Vignettes

Vignettes #6-10 by Mudcubstories@mudcub.com

Step 1: Tie the boy to a chair

Or course, there are more steps to this. I like to strip the boy naked as soon as his enters my house. I remain clothed: there is something hot about me being in full leather - protected, tough -- while the boy is vulnerable. I like to make the boy as submissive as possible. Make him get on his belly... anything so that he is lower than I am. Make him cast his eyes downward. Make him lick my boots. If he's into it, call him names and talk dirty. Yell at him, give him contradictory orders and some pain as a punishment so the boy is disorganized and confused.

Have some sex. Feel the boy up all over. Stick a finger in his ass to see if he's "full". Make the boy smell the finger. Make him suck it clean. See how the boy's dick reacts. If he starts to get hard, put on a cock ring, or tie his balls tight with leather cords until they are purple. Put some weights on em or connect an old boot and let em swing. Make the boy stick his nose into my armpit and sniff and lick.

I know what the boy wants. He came here wanting some degradation, and he's gonna git it in spades. Every boy is different. Hopefully, we've talked, and I know what makes him tick. One boy liked it when I put him into a pair of pink lace panties. Another liked being a dog and eating dogfood out of a plastic dog dish. Some respond well to pain, others to heavy bondage and sensory deprivation. But all the boys are here because they get off on shit and filth. That's what we're here to do today.

I tie the boy to the chair with lots of rope. Hands tied behind him with this handcuff tie that I know how to do. Really secure, but nothing too tight. I tie the boy's legs to the bottom of the chair. I have LOTS of rope. It goes around his chest, around his thighs spreading them apart. Maybe I insert a buttplug before he sits down, maybe I put a blindfold on the boy, so he can't see what's coming. He can only smell it.

But this boy can see, so he knows what's coming for the second step...

Step 2: Fill a pair of shorts

Now that the boy is bound, naked and horny, it's my job. After all, the boy can't move, so there's little he can do for entertainment. So, now it's my turn to put on a show.

I strip slowly. Hopefully, the boy likes bears, `cause I'm 6 foot 2 and really hairy. A bit of a gut. I got the daddy thing going on. I move around the chair, letting the boy see my body. I lift up one arm and take a whiff. Whew, I'm pretty ripe today. That will come in handy. I take off my shift and wipe my armpits with the fabric. I let the boy sniff the shirt, and then I throw it on the ground.

I do a slow strip tease. I take off my boots one at time. Again, I let the boy sniff each one, really cram his nose into the boot and let him enjoy the foot stink mixed with the leather. I notice that the boy's dick grows even hard in its bondage. Then the socks, taking each one and wiping them under the boy's nose.

I take one sock and soak the toe in poppers. I stand behind the boy and wrap one beefy arm around the boy's neck. Then, I hold the wet part of the sock under the boy's nose and force him to inhale. One one thousand. Two one thousand. I do this until I can see the boy's eyes glaze over and I know he is flying.

I continue to strip, dancing a bit. My belt comes off, and I use it to whipt he boy's thighs a bit. Give him a little pain. Remind him how helpless he is at this moment. I step up to the chair and grind my jeans into the front of the boy's face. I want his mouth to feel my hard dick underneath the denim. I want the boy's nose to smell the pissy stink from when I soaked the jeans earlier. All of this gets the boy more excited.

Then my jeans come off. Slowly. I pull them down and down them to the floor so all I'm wearing is a dirty pair of Hanes briefs. I like fruit of the looms, too, but today it's a grimy pair I've worn for a few weeks now. A yellow patch in the front and a dirty brown stain in the seat. The boy is gonna get to down that seat REAL well. Because...

I walk over to the boy, sitting in that chair, and I turn around. My ass is inches from his face. I clench my stomach, which has the effect I want, and I blow a huge fart in his face. It makes the fabric on my ass wave like a flag. It's a rank fart, and it makes the boy's eyes water. I step back and see the boy's reaction. He's coughing and struggling against his bonds. But he better not complain or make a noise, that's part of our bargain.

I let the air clear for a minute, but I know my guts are churning. There's two days of shit boiling inside me, and it wants to come out. I step back into position, my legs straddling the chair and my ass as close to the boy as I can get. I want him to look at my ass, really concentrate. And then I bear down again.

This time it's not a fart. I knew it wasn't going to be. A heavy wet load of shit shoots out of my hole. What the boy sees is a huge mound that starts to push against the outside of my briefs. Then the second thing the boy notices is the SOUND -- a crackling sound, as all that shit rushes out of my hole and starts to form a pile. Then finally, the smell hit him. A real vile stink, a beefy animal scent, like a farmyard or a sewer. That's a lot of reek, and it enters the boy's nose like the poppers did.

But I'm not concentrating on the boy's feelings. I'm more concerned about my own. After two days, a good shit feels wonderful. I take two steps away from the boy and pause. Again, I give the boy a good look at my big thighs and meaty ass. He can see the load in my shorts and the gigantic bump that is forming underneath my underwear. It starts to seep through the cotton and you can see a round brown circle where the wet shit is collecting.

There's a lot more odor in this hot room, and I'm sweating. My pits are starting to drip sweat. I squat down, my hand on my knees, my knees bent. Balancing on the balls of my feet. This puts stress on the fabric and the load of shit starts to squelch up my balls and push out over the top of the briefs a bit. I grunt a few more times, pushing out as much shit as I can. I want to make sure I am fully empty.

After a few minutes of effort on my part, I stand up again. There's an enormous pile in my shorts. It's almost oozing out the sides. I slide the elastic of the shorts down my waist and let the filled fruit of the looms to plop on the floor with a wet sound. I step each of my feet out of their holes, and then I turn around.

Step 3: Prepare the underwear

Man, it's a mess. This was a really soft shit, like gray clay. The first part must have been harder, but now it's buried under a gooey pyramid of runnier stuff. The seat of the short cradles the shit like a bowl. As long as I'm careful, very little of the shit will fall out the leg holes. That's important for this next bit.

I stand up and notice the wet feeling in my crack. Since I didn't wipe, there's a lot of shit up there, sliding all the way from the base of my balls to the base of my spine. I can really smelt he shit now... there's a lot of methane in the air. My ass is giving off a lot of stink, and you and almost see the heat waves coming off the warm pile of shit on the floor.

I turn around again and show the boy my asscrack. I know he's thinking about licking it, if I'll force him to clean it out completely before we're done. I lean over and take my hands and open up my ass crack. I really want to give this boy a show. Then, I walk over and pick up the underwear from the floor.

It's a mess. I can feel how heavy it is, how much shit it really in the back of those shorts. It's hot in my hands, like holding something from the over, warm and soft. I go over and hold the whole thing under the boy's nose. I see his tongue stick out a bit, his eyes on me, wondering if he is supposed to lick it or what. But that's not what today's game is.

Step 4. Get the gag

I walk over to my "workbench". It's an old wooden table that I made a few years ago. There are toys all over it, and a bunch of stuff hanging from pegs in the walls above the table. There's one particular thing that I need for the next step.

It's a padded leather gag from Mr. S. it buckles in the front, and I think that's important. I hate tying a boy to a table and then trying to fish behind his head to attach a complex blindfold or face mask. This one works great because the leather mouthpiece is really padded. It holds the mouth uncomfortably open so that swallowing becomes tricky. Then there's a great leather front part that covers the whole mouth and chin of the victim. I like how the front buckle can be locked in place so the gag doesn't come off until the Top is ready.

This is complicated work. I place the filled briefs on the table and then position the front of the gag right over the outside of the seat -- where the mass of shit is. You know what's going to happen: the gag will push the shit into the boy's mouth. And all those buckles and straps will hold it there.

I carry the new contraption back to the boy. I've done this before, so I know what to do. I make sure that the boy gets to see the seat of the pants right in front of his face. He sees the shit and the gag, and it's so much fun to watch his face as he puts two and two together. There's only one place where that gag is going.

"Open up," I growl. And the boy obeys.

It takes one quick motion. I flip the underwear upside-down so the pissy front of the underwear is over the boy back the of the boy's head, and he is wearing the whole mess like a hat. The "y-front" ends at the top of the boy's head, and the wet seat comes down over the boy's eyes and nose. The huge load of crap flops in position over the boy's open mouth.

I swear I can do this so no shit hits the floor. Sure, some might slide out and slap onto the boy's shoulders or crotch, but I can do the trick so the dungeon remains clean. The hardest part is to shove the gag in very fast, and that's kind of traumatizing.

For the boy, all this is a rapid blur. One second, his is staring into (and smelling) a vile mound of shit trapped in a dirty pair of briefs. The next minute, the underwear flips over his head, and that gag rams through his teeth. Along with the gag, a large amount of shit flies down the boy's throat, faster than he can taste it. Along with the gag is all that sopping cotton cloth covering the gag and giving the boy something to suck on. The mound of hot feces slams into the boy's nose, cheeks, and chin, and the gag gets pulled tighter and tighter within seconds.

All the air whuffs out of the boy's lungs in surprise, and it tries to leak out of the legholes of the briefs, which are now each circling one of the boy's ears. The boy is making thick bubbles of shit as he is trying to breathe. The flat front of the gag is pulled so tight is hurts the boy's lungs, pressing all that shit into the boy's teeth. His mouth is filled with the leather mass of the plug, and all that slippery shit. The gobs of wet clay fill the boy's cheeks, pushing them out like a chipmunk's. The boy's nose is covered by wet fabric that's tough to breathe through, but with effort the boy can do it. He's sucking in surprised lungfulls of stinking air into his sinuses.

I want to make sure that no shit gets into the boy's eyes. I scrape any shit from the boy's forehead and on top of his cheeks. The heat of the dungeon and all the still fetid air will make my shit start to melt soon, trickling in dark brown rivulets down the boy's neck and chest. But for now, his eyes can see, and he is looking at me with a mix of revulsion and fear. So now is a perfect time for a blindfold.

I go to back to the workbench. I have lots of paper towels. Lots, trust me. And I wipe my hands clean and pick up a padded blindfold from my collection. I walk over to the boy. I kiss the top of his head and slide the blindfold to cover those eyes. Time to the put the boy away for a while.

Step 5: Stew

Simmer for one hour. Maybe more, maybe less. Depends on the boy. Depends on how much we have talked over the weeks. So I know what he likes. This boy likes his nipples played with. So, while he can't see, I take the time to touch the boy's chest. I trace long slow circles all over his muscular pieces, eventually making the circles smaller centering on his nipples he knows what is coming. There's a half hour of nipple play. Pain and pleasure. I like to pick the boy's nipples. Later I will go get some metal clamps and see how much I can make them hurt.

I can hear the boy sucking on the gag. Some boys are shit fiends, so they try to clean the gag right away. This one needs a little encouragement, so I go get the poppers. A few hits holding the bottle makes him start to moan. There's a little bit of dirty underwear I can see above the mouth gag and below the blindfold. That's where I know his nose is, although I'm not sure how much amyl gets through with all that shit in the face mask.

Now is time to concentrate on the boy's dick. It's wet and dripping, all tied up. It's hard and wants me to touch it. The first time I take a wet hand and squeeze the head, the boy almost faints. The next second when I slide my palm so slowly down his shaft and up again he almost cums. But It's too much of an artist to let him cum so quickly. The boy is going to have to work for it.

I'm working hard too. It's like conducting a symphony. I alternate between hurting the boy's tits, feeding him poppers, and feeling his entire body. Then I return to putting pressure on the boy's balls and stroking his hard dick. Over and over again. The whole time, the boy is in a dark blindfolded world of stink, his mouth filled with masses of huge shit that he can't spit out because of the gag. I know the boy will eventually suck that gag clean. They all do. Even if it takes a while.

It started out as a Halloween costume. I wanted to be a slob. Like a dirty blue-collar worker. It became a bit more than that.

I remember as a kid I always wanted to be a "hobo". Believe it or not, that was a popular costume for a kid in the seventies. You tied a red handkerchief to a "bindlestiff", wore some old clothes, and blackened your face with charcoal. Nowadays, I don't think they'd let kids get away with that -- it looks too much like you're making fun of a homeless.

But I was going to an BDSM event, and the theme was "dress as your favorite fetish". I hemmed and hawed over it for a few weeks, and then thought, "What the hell". Wearing dirty old clothing gets me hard. Even if nobody understood it, this is what my fetish is.

I started with an old tank top undershirt. The kind we used to call "wife beaters", until yeah, political correctness struck again and you're not supposed to call them that. I had an old shirt from years back, and it had shrunk a LOT. When I put it on, it displayed a good part of my now-inflated beer belly, pulling up to exposed the bottom half of my hairy "treasure trail". The shirt was perfect.

Or almost perfect. I needed to work on it a bit first. I wore it around my house for a few weeks. I don't wear deodorant, so the shirt soon formed these deep yellow stains around the pits. And man, did it stink! I really infused that shirt with tons of my smell.

Then, I ate a bunch of stuff, and didn't care how messy it was. I made sure to get a bunch of food dripped down the front of the shirt. Chocolate ice cream. Red Italian sauce. Beer. BBQ. By the end of the month, the whole front of the once-white shirt was brown with grit and stink.

Over the shirt, I wore an old denim workshirt I had laying around. For the shirt, I really wanted that "garage" smell, so I soaked it in motor oil. I left it on the driveway and drove over it a bunch of times. It got rained on and soaked in mud. Great, that's the top half done.

The hat was harder to find. There's a horse-ridin' stable near my house, and I signed up for some lessons. In a few weeks I managed to stomp that hat into more than a few piles of horse shit. I filled it up and brought it home stinking of manure. I was going to put it on my head with more than a few nuggets smashed into my head.

The boots were my own workboots, stinking of sweat. I went out in the mud a bunch of times, making sure to get them nice and covered. I took the boots off in the middle of the woods, filled them up with mud, and then put them back on. I made sure they were saturated inside and out.

The socks went to the gym every day for weeks. Ones with a hole in `em where my big toe pokes out. By the time Halloween came around, they were so soaked with sweat they would stand up on their own. The crackled when you bent them. You could smell them from across the room, even if they were zipped up in my gym bag.

I went to a hardware store and bought a bunch of grease. Fifth-wheel grease for semi trucks. Lithium grease for ball bearings. Grey dialectric grease, blue marine grease. I even got some Crisco and mixed it in there. I put on some rubber gloves and completely coated a pair of blue jeans inside and out. Then, I slid them on. I can't tell you how wonderful it felt wearing those tight Levis all slick against my legs. Cleanup was a bitch, though, getting all that grease out of my leg hair for the trial run.

I had other accessories. I shoved a brown hanky in my right pocket. I had a pair of leather gloves soaked in gasoline. I put in a wad of chewing tobacco and made sure the spit soaked my beard down to my chin. But my favorite thing I prepared for this costume was the underwear. I usually wear boxer-briefs on a daily basis (so my fat thighs don't rub together). But for this, I also had an old grey pair of y-front briefs.

The day of the costume party, I put on the briefs first. Then the pants. And the stained tank top and oily shirt. I smashed the full load of manure on top of my head and smelled the shit as it dripped down the back of my neck. I laced up the muddy boots over the sweat socks and put on an old leather belt.

But the one thing I had to do was shit myself. I made sure I had a huge gutfull from the night before. I had eaten a huge dinner. It felt weird grunting out a load while wearing clothes, and it took me a while. My jeans were so tight that the seat of the Levis was holding in the turd so it couldn't find room. I took some maneuvering and stretching, but I soon had a hard foot-long crap seating in my shorts. The underwear kept it in place.

Meanwhile, I had been drinking a lot of water all morning. So yeah, I usually piss myself whenever I take a shit. The piss soaked the front of the underwear, but the jeans were so greasy they were waterproof. All that piss traveled down the inside of my pants and pooled into my socks and boots.

I can't tell what smelled worse. The stench from the shit in my underwear couldn't really escape those greasy pants. I think I smelled the manure the most, because it was smashed so close to my face. Every time I brushed a hand up near my face, I could smell the strong gasoline from the gloves. I reeked of body odor under my shirt when I moved my arms. If you were at floor-level maybe I just smelled like a swamp of mud and rot. I think all the odors just blended together into an inhuman stink that spelled trouble.

I was ready for the costume party, if they were ready for me.

It's over a hundred degrees and I reek. I've been setting up the drill all morning, and it's muddy in the yard. I got the truck stuck in the mud twice, so I'm in a foul mood. I'm about to chew someone's head off and get myself fired, so I storm off to take a break.

Now, it's well known that on the site, the only place with privacy is the toilet. You can go in there and take a smoke or jack off, and nobody will bother you for a while. And "by a while" I mean ten minutes until the next guy is pounding on the door to be let in. Some guys will sit in there for a half hour until the boss finds out and chews them out. I think more than a few guys are going in there to get high during the workday, too.

I stomp through the slop of the yard. I've got rubber thigh-high waders on, but I'm still coated head to tow with mud today from pushing out the trucks. I've got on a scaffolding harness, and in the heat of the day it's really chafing. There's nothing more I want to do than shuck off all my gear, get in the port-o-potty, light up a cigar and take a huge shit.

But it's occupied. Hell, there's even a line. A buncha guys hopping from foot to foot, trying not to piss themselves. Hell, I feel like I have a turtlehead poking out of my ass, too. And then I remember the other place that's nearby.

But there's a thing around the back entrance that the guys joke about. "Oh, don't go to shitter number five!" they yell. Once, I asked why, and the guys just laughed. The port-o-john is actually not on the lot, it's around the corner on private land. I heard that the thing was actually owned by a friend of the construction manager's, but that he lets some guys use it for free "if they could trade", whatever that means. The door is usually locked up, but I thought I'd try anyway.

I'm walking quicker off the yard now, and I'm really sweating. The sun is beating down, and I can feel the sweat pouring off my shaved head down the back of neck. I hate when the sweat stings my eyes, plus then I can see, I have a bandana wadded under my hat, and it's so sopping wet now I could wring it out. There are huge sweat stains in my pits, and my entire back is a swamp, especially where the straps of the harness cut into me.

There's a bunch of crap in front of the shitter, someone had dumped a bunch of pipes that had busted. So, the whole thing is like a jungle gym or an obstacle course I had to climb through. I guess they didn't want guys coming back here.

I reached the shitter and breathed a sigh of relief. The lock was off today. I flung the door open and crashed in. But what I saw there almost scared the shit out of me.

It was a guy. It looked like a statue, like a "bust". It was just the head and shoulders, and it looked like it was made out of bronze or something. At first I thought it was the head of a mannequin that some guys had put in there as a joke. You know, construction joe opens the door, sees a monster mask coming out of the hole and jumps. All the guys laugh at him. That kind of joke.

But then it moved.

I swear I almost screamed. I was halfway into the toilet when the head on the "statue" lifted up and LOOKED at me. I jumped out of the shitter and the door slammed behind me.

I didn't run away -- I was looking around to see if there was a group of guys gathered around to laugh at me. Like it was a practical joke. But I was the only one back there, behind all those pipes.

Then I heard a sound come from the shitter. A quiet mewl, "Please..."

Ok, I'm a nice guy. And my first thought was that someone had played a horrible joke on some poor guy, and there was a guy trapped in the toilet. Like a bunch of guys grabbed hope apprentice, tied him up, and stuffed him down that hole. If that was true, it was an awful thing to do to someone. Maybe the apprentice guy was injured or beat up -- worse things happen on job sites when guys get mad at each other.

So, with a lot of caution, and lot of fear, I opened the john door a crack and looked it.

"You ok?" I asked.

I was wrong at first. The guy wasn't covered in "bronze" but was smeared with shit from head to toe. Someone had taken an acetylene torch and cut away at the seat of the outhouse and made the hole larger. So, here's a guy kneeling in the plastic tank of the john, giving him enough room for his head and neck to poke out the top where the seat used to be.

"Please..." the guy said again. "Please piss on me."

I was taken by surprised. "Piss on you?"

The guy just looked at me.

"You some kind of freak?" I asked him.

The statue-guy looked up at me. He actually had big blue eyes and didn't look too bad, except for the shit dripping down his hair and face. "Yes, a freak. That's exactly what I am."

I stepped fully out of the shitter and thought for a minute. This was definitely weird. But then again, I really had to piss, and it was a lot longer back to the yard. I thought I could piss behind the pipes and nobody would know.

But then again...

I thought about the tone of the freak's voice when he said, "Please." I mean, it wasn't the first time I'd done freaky stuff with a guy. When I was just starting out, there was this electrician guy who would suck me off. I was in my twenties, and really broke and really horny all the time, and he would come back to my apartment and help me out. Often, we'd get drunk together and he'd stay the night. Man, I can't tell you the things we did together.

Then there's some guys at the bar I go to. It's not really a gay bar, but it's not really straight either if you know what I mean. I'm not a stranger to getting my dick sucked in a bathroom, so this situation wasn't to unusual for me. In fact, my dick started to get a little hard thinking about the idea. I mean, while being stuck in that outhouse hole, his face was at the perfect height to give me a blowjob.

I lit up a cigar and thought for a moment. Then I thought "what the hell," and opened the toilet door and stepped in. I did really have to piss, hard. I fished my dick out of my dirty work pants and let my dick flop out. I started to piss almost immediately. Man, that felt good -- my eyeballs were floating.

You know how sometime you start peeing and it shoots in two different streams? That's what it did here. My foreskin must have glued my hole shut partially. Piss sprayed out all over the place. I blasted the poor guy right in his eyes, while the other part soaked the guy's chin.

It took a second, but I grabbed my dick so I shot in a solid stream. And I mean SOLID -- I must have pissed for about thirty seconds. The guy wanted piss? Well, I gave him piss. I tried to aim for him mouth, but I also pressure-washed his cheeks and forehead. Looks like all that shit on his face could wash off easy. The guy opened his mouth and drank my piss as fast as I could shoot it out.

It was like playing a carnival game. I really hosed that guy down. And the whole time, he never lifted his hands up from underneath the hole. Maybe he was handcuffed down there? All I could see was some shoulders and a head poking up from a black hole that didn't smell too good.

Piss was dripping down the guy's face. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, drooling. His eyes just looked up at me. The view was so hard, my dick started getting hard. So, I knew what I hard to do.

I shoved my dick HARD down the guy's throat. Real fast. One stroke and I was buried balls-deep. I don't think the guy expected that, and his eyes bugged out. He tried to pull back, but there wasn't much room for him to go. I grabbed the side of his head with both of my hands and made sure my cock stayed in there.

Ever feel a guy gagging on your cock while it's buried in their throat? I recommend it highly. His muscles spasmed, and I felt his face involuntarily clamp down around my shaft. It felt great. I crammed in deeper. I felt his puke a bit, and all of a sudden my dick was covered in phlegm. Ah, I shut my eyes.

Now, I'm a nice guy. I pulled out and let the guy gasp for breath. Drool dripped down his chin. He looked up at me with those big eyes. Then, he nodded once. Yeah, that was permission to go on.

I was hard now, and I wanted to cum, badly. I placed my dick back on the guy's tongue, and he slurped it back into his mouth. All that spit and juice flowed around me. Great lube. Natural.

I started to piston in and out. I would pull out until just the head of my dick was in his mouth, and then I would slide back in. Sloooowly now. I found a rhythm. In and out. Feeling all that friction. His mouth relaxed. No teeth, just the way I like it.

I toyed with the guy for ten minutes. I varied my rhythm to see how he reacted. This guy was a pro... he even handled it when I rabbit-fucked his skull. I started to feel an orgasm building, so I pulled out, and whacked the sides of his face with my erection, leaving slimy trails down his cheeks.

Whew. I had to take a break. I farted once, a really ripe one that stunk up the confined space of the outhouse. I remembered why I had come there in the first place. I farted again, and this one was even louder. I knew there was a storm brewing inside of me.

I stepped back and opened up the door of the port-o-potty, letting the door slam behind me. Damn. For a second, I considered what to do next. I almost zipped up and walked away. But then, I found a slightly dry patch of dirt next to the box and shucked off my harness. I let it drop to the ground.

I took off my shirt but left my jeans down around my thighs. I pulled my sweaty white briefs were down as far as they would go. I didn't want to take the time to take off my muddy boots. This would have to do. I relit my cigar and pupped it for a minute to make sure it was good. Then, I opened the door again.

The guy was waiting for me. I wondered if he was nervous. I stepped back into the john and shut the door, locking it behind me. I lifted up my arm and sniffed my pits. Yeah, I was rank, and I added a strong aroma of body odor into the small space of the bathroom.

I stood there a second. The guy just licked his lips. Then, I slowly turned around and showed the guy my ass. I parted my cheeks with my hands and showed the guy my asshole. He knew right where his tongue was supposed to go.

Now, I don't get fucked, but I love having my asshole licked. And this guy was a really good rimmer. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but I felt his tongue start licking around my hole. I knew my ass was sweaty, a real swamp. I didn't wipe too clean that morning, and I usually left a big brown streak in my underwear after I had worked a long day in the sun like this one. The guy didn't seem to mind, or if he did, he didn't say nothing.

I leaned over and put my hands on my knees. I feel pressure on my guts, and I farted again, this one right in the guy's mouth. Like a champ, he didn't stop, but kept licking, tracing is tongue up and down my hairy crack.

I started to jack off a bit. My dick was dripping. I bent over as far as I could, sitting on the guy's face. I knew the main event was ready to start.

I felt a turd start to come out. The guy under me started to moan. Usually, I like to take my time and make the shit last as long as possible to give the feeder time to adjust. This time I couldn't wait, and I just let loose.

This was a huge shit, and it came out in once piece. The first six inches when down the guy's throat -- no chewing. He must have broken off a piece and swallowed it. I stood up a but and looked behind me. The guy had a lump in his mouth right at his lips. I could see my shit in his mouth.

Phwoar, this stink of my stink was strong. Last night's dinner must have not been settling too good. I felt there was more but let the guy chew and adjust. When he was done processing my waste his tongue stuck out again, this time covered in brown. Fuck, this was hot.

I got back into position, and let his tongue find my hole again. He was licked frantically, I knew the shit lust was upon him. Good. This next part was going to be more difficult. I knew the next part was going to be a lot softer.

It's like riding a bike. I mounted the guy's face like the guy's face like sitting on my Harley and put all my weight on him. I pressed him down into that hole. His face was smashed up all the way so he looked like a baby bird ready for a meal. And I was going to give it to him.

The next turd came out in a long thin stream. The one after that was mixed with farts and air. I felt the guy under me struggling. But my shit was shit going down his throat. I grunted once, twice, and then let up a bit.

I felt it was messy back there, and the guy was licking around my hole. I was sliding back and forth over his nose. I was really making a mess. I stood up so my ass was a few inches over the guy's mouth. I blasted out some diarrhea now, and it went all over the place.

My farts were more of a spray, and I hope the guy had his eyes closed. But I felt like I was starting to empty out. I stepped forward and stuck a finger up my ass. Yeah, there was shit all over my hole, but there weren't any turds left up there.

I turned around and looked at my victim. His face was a mass of runny shit, like he had been caught behind the blades when the shit hit the fan. He was panted heavily, but there was a smile on his face. I smiled back.

The top of the guy's head was still clean, so I wiped my finger off on his hair. I patted him on the side of his cheek in thanks. Luckily, there was a nice big roll of toilet paper at the side of the outhouse, so I ripped off a foot or so of it and used it to wipe my hands.

With the guy blocking the toilet hole with his body, I had no place to put the dirty toilet paper. So, it went in his mouth. He started to chew, and then the fucker even swallowed the toilet paper! I ripped off around foot and cleaned up my ass as best I could.

Usually after I shit I have to piss, so I blasted the last of my urine into the guy's mouth. Good, I gave his something to drink. Then I stuffed the last piece of toilet paper into the mouth and watched him wet it down with saliva as best he could and chew chew chew.

Damn I was sweating in that hot plastic box, and I was dripping down from my pits down my torso. I'm glad I took my shirt off -- I didn't want to get it dirty. I was breathing as hard as the guy was.

I stood back and let the guy watch me jack off. Damn, I was close. Ten, twelve strokes, and I was shooting a huge load of ropy cum all over the guy's face. He sucked my jizz into his mouth. Since he couldn't use his hands he couldn't wipe the slime coating his jaw. I almost yelled as the delicious orgasm hit me. I shuddered, once, twice.

Man, I was done. I had to get back to work. I shoved my hard cock back into my underwear and pulled up my jeans. I knew I would have a wet spot when I went back to my job. I hoped none of the guys would notice. But then again, I didn't care.

I stomped out of the outhouse without saying a word. I should have thanked the guy or something, but I just treated him like the toilet he was. I found my smelly shirt in the mud next to the port-o-potty and put in on. I felt refreshed.

Putting my harness back on took longer, but I was a pro at getting it on and off quickly. I patted myself down so I looked normal. Damn, I hope I didn't take too long and wasn't late. I didn't need the boss riding my ass.

As I walked away from behind all those pipes, I heard a small voice from behind the outhouse door. "Thank you," the guy said. I knew I'd be visiting bathroom number five again the next day. Hell, I might need a pick-me-up again before the day was done. Now that I knew exactly were the facilities were.

Someone asked me, "Mud, what's the most extreme sex you've ever done?"

I thought about a shit scene I had done once. I had gone to an old motel out by the hospital to meet a scat Master. I covered the disgustingly dirty bathroom with plastic, taping the edges up to the walls with blue painter's tape. Then, I got out all my toys and got ready for the Master.

I won't describe all the things we did over the next few hours, but by the time we left, the plastic was covered with brown. The Master had brought along a blender, and he made me a shit smoothie made of dog food, His shit, dog shit, His piss, and lots of saved shit. Then, the Master got out a funnel and put the hole in my mouth. Slowly, he fed me the smoothie while I was laying on the ground below Him.

A hot scene, Right? And truly "extreme"? But that's not the hottest raunch play I've ever had. Not by a long shot.

The most extreme scene I had is when I ate a small napkin.

I want to explain. That's why I'm writing this vignette. Eating a bit of paper in ten seconds was a lot more hot than the hours of scat play I did in that motel bathroom.

You see, I knew the Shit Master who made me that sludgy drink. And we were good friends. Well, maybe not GOOD friends, but that was the problem. The Master and I never really got to know each other. We both lived in a small town, and I knew him for years. But for some reason we never clicked.

I think it was because that Master already had a slave of his own who He lived with. And another boy. And a "human pup" that He played with on a regular basis. So, maybe one problem was that He had no time or energy to make me a part of His life.

Sure, we would get together a few times a year. And we did really disgusting things together. But it was all in fun. I would suck His dick and eat His shit, but there wasn't really a connection. For example, I never kissed the guy. We never cuddled. We never talked on the phone, and the few emails we exchanged were pretty perfunctory, just exchanging details on where to meet up. That kind of thing.

I really wanted to know the guy. I wanted to be another one of His slaves, to do things He couldn't do with his pup or the boy who wasn't really into the shit play He and I liked. But that didn't really happen. It's been years now, I haven't called Him. It's not like we exchange Christmas cards or anything. After years of knowing that Master, I feel like I never knew Him at all.

Plus, when we played, it was all in fun. Sure, I didn't extreme things with him. But at any time, I could stop the play. And often did. I'd sit up, take a drink of water or soda. We'd stop for a while. I'd hit poppers. I jacked off. To tell the truth, I was more interested in my pleasure that His.

And that was ok. We were just fucking. The Master liked taking photos, so we would stop a lot so He could shoot stuff to masturbate to later. So, looking back at those pics, they were all staged. Even though it looked like I was tied up and "forced" to eat his shit, it was all an act. I would get into position, put on an acting performance to make it appear like I was terrified. But then a minute later I would get up, change position, and then we'd stage another photo.

It was all a show. Fun, but not really real, you know?

Fast forward to a few years later, and I found another guy. A leather daddy with a lot of experience. He's hot, and I love Him very much. We've really built a good relationship. Master and slave. I wear His collar. It's love. And devotion.

So, we are sitting around a picnic table with a bunch of his friends. It's a camping event, and we're at an outside table. I'm sitting on the dirty ground next to his boots. He's smoking a cigar, and periodically I'm licking the dust from the campground off His boots. He and His friends are talking, just making conversation.

There's dirty plates on the able. I think He and His friends had eaten burgers, camping food, you know? And the Master nonchalantly picks up a napkin that's sitting on the table and blows His nose into it. I think he even wiped up a bit of ketchup that dripped on the table next to Him.

And then, get this, He wads up the napkin, and then without thinking, holds it down under the table and puts it in my mouth. I was surprised but opened up my lips and took the paper.

I chewed it up and swallowed. It took a bit of time. I ate it all up, and His friends looked at me. I think they were a bit shocked. The Master went on with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Anyway, I say that's the most extreme thing I've ever done. Because it meant something. There was a lot of trust there. And training. And I cared for Him very much. It was the interaction of a dominant and a submissive without trying to show off. No photos were taken, and I wonder if the Master even remembers me doing it.

THAT'S extreme. To have a slave who would do ANYTHING for the Master. No performance -- this was the real deal. And the start of a lot more nasty play in the future. But I always remember that first camping trip.

I went back to licking the Master's boots under the table. And my dick was rock hard. Love. Love. Love.

Now, the name is "dip". Short for "dipping tobacco", though nobody ever really uses the long term name, in my experience. This is confusing, because there is also something called "chaw" or "chewing tobacco", and that's a different thing. Some people will use the two names interchangeably.

Chewing tobacco is really big quarter-sized leaves of tobacco. It was one of the first kinds of "smokeless tobacco", because it doesn't require a lot of processing. Just rip off full leaves of tobacco, sweeten it with a sugar solution used for binding it together, and let it ferment and cure. Native Americans chewed leaves of tobacco long before white people came to America.

Because of all the sugar, chewing tobacco is a sticky mess. Popular brands are Red Man, Levy Garrett, and Beechnut. It comes in a paper pouch with a resealable ziplock on top. You put whole leaves of it in your cheek so you kind of look like a chipmunk.

But this type of smokeless tobacco is not as popular as the other kind, so I'm not going to talk about it much. Note: there's another kind of smokeless tobacco called "snuff" that you snort up your nose, and I'm not going to talk about that kind either.

"Dip" is the topic of conversation herein.

I've read some people call it "rub", but I've not heard that in person. Pretty much you can just ask a southerner or country boy, "Do you dip?" and they'll know what you are talking about.

It is sold in a flat round container the about the size of a hockey puck. I've heard the packaging called a "can", "tin", or "lid". You can sometimes buy a pack of five of them taped together called a "roll", "log", or "sleeve". Dipping terminology is confusing.

A can of dip costs $10 here in New York City. Eight dollars if you shop around. Several manufacturers have great coupons on their websites. They want to get you hooked! So, you can often get a two-for-one special if you try.

Dip is $3 out in the country. It's over $20 in Canada! There are cheaper discount brands you can buy that cut a few dollars off the price, like when you buy generic cigarettes. But I don't like them personally.

Cheaper brands are "Timber Wolf" or "Husky". Medium-priced lines include "Grizzly" and "Kodiak". I personally like "Copenhagen", but I'll dip "Skoal" if that's the only thing available.

And there are many flavors of dip. Too many, if you ask me. They've got some crazy tastes out there: grape, cherry, apple, peach, and watermelon. At the annual "SmokeOut" party in Las Vegas, a bunch of us gay guys gather next to the hotel swimming pool in an area called "Dipper's Hill" and dare each other to try the more outlandish flavors. Usually someone pukes.

So, the flavors you'll see most are mint or some kind of natural or regular. I personally like Copenhagen's "Southern Blend", which I think is kind of new. To me it tastes like bourbon (like their rare "Black" flavor). Some guys I know like the wintergreen, particularly when starting out, because your mouth stays minty fresh.

And then there are different "cuts" of dipping tobacco. "Fine" but is like snuff, about the consistency of coffee grounds. I like "long cut", because I find it stays in place in my lip better without moving around. Many people like "pouches", which are little fabric squares full of dip.

I've had friends buy pouches for their lovers as a way of trying to get someone interesting in dipping, but for me it's never been a good strategy. The pouch is like an annoying cotton ball sucking al the spit out of your mouth. Not a lot of flavor gets through, and if you don't like the flavor of dip that would be the whole point. Your mileage may vary, but it my experience, pouches are not a good gateway drug. If anything, I occasionally use them when I'm performing heavy labor and it would be hard to keep a wad of dip in the right place.

And there's the problem. Dip is a tricky thing to try. You are trying to keep a small bit of particles in a separate area of your lip. Which means it's impossible to eat or drink while doing it. Ok, ok, some guys can drink a beer or something while dipping, but I've always found it hard to do. Hell, even talking is hard sometimes with a "big lipper in".

Worst case scenario, you get jostled or something happens, and then you have a big mouthful of spit mixed with grainy but that will be impossible to spit out. Dipping takes a lot of concentration at first. And if you are a guy who hates having grit in his mouth, you may never like the habit.

So, the first time I tried dip, I took a small pinch of tobacco from a friend's can. Now, I was a teenager and I had done some cooking lessons, so I took what was like a pinch of salt. You know? Like a thumbtack-head-size bit where your fingers covers most of the material, so you can't even see. Turns out this was not the thing to do.

First of all, that small amount of dip moves around a LOT. I placed the tiny pinch in the area between my lower left teeth and my inner bottom gum. But the minute my saliva started running, I ended up with a bunch of black gunk all around from my back left molars to my canines.

A bigger pinch of tobacco would be about the size of two quarters stacked one on top of the other. Heck, I know some guys who can put an entire can of dip in their mouth at one time! For me, a can of dip lasts about eight pinches, and it takes me over wo weeks to finish it.

Hopefully, your can of dip is moist. That keeps the little granules all together. If you've left the can out in the sun (or your back pocket) (or your back pocket when out working in the sun), often the tobacco will get dried out so it looks like salt or sugar. I often still dip it when it's like this, but it's WASY harder because there's nothing to make the dip stick together in a wad in the perfect place in your lip.

Note: some guys add water or alcohol (like whiskey) to a dried out can of dip in an effort to reconstitute it. I recommend just throwing it away and trying a new can, but hey.

When I do a larger dip, I'll put a pinch within my lower left gums, AND a pinch on the right. This makes the effort trying to keep it in place a lot harder (and also makes it hard to talk, lick your lips, whistle). If you put a whole line of dip from left molars to right molars, that's called a "horseshoe", and you're a better man than I.

For a kinky sex scene, try doing a lower AND an upper horseshoe at the same time. it's like having a weird-tasting football mouthguard in your mouth. And hell, trying to keep that upper horseshoe in place without gravity making it land on your tongue is a feat. True masochists could then fill their left AND right cheeks with chewing tobacco and you'd probably drool all over the place.

And you WILL start drooling. To me, the dip tastes salty. And the minute the first drop of spit from my salivary glands run down through the tobacco and slides over my tongue, I taste the full flavor of the dip, and I start to salivate more. And then more. This is a good thing, because as I said, all that moisture will pack the dip together into a wet soggy clump that stays put real nice in your mouth.

So, what to do with all that accumulated spit? Even after ten years of dipping, I'm still a beginner. I spit way too much. Like every thirty seconds. Which is distracting if I'm trying to carry on a conversation. Some guys can hold a whole mouthful of dip spit so they spit it out all at once every five minutes. I don't know how they do that.

And then there's guys who "gut". Yeah, that's right, some guys swallow all the spit right down. Again, I have no idea how they do this. First of all, it makes my stomach queasy. There is enough nicotine in one can of dip to equal 80 cigarettes. So, if you gut a big quarter-can lipper, that's a whole pack of cigarettes suddenly hitting your system.

Spitting takes some learning, too. It's hard at first to spit out the now-brown saliva without shooting the wad of dip out of your mouth, too. Old West cowboys used to be able to hit a spittoon on the floor at eight paces. For me, I just kind of drool out a teaspoon of spit at a time. I often have a napkin handy so I don't create a "brown rainbow" going from my mouth to whatever I'm spitting in.

And what to spit in? They sell "dip jugs" you can buy (usually at a truck stop). Some of them are quite ornate, like MudJug. Spittons have gone out of favor, so I usually just get a disposable plastic Solo cup. I wad some napkins or a paper towel into a ball and stuff it into the bottom of the cup. That way, if the cup tips over, the paper has absorbed anything that would spill.

Oh jesus, the dreaded dip cup spill. When I worked for the military, it seemed like EVERYONE dipped. I was doing computers, so there was always a cup next to the monitor that got in my way. Worse is when I tipped it over and the guy hadn't done my paper towel trick.

No, even WORSE is a couple times when programming the computer, I absent-mindedly grabbed a soda can, thinking it was my Diet Coke. True story, I lifted it up to my lips and took a big swig of some jarhead's used spit. You learn to do that only once. Or in my case, only a few times.

Can you make a slave swallow your dipspit? Sure. But be an ethical top... if the slave gets sick from chugging your nasty soda can full of dipspit and they gets sick (and trust me, they WILL), you have to promise to take care of them. Give them some warm milk or something and then tuck them into bed, ok? That's some extreme sex you're doing - don't be a dick about it.

A more fun idea is to put a slave on the ground under you and use him as a spittoon. This is fun if they are naked OR clothed. Here's a tip for your next camping trip: make the slave wear a pair of swimming googles. That way, you can spit on their face and nothing will get into their eyes and burn. And I know from experience, it BURNS! Especially when you miss their open mouth accidentally on purpose. Trickling down their nose is no picnic either.

Go ahead, spit on the slave's dick! Dip spit makes for good lube. Or actually, forget that. What makes GREAT lube is chewing tobacco spit. Chaw. All that sugar means no grit or particles, and you end up spitting huge thick stringy gob of sticky fluid onto your slave. Or your own dick -- I'm not too proud to admit I've jacked off with chew spit a bunch of times.

One thing I love to do is drool on myself. I put on a white t-shirt and just sit normally. When I spit, the stream goes down my chin, over my beard, and just dribbles in a spreading brown stain on my chest. It's a lot of fun and it looks great. I loved to dip while doing rodeo, because when you're outside with all that horse manure around, you can spit anywhere, and nobody cares. Just watch out for windy days.

And where else is a better place for spit than a slave's asshole? Again, this stuff will burn. And it's gritty, meaning any further friction (like inserting a dildo or your dick) will start to chew up the slave's asshole. But the is a LOT of fun.

I like using a speculum. Again, this is not for starting out: the speculum is usually metal (or hard plastic), and it takes some time to open up a slave's hole to insert the thing. And I think it tends to pinch the sensitive skin of your butthole when you open and close the handles. But in a perfect world, the speculum holds open the slave's rectum into a one inch hole. Then just take advantage of the fact they can't close up to drool as much dip spit into the abyss as you want. Or make their hole even larger than one inch... they make speculums for horses and experience fisters can inserts those. Trust me, I've seen it done.

I personally think dipping is a disgusting habit that is completely dirty and filthy. Then why do I do it? Because I think it's a disgusting habit that is completely dirty and filthy.

Growing up in rural Minnesota, a lot of guys dipped. And it was almost all the blue-collar workers: the dirty farmers with manure on their boots or the unshowered truck drivers or the miners black with coal dust. These were real men, and it they had brown drips from a badly aimed stream of spit, then so be it. It won't the worst-smelling thing smeared on their uniform that day.

You can always tell a dipper because they'll have a faded circle in the back pocket of their jeans. My childhood friend grew up next to me in a small town, and to this day, he will suck the dick of anyone who has a "dip ring". Some cowboys keep their dip in the front snap pocket of a shirt because they can't sit on a can of dip (or a wallet) all day when riding a horse.

Also, I like dipping because it gets me totally legally high. As I said, I'm a beginner, so a pinch of dip will still hit my head like a ton of bricks. I like dipping when I'm driving a long trip. Or at a rock concert. Or when on the computer. The dip helps me focus... all that nicotine like a lightning bolt. I can study intently on something -- lights get brighter and the whole world moves into a sharper focus.

I also love the masculine nature of it. It's a dirty hobby. It's smelly and rank. Leave a jar of dip spit out for a week and you'll know what I mean. The brown smears of spit get everywhere sometimes. It's hot to have dip sex with someone, spitting on then and trying to kiss each other without fucking the dip up too much. If you disturb your dip clump, you can mash it back together with your tongue (if you're experienced at how to do that).

You can "spike" the dip with something. Some guys use cum... shooting a load into a can of dip and they use it later. Or better yet, giving it to another guy to dip.

I've also taken a soft turd and mashed into my dip. Or dribbled some diarrhea into it. It really moistens the dip well, and it's not as bad as you'd think as a taste in your mouth. The tobacco flavor kind of covers everything up. I guess you could adulterate your dip with anything you want.

So, I hope this section intrigues you enough to try dipping yourself. You may like it. Is it dangerous? Well, sure, like a lot of adult hobbies. There is a lot of nicotine in a can of dip as I said. Not to mention mysterious chemical used to cure the tobacco. But a 2012 study by the National Cancer Institute showed 3.6 incidents of mouth cancer out of 100,000 dip users. That was the same rate as the total population, hinting that dip users don't get cancer any more than anybody else, but that was just one study.

Dip is a Sometimes Thing. Do it rarely, have fun. Be safe. Write me back if you want to have a hot dipsex session with me. Arrive in dirty workgear -- I'll supply the dip.