“I think they just touched,” Damon said. “My dick just hit the tip of the dildo. I’m sure.”

“If that were true the boy would be dead,” said the director. Damon took the dildo out anyway and tossed it.

“Ug-g-g-n-n-ffffuuuh-“ said Nick. “Pozzzzzzz. G-g-g-goddd.”

”You just called me your poz god,” said Damon.

His cock was starting to be visible through the boy’s stomach. Damon was fucking him faster and harder. The boy had been virgin-tight: Damon had to fuck him hard to get the fourth inch in, let alone the eleventh. But he was really fucking him. The camera zoomed in on the 66-year old’s plum-sized balls as the full length of his cock forced its way into the young man’s hole.

”Help…” said the boy, reaching a slender arm toward Damon’s face. “Help my pussy… It’s breaking…”

”Pray to your poz god, boy,” Damon sneered. Precum leaked out of the boy’s hole. Damon reached his fingers in and scooped it up. “Have a taste of my cum. That’s poz cum, boy. My poz cum, and I’ve had the bug since it existed. That’s history you’re tasting,” he said, sliding his fingers into the boy’s gaping throat. Damon leaned down and let spit roll off his tongue into the boy’s mouth.

”Gross…” said the boy. His legs had gone numb. He could feel Damon’s cock in his heart. In his brain. Everywhere. And when he remembered that he was getting fucked on camera, he thought he was dreaming. He was losing his mind. Like Damon, he understood that if he’d taken his meds, he never could’ve felt this good.

“You’re gross,” said the boy. “Grandpa, I don’t want this,” he moaned into the boom microphone. He understood his role and played it to perfection. His tiny fingers clasped around his pretend-grandfather’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. The old man smelled like cigarettes and weed.