****** Dirt Pig at the Brown Bungalows by Dirt Pig ******
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Dirt Pig at the Brown Bungalows


"Complete Pig: Hot Italian bottom pig, 28, gym-built, uncut, hung big and very
hairy all over. Tie me up, shave me down and get serviced front and REAR. This
pig slobbers on it all, the raunchier the better -- NOTHING is too much. Pumped
tits are fat and pierced, cunthole is gaping and dildo-trained, mouth is a
toilet and imagination is limitless. Prefer husky, hairy, older hung and uncut
guys who stink like hell and enjoy feeding pigs. Heavy verbal and raunch to the
extreme, kink, isolation, forced feedings, contraptions, your filthy underwear,
piss and whatever. Groups are great! Stop by, call or write..."

It was several weeks after I'd placed my ad in the underground list of raunch
addicts that a simple white envelope arrived in my mailbox. Oh, not that I
hadn't already gotten responses, from greasy hunks of toilet paper stuck under
my door and blue-collar spics stopping buy for suck service to late night j.o.
calls into heavy verbal abuse, but this envelope contained only a single sheet
of paper with the following message: "Pig: In response to your ad: For the sort
of weekend you look for, make a reservation at `The Brown Bungalows.' Complete
privacy in southern New Jersey, entertainment and all meals provided -- call
for directions. SL-40."

This intrigued me greatly, as evidenced by my pulsing hard-on wagging heavily
between my hairy thighs, and I called to see if I could make "a reservation"
for the following weekend.

The guy who answered the phone had a deep, gruff voice.

"I got a note in the mail about your place and thought I'd set up a
reservation," I opened.

"You got a number on the bottom of your note," the voice queried?

"Yeah, it's SL dash four-nine-zero," I responded.

"Oh, yeah," he laughed, "it's you -- great ad, buddy, it got us all real hot.
Listen, we got a quiet little set of cabins down here, my buddies and me, and
we thought you might like to get a good look at the facilities... Lots of good
stuff that you like to eat, lots of games to play and plenty of creative
company to keep you busy, if you know what I mean..."

"Sounds good to me...how's next weekend look?" I asked.

"Well, next weekend would be good, but the weekend after would probably be
better -- always good to give a couple of weeks' notice if you like things
fixed up the way your ad says...you know," he offered, searching for some
feedback.

"Certainly no need to clean for me, I'd prefer it the other way around, you
know, like, don't bother with the soap and water, or toilet paper, or
whatever...you know," I responded, hoping this would lead him on.

"That's right, pig, a couple of weeks to get a real good stench going and make
sure no one cleans the toilets here...shit, you'll have a great time, buddy."

With that, we made plans for two weekends hence and I got directions to a small
town in the center of southern jersey, promising to arrive at a pre-set hour
just after lunch.

Following the directions proved difficult, as this place appeared to be right
in the middle of nowhere. Just when I thought each road must be a deadened, I'd
find another small turnoff that led me further and further into the woods.
Several miles from the nearest main county road, I finally came to a gate built
into two old stone walls in a forest of pine trees. A tiny sign on the side of
a tree read "Brown Bungalows - Private." I closed the gate behind my pick-up
and locked it as agreed. Already my stiff foot of meatpole was creeping down
toward my knee, sliding along the incredibly greasy boxer shorts I wore beneath
my piss-stained jeans. The road wandered through the woods for nearly a mile,
down a hillside and around a bend that I'd never have negotiated if not for 4-
wheel drive. The air was hot and stagnant here in the woods, and I didn't hear
a sound when I pulled my truck up to the front of a small brown cottage with an
orange dayglow sign on the door that read "Office."

I opened the screen door and entered a small room that was divided by a low
counter. The door behind the counter opened and in walked one of my favorite
types, those Italian jersey boys -- chunky, bearded with massive arms and legs
sporting a thick coating of dark brown hair all over. He wore only an old pair
of army issue boxer shorts with buttons up the front, his hard, hair-coated
beer belly hanging out in front. Down the side of the shorts hung a massive
soft tool, the foreskin just showing, hanging in a thick, dirty fold about an
inch from the bottom of the tight leg opening. The shorts themselves were
stained yellow all across the crotch, with huge patches of dried cum showing
that many a heavy load had been wiped up with them. The word "Staff" was
scrawled across the waistband in black magic marker.

"You must be the weekend pig, good to meet you, I'm Joe," he offered his hand.
I noticed that the whole place reeked a little of old urine and that woodsy
outhouse sort of smell. Joe lit a fat joint and offered it to me.

"Let's see," he said, "we're gonna put you in bungalow five down the path out
there, but you're free to just wander around and discover the other buildings
on the property. Go ahead and walk in wherever you want, hang out wherever you
want. There are a couple of other guys here now and should be a few more by
late in the afternoon. They're expecting you, so you ought to have a lot of
fun. Why don't you and I get started with a little prep work, here. You can
strip down to your shorts and come with me. Grab your bag from the truck."

Following him out along the path, we wandered past several small buildings
tucked back into the woods. I saw two guys sitting on a front porch -- both
were nude, hairy big guys, probably in their early forties, both playing with
some massive uncut meat as Joe and I strolled by.

Joe dropped my bag on the front porch of #5, a small brown cabin set nearly on
the path. Another couple hundred feet down we turned right and walked further
into the woods until we came upon a set of sheds. I was loving watching Joe's
big firm buttcheeks in the thin fabric of the old boxer shorts, a light brown
stain covering most of the seat and a heavy dark brown streak running from near
the top deep into the tight buttcrack. Entering the first shed I found a real
barber's chair facing a full length mirror on the wall. "You ought to get into
the camp look if you're going to enjoy your weekend with us," Joe suggested.
"Any limits on the shaving?" he asked.

"None," I offered. "I like people knowing I'm into hair and body shaves -
- haven't had one in quite a few months."

"Good, then, more to cut down." He took some shears from the table beside the
barber chair and began chopping away at the thin but long hair covering my
scalp. A bald patch nearly 6 inches in diameter was cleaned at the back of my
head, while my full beard became a very hot fumanchu, pointing up my cheeks
toward my ears. My shoulders, back and chest were covered in a thick mat of
curly dark brown hair. With clippers, Joe close-cropped most of the body fur,
shaving to skin around my long siliconed nipples, which he tugged three inches
out by holding the stirrup piercings while scraping down the sides of the
titmeat. I noticed the air seemed permeated with a stench somewhat like being
near an open sewer, though I had no idea where the smell was coming from. It
was different from the rotting sweat smell that arose from Joe's warm, sweaty
body next to mine.

Joe smiled while he worked, shaving a large triangle into my chest with the
broad part going from shoulder to shoulder, narrowing down between my pecs and
ending in a sharp point at my navel.

"You noticed all the uncut meat hanging around out there, I hope," Joe noted.

"Sure, and I can't wait to dig in deep to all that skin," was my heated
response.

"Good, real good pigboy, you'll like the appetizers." With that, Joe took some
black paint and a brush and drew a hot drawing of a fat, dangling uncut dork
onto my chest, the balls on top of my pecs and the big meat draping down my
rounded chest ending in an avalanche of dripping, hooting skin across my
stomach. The words "Skin Hound" were added across the top of the shaved pecs,
and large star patterns surrounded each swollen, tugged nipple.

Tugging me up from the chair, Joe pulled down my shorts and hefted my swelling
Italian pole in his hand. "Nice meat, pig boy, looks like you've pumped this
baby up real good," he commented.

With the clippers, he removed the hair within two inches of the base, but left
the dark hair growing up the swollen shaft. He took two lengths of rubber
strapping from the table and wound them around the base of my meatpole, causing
it to swell up larger and turn a deep red color. Two elastic bands were added
to my foreskinned head, and two clothespins, pulling my skin down and out, and
dangling before me like a lure.

Joe shaved a rectangle into the forest of hair above my dork and added the
words "FUCK HOLE IN REAR" which could be clearly read from several feet away.

Next, Joe folded the back down on the chair and had me kneel in the seat with
my hands forward. Across my back he shaved letters into the cropped dark hair,
and filled the word PIG in with a bright red paint from a can on the table. He
took a big dildo from beneath the chair and handed it to me, suggesting I feed
on it for awhile while he cleaned up my butthole.

Joe played with my asslips, ridding the crevice of my butt of its long brown
hairs but leaving the thick coating on the outside. The he shaved all around
the edges of my assglobes, leaving only the thick coating of hair sticking out
from the protruding melon cheeks, but showing a shiny clean, deep crevice. With
three fingers he pulled each of my trained buttlips outward and shaved them
close with a straight-edge razor, then fingered my hole till I whimpered and
sucked the big dildo down deeper into my mouth. I felt Joe's hands grabbing the
small bushes of hair he'd left on the cheeks, then gasped as I felt the full
length of his greasy donkey meat slide up into my stretched cunt. He rode my
butt for several minutes, pumping my slick hole in long hard strokes with his
fat sausage while grasping the hair handles on top of my firm buttocks.

The air was hot and thick in the small shed, and I sucked deeply on the plastic
meat Joe had given me to feed on. His long, thick Italian cockmeat made slick
slurping sounds in my stretched hole as his bull balls slapped against my
close-cropped thighs. A long and stinking fart ripped from this fucktop's
buttcheeks, drifting waves of ripe shit odor through the room. He reached
beneath me and stroked my swollen, clamped pole as he pounded me with his iron-
hard rod. The strokes increased in speed and Joe moaned and gasped as he dumped
a hot cum load deep into my guts. Slipping his greased up meat from my tube, he
shaved another square above my butt and added the word "CUNT" in red paint.

"Real good, real nice. A real greasy wet cunt butt, pigboy. Now you're
christened and ready for the cabins," he sighed. "You won't really need your
shorts around here -- plenty of privacy, and they'd only get in the way."
Turning me up in the chair, he added the words "SHIT HOLE" in red paint across
my forehead. "Let's not forget you came down here to suck some really ripe
butt, huh?" he commented.

"I'm looking forward to eating my way through the weekend," I answered him,
smiling.

"Oh, you will, buddy, you sure will." Then, donning his dirty boxers, Joe led
me from the "barber shop" and back to Bungalow 5.

After Joe dropped me off outside my brown cabin, I picked up my bag and entered
through the screen door in front. The cabin was pretty small, just one room in
front that was furnished with a couple of straightback wooden chairs that had
the seats cut out and toilet seats mounted instead. There were wads of old
toilet paper lying on the floor in heaps and the walls were covered in scrawled
drawing depicting humpy, hairy guys being serviced by bottoms in every
conceivable scene. A couple of pairs of old, shit streaked jockey shorts lay on
the floor in the living room, and I picked one up to give it a good sniff. Then
I went into the back room, which had one large mattress virtually filling the
space. Again, big wads of toilet paper, looking pretty used, lay everywhere on
the floor, and there were a couple of empty cans and soup pans lying in the
corner. I threw my bag on the floor and took out one of my favorite toys, a
dildo harness. I strapped the harness around my waist and selected a good-sized
plug which looked like about a foot of beer can sized meat. Greasing it up real
good with some Crisco, I slipped the meat into my loose hole, pushing my shaved
buttcrack hard up against the wall so the meat would pack itself tightly into
my fuckhole. Looking up, I saw a drawing covering most of one wall that
depicted a bearded, bald and very hairy pigman with his legs spread wide by two
burly guys while a third forced a massive dildo between his gaping holelips.
Everything in these drawings was exaggerated to the extreme, with guys having
the equivalent of two foot dicks and this one pig having a hole that you could
have stuck your leg into. I realized suddenly that I was pumping my butt up
against the plug on the wall and sweat was pouring down my face and chest. I
pulled away and slid the plug from my sloppy rear, clamping one end into the
harness and leaving the plug itself, dripping in liquid Crisco and slick
shitjuices, to dangle between my melon cheeks.

I heard the screen door outside bang shut, and turned to see one of the two
guys who had been on the porch of the other cabin earlier. He was a little
older than I had thought at first glance, probably close to fifty, with massive
pec muscles like only stocky blue-collar guys get, hanging down over a well
toned beer gut and all of it coated in dark but greying hair. His unshaven face
sported a thick, bristly mustache and his head was shiny and bald above a
strong, Mediterranean nose and square jaw. He had added a pair of jockey shorts
that, like Joe's, read "Staff" in black magic marker across the fraying waist
band. The shorts were skimpy, and inside held a massive curled tube of
beefsteak.

"Welcome to the Brown Bungalows, pigboy," he smiled, reaching out one meaty
hand at the end of a hair-forested arm. "I'm Antonio, but my buddies call me
Whiz -- that's w-h-i-z, as in CHEESE Whiz, you know," and he chuckled deeply,
scratching at the several pounds of coiled meat in his decaying jockeys. "I
thought you might like to have one of our special 'wine and cheese' parties. A
great way to start out the weekend in the cabins!"

With that, he turned back into the living room and seated himself in one of the
two toilet chairs, stretching his short and hairy legs out to either side.
Between his feet sat a Tupperware container, half filled with cubes of a dark
yellow jello. "Some of the guys made this up just for you, buddy, a little
jello recipe that's special around here, made with seven-day old piss that's
been setting in the sun, just like homemade ice tea. Then you add some gelatin
and firm it up in the fridge. This here's warmed up some now, so its getting a
little sloppy; but the boys are just finishing up the brownies they made with
ex-lax and they wanted you to get a start on this.

From behind the chair, Antonio took a pair of stained and shredded knee pads.
Pulling me close to him, he strapped them over my legs and gave my meat several
good squeezes, rearranging the clothespins so the skin was pulled down tighter
and further, almost two inches hanging below the rubber-band bound head.

Antonio pushed me to the floor and suggested I get a good close-up look at the
bowl of piss-jello. There on top, I saw a thick coating of greasy cum, enough
to have been several big loads. Instinctively, I sniffed and drooled a little
onto my chin.

"Yeah, that's a little special topping the guys added on this morning, then let
it air out so the `puddin' would get nice and warm and sloppy. I believe that
at the bottom of the bowl you might even find a few balls of the brown stuff
you beg for -- you do beg for it, don't ya, pig?" he asked, his voice getting
deeper and his piercing eyes staring down at me from above his mound of greying
pec and mustache fur. "Now take a good look at the special stuff we add to the
end of it here..."

With that, he wrapped two hands around the base of the mound of meat in his
jockeys, holding the package stretched out in front of him and hanging over the
edge of the chair. A small yellow stain began spreading just inches from my
face, followed by the sound of gushing piss which spread across the bundled
sausage pile and began pouring from the soaking cloth down into the plastic
bowl at his feet. He strangled the meat with his hands as one big stream of
piss rushed down from the sack and splattered noisily on the special snack the
guys had prepared for me.

"Ah, shit, look what I've done...seems I've gotten the front of my shorts all
wet with piss -- and just when I'd gotten all that head cheese inside nice and
dry, too -- god, it'll be just soppin' and grungy now. Why don't you just get a
good taste of this scummy sack here, boy, since you're down there sniffin' at
it so." With that, he belched hard and grabbed me by the back of the head,
pulling my mouth down onto the stiffening meat wrapped in clinging, piss-
drenched cotton. My nostrils feasted on the rotten odor of the cloth, which
must have contained lots of dried dark yellow urine before this pissload. I
clenched my teeth into the fabric, filling my mouth with pieces of it and
wringing them out with my tongue and lips. Antonio sat back and put his arms
behind his head, letting me sop up the stinking liquid with my mouth.

When most of the heavy liquid had been drawn out of the jockeys and into my
mouth, Antonio wrapped his hairy stud arms around my waist and tied my hands
behind my back with a leather thong. He then took another leather thong and
tied it to the stirrup piercings in my swollen, 3" titknobs. Sitting back
again, he tore open the front of his dank, dripping briefs and let over a foot
of hair-coated salami drop into the air in front of my face. Reaching to the
base, he swung the animal meat into my face, slapping both sides of my head
with the pendulous dick. The long hairs, coated in slime, reached all the way
to his massive foreskin, which hung in thick folds over two inches below the
huge dickhead. He laughed and tied a third leather thong around his meat, just
below the apple-sized head, leaving a ball of head wrapped in skin and coated
in long, greasy hairs which stuck out into the air around his half-hard pole.
Tugging on the thong, he suspended this foot-plus of hairshaft in front of my
face, then pulled back on the thong gently, sliding the long, dripping skin
back little by little. Well before the skin reached his piss slit, I could see
great oozing gobs of whitish headcheese peeking through the stretched skin
opening. Antonio reached down for the strap attached to my tits and pulled me
forward slightly. He picked a clothespin off the floor and pried the cheese-
caked slit of this hairy Italian skin open, then planted it firmly over my
sniffing pigsnout. With two extra clothespins from the floor, he clamped the
skin on the top and bottom of my nose, plugging my nostrils directly in to the
stinking cheese crack.

The screen door banged again, and since I was unable to look around, I looked
up into Antonio's eyes to see his reaction. But he was staring intently into my
face, massaging lumps of cheese from deep behind his skin-coated dickhead up
into my snout, gently using his fingers to pack the damp cheese deep into my
nostrils while I gasped breaths through my mouth. I felt two hands running up
and down the hair forest on my buttcheeks, then felt the Crisco greased dildo
head slide into my pouting asslips.

Unclipping my nose, Antonio sat back in the chair and used his fingers to pry
open his greasy sausage skin. He stretched the hood wider than his can shaft
and guided it straight for my begging lips. An inhaler was pressed into the
loose cheese filling my nostrils as I took a deep hit of incredibly strong
poppers. Antonio began hooting and oinking, laughing as I ran my tongue around
the lips of his massive, cream-coated foreskin, then he shoved hard, filling my
mouth with the massive meaty dickhead, pulling the skin back behind the sticky
glans and coating my tongue, lips and the roof of my mouth with great slicks of
rancid, creamy stud cheese. The dildo in my hole shoved in and out, with
fingers prying along the edges, wrapping my asslips down onto the dildo base.
The plug was pulled free and a meat much bigger than Joe's filled my dripping,
seething cunt. I pushed back and Antonio crammed three quarters of his greasy
meat deep into my throat. I hauled the meat in and planted my face down into
this stud's crotch, feeling the thick hairs that lined his skin scratch my
tonsils, feeling the dripping skin deep down in my throat. I blew Antonio with
the heat of a late night suck job in a subway toilet, slurping and gagging on
the humongous shaft, letting the fucking dick in my hole shove my face up and
down against this stinking daddy's fuckpole.

Two hands from behind me pulled me by my ears from Antonio's meat. "Yeah, feed
him the pudding, Jack, make him slop it up," Antonio muttered, sweat running
down the center of his twenty pound pecs.

Jack's voice boomed out, "Eat, pig," as he shoved my face downward toward the
plastic pool of scum. I hit the 'pudding' and buried my face three inches into
the disgusting mixture of piss-made gelatin, rancid cum and fresh hot yellow
stud urine. My mouth gobbled as great gobs of the mixture stuck to my face and
fell from my chomping lips.

"Yeah, dog, eat it up, slurp it up, there's shit lumps on the bottom, go get
'em pig, go after that shit scum in there." I wolfed on the foul bowl of raunch
food while both Antonio and Jack shoved me head in and out of the bowl by my
ears.

"Yeah, look at him go, Antonio," Jack bellowed, plowing his stiff and swollen
rod deep up my hungry asshole. "That's piss from five guys that's been sittin'
in my backyard all week, just reeking like the fuckin' outhouse down here. Look
at him lovin' it, fuckin' scumhound. Yeah, Suck It! Eat that Scum Pudding,
Dog!" They were both yelling in my ears, sticking my face deep into the
swirling mixture of scum.

I came up for air and Antonio wiped a finger down my nose, then stuck it up a
nostril. The finger came back to my face coated in a brown slick of aged shit,
cum and cheese soaked in stud piss. "Suck this like you sucked my cheese, boy,"
Antonio commanded. I licked the finger down and gave it a heavy blowjob. Jack's
hand was in my face, holding big wads of the cum-coated jello. I could see big
lumps of turdmeat in the mixture as Jack fed first one handful to me then
another, shoving great gobs of the mixture into my mouth faster than I could
hold it.

The massive pole was pulled from my butt, only to have the dildo strapped back
in. Jack rolled me over on my back while he climbed across my pecs and tugged
on my stretched and sore siliconed nipple meat. I looked up into the two hot
faces from the porch next door as Jack and Antonio force fed me from the
plastic tub. They could have been brothers, with Jack sporting a full beard
that covered his round, weathered face, and Antonio with that full mustache
dripping sweat and spit. They began dropping large gobs of greasy spit straight
down into my mouth, mixing it with the pudding being dropped in gobs from their
hands. They leered and laughed, calling me 'dog' and 'pig', cajoling me into
swallowing their buddies' scum in great gulps and spitting into my shaved and
written-on whore face. Jack reached behind him and unsnapped the clothespins
from my meat, stroking my nearly foot long pole which was hard as steel and
gushing with pre-cum. Antonio upended the bowl into my face, pouring the heavy
liquid that had gathered at the bottom across my lips and beard. With heaving
chests, the stud brothers hauled on their own lengthy skinned poles and, almost
mooing like rutting bulls, they jointly dumped heavy loads of thick white cum
into the toilet hole that was my mouth while my own Italian meat sprayed thick
jets of jism up against Jack's hairy backside.

When we'd all stopped breathing hard and had finished our anguished orgasm
screams, sweat pooling on the floor beside our spent bodies, both Jack and
Antonio carried me into the bedroom and laid me out on the mattress. They
stroked my bruised nipple meat and replaced the harness plug with a slightly
larger one from my bag, draping my legs against the sides of the sticky, cum-
ridden mattress. My hands were untied and they took turns giving me deep French
kisses, rubbing our face hairs together as they deposited large quantities of
wet drool into my worked over mouth hole.

Finally, Antonio squatted on the center of my chest, resting the skin from his
dangling Italian sausage between my lips. Pulling apart his butt cheeks, he
deposited a large pile of soft wet turdmeat directly in my pec cleavage. He
wiped his butthole with a gob of dried toilet paper from the floor, then wiped
that against my mustache, leaving a greasy coating of wet shit directly beneath
my nose. Jack then stood above me and unleashed a torrent of reeking manpiss,
soaking down the turdpile until it stained brown juice across my chest. His
last few gushes went straight into my face, and I was left alone to let their
scum dry across my body, awaiting the next pleasures of this fantasy weekend. I
must have dozed off after my last session slurping up of dirty dick cheese and
aged piss, because the next thing I knew the sun was beating down hard at an
angle through the screen covered window by my mattress. The thick patch of wet
shit in piss sauce that the boys had left centered on my chest had dried in a
thin crust within the boundaries of the uncut dork painted down my pecs. A
small river of the scum had poured between my pecs before it dried, following
the lines of the drawing, and leaving a dark tint which made the artwork look
like a big, dark- skinned donkey dong. I stretched my arms up and caught a
whiff of my stinking pits, the sweat dripping into pools on the cum encrusted
mattress beneath me. I sat up and immediately remembered the larger plastic
dong that Jack had buried up my hole before leaving, as it shoved itself
loosely up my worked over pig cunt. But the feeling only made me moan and
squirm down a little harder, and my swollen rod, still tied in two large rubber
strips around the base, began to pulse with hot blood as my meat picked up on
the rhythm of the weekend.

To fend off the sun, I took an old tan army cap from my duffel and pulled it
down on my shaved, sweating scalp. To this brief outfit I added a double
inhaler, filled with my strongest poppers, which hung on an old high-top
sneaker lace around my neck and down between my pec cleavage. Dressed for the
afternoon, I trotted off to find my next adventure.

Hanging on the handle of my screen door was a pair of jockey shorts, much like
the ones worn by Joe and "Whiz". These were stained heavily with piss, and felt
a little damp, as if they'd been pissed on just recently. There was a deep slit
cut in front, so my cock and bull balls hung out from the tight, stained cloth
and a full round hole in back, cut out just right for the base and handle to my
plunger-style butt plug to hang through for all to see. The seat of the shorts
were coated in a light glaze of fresh wet shitmeat which had been spread into
the cloth, and the word PIG in big black letters was written over the crotch.
Once on, the PIG sign fell just below the shaved square below my navel that
read FUCKHOLE IN REAR, a welcome touch added by Joe the Barber.

I wandered back down the path toward the cabins where I'd been shaved down for
my weekend in the Brown Bungalows. The wooded path led further on into the
forest, and I followed it, spying cabins every few hundred feet set back into
the forest. While I strolled I smoked a fat joint I'd rolled, and enjoyed the
hot sun as it caught my body through the trees. As I cruised by one cabin set
nearer to the path than others, I saw a big guy seated on his front step, legs
spread wide and a dark patch of Latino crotch hair discernible below his hard
beer gut. This guy was obviously Spanish, much darker and shorter than the
other studs who'd been working this pig over so far today. He had a massive
black mustache which covered nearly half his face, and closely-cropped black
hair. His chest, while not covered in thick hair, sported a good load of wiry
dark curls across the heavy pecs and spreading in a sharp dark line down across
the massive muscular stomach. His legs were stocky, too, and covered in much
more of the black hair (this, I'd learned long ago, was a true sign of Spanish
blood: covered in thick hair from the ass down...mmm!). And, of course, hanging
off the step between those thick legs was more than a foot of true horse meat,
bigger around, while soft, than a fat beer can.

He looked down between his legs and hefted his meat and gigantic ball sac with
one hand. With the other hand, he reached deep into the hair-filled crevice and
rubbed one stubby finger. Pulling it out from his putrid ass-bush, he raised
the finger to his nose, and took a long, slow sniff, his eyes closed as his
other hand beginning to pump the long, uncut soft tube of delectable Spanish
beefsteak.

He opened his eyes briefly and stared straight into mine, sending a shiver of
heat through my body and causing my own swinging, heat stretched meat to pump
up noticeably from the front of the stained shorts. Suddenly he got up, turned
his back to me and strode into the cabin, stopping only for a few seconds to
bend down slightly and peel open the hairy cheeks of his muscled butt. Then he
entered the house, giving me one last glance as his frame disappeared in the
mid-afternoon shadows.

I followed him slowly, up the steps and peered into the dark living room -- he
was no where to be seen. Then I heard a heavy cough, like the kind you hear in
glory hole booths when someone wants you to know they're there, from somewhere
back in the dark cabin. I walked onward, inhaling warm cabin air that was thick
in the smell of shit. Indeed, there on the floor, in big piles, sat lumps of
turdmeat, mostly dried on old newspapers, but some sitting on plates, in a
coffee cup, even an old jockstrap sitting on an end table that was half filled
in a pile of dark turdmeat that looked like someone had gobbled halfway through
before being released from the task.

This stud's cabin was laid out a little different from mine, and I found myself
in a small hallway off of which lay two rooms, neither occupied except by
mattresses that bore the same stains of pigsex as mine. Then I heard the cabin
floor creak from further down the hall, and I slowly walked toward the final
door.

Turning into the small room, lit by one tiny screen window, I realized I'd
found the original bathroom to the house. Against one wall was a tiny sink that
hadn't been used in years, the drainpipe hanging straight down into the room.
Across the room was a large, footed bathtub with the drain stopped up with an
old rag; the tub was stained brown over the entire bottom, but free of the shit
piles I'd seen elsewhere in the house. And there sat my Spanish stinkmaster,
perched on a rimseat with his back against the wall, a large metal pan sitting
on the floor beneath him. The pan itself was relatively clean, again, empty of
the aged scum that characterized most of his cabin.

When I entered the room, the hairy top was stroking his meat, playing with the
big foreskin with one finger while the other hand slowly squeezed the foot of
dark pole from his scraggly bush to the fat, red head which peeked out from the
big folds of dirty looking meatskin. His lips were pouting out as he drooled
slightly onto his meat, consumed in the slow handjob he was giving himself. I
felt like he didn't even know I was in the room, that I was spying on some big
straight blue-collar number giving his hot meat a much-needed workover in this
private corner of the forest.

Pulling his meat and balls up together, he closed his eyes and rolled his head
while a long grunting sound escaped from his lips. He opened his mouth, tilted
his head back and sighed, lips forming unheard words as a stinking fart wheezed
slowly from his hole and a long wedge of wet brown turdmeat slid into the pan
below.

Seemingly oblivious to me, he got up from the rim seat and turned around,
getting down on all fours on the floor and sticking his face right into the
pan. I heard him slopping his mouth on the wet stick of fresh shit while his
hands reached back and peeled the hairy butt cheeks apart. He wiggled his butt
in the air, poking his fingers into a large, loose hole surrounded by two
bright red and very swollen asslips. He fingered the hole, coating his fingers
in slick brown shitjuices and pulling the hole wider and wider. Another long
slow fart filled the air, and juice dribbled out his hole, staining his red
asslips in glossy scum and sliding down the inside of his thighs. All at once
he stopped, turning his head toward me so I could see his black mustache coated
in brown turdmeat and his pouting, drooling lips.

He stared hard at me, then got up from the floor, reaching into the pan to
bring the 6-inch log of fresh holemeat with him. He walked up to me and stuck
his face directly in mine, opening his mouth and hanging his tongue out in the
air, his breath a torrent of hot, foul shit. My mouth went to his and we deep
frenched as if we'd eat each others tongues out by the roots. Moaning, he
looked down at the shit log in his hand and raised it to his mouth. He stuck
one end of the firm and juicy snack between his lips, then squeezed my mouth
open with his other dirty hand and plugged the second half of the shit log
directly into my gaping, drooling lips. Our lips met halfway down the log,
slobbering, choking and swallowing the meat, pushing it back and forth between
our spit filled lips, tonguing the turd in and out of each others panting
toilet mouths. He looked deep into my eyes while his hands returned to pumping
his swelling spick pole: "Eat my hole, boy, eat my fucking shit-filled
dumphole..."

He laid me down in the tub, then climbed in above me. Facing me, he spat a huge
hawker of brown shit lumps and spit into my begging face. My own meat was
swollen to its full length, a dark red beneath the rubber bindings. I pulled on
my stretched titknobs while this filthpig drooled and grunted, fingering his
long, drippy foreskin and stretching it open to show me the hard red knob
beneath. A gush of hot piss broke forth from the greasy pole and he moaned to
himself and drool feel into the steaming piss stream. The thick, rancid piss
fell on my chest, then, as he adjusted his aim, worked its way up my neck and
poured in a torrent directly into my open mouth. I gulped and gulped, but still
the hot, stinking piss load poured forth, running in thick streams from both
sides of my gaping urinal mouth, into my goatee and down into the tub.

As the piss slowed to a drip, the hairy pigman kneeled down on either side of
my face and shook his fat, slimy meat against my chin. Again he pulled open the
wide skin hooding the deep red head, pouted out his lips and grunted and
oinked, then stuck the thick skin snout down against my lips. Greedily my piss-
drenched mouth opened wide and my tongue reached out to explore the dark
recesses of the stinking, unwashed cockmeat dangling in my face. With little
effort, he pushed the mammoth meat a few inches further into my face, the fat
folds of damp smelly skin against my lips and the bulbous knob filling my wet
mouth hole. I tongued around the head, eating great hunks of wet, smooth
headcheese. The raunch top slowly fucked my lips with the big knobend, feeding
me his dank cheesemeal.

Alone in the afternoon twilight of this decrepit abandoned bungalow bathroom,
my animal slimetop slid forward ever so slightly, settling the depth of his
crotch on top of my nose. I inhaled like a bloodhound, taking in the fetid odor
which coated the deep swarth of hair between his massive thighs. From somewhere
slightly beyond my nose's reach, I could smell wet, ripe turdmeat, knowing he
had dropped a greasy load only minutes before and that his hole remained
unwiped.

Rising back up, he took a rope harness from the wall. Grappling hooks were
attached to either side, and the harness clipped over the edge of the tub on
either side, making an open-seated rope sling just above my face. Still facing
me, my hairy Latin scum top stepped over the harness and slowly sat down. From
my perspective, I saw a massive set of hair caked butt cheeks slide slowly down
into the seat, spreading the ass wide as his feet slid above my head and rested
on the top of the tub. He greasy, filth-slicked buttlips slid down to meet my
face, virtually plugging my lips into his hanging hole as it pushed my head
against the far end of the tub.

A heavy fart resounded from deep inside his bowels, and hot, wretched air mixed
with greasy liquid shit sprayed out into my attached trough mouth. The shit top
rubbed his swollen dick meat across my shaved scalp, oinking and hooting from
deep in his hair-coated chest as he let go another fart-blast, dumping a cup of
slimy holemeat between my open lips. My throat worked like a pump, sucking the
turdslime from my mouth down into my throat and the liquid sewer continued to
flow from his fat and greasy buttlips directly onto my deep-rimming pig tongue.
My tongue was buried up in his hole and was coated in a river of the slick shit
fluid pouring from his wide open crud feeder.

Pulling back slightly, my Spanish scum stud let his swollen buttlips rest
between my lips, where I could rim his greased-out hole from end to end,
working the rubbery lips between my teeth, scraping the chunks of soft shitmeat
from the thick black hairs. His hole seethed and pulsed in my slobbering mouth
and I worked his big stinking butt like a man unfed for days. Thin wet streams
of shit continued to drip from the wide-open, well-rimmed hole as he slid back
a few inches further and bent his fat cuntgrinder down to my shit-slicked face.

The floppy skin dug a path through the scum as it slid across my nose and
between my begging, foaming doglips. With little effort, the can-sized spic
meat slid along my greasy tongue and deep into my throat. I could taste
headcheese through the other toilet crud gathered at the back of my mouth, then
a warm sensation spread across my tonsils and slid down my crap lined throat as
this disgusting raunchy top began a slow leak of steaming piss directly into
his private urinal. The suction of my throat pulled his hairy hose deep into my
stretched throat as I drank the hot yellow studbeer directly from this stinking
tap into my wanting belly. My own dick began leaking piss, and soon my hot piss
squirted across my chest, soaking me and my toilet master's back in streams of
smelly warm urine.

For several minutes we sat quietly in the tub, each pissing deeply, his
powerful meat packed tightly into my slick holemouth, sliding every so slowly
in and out as we each moaned with the ecstasy of total raunchpigs. His fingers
ran lines of shit across my forehead as my hands ran across his broad, beefy
chest. Pulling himself back up slightly, he rested his fat and semi-cleaned
butthole against my mouth again, plugging me once more into his swollen
dumphole while he began to haul his heavy skin back and forth over the mammoth
meaty head, drool dripping from his open lips onto my nose to mix with the shit
that stained my face. His pace increased and he spit more heavily, burping and
finally making deep choking sounds. He raised his butt just a little, again
making those swollen, tasty lips hang slightly above me hard-working pig face
as a deep gag erupted into a fierce torrent of thick vomit, flowing from
beneath his black mantle of Hispanic mustache directly onto his pumping meat
and down onto my face. A deep fart opened his butthole with several large
chunks of soft, ripe shit which plopped into my gaping mouth to join the piss
and vomit that flowed down from my face. His own lips hanging only inches above
my face, long strings of green puke and drool mixing with his sweat to lie
against my face. Pulling back at once, he squeezed the now foot long sausage at
the base and dumped a heavy load of thick studcum straight into the toilethole
which my mouth had become, shaking his pole to whack my face from side to side,
his buttlips pulsating and gasping in the open air above my sewer face.

With out a word, he stepped from the tub, spit a final mouthful of crud onto my
sweat-soaked, heaving chest. From the floor, he picked up a roll of toilet
paper and unrolled a small wad. Wiping deep into his butt crevice, with one
hairy leg suspended in air, he tossed the filthy rag into the tub with me,
confirming my used toilet status, the just walked away, leaving me to haul my
meat fitfully in the tub of unflushed crud he'd created for me.

Twilight was falling when I pulled myself from the bathtub of my most recent
Bungalow's scumfeeder. Thick gobs of my Spanish shitfeeder's buttfood clung in
patches to my goatee and ran in dark streaks across my swollen pecs. I
retreated to my own front porch a few cabins away to smoke a cigarette and
catch my breath, basking in the still warmth of the early summer evening.

The solitude was broken suddenly by the distant ringing of a bell, followed by
the sound of footsteps moving along the pathway. Antonio and Jack, my dark
Mediterranean scum feeders from earlier that afternoon, appeared around a bend
in the path and hastened to the doorstep where I sat.

"Hey, pig," greeted Antonio, dressed now in a rancid grey jockstrap that barely
contained his curled tube of cheese-stuffed suckmeat, "that's the dinner bell!
Time to chow down -- Come on!" and he chuckled as he led the way back up the
path toward the office cabin, his hair forested, hefty bubble butt bouncing
before me.

We took a right turn at the first "office" bungalow where my truck was still
parked. The path immediately widened into a clearing. Here sat a long single
story building fronted by screened doors. Beneath the yellow bulbs hanging
singly along the length of the room, I saw over a dozen guys milling about,
long-necked Buds in hand. A boisterous conversation was taking place on both
sides of the wooden table that ran the length of the room, and at one end a
simple bar had been set up: Tubs of ice where several cases of Bud sat cooling.
At the other end of the room was a large table of food: Hot dogs, baked beans,
corn on the cob, a green salad with what smelled like a heavy cider vinegar
dressing (...hmm, that will make for ripping farts, I thought!...), egg salad
(...and that will make them smell just fine, my perverted mind added...) and a
large tray of man-sized brownies. Across the center back wall hung an old sheet
on which had been "painted" the words "MESS HALL", and given the texture and
streaking of the brown lettering, I guessed correctly that the paint was not
latex!

I recognized Pete, my greeter and shaver, Antonio and Jack, of course, and in
the corner, sitting on a stool, literally stuffing his face on corn and beans,
belching as much as he was eating, was my most recent feeder, the Spanish
studmaster from Bungalow #9.

Several other guys greeted me with bear-like handshakes covered in butter, oil
and bean juice. It was amazing to me that more than a dozen guys of such
similar "tastes" and physical types had come together in this isolated cabin
colony for a weekend of foul sex play. To my pleasure, they wore various types
of grungy underwear, from the standard bungalow-issue jockeys, to grimy jocks,
to homemade coverings designed to entice pigs like me. One of the guys in
particular, a hefty Italian with the same beefy, hair coated build as the
organizer, Pete, had cut a union suit down to just a pair of shorts, very
skimpy across his massive butt and tight around his thick thighs., The fabric
had been bleached white and then stained yellow and brown from untold numbers
of leaks, farts and dumps soaked into the rotten fabric.

Pete clanged two Bud bottles together enough to create a short silence among
the boisterous crowd of hairy top studs. After a few "opening remarks" and
pointed words of welcome to what appeared to be some of the more notorious club
members, and following a needless reminder to the assembly that the entire
dinner menu, right down to the heavily-laced EX-LAX brownies, had been designed
with the evening's festivities in mind, Pete pronounced the part "officially
open" and "all rules canceled."

Two of the burliest guys led me to a spot at the head of the table as the other
members took seats at the wooden benches which lined either side of the table.
While this room of stinking studmeat continued to fill their faces with food,
shoveling the beans and salad by hand, juices and beer dripping from mammoth
mustaches and thick, dark beards, my two beefy escorts set me up on the table
on my knees, butt toward the crowd. I was doubled over face toward the floor
and short thongs with clips attached my long sow nipples to ring eyes in the
table's edge.

My shaved, written on fuckhole was stretched open for all to examine as fingers
from either side pulled my fat cuntlips outward, completely exposing the wet
red lining of the raw, well-used ass. One of the guys, now identified as a
Polish "plumber" from Philadelphia, inserted a long neck Budweiser, having
greased the tip in a handful of butter from the table. My tit leashes were
tightened, pulling my shoulders down and emptying the contents of the beer
completely up my ass. His partner, a big Greek stud named Nick hailing from
Boston and sporting the hottest sideburns and mustache combination I'd seen in
years, used a large greased corn cob to slosh the beer around in my butt,
causing spurts and gushes from my hole to shoot forth onto the white plastic
table covers.

The crowd hooted and laughed loudly as two more bottles of Bud were emptied up
my hole in a similar manner, followed by a foot long and very fat, ribbed dildo
plug. The plumber went to the buffet table and returned with a broad enamel
plate with high edges, the plate carrying a large load of beans.

He placed the plate between my legs and rotated the dildo cramming my butt.
Nick the Greek pulled my swollen nut sac down and bound it tightly with a long,
filthy sneaker lace, causing my big bullballs to turn deep red as they were
extended several inches from my crotch. While the polish plumber stroked my
beer soaked prostate with the hard plastic dildo ribs, Nick milked my meat
until I involuntarily began spurting my aching hot piss load directly into the
enamel dinner tray. Hot yellow piss splattered against the beans, bringing
yells of excitement from the rowdy, drunken crowd of raunch buddies.

Unclipping my hard swollen titknobs, Nick and the plumber lowered me to a stool
and tied my thighs and wrists to the seat. I sat less than a foot from the
table edge with my face only inches above the platter of urine-soaked beans.

While the crowd guzzled beer and ex-lax brownies, the Italian in the union suit
shorts brought out a chair and placed it next to me. He unbuttoned the filth
stained seat of the shorts to reveal a pair of tremendous beefy buns caked in
long brown hairs and large patches of wet shit. Hanging his hairy gut over the
low chair back, he suspended the buns in the air about three feet from my face.
The crowd rose from their seats and formed a group around us, hauling massive
uncut dickmeats from stained flies and the ripped fronts of dripping jocks. One
by one they fucked the dirty Italian butt, cheering each other on, slapping his
ass and pounding his hole until each dumped a steaming load of thick cum into
the well-used, dripping fuckchute.

Meanwhile the crowd attacked my tits, stretching the meat and using fat hard
thumbs to flick the callused, bulbous tips until milk dripped from the worked
red meat. Hairy hands stuffed big gobs of salad and beans into my open mouth as
I chomped and gobbled for their entertainment, my eyes glued to the never
ending steam of bull fucking occurring before me. Each fucktop looked into my
face and jeered as he pounded his load deep into the raped Italian, "here's one
more load for your supper, pig!"

As they roared their cumwads into the open hairhole before them, they watched
in glee as I gave heavy suck service to hot dogs and greasy, half eaten corn
cobs, slicks of bean juice oozing from my stuffed face to run down my chin and
dump across my chest to the continuous ridicule of a dozen humpy slime masters.

When all the club members had finally unloaded their greasy wads into the
Italian bear butt, he climbed to the table in front of me, spreading his furry
thighs wide above my enameled dinner tray. My stool was pulled nearer the table
and my tits reconnected by very short leads to the table ring eyes.

The crowds gathered round, encouraging the Italian to unload the more than
dozen loads of wretched warm fuckcum stuffed in his seething butt. As I watched
from inches away, with fingers prying my mouth open, tweaking my nipple meat
and holding me close to the show by grabbing my ears, the Italian rose up
slightly, spread his forested butt cheeks to reveal the fat lips of his well
reamed asshole and proceeded to cut a wet, sharp fart that filled the immediate
vicinity with the thick stench of rotten eggs. Long slick ropes of cum mixed
with streaks and small chunks of soft brown turdmeat flowed from the leaking,
belching hole directly onto the bean pile in the dinner plate. Another
tremendous, stinking fartblast dropped a thick, soft cup of buttslosh onto the
bean pile, the oozing lump surrounded in a sheen of creamy cum dumps. Fingers
from the closely-crowded, stinking and sweating group of fur studs, spread the
stretched hole further as one final wet fart sprayed wet drops of scum across
the top of the feeding tray, some large drops hitting my face with a heavy
"splat", where they rolled down my cheeks and dripped from my sniffing
pigsnout.

With a roar and applause, the Italian rolled over onto his butt in the center
of the table in order to examine his handiwork. Faces closed in about me and a
popper soaked napkin swatch was jammed in my nostril as a dozen callused hands
pushed my face slowly but without hesitation or question into the steaming pile
that was to be my meal.

Suspended by my ears a mere inch above the fetid food plate, I drooled and
oinked loudly while a dozen drooling, chuckling, wild-eyed faces closed in
about me to watch me fulfill my task, hands adding pressure to the back of my
scalped head, pushing me finally to the brink of the scum trough. My tongue
licked at the slippery, steaming pile, my lips reaching out to slurp the rancid
cum strings that clung to the pile. Someone inserted a soup spoon into the
mixture, stirring the beans, piss juice, cum and warm turds into a runny, lumpy
brown sauce. The dripping utensil was raised to my slurping, begging mouth hole
as spoonful after spoonful was sucked into my face by my puckered pig lips.
Obviously approving, the now intense crowd cajoled me with a stream of filthy
commands, shoving my open-mouthed toilet face deep into the bowl of pigslop,
commanding me to chew and swallow over and over, raising my head to show my
brown teeth and liquid scum-coated face, shoving me back to the bowl with a
loud "splotch" until, finally, I was reduced to giving the plate's bottom a
spitshine tongue bath.

In a final triumph, I raised my head, my eyes plastered shut and completely
soaked in the brown juices, and gave a deep belch to signify my completion.
Thick rivulets of the Italian's wet shit dump, my own rancid piss and lukewarm
bean juice ran in streams from the corners of my sewer mouth. The crowd of
raunch men roared out their approval as the space before me was cleared away.
From behind my back a clean white cloth bib was strung about my neck and the
Italian dumpmaster returned to his kneeling position before me. My tit
restraints were loosened and a box was slid beneath my stool, raising me
another foot above the table edge. Before me was spread the powerful butt
cleavage that had served up my dinner plate, hair-caked and covered in
splotches of wet and dried shit.

The crowd was now on a roll, as hands stretched the furry reeking mounds of man
ass before me and more hands directed my shit smeared face deep into the
stinking sweat-slicked crevice.

"Clean it, clean it, clean it," the chant began, my tongue hanging out as
nothing more than a used washrag while my head was wiped back and forth across
the bristling hairs, then up and down, my nose sliding deep into the slippery
crack. The slick haircrack was pulled wider before me until my lips were
wrapped about the slimy lips that were swollen and stretched from the dozen
deep fuckings by a dozen mammoth meatpoles. My well-trained tongue deep rimmed
the loose dripping lips, feasting on the thick patches of ripe turdmeat
clinging to the lips and surrounding hair forest, until the gaping, wheezing
hole was, at last, as clean as the enamel dinner plate from which I had my
"appetizer."

No sooner had I finished being toilet paper to the Italian's filthy buttlips,
then Nick the Greek exchanged feeding positions with the well-cleaned butthole.
From some corner of the room a black toilet seat was brought out and shown to
me -- across the seat someone had painted the words "Butt Wash" in harsh white
letters. The pointed seat ends fit snugly into brackets at the table's edge,
giving a perfect frame to the next shit caked asscrack that was presented for
my cleaning duties. As Nick's muscular butt wriggled back against the "wash", I
shoved my eager used face forward to suck the damp packs of thick crud from
this Greek feeder's deep crack and asslips. The crowd cheered me on with chants
of "the Butt Wash is Open," and a metal cup was set beside the suspended seat
into which nickels were dropped noisily in the cup with each successive dirty
hole. Some of the studs made me clean the wet and sagging loads from their crud
shorts first before pulling the saliva soaked drawers to their knees for a deep
crack wash.

Some boasted to the crowd about the weight, thickness, age or texture of the
rotten piles presented for my feeding. Still others received praise and
cajoling for the thickness of hair, the color of the crap coating, the stench
of their fetid cracks or the number of pigs they could feed from their famous
"bottomless" supply of crotch crud. Frequently a mammoth cockmeat coated in
stinking skin would be pulled up between the feeder's thighs and into my
toilet-framed face until I had cleaned the gobs of wretched wet cheese from
beneath the skin and behind the head before being allowed to "do the buttwash."

While I performed my toilet paper task through the sideways feeding seat, the
crowd of beefy, hairy scumstuds described my meals for the groups'
entertainment or often for my own enjoyment as my eyes were caked, as was my
face, in patches and dripping splotches of wet buttfood. Fingering each other's
butts, returning some to the Butt Wash for better service and belching from the
continuous flow of beer, some took to unloading thick gobs of phlegm or long
loads of chewy, slimy snot strings onto the next butthole being presented for
my services, adding fresh layers of scum to the often dried or crusted meals I
was wolfing down or prying from the thick tangles of greasy hair with my teeth.

My first task done, I was released from my bindings while fresh beers were
passed around and my shit buddies congratulated each other on their newly-
cleaned butts.

Pete and another guy, a tall massive brute known only as "Crapper" to his
buddies, lead me through a side door to another of the Bungalow's infamous
toiletrooms. Here was a small space partially divided by a plexiglass
partition. A cut down clear plastic gallon milk carton had been fastened to the
glass partition at urinal height, and a clear plastic tube over an inch in
diameter led through the partition and dangled into the adjoining space. Filthy
slogans and drawings were scrawled on the partition, and the soft wooden floor
was damp with wet, stinking piss. Two yellow bulbs hung on either side of the
partition, illuminating the homemade urinal and the vacant space beyond the
glass. On the floor beneath the piss trough sat three galvanized metal pails,
labeled "SLOP" in iridescent yellow lettering and literally brimming with
gallons of aged diarrhea, the stench of this thick scum filling the tiny room.

Crapper addressed me as he and Pete sat me on the floor behind the partition,
facing directly across at the plastic piss catcher attached to the transparent
wall. "Bet your hungry pig mouth is all dried out from that Butt Wash, isn't it
toilet? Well, that's great, cause me and my buddies have got plenty of stinking
hot stud liquor to wet your toilethole down with."

My hands were tied behind me to ring bolts in the corner, the ribbed buttplug
wedged hard up my ass. Crapper took a roll of duct tape and secured the plastic
tube end into my mouth as Pete returned to the room with two other guys and a
large glass jar. The jar was placed beside me on the floor. Two narrow plastic
tubes about eight feet long ran from the jar cover, each splitting at the end
into a "Y" shape about four inches long. Pete taped one tube to the wall next
to the urinal, leaving three feet of tube and the Y connector suspended in the
air next to the homemade piss trough. The other tube was plugged directly into
my nostrils and fastened to my face with more duct tape.

My mouth spread wide, I realized I could only breath through the large mouth
tube with great difficulty, as if the end were stopped, but that air flowed
freely through the nose tubes. Hauling in a deep breath, I was shocked to
realize that the jar contained poppers and the lid acted as an air filter,
allowing air to be released via the tubes, but only allowing the poppers to be
inhaled.

Immediately my head began to spin as I heard one of the two other guys who had
arrived with Pete say, "Shit, Mack, someone took a fucking dump in the urinal
and its all clogged up!"

"No shit," Mack replied, hefting a fat dong from beneath his hairy muscled beer
gut. "That won't do -- this poor toilet needs a drink, not more dried crud!" He
looked around and laughed, "You guys are suck fucking pigs, shitting in the
fucking urinal. Guess I'll just have to clean this up for ya."

With that, he sauntered up to the urinal and stuck the plastic tubing up his
nose, taking a deep snort of the clear, sharp and powerful poppers. With my
mouth strapped open around the urinal drain, my nose taped onto the popper
bottle and my face stained in wet shit from my duty as the Bungalow's "Butt
Wash", I stared directly into the plastic urinal as Mack's skinned meat began
dribbling and then gushing a hot stream of dark yellow studpiss. The steaming
liquid made a horrendous noise as it ate into the dried pile of shit blocking
the trough's drain.

The other three studs stood by and watched as Mack hawked a thick gob of spit
onto the crusty pile blocking the pipe entrance and concentrated his heavy
stream of stinking piss, squatting slightly on his hairy haunches, hips thrust
forward and massive uncut meat dangling from both hands. Dribbles of his hot
piss began to seep down the plastic tubing toward my waiting mouth, followed by
small flecks and bits of the now steaming and reeking shit clog. A large, wet
clump broke through and was washed down the tube, hitting my mouth with a wet
"smacking" noise to the cheers of "Go Mack!" from the collected raunchstuds. A
couple more guys joined the crowded room, and soon three at once were working
their hot piss streams directly into the rattling plastic carton to clean away
the final coating of some nameless offender's dark and dry, misplaced butt
droppings.

The tiny, sweltering room was now packed with the same rowdy crowd who'd
initiated me as their group butt wash. Those who weren't pissing were busy
watching the dark yellow leaks of their buddies wash down the tube and into my
gulping wide-eyed toilet face. Thick rivulets of sweat dripped from my face and
ran in brown stripes between my shaven pec cleavage.

"The pig needs more, more!" one stud yelled who'd been staring me directly in
the face and taunting me with a filthy litany of abuse about my wretched toilet
status, promising me the real feeding was yet to come. "Slop, slop," the chant
went up around the room.

My head continued to spin from the constant popper feeding, my throat opened to
process the endless flow of thick, stinking beer piss -- even through the air
filter and poppers I could smell the heavy stench of piss and shit the pervaded
every inch of the reeking, crowded urinal room.

A bucket of "slop" was passed across the small space and shown to me up close
by the heavy verbal pigtop who'd first suggested the escalation in this stage
of feeding. He pointed to the Plexiglass wall, where I saw a second bucket
being slowly upended into the plastic piss trough. The wet slosh moved in a
solid stream down the tube's length until it hit my mouth, evidenced by a
distinct widening of my eyes, heavy sniffing through the popper tubes and an
outpouring of complete gutter filth from the stud who worked my knobs and
glared into my face from only inches away, spitting and spraying me with nose
gob as he verbally abused my sucking toilet face. The stream of stinking
diarrhea from the SLOP bucket continued endlessly, as my tormentor upended
another half bucket on my shaved head and took the second half around to
personally feed it down the tube. Those who could not get to the urinal moved
to my side of the wall and surrounded me, soaking me in hot, harsh streams of
piss until I was soaked in wet diarrhea and drenched in studpiss from head to
toe. The final drippings of slop were washed from the sides of the galvanized
buckets by the collective beer streams of four studs including the polish
plumber, who then added a thick layer of self-induced vomit before pouring the
entire mixture into the urinal that fed my sewer face.

My hands had been untied and, before this final onslaught of filth, I was made
to stand in the partitioned room, halting the gravity feed of the tube. The
vomit piss and diarrhea mixture stopped at the tube's low point, while hands
covered my body, rubbing the liquid dump shower I'd been given, working the
large ribbed dildo in and out of my hole. The dildo was removed and a large,
half eaten corn cob began reaming my butt while hands stretched my bright red
nipple meat inches out from my pecs where other fingers brushed the callused,
dripping knobends with a heavy scouring brush from the barbecue grill. The beer
enema gushed form my stretched hole lips and was caught in an empty slop
bucket, only to be returned to the urinal where Budweiser and my own shit were
added to the wretched mixture of barf, piss and diarrhea fed by the polish
plumber and his friends.

Hoisting me in the air, the burly pack of shit bears turned me upside down,
causing the final mass of wet crud soup to gush through the tube into my throat
and up my nostrils, brown and yellow juices sloshing from my nose down the
installed popper tubing.

Exhausted, I was laid back on the floor, the tubes removed and the room vacated
to give me air to breath and come down from the intense popper high. I hadn't
laid there long, when I recall hearing a cry of "Bean farts" and a roaring
round of applause from beyond the door, which soon opened. The urinal room's
heavy odor of piss was broken by a thick wall of pot smoke as Crapper and the
Polish Plumber entered , beaming from ear to ear beneath their broad black and
dripping mustaches.

Handing me a fat, lit joint to smoke, Crapper announced "The ex-lax, beans and
cider are working their magic, pig, and this group of grunge buckets are ready
to fed their toiletboy some serious dinner!"

We exited by a back door behind the "Mess Hall," walking slowly down a long
pathway and across a moonlit clearing to a dark shed deep in the forest behind
the Bungalows.

Many of the stinking hairstuds were already here, sitting on wooden benches or
rickety overstuffed, legless sofas lined against the walls, leaning back and
drinking fresh Buds, smoking joints, cigars or cigarettes, practicing their
belches, beating their long, fat uncut and stinking dorks or just spreading
their legs to take long, steaming leaks onto the earthen floor of this, the
most crud-filled of bungalows. A series of red and yellow bulbs were mounted in
light sockets lowdown against the walls, bathing the entire room in an faint,
eerie glow. The center of the room was dominated by a large wooden "sandbox":
four wooden sides about a foot in height, leaving just a pathway between the
box and the benches, chairs and sofas collected in this small space. Standing
in the doorway, I realized the room was designed to hold just over a dozen
guys, and with the ensuing arrivals, almost every seat in the room was
taken...but one.

The box, itself, could only be described as a cesspool, an open sewer. It was
nearly filled to the brim in a thick brown liquid with hundreds of giant
shitlogs floating in the stinking broth. And standing in the center was what
was best described as a lifeguard's chair, the kind you see by the pool or at
the beach, only much shorter, with the seat only about a foot above the slimy
waste of the sewer box beneath it. Hanging from the ceiling by four heavy ropes
was suspended a homemade sling made of canvas, positioned to lay directly
beneath the "lifeguard's chair", with two suspension ropes in front of the
chair and two ropes behind it. Another rope hung directly above the chair,
through a pulley in the ceiling and ended in a large grappling hook directly
above the sling. The sling ropes were run through pulleys, too, and were tied
to cleats on the arms of the chair.

And, of course, much to my drooling delight, instead of a solid seat, the chair
seat was cutaway and sanded smooth like an outhouse in the woods. This intense
toilet contraption took my breath away, and the look of surprise and deep
piglust in my eyes caused a round of applause to go up around the room.

"Let's get the pig strapped in for dinner," went up one shout. "Yeah, feeding
time, feeding time, I'm about to blow a hole in this wall with my fucking
farts," yelled another. A chorus of filthy promises of belching, stinking dumps
arose around the room: "Me first, my turd's halfway out my fucking hole. No,
me! I've got a butt packed full of thick liquid crap to wet the pig's suckhole
down. No, me! It's time we see him eat a fat long log like the couple of feet
of hot slimemeat I'm ready to blow outta my butt!"

Each of these shouts was met with a counter shout, with a caustic response from
a nearby club member, or simply by jeers and heavy hooting from the hot and
raunch-crazed crowd.

It didn't take much help for me to get lowered into the canvas sling, where my
ankles were tied to the lower corners by extra pieces of aged, coarse rope. My
upper body slid beneath the open toilet seat and my arms stretched above my
head so my wrists could be tied to the top corners of the sewer sling. Once in
the device, the canvas rested on the surface of the scum pool so my back felt
warmth through the thick fabric and the air all about me was thick with the
hazy stench of an open cesspool of scum and shitlogs. My face was perfectly
framed in the toilet opening, and several of the crowd gathered around, wading
in the deep stinkpond, coating their hairy, thick calves in greasy slicks of
brown shit sauce.

Pete was the first to park his massive furry buttmounds directly above the
toilet. As I stared intently up at this horrendously powerful feeding hole, I
realized that bright flood lights had been turned on, focusing at floor level
up into the small space between my face and the seat on which Pete's filthy
asshole would soon descend. Those still sitting around the room moved slightly,
lowering themselves in their seats to insure a clear look at my pig trough
face.

Pete leaned forward and attached several pairs of heavy clamps to my well-
milked sow tits, stretching the bright red and raw knobends up into peaks
nearly 3-1/2 inches from my chest. The grappling hook above me was attached to
the several chain leads on the clamps and Pete hauled on the rope handle above
his chair to insure a good stretch of my swollen pigtits would result from this
ingenious contraption.

Finally, looking down between his legs with a hot, drooling scowl, he spit
heavily into my open, begging, drooling soon-to-be-toilet mouth and announced,
"Let the feeding begin!"

His buddies' hands spread his fat Italian buttcheeks wide, exposing a long-
lipped, wheezing hole of gigantic proportions, pouting open at me from a foot
away. The fur-coated feeder butt lowered slowly toward my face, resting upon
the seat and then pushing down, prying the fat cheeks further apart and causing
the already distended butt lips to pull even wider before me.

Around the edges of my vision, I saw a dozen faces glaring at me, big, beefy
workmen bodies half sunk in the pool of ripe wet stud manure.

I could hear Pete grunt and breath in. I watched as the fat and slime-slicked
lips of his furry ass stretched open, then contracted, then all at once flapped
wide with a long, wheezing fart which sprayed thick tablespoons of intensely
stinking diarrhea onto my face only inches below. The lips contracted again,
while fingers reached down to wipe the dripping scum from the lips and then
shove thick drops up my nose. The popper soaked crotch cloth of a filthy pair
of jockeys was passed between his butthole and my nose, sending me on an
intense rush of complete gutter lust. As the cloth passed away, I saw Pete's
massive buttlips open wide once more, a deep, dark feeding hole surrounded by
dirty, swollen, hair-caked buttlips, and an incredibly fat log of shit, blunt-
ended and steaming in the foul cabin air, began its slow descent across the
scant inches that separated my oinking, drooling toiletmouth from his blue
collar feeding tube. The log stuck into my mouth, where I moaned deeply and
gratefully sucked the fat end, lost in the heat of my midnight toilet service
deep in the forest. The thick, stinking log pulled up suddenly, only to plunge
down into my mouth and directly into my throat, cramming nearly ten inches of
solid, beer can sized shitlog directly into my face. I bit and swallowed,
chewed and oinked, savoring the thick rich texture, the horrendous stench of
ripe shit that filled my mouth and pervaded all other senses. I swallowed and
gobbled until the entire foot-plus log, except the pieces which clung in the
goatee hair around my mouth, was deep inside me.

His fat toilet feeder hole opened again, blowing a sharp, incredibly loud and
incredibly wet fart of large soft shitlumps into my gaping, begging, drooling
mouth. I felt the ropes of the upper sling tighten and my face was suddenly
thrust directly into Pete's deep, hair swarthed crevice, my heavily-salivating
mouth plugged directly into the gaping hole, my tongue deep inside the wet red
gaping mancunt lined with a thick coating of the just-passed shitlogs.

Pete's butt was removed and immediately replaced with another, equally as hairy
and with a hole even wider and more crud coated. I was fed cups of thick, rich
buttfood, my mouth jammed full and my cheeks blown wide by heavy gas farts from
deep in this mammoth butt crack. Another hole replaced this one and in the
brief interim between thick crap feedings my ears buzzed with the bullroars,
heavy pants, deep burps and sounds of pissing and cowfarting that surrounded me
from only inches away.

As the next hole descended, my sling lowered again and I caught a brief glimpse
of thick thighs squatting over my chest. While my mouth gave deep suck service
to a pale brown log coated in a slick of foul tasting wet holeslime, I heard a
tremendous butt explosion and felt an enormous pile of semi-liquid buttcrud
plop loudly against my chest. Hands smeared the shit across my body, scooping
handfuls from the sewerbox to coat my legs, my crotch, my aching hard pole, my
extended goat udder tits. The feeding butt raised up and hands immediately
squashed the fat eight inch greaselog into my face, coating my beard, my
cheeks, my shaved scalp in thick coatings of fresh and aged sewer dumps.

I continued servicing stud butt after stud butt, sucking deep, thick shit loads
from the fat, distended holes of these hot, beefy and hair-caked feeders. "Suck
shit, eat it, eat shit you sewer, you pig, you fucking toilet, you disgusting
turd bowl..." resounded in my ears. "Eat those logs, those fucking stinking
scumlogs of slimy shit, that's shit, shit, pig, that's fucking toilet food,
that's fucking turd food, buttfood, fucking man's stinking toilet buttfood."

I laid my head back, chomping and swallowing, gorging on the endless stream of
complete crud that fell from the fat lips, hundreds of greasy butt hairs
sticking from my teeth through thick coatings of semi-chomped turdmeat, my body
completely coated in wet manshit.

The sling was lowered until my entire body rested beneath the surface of the
sewer with my face just resting above the thick and sloppy sewer surface. A
large galvanized funnel was inserted through the outhouse feeding seat, the
opening just the size of my mouth. Now everyone was in the cesspool, rolling in
the thick wet mire, covering their thick, hair-caked bodies in slimy, shining
coats of turdslime and toilet filth. Hands were cupped to capture the slime,
then dumped into the toilet funnel, while the litany of verbal dirt continued,
"let it go, pig, let it go, be the toilet, be the sewer, recycle our shit,
scum, recycle those turds." The sling was raised by my feet to expose my own
loaded butt, while fingers spread my cheeks, invaded my sore hole.

I grunted, moaned, yelled from deep in my gut like the rutting toilet cow I'd
become and dumped a fat, thick load of my own studshit into the waiting hands
of unknown scummasters. I knew the shit I was eating was my own, dropped in
thick handfuls into the funnel, followed by the hot stinking piss of my
buddies, followed by cum loads, more piss, more of the sewer filth. I ate and
ate, I shat more loads, the funnel was filled and I emptied it again and again.
Liquid loads, hard chunks, large wet masses of thick, slimy turds soaked in god
knows what scum, until the funnel was filled no more.

The funnel was removed and I was fed a few more heavy loads, many wet and
stinking farts. I rimmed each butt deeply, my well worked lips and long toilet
tongue cleaning deep into the turdchutes of my hirsute feeders.

At some point they rested, then fed me more. I ate and rimmed, got fucked again
and again, sucked thick snotloads from the hairy, broad nostrils of a dozen
bluecollar toiletpig feeders, ate and rimmed until, in the wee hours of the
night, massive arms lifted me from my task and carried me home to my bungalow,
where I slept deeply, my face planted in the gaseous crack of Pete's furry
Italian butthole, dreaming of what the morning would bring and knowing I could
never forget my weekend at the Bungalows.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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