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TODAY'S FREE SCAT AND PEE
STORY |
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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. |
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