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TODAY'S FREE EXTREME RANDOM 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 | |
