rocking me back and forth in the sling.

He asked if I wanted another load. Um, fuck yes!

So he told me to tell him about my recent fucks. Like when dis I last get fucked, how much cum have I had recently etc.

An he told me to tell him the truth because he would know.

So I started by telling him about the 8” daddy who plowed me like 3 weeks ago, and then told him about all of the cock I’d had recently.

Including the 3 I’d already taken this week since Monday.

Slowly but surely I felt his massive weapon get hard again.

He called me a dirty, greedy pig while he started fucking me again.

This time he did not go easy on me. He started slam fucking my cumslicked hole. Basically punching my rectum with that thick fucker!

“Yeah, this is what you needed! Isn’t it?” he said.

I just moaned in reply and tried to inhale more popper without spilling them.

The chains of my sling are rattling and each thrust he makes is making a wet slap on my cummy ass.

It was intense pleasure, but also a bit of pain.

Finally, just when my poor hole could take no more, he slams it home and gives me his second load.

I start jacking furiously, and true to form I’m dumping my load while his cock is still twitching out his seed.

Once my orgasm is done, he pulls out rather abruptly. He looks down and starts chuckling.

“Damn man, your hole is wrecked! A big wad of my cum just dripped out onto the floor!”

I thanked him for the mauling as he got dressed and left me to ice down my hole.



More...

I took part in a Conversion Party at my Ex's, one of the many I've attended over the years (the first was my own) where Steve arranges for 3 or 4 POZ Tops to breed a Bottom.

Last night a Vietnamese Boy named Pham made his debut; and like all the guys Steve's converted, Pham was a Cum Whore from the git-go.

Steve starts by making love to them and gets them enamored of his flowing locks, his slim, hairless bod, and boyish good looks which belie his 35 years. After about 20 fucks, they trust him completely and let down their guard.

Steve believes Asians make the world's best Bottoms and likes them petite and slightly fem. Within a fortnight all his Boys are taking it raw. Gradually he proceeds from pulling out to pumping them full of Poison Spooge. They get to where they can't live without their daily fix of Toxic Seed.

When the moon waxes full a second time, and the Youth shows no sign of the Fuck Flu—that's when Steve throws in the towel and calls us in. Since the Victim is always Prime NEG Meat, my Ex has no trouble recruiting GIFTERS to breed the POZ resistant Ass.

Pham was a cute 19, about 5'3" and hairless, with a tiny Cock and nervous smile. Steve and his comrade, Oren, who loathed anyone more generously endowed than he, were readying the Sling when I walked in. An unsuspecting Pham was upstairs showering.

Pham had no suspicion that: 1) Steve was POZ and; 2) got his jollies POZZING Boys. Consequently the Youth couldn't have conceived that he was one of the few with whom Steve had failed. And since Stevie was a sore Loser, old Phamy was to be thrown to the wolves.

I'd met Pham on two previous occasions, and we'd hit it off. I genuinely liked the Kid. So he showed no consternation when he saw me sitting there.

No sooner had Stevie told Pham to get me a beer, than the doorbell rang and two more of Steve's cohorts waltzed in. It was like old home week. All of us already knew each other from the waist down—and all of us were POZ. The two newcomers gave Pham a coarse once over, and Phamy shuddered beneath the glare. He couldn't help but notice the bulge mushrooming in Davie's crotch and the PreCum permeating Shawn's blue jeans.

Pham was whisked upstairs for the preliminaries. Stevie hates for his Bottoms to have a good time getting screwed by ANYOTHER—so he makes them spooge before the fun begins.

They had not been upstairs more than a minute when Stevie called me in. I ascended to the Playroom and encountered one very rattled Pham. He loved Stevie so much, yet was aggrieved by his suspicion something untoward was going down. He was disrobed and naked, and Steve was working his small Dick with his greased palm. "Tell him how it is," he groused.

"We're gonna have an Orgy, Kid," I beat around the bush. I knew the Boy was disillusioned, as I'd once been—having fantasized about exclusive dibs on Stevie's Jizz.

But my Ex knew his Pigs' true nature—and led them down the primrose path to what comes naturally from barebacking. We're a narcissistic bunch, bent on a self-destructive course, with a one-way ticket to misery and hell—but, hey, as they say, half the fun is getting there!

Steve asked that I anoint the Youth with Baby Oil as he likes to call his debutantes "Greased Pigs." I massaged it by the palmful onto Pham's silky skin, the Boy moaning as I couldn't resist slipping a slimey finger up his Ass. Unable to hold back, the Kid gyrated in Steve's direction and spooged into his open palm.

The Master massaged the Youth's Ejaculate up and down his heretofore infertile Penis, lathering it to the extreme. Old Phamy was about to get a taste of his own Seed. It was obvious when the Boy'd been violated—grimacing, eyes widening and glazing over. Oren, my favorite Sadist, applauded from the doorway; and no sooner had Steve started fucking, than Shawn and Davie walked in holding hands.

I'd partnered with Shawn on numerous occasions, and knew first-hand how hung he was; and Davie, with his Beer Can Death Stick, posed a threat to any NEG. The Boy was sweating. I wiped the perspiration from his brow and whispered in his ear, that, after tonight, “Enough would never be enough again.”

The Boy's eyes rolled back as I pressed Poppers to his nose. Oren moistened the Youth's parched lips with wispy filaments of HIV, while Steve deposited AIDS Load Number One up the young Mancunt.

Simultaneously Pham moaned in ecstasy and desolation, despairing at betrayal by his Betrothed. In the end he probably took 10 Loads that night, each one laden with The Bug. I won't even try to guess which one of us knocked up the Kid—but he came down with a doozy Strain which knocked him out for almost a month.

When Shawn and Davie finished up, I took my pleasure with the Youth whose plundered, shell-shocked Manhole had been well pulverized. Steve and I each grabbed an armpit and dragged the ailing Phamy to the boudoir, where, traumatized or not, the Maestro planned to breed him one last time.

Meanwhile, Oren demanded “I get my Sloppy Cunt into the Sling.” Oren can be a very nasty Fuck, who'd just as soon spit in your face as look at you. And that was my reward for helping out.

Afterwards, the house was quiet except for the Pham's persistent whimpering as the gangbang and betrayal had reeked havoc on his psyche and self-worth. I certainly sympathized with the Boy, but was convinced, once he recovered, we'd make a fantastic pair—at the Baths and Glory Holes everywhere.

*****GETTING ACQUAINTED*****

We met on the Net, and I meet lots of guys online; but this Kid was different. I am a Gifter, and he was a Chaser if there ever was one. I've POZZED a few guys in my time, but he was 25. I kept asking, "Are you sure? Are you ready for the BUG?"

"Yes," Simon said. He'd barebacked long enough to know that he never wanted latex up his Ass again, although his odds of getting POZZED were excellent.

After a month of chatter back-and-forth, I figured Simon genuinely wanted to convert. It was just a matter of who, when, and where. I suggested he cum to one of our bareback parties. It was Saturday night, and I hoped to do the weekend with him: a one-on-one on Thursday followed by an invitation-only POZZING party Friday.

**********THURSDAY**********

I was delighted to find the Boy exactly as advertised—a Twink at 25, if a very determined one. We couldn't wait to get to the motel and let our hair down. As soon as the door closed behind us, we passionately embraced, kissing and feeling each other up. He wanted to clean up; and by the time he got out of the shower, I lay naked on the bed. He took every opportunity to tease my Manhood, knowing full well how desperately I wanted to blow my Load up his NEG Mancunt.

I'd left Lube in the bathroom; but despite all the grease, he was very tight. I just let the weight of my body push my Shaft into that Bubble Butt, till my Balls rested firmly against his Ass Crack. I wanted him to get used to me before I bred his Ass.

I pulled him to his knees, doggie-style, and was able to get in a little deeper, enough to make him gasp. Then I began slow, rhythmic strokes, my hands on his hips, hugging him, holding on tight. My Balls started tingling so I lit into him—long deep strokes—all the way in—then out again.

"Fuck me! Knock me up! POZ my Hole! Give me your Babies!"

All of which made me want to fuck the shit out of the little Cunt. I told him I was gonna cum—the moment he'd been waiting for—Conversion! And when I shot: "Remember this, and cherish it!"

Poison Jizz spurted up his Bubble Butt. He began to jack, and would have shot; but I told him to cut the shit and take his POZZING like a Man. I kept working my Toxic Seed up his sore NEG Butt, trying every trick in the book to make him one of us. Finally I let him roll over so we could kiss. He was incredibly passionate and appreciative of my Dirty Seed.

It didn't take much to get me stiff again, and soon we were fucking missionary style. He wrapped his long, smooth legs around my hips and dug his callused heels into my Butt, forcing me in deeper.

After that second Fuck, we lay there cuddling. He ran his fingers through my hair and thanked me profusely, calling me Daddy—not so much a reference to the difference in our ages—as to the very real possibility that I was now the Father of his Babies. I felt his stiff Cock against my tummy, and knew he had to get off lest he burst.

"OK, Boy, I want that last NEG Load of yours." I slipped down and engulfed his Cockhead between my lips, his Piss Slit oozing profusely. I licked it off, willowy cobwebs of Boy Spooge connecting him and me. Then down on him again till his overstimulated Rod began to pulse.

That night, while we were cuddling, I rolled him on his side and slid back in, We fell asleep like that, my Cock marinating in my own Dirty Seed, while traces of his youthful Jizz still steeped deep within in the periodontal cavities of my teeth and gums.

**********F R I D A Y**********

I’d asked ten POZ Tops to join us, knowing full well not all would attend. I'd also invited a Bottom, so there'd be a ready source of Fuck Meat at all times. The Kid was the only NEG attending.

At the appointed hour they began to show, and each was introduced to Simon. I explained that the party was on his behalf, and admission was contingent upon depositing at least one POZ Load up the Twink's Ass. No one objected.

They were a varied lot. The two Blacks were real hunks. The whites included a bear like myself, a swishy Fag whom you'd never suspect of being a Top, and one old Troll. With me that made six Tops, plus my Bottom friend, and my Boy.

The two Blacks started with the Kid while I fucked my Bottom Bud. The others followed my lead and took on the Bottom. I'd already put a Load up his Ass, so each of them slid home on my virility.

Everything was copacetic until the Blacks decided to double dick the Kid. I knew the Boy had never taken two Cocks at once. He'd had a Dick and a Dildo in him once, or so he said; but that's as far as he had gone.

One of the Dudes got him to sit on his Dick, then very astutely pulled him down, chest-to-chest, to kiss him, thus exposing his Mancunt. The second Black got in between their legs and maneuvered his big Dick in next to his Pal's. The Black underneath held the Kid tight, smothering his laments with kisses. The two black Dicks were mashed together in Whitey's tiny Cunt, two sets of POZ Cocks in one NEG Pussy, united by stringy ropes of slimey Ass Juice and POZ Seed.

After that, the party became a fucking free-for-all. I went out for a smoke; and when I returned, I was pleased to see the Youth was screwing one of the Blacks (payback time) who, in turn, was fucking my Bottom Bud.

We lost track of how many Loads he took that night, but I doubted any Dude could take that much POZ Cum and still remain NEG.

**********SATURDAY**********

We slept late and opted to order breakfast in, as Simon said there was no way he was going out in public with Cum still dripping from his Ass. That afternoon we went swimming in the motel pool. The cool water and the sun's warm rays seemed to reinvigorate us both, or so I thought; but afterwards we napped till party time.

We arrived early to give our Host some quality time with Target One. We strapped him in the Sling; he rimmed his Ass, spit on his Dick, and screwed the shit out of the Kid.

A few more guests arrived, and when our Host pulled out, a blob of POZ Cum plopped on the floor, to the onlookers' delight. A former Marine with a beer-can Cock approached the Kid, and soon the chains were rattling again.

I had one of my Buds bent over the fuck table when I glanced over at the Sling and saw the pained expression on Simon's face. One of our associates is a Daddy hung like a horse. After the Marine, the Daddy quickly rammed it home. Thing is—Daddy's Tool is immense, curving upwards at the head. Though the guy is wont to plow in hard and sock it to his mates, it takes him forever to get it off. I felt sorry for the Kid.

We've all heard the fucking sound of two sweaty bodies, flesh-on-flesh; but there it grew so loud everyone stopped in their tracks to stare. I nudged my way past the voyeurs to take a closer look. Inspired by the exuberance with which Daddy had used the Youth, the partygoers’ mood turned ominous, with catcalls to "Breed the Kid!"

The Maestro finished and pulled out, leaving the Youngster twisting in the wind. Simon was wiped; his head was limp. I had to get him out of there before the other vultures got to him. I helped him over to the couch and gave him a roll of toilet paper with which to wipe himself.

To my chagrin, when I turned around, he was back in the Sling again—another compatriot up his Ass. I had to hand it to the Kid—he had more Balls than Common Sense.

A line had formed, and he took us all on. Never one to cast aspersions upon the joys of bareback sex, I joined the foray. The Queen ahead of me wasn't nearly big enough to fill the Boy's slack Cunt. But he pulled his Dick out, awash in Spooge, and jacked—and as he shot—he plunged back in and bathed the gutsy Youth in yet another Load of Poison Jizz.

I inserted my Rod very gently in the Boy, his pulverized Pussy now leaking Crimson Spooge. I shifted to-and-fro to slosh around in the oceans of the Manseed, and knew I, too, could never cum in that cavernous morass. So I borrowed the trick the Queen had used—and jacked—till I added my Manseed to the potent Sperm Bank incubating in the Youth.

Last of all, Big Daddy's Partner still hadn't had a chance. Though not nearly as endowed as his older Mate, he had a reputation for fucking Ass and fucking well. Meanwhile a toothless Old Troll bent over the Sling to suck the Youth. Overcome by the irresistible two-pronged assault, the Boy's Ass tightened up. Big Daddy's Lover suddenly found himself engulfed in a much tauter Hole. The Kid blew his Load in the toothless old Troll's mouth at the same time Daddy's Lover shot up his Ass.

The Top pulled out, his PA dripping the prettiest pink Spunk. The afterbirth excited one Sick Pup, who used his syphilised lips to soothe the Youngster's pummeled Ass. That drove Simon insane!

By then the party was winding down. Again I helped the Twink over to the couch. Disheveled hair, awash with sweat, swollen Ass Lips oozing speckled Cum, gobs of Spooge peppering his legs—he was a mess.

I got the Boy a Coke to drink and he gulped it down, though I cautioned him to take it slow. He had to piss, and prolonged his stay—shitting God knows what—annoying those who wanted in the tiny downstairs john. Twice I had to check on him to make sure he was okay.

The rest of the guys were showering and cleaning up, putting on their clothes and saying good-byes, with the usual exchange of hastily jotted names and numbers that would likely never see the light of day.

We'd been among the first to arrive, and were the last to leave. Finally I got the Kid cleaned up enough to put on his clothes. By the time we got back to the motel, a mere 10 minutes away, his shorts were soaked again. I told him unless he douched (and we hadn't cum equipped for that) the Spooge would likely drip all night. As we climbed into bed my Dick sprang to life; but I knew the Kid couldn't take anymore, so I let him cuddle up against me—and like so, we fell asleep.

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

I worry a little that my readers picture me as a fragile, wounded bird this week. The tone of the emails from readers I’ve been getting has been unvaryingly supportive, but there’s just a touch of over-concern for my well-being that makes me suspect that Breeder’s Readers are imagining me sitting alone by candlelight, slugging back strong drink for fortitude, and then pouring out my heart while listening to the Carpenters or Wilson-Phillips and sobbing quietly to myself.

Um, no.

This incident happened a very long time ago. I made peace with it a long time ago, as well. Writing about it hasn’t made me feel sad, or shamed, or angry, save in the most abstracted of ways. I’ve been trying very hard to get it right on paper, that’s for sure. But in a sense, it’s the story of someone who lived a long time ago.

Of course, there’s more to it.

I didn’t leave my apartment at all for at least a week and a half, after the assault. I missed the first classes of the new semester. I let mail pile up in my box downstairs. I ran out of food fairly quickly and was subsisting on the canned goods I never thought I’d eat, peanut butter, and the butts of bread loaves.

My injuries weren’t actually all that substantial. The cuts on my head amounted to a small V-shaped laceration on my forehead and an uglier one on my right cheek; I still have a pale, ghostly fingertip-sized scar there to this day. My right ear had some slices that healed fairly quickly as well. For a couple of days I was off-and-on dizzy and convinced I was concussed, but I didn’t want to have to visit a hospital and explain what happened to me. My hole recuperated. There was no irreparable damage there. It took weeks before I got over the feeling of having been fucked by a knife, though.

I didn’t want to tell anyone, in fact. I wanted the incident to go away, to disappear. Part of me was convinced internally that if it was never spoken of, if it didn’t become a part of my official recorded history, if there were no files, no conversations, no post-mortem examinations of what happened, it would vanish. It would be one of those untold stories that was as insubstantial as smoke or fog, and like those vapors would dissipate and be forgotten.

Even when I did leave my apartment (I was starving, basically, and had to eventually), I’d scamper back to its protection almost immediately after. I shopped in bulk so I wouldn’t have to visit the supermarket more than once a month. I’d dash to a class, take notes and say nothing, then streak immediately back home with no socializing, no speaking. The less talking I had to do, the better. It was a bad month of my life—at one point I woke up one morning and realized I’d literally not opened my mouth to say a word in weeks.

Part of my reluctance to open my mouth was directly Tom’s fault. I had a weird conviction that he’d been right about the FBI bugging his apartment. I hadn’t taken it seriously at all until the day I finally left home to go to the supermarket; when I came back, I found exterminators in my apartment, who claimed they’d been there to spray the outlets. Exterminators in my apartment building weren’t uncommon—the place was a roach motel—but the timing of it was so odd that I couldn’t help but be paranoid for a very long time that they’d been bugging my place, too.

But here’s the codicil to the story that I’ve never been able to figure out.

I avoided the bar and the campus cruising spots for a very long time after that, so I wouldn’t have to run into Tom again. And I never did. I didn’t report him—which I regret now—I didn’t confront him. I was too busy trying to deny that any of it ever happened. One day, about three weeks after the incident, I did see the familiar shock of blond-white hair walking out of my apartment building, when I looked out the window. I waited for a very long time before going to the lobby. In fact, I watched Tom walk two blocks before I dared venture down.

The daytime manager hailed me at the front desk when I passed. “Some guy dropped off something for you,” he said. And he handed me a little package.

I could tell immediately it was a thin paperback book, judging by the size and flexibility of it. It had been clumsily wrapped in brown paper from a lunch or grocery bag and, in a frenzy of “My Favorite Things” cliches, tied up with twine. I pulled off the wrappings and found myself holding a battered, used copy of Voltaire’s Candide. No note, nothing. It wasn’t until later that night that I thought to look inside. Written on one of the first pages was a short note: Read this and you’ll know why.

My first reaction: What the fuck?

My reaction today: What the fuck?

I have never been able to figure out what in the world he meant by those words. Cunégonde is raped in Candide. The Old Woman’s past includes rape. Candide himself learns from the Bulgarians that soldiers feel entitled to rape any woman they can. Was he trying to tell me to keep optimistic despite being assaulted? That my youthful optimism was totally misplaced? That he was a Bulgarian soldier?

Or was he just balls-out crazy? I don’t know. I just don’t. It’s odd and somewhat ironic that Bernstein’s Candide has been one of my favorite musical works for the last ten or fifteen years; when I want to wrap myself in comfort, I’ll put on one of my many versions and let the familiar music surround me. I've no bad memories associated with it whatsoever.

What the original novel has to do with anything that happened to me, though, remains a mystery.

I never saw Tom again, as I said. Eventually I realized that silence wasn’t possible any more, and I sought counseling. I talked about it. I wrote about my feelings afterward—though I've never actually written out what happened until this week.

Little by little, bit by bit, I healed. I really did.

I explained it to a reader thusly, a few days ago: at this point, the assault is very much like having had a severe leg injury, long ago. At the time, it hurt a lot. When it happened, I found myself hobbling for weeks and months. Over time it’s healed, though. I don’t even notice it any more. There might be a wintry dark day now and again when the cold gives the old leg injury a twinge. But it doesn’t prevent me from getting around at all. I don’t limp. I don’t give it preferential treatment. Sure, jab at it with your fingertip over and over again and ask loudly, “Hey, does that hurt?” and I’m likely to kick you in the nuts and say that yes indeed, it does.

But the old injury doesn’t impede me, if that makes sense. The vast majority of the time, I pay it no never-mind. One very bad night didn’t cripple me. I’m not handicapped, or damaged. I don’t hobble, or shorten my stride. I still walk upright.

Despite the odd twinge from time to time, I'm doing all right. I’m a very lucky man.


More...

To see Bike Guy's original blog post click here

He returned. The man with the 8.5” dick. Maybe it’s bigger. It is now seemingly bigger.

The set-up fuck was just that. I set-up from an ex to an unknowing guy. I guess a nice guy, from my interactions with him, but let’s face it – my interactions are 99.7% sexual. Little conversation, and certainly not about anything personal.

Somewhat like last time, there was little foreplay. He did want to kiss, but he’s not really good at it. If I do it, I want to go at it. His lips are pursed so tightly, I’m not sure what the point of wanting to do it at all would be – or what he’d get out of it. To each his own – and if it got me what I wanted, so be it.

I did go down to my knees for what little foreplay there was. Man, I hate, yet love, to struggle with taking a big dick in my mouth. Normally I can do it with ease, so I love the struggle, but hate when I don’t succeed to my satisfaction. “Mark” was not complaining at all – but I have set personal goals, I suppose.

Like a semi-pro, I worked my way down his shaft, but it becomes rather thick as you can see. I thought I had a large dick, but I pale in comparison – though granted, I’m not 100% hard. It is close enough, though you can see who reigns supreme.

Mark stepped away from my mouth, turned around and put one foot up on the kitchen island. I took it as a non-verbal request to eat his ass. It looked clean but tasted manly. By the time I was done, it tasted clean.

Remembering what my buddy (Mark’s ex) said about him: he likes to be fucked and it makes him fuck other guys much better after he’s done first.

This posed two potential problems: one, I’m not a great top – as you all know. Two, if I accidentally shoot, I’m pretty much done from taking it myself, so I had to play this carefully.

I stood up and he remained bent over. I slid my hand into the jar of lube and got my thumb all greased up. It slid up his ass with some nice resistance, but it welcomed me in all too easily. It was warm, and he could do a nice job of squeezing it tight. With my other hand I lubed my dick up as inconspicuous as possible.

I extracted my thumb and put my cock at his hole immediately. Any halfway decent bottom knows the difference and he said nothing. I pushed in. He took it. I bottomed out.

I did get to do some pumps but all too soon, I felt my true self come back into play – maintaining my erection was not going to happen, but I continued to try for the next five minutes. He gladly stayed in place in hopes of taking it up the ass. My friend had been correct.

When we realized it was not going to happen, we switched positions and I was bent over the island.

The man is BIG. No mistake about that – especially when it’s being pushed up my ass. All my concentration of breathing went into accepting what he was offering………or insisting upon. It took a few minutes, but he made it in, to when short hairs and ass hairs met.


Then the fucking began.

With no ceremony or asking how things felt for me, Mark decided to fuck. And fuck. And fuck.

There was no change in position, other than to push me down to the counter if I arched my back and keep me there while he plugged my ass over and over and over.

The fuck as great, while not as intense as the last/first one he gave me. We were both on tight timelines, so I guess a 40+ fuck couldn’t be expected.

He had no problems performing and after about 20-25 minutes, delivered a nice load deep into my gut. There was grunting, there was groaning, there was a lot of sweat from both of us. He stayed up me for a few minutes before slowly sliding out of my used ass. I stayed on the counter, clamping down to keep his off-white seed deep in me. The guy leaves me gaping, so it is important to hold it in. I’m not one to let it seep out or slide down my legs – that’s for a money shot and only a money shot. Other than that, if a guy is gonna give you a load, it is your (my) job to keep it as it is precious.

He cleaned up. I pulled on shorts. He left and I went back to work.

There will be more times – hopefully many more The dick is to awesome to not be able to take it every now and then


More...

Nicky Wells and Marc Fillion, in this scene from BarebackThatHole, open with Nicky doing what he loves best; sucking cock! He works Marc’s shaft like a starving pig. Marc returns the favor a short while later by wrapping his own lips around Nicky’s dick. The shaggy-haired fuckers get into some sloppy 69 while probing and licking each other’s hole. When Nicky raises his hips up, Marc spreads the hole and really gives Nicky’s hole a good spit-lub job. Nicky then spreads his own cheeks and slides down on Marc’s cock, fucking himself before getting thrown down and deeply fucked like a dog. Marc comes all over Nicky’s well-fucked, gaping hole. He shoves his own cum into Nicky and keeps fucking him until Marc shoots his own load all over himself. Marc laps up Nicky’s cum and feeds it back to Nicky.

For more filthy, cumdripping, bareback loving sex pigs, make BarebackThatHole.com your first stop.


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The Shaggy Barebackers

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