Belly Achin

Belly Achin'

by Mudcub

patrick@mudcub.com

Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually try any of the unsafe practices here.

My guts were really on fire.

"Damn," I moaned, "I don't feel so good..."

Big Daddy and his boy were on the sofa next to me. We were having a "family movie night".

"We know," growled Big Daddy Peter. "You've bin complainin' the whole time."

Just then I let out a huge fart. I couldn't help it. I was the kind that takes a few seconds to hit, but soon it fills the room.

"Whew!" said boy Paul, waving his hand in front of his face. "What the fuck did you EAT!"

Paul was laughing, but Peter looked kind of mad at me.

"Um, I dunno," I thought. "Tacos?"

I had stopped by a taco truck, grabbing whatever I could after my shift. But then Paul had made sloppy joes, and I had eaten a bunch of other stuff besides. Plus, we'd bin drinking.

Big Peter said, "Stinks like something died and crawled up yer ass, and THEN you shit it out and ate it agin!"

Everyone laughed at that, and I thought things were ok. But after a few more minutes watching TV, I farted again. This time, it even gagged myself.

"Run, `n git the spray!" Peter ordered his boy.

Paul, the slave, ran for the bathroom. Paul turned turned to me, his face red.

"And YOU!" Peter roared, Git to the basement." He added, "NOW!"

The basement is our dungeon. Or I should say, Big Peter's dungeon, because He really runs it. Paul and I are just the "accessories". His playthings.

I like to say, "if these walls could only talk, what things they have heard!" Or more accurately, "What screams they have heard."

I strip naked. I don't need to be told. I was Peter's slave a long time ago. But then we got married, and our relationship changed a bit. Peter likes to call me his "Beta dog", meaning Peter himself is the "Alpha". And that makes Paul the "omega", the smallest dog, the lowest of the low.

Paul LOVES being a slave. I mean, I do too, but Paul really gets into it. Ah, to be twenty four and horny again. You can pretty much do anything to Paul and he will do it. Except maybe hold a full-time job for mor than six months... but that's another story.

So, I'm naked. Paul it helping me by putting fistmitts on my hands, big locking leather mitts that are more like boxing gloves. They have lots of O-rings on them to attach to things: you can stretch the slave with arms above his head, behind his back. Lock his hands to his collar.

I am not quite fully naked: I have on leather boots and high cotton socks pulled up high on my calves. The socks are necessary to prevent the ankle restraints from chafing... wide leather belts that also lock on and can't come off over the boots. Other than that, I'm naked. And now I'm ready.

Above our heads in the kitchen on the first floor, Paul and I can hear Big Daddy roaring. I don't know how much is for effect and how much is for fun. I hear him muffled, but some words come out.

"NO BOY O' MINE GONNA STINK UP MMMMMMYYYYYY HOUSE!"

"FUCKIN' ANIMALS... I OUGHTTA..."

"IT'S LIKE A PIG STY IN HERE. IIIII'LLLLL TEACH `EM!"

Big Peter knows we can hear him. So this is all just a big joke. Or at least I think so. Or I hope so.

Still, sweat is coursing down from my hairy pits now, trickling down my torso. It's kind of cold in the basement. Big Peter busts into the door leading down the stairs.

"YOU READY?"

Paul yelps something that sounds like, "Yauh!" I remain motionless, kneeling, my hands respectfully behind my back, my eyes looking down at the concrete floor.

Big Peter walks around me in a big circle, looking at me. There's only light from the wall sconces that shoot a dim red glow up the walls. He makes one circle, looking down at me, and then two. He pauses at the wall behind me, stopping for about five minutes. I know that's the wall that holds the whips and floggers, all oiled and taken care of by me and Paul. I think that Peter might be selecting a weapon.

Now, there's two things you need to know to understand what's going on. First of all, this whole time Paul is fretting, walking back and forth in the dungeon. He's his usual nervous state: kind of like a confused little dog. Paul isn't sure what kind of a scene this is or what it's going to be: is this our usual sex where Paul and I get Big Daddy off... sucking His dick while He smokes a cigar? Or is this really a punishment scene and there's going to be a lot of pain and crying before the night if over.

The three of us have a lot of sex. Both as pairs, and all three. And then we often bring other people over. But this night feels different. I still can't tell if Big Daddy is truly mad at me for farting so much, or if he's just "playing mad" so we can have hot sex.

I get my answer when the first hit from the flogger land on my back. I think what shocked me so much was the surprise of it. I didn't even feel the pain at first, just the heavy weight of the blow almost pushing me over on all fours.

Every been flogged? It's fun. Or at least, it CAN be fun, especially if there's a gradual warmup and the victim is all restrained and has an erection. Big Daddy Peter has whupped me bloody a few times and I was so high, floating on endorphins and pit stink and poppers that I didn't even feel any pain.

But this wasn't a warmup scene. Big Daddy just kept bringing the flogger down on me like he was killing a rat, just pounding me into the ground. The flogger hit my head, took a bite out of my ear, made huge red marks on my shoulders and wrapped around to mark my chest and stomach

And that's the second thing you need to remember. Even before I came down to the basement, my stomach was gurgling. There was a huge backed-up flood of shit in my ass that wanted to come out. While I was kneeling and sweating, I was trying to keep my asshole clenched shut against the flow. But now being beaten to an inch of my life, that was no longer possible.

I had no control: honest. I felt the flogger come down one more time onto my upper back, just as my rectum gave out, and I shot a stream of liquid shit out the back of me. It made a line across the concrete floor, and almost shot up the wall.

And also traced a brown mess all over the toe of Daddy's right boot.

Big Daddy jumped back. I stood up. All of a sudden, the air of the dungeon reeked of hot crap.

Gratefully, I managed to hold myself together, there was just that one accident. I was panting, trying to catch my breath, Paul was shocked, Big Daddy was fuming.

"Paul... we're gonna need the gimp for this one."

So, final thing you need to know before we go forward -- and this is the last thing, I promise -- is that Paul has an alter ego. More than one actually, if you add up his "pup persona", which is different than his "fursona". Paul is actually a switch, and has a whole different name when he's a Top, if you can believe that. He also has a drag name if you ask him.

But Paul LOVES being The Gimp. I think The Gimp is an excuse for Paul to let himself go. Paul has several full-body catsuits, it all different colors. One says in big yellow letters, "URINAL". One is brown. One is black-and-white and looks like a killer whale... I'm not sure if I understand that one.

But the one Paul is putting on right now is all black and shiny. It's tight, and makes Paul look even skinnier than his actually is. It looks like there's not a single hole in the suit. Of course there is, or he couldn't breathe. But the mouth and nose are covered in pinholes and the eyes have dark lenses all over them, so in the murky reddish light of our dungeon, Paul looks like a sleek alien black mass with no noticeable features.

The suit doesn't prevent Paul from doing things though, and that's a good thing because he's helped lifting me into the sling. My legs are in these leather sleeves that I made... like heavy tubes running the length of the bottom chains. When the user is laying in the sling with the tubes tightened, he can't bend his knees, or even move his ankles much.

My arms are stretched tightly over my head, the fistmitts locked in place high up the chains. It's like I'm not even laying in the sling, but being suspended by my arms and legs from the ceiling. I smell the stink from my armpits, the rank stench of sweat and fear right below my nose. I know the guys can smell me too.... I'm very ripe.

But the first thing Big Daddy did even before I got into the sling was bend me over and slam a huge buttplug in my asshole. We call this one "The Gaper", and usually I can barely take it. But with the slime and diarrhea around my hole, and a strong shove from Daddy's meaty fist, the plug slammed into my ass all the way. I made me gasp and stand up, but Big Daddy said, "Don't you say a fuckin'word".

Big Daddy orders The Gimp to get nipple clamps ("The really bitey ones... don't git those small fuckin' ones"), a couple dildos ("the one he likes. Oh, and also the one he DOESN'T like"), and other stuff. Lube, poppers, a Wardenburg wheel. Ball stretchers. Rope. But it's the last hing Daddy orders The Gimp to get that makes me wonder.

"Blow up the pool"

Ok, this takes a while, even with the electrical pump we bought. It's a small-sized wading pool, roughly circular with six-inch high inflatable walls. Big daddy plops it down in the middle of the dungeon floor, right directly under the sling. He stands in it in his boots while The Gimp gets the pump working. I can't look down, but I hear the whirr of the motor start filling the pool up with air.

I'm looking at the ceiling. There's an image of me all stretched out in the sling, fistmitts to boots, reflected in the mirror we have hung above the sling. It's a plastic mirror (don't you dare hang a piece of glass above a sling, boys), and as such it doesn't really reflect very good. With the red light of the dungeon, I look like a cannibal sacrifice, a tribute for the slaughter. I start to get hard.

Yeah, it's hard to admit here, and it's hard to admit to myself, but I'm a sick fuck. I have a LOT of dark fantasies. I am laying in the sling, and my primary thought is.... Big Daddy just threw that inflatable pool down on the floor on top of the stream of shit. There's a stinking brown mess now all over the place.

I'm laying in the sling, and I'm getting myself hard with my fantasies. I wonder if Big Daddy is going to make me lick the shit off his boot with my tongue. The idea makes me hard. And then I think, what if He makes me clean up with floor with my tongue. And I mean the WHOLE floor... hours forced to spend in heavy bondage, or maybe a Gimp suit of my own. Barely able to move, but being whipped mercilessly while I frantically move my tongue all over the dirty concrete sucking up runny shit into my eyeless hood. A less-than-human wetvac sucking filth up forever forever.

So, with thoughts like these, my dick is rock hard. I really don't know why I do things like that to myself. Big Daddy noticed my erection, and leans over to The Gimp, whispering something I can't hear.

The Gimp brings over a rubber cock ring, it's one of the tightest we have, and I know with this stretched over my shaft, I will have a boner for HOURS. Or at least until I can finally cum. But Big Daddy doesn't even touch my hardon, instead stretching the rubber doughnut over my package all the way down to the base. When he lets it go, it traps all the blood into my rod, but all I can feel is cool air blowing against me. What I really crave is a gooey hand or hot mouth to suck me off... and the hunger for that feeling -- ANY feeling -- on my hard dick will soon drive me crazy. I can't last minutes of this, much less hours.

Instead, Big Daddy has The Gimp open up a jar of Albolene, and takes two huge fistfuls, on in each hand. I am expecting Peter to mash his huge paw down on my dick, jacking it off. But instead, he plops the huge amounts of white goo on each side of my dick.

Big Daddy starts to massage me, rubbing big circles of the slippery cream from my navel down to my upper thighs, but carefully avoids touching my genitals at all. Over and over, his palms squish the lotion around the top of my package, all around to slip between my legs and go down to my asshole.

I am in bliss. Or agony. I moan, "Oh, THANK You Daddy."

Peter stops. He leans his head into The Gimp and says something soft. He stops moving and waits for The Gimp go step out of the wading pool and get something and bring it back.

You know how you forget something, and then remember it? While Daddy was rubbing my lower stomach and legs, I had forgetting I needed to shit. I was just enjoying the massage, and wondering when He was going to move closer and closer to my hardon, finally rubbing it over and over so I could have an explosive orgasm. That's what I was thinking about.

But now, hanging here, slowly rocking back and forth in the sling, I cannot NOT notice the massive gallons of liquid crap moving down my system. It's the weirdest sensation. It's like a heavy weight dropping in your guts. Like jumping off a high diving board. Like you can almost see through your skin into your intestines and trace the mass of crap pressing against the existing mass, creating more and more pressing.

But Big Daddy is standing between my legs in front of the sling. And He is shirtless but still wearing blue jeans, a belt, and His boots (now regrettably shit-stained). But He is standing very close to the sling, and the crotch of His jeans is slamming into the base of the huge plug that's wedged in my ass.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Big Daddy shoves the sling out gently, pushing me away. And then when I slide back into place, I feel the tremor of His dick as the plug is bumped deeper into my hole. Pushed out away from Him and then I slide back toward Big Daddy, and then the uncomfortable THUMP.

I am groaning a lot. Big Daddy is smiling down at me. He fishes a cigar out from the front pocket of His jeans, and a lighter from the other pocket. I see Big Daddy light up, as he keeps racking me back and forth, like he is fucking me through His jeans, plowing the buttplug through my colon with hard pulses.

I look down and my dick is streaming precum. Not just a pearl at the head -- no, with the tight TIGHT cock ring keeping it erect, and the lack of any (ANY) sensation or touch on my shaft for what feels like HOURS, my dick is responding by trying to cum as hard as it can... spurting out semen to lubricates what it hopes is a future fuck.

I smell Daddy's cigar, the smoke warm and leathery over the stink of my runny shit that's still stinking up the room. I smell MEN... my reeking armpits, The Gimp's squeaking black rubber, the grease of the abolene. Shit and leather and tobacco and oil.

Big Daddy looking down at me and grunting as the plug swings back into His crotch every few seconds like a pendulum. And that's the last thing I see or hear for a while, because The Gimp has come back with the last item Big Daddy has required for me to put on that evening.

I guess it's my own faut, because I made this gas mask. I designed it and built it. I took a Russian GP-5 and modified. This gas mask has a full rubber back, so when you have it on, it's like wearing a rubber hood. You can feel it enclosing your hair, your face, and even the back of your neck. Sometimes Big Daddy fills the gas mask up with his shit and puts it on the gimp. The soft crap oozes all over the slave's head, and we keep him like that all day, or even all weekend.

As Paul is coming closer with the gas mask, I can smell it: it smells like rubber and sewage. I guess nobody cleaned it from the last time we played with it. That's not true -- I always make sure I clean the mouth part. You see, the gas mask has a whole system up front that I created...

Most gas masks have just an empty space in front of the filters so you can breathe in an out. Instead. I modified this gas mask so there's a huge rubber bulb jutting into the mask. Do you know what a dog bone looks like? One of those cartoon bones that have a shaft and then two balls at the end so it kind of looks like a cross? Well, I took a huge dog toy that I found, and I glued it into the front of the mask.

When the mask goes on, the back part of the dog bone fits into your cheeks -- one big hard rubber ball in each cheek. It makes your face bulge out like a chipmunk. It presses down on your tongue and make it hard to breathe. Luckily, there is a hollow tube in the gag. The hole is pretty big, about ¾ inch, and you can imagine what can go down the hole and into the wearer's mouth.

There is an intake hose that screws onto the part of the mask where your nose is, and The Gimp and I have bought and/or manufactured a bunch of rubber hoses that can get screwed on. There are "t-junctions" that have switches, and Big Daddy likes to keep his hand on the switch as he fucks you. He can make you breathe poppers for a few seconds, and then switch over to a hose that goes into a five-gallon bucket full of shit -- just to give you the smell. Then switch back to a lungful of poppers. And he can do this all night, just to watch you twitch as the odor changes.

I watch as The Gimp gathers the poppers bottle attachment. Guess I'll be flying tonight. He also gets a stinkbox... more on that later. And then he connects them together with a t-junction. He also gets a bunch on things that I can't see right now from where I'm lying in the sling.

Big Daddy is still dry humping me, pushing me back and forth in the sling, making the huge plug slam into my prostate again and again. But he sees me watching The Gimp, and decides that I am ignoring the Master and not paying enough attention to him.

Big Daddy stops swinging me, and goes to the refrigerator that's in the basement, and I don't think I like what this means. He gets out a big Tupperware container that's full of cold week-old shit. I know it's a week old because I helped fill it up myself. It was during a play session last weekend, and Big Daddy wanted us boys to save something aside for a special occasion. An occasion like this, maybe.

Big Daddy grabs something else from the workbench that I can't see, and walks over to me strapped to the sling. He holds the refrigerated container of shit in front of my face, and then opens it.

Unnnnf!

The stink hits me. Even though it's been cooled enough to not get rotten, it's starting to ferment. It's like a huge fart was released under my nose. Even though I try not to, I start shaking my head, "No".

"Oh, you want this," says Big Daddy. "Remember making this last week?" He taunts me. "And remember when I promised you'd have to eat it all up again?"

I don't remember that part. And in truth, Big Daddy is lying... he's not going to make me eat everything, is he? Instead, Big Daddy takes a piece of rubber out of his blue jeans pocket and shows it to me. It's a foam earplug, like the kind I wear when I do loud construction work. I see Big Daddy slowly dip it into the old shit mixture and then put it in my ear.

Ever get a "wet willie"? It's a stupid game kids used to play where they'd lick their pinkie and then shove it someone's ear. It's unpleasant, and I shiver and I feel the shit ooze out of my ear canal and the foam rubber settles into place.

Bog Daddy does the other ear, and suddenly, I am suspended in quiet world with no sound. Whenever I wear earplugs, I feel like I can hear the inside of my head. Inches away from my face, I see Big Daddy yelling at me. It's something like, "Can you hear me?" I see his lips moving, but all the words are muffled and indistinguishable. I nod my head, and then shake my head. I forgot what the question is. Big Daddy smiles at this.

It's weird to smell your own ears. My head stinks like an outdoor toilet now, like one of those one-holers out on the woods. The shit is woodsy smelling, like wet earth or clay. The aroma fills the room, and I can no longer smell my reeking armpits, or Big Daddy whose hairy chest is start to drip sweat as well from all the fucking he gave me.

I love sex, I love kinky sex, don't get me wrong. But there's often a stage where I start to realize that my eyes are bigger than my stomach. Or rather, that my boner is bigger than my esophagus. And I hit that moment as I see (without hearing) Big Daddy ask The Gimp for the rubber mask, and I watch with horror as I see Big Daddy scoop up a handful of Tupperware shit and smear it liberally all over the cheek-and-dog-bone gag of the mask.

And I mean LIBERALLY. Big Daddy goes back to the well three or four times, making sure there's an inch of dripping crap covering the entire gag. He even smears two fingers of shit into the air intake hose, and then clogs up the mouth airhole by pushing harder shit down the tube that goes through the gag.

Then I see Big Daddy say something. I don't know what he said, but I assume it's "Open up" because he starts to move the shit-covered gag into my mouth. I open wide, and I notice that it's not wide enough because the dog bone part of the gag REALLY stretches my lips wide before they pass through into my mouth and the sides can settle into my cheeks.

My first sensation is cold. That shit is COLD. My lips get smeared with shit like it was lipstick. And there's a LOT of shit on the outside of the gag, because even though the "butterfly gag" parts of the mouthpiece are pushing out my cheeks, I don't feel the rubber against the skin inside my mouth. Instead, there's like an inch of cushion of shit between me and the gag.

Shit squishes everywhere: into my gums, all over my teeth, under my tongue. It's funny because I don't taste anything yet -- maybe because I'm still freaked out by the sensation of how big the gag is in my mouth. Plus, I've been sniffing the cold shit for over five minutes now, so maybe I'm getting used to it. But then it hits me, the temperature first, and then the bitterness on my taste buds.

As I said, this shit was part mine and part Big Daddy, and I think one of us wasn't feeling good that day. Maybe both of us. Because this shit is RANK. It tastes like we drank coffee or chewed up aspirin or something, because the shit has a chemical tang to it. This is definitely not tasty. And as it is warming up, the stink is getting stronger. I don't know if I'm supposed to be swallowing this shit, or trying to lick off the gag. Without instruction, I just lie there and try to get used to the flavor.

Big Daddy steps back and The Gimp takes over. There's a trick we do where the mask has been inside-out this whole time. The rubber of the mask is backwards, and it allows the gag and the inside of the mask to be accessible, if that make sense. Now that the foul gag is in my mouth, The Gimp checks to make sure the earplugs are staying in place. Then with a cool flip, he pulls the rubber back of the mask over my forehead, and everything snaps into place.

I hope I'm explaining it ok, but within second, I feel my entire head encapsulated in rubber. My ears are the most noticeable, and the rubber of the hood is really tight on my shit, covered ears, smearing everything and really smashing the plugs into place. But now, I notice I can't breathe except through the nose tube. And that is coated in the shit mixture.

The Gimp check around my neck to make sure the rubber seal is in place. No air can come up through the neck hole or around my cheeks or chin. Worse, nothing can seep out, and all shit around my mouth is fixed in place. I start to panic a little and I feel my breath wheezing through the nose tube, in and out really quickly

It's funny: Paul is a nice guy, but The Gimp is kind of an asshole. Someday Paul is going to make a really mean Top. For example, The Gimp grins down at me, tied to the sling, and suddenly, he places the full rubber-gloved palm of his hand over the end of the tube that is supplying me air. All of a sudden, I try to suck in oxygen, and all it does is suck the whole front of the gas mask tighter to my face. But it doesn't let any air in.

I thrash in my bondage, but I can't move my hands and all it does is rattle the sling chains a bit. The Gimp hold his hand over my air intake for five seconds, and then ten. I start to panic again and then realize I have a mouth hole too. But then as I try to pull air in through my mouth, I remember that Big Daddy filled that hole with shit, and as I frantically suck on the gag, suddenly I get a huge cylinder of cold shit shooting into my mouth and onto the back of my tongue.

I cough and sputter, but I can feel air coming through the mouth tube. I quickly swallow the cold shit-plug and it goes down my throat without thinking. I have a feeling this isn't the last shit I will be swallowing this afternoon.

Big Daddy comes over to me. I can barely see him through the lenses of the gas mask. Everything is smeary and clouded. And it gets worse as I see Big Daddy has a strip of black duct tape in his hand. This is a trick of his that he likes to do -- he says it focuses the victim's mind. I watch his big meaty paws come down over the front of the mask, and suddenly I can't see out of my left eye. Then, my right.

I don't know if it focuses my mind, but I settle down. I realize that I'm fucked. I'm gagged, I can't yell or say anything, I can't move, I can't see, and I can't hear. There's really nothing I can do but lay there. I think Big Daddy and The Gimp realize this, and they let me lay there, gently swinging, and everything gets really quiet and still and nobody even touches me for a minute.

With nothing else to do, my tongue starts to probe around my mouth. It's hard because the hard rubber gag gets in the way, but I can lick the inside of my lower teeth, and even explore my shit-chipmunk-filled cheeks. I suck down more shit, and you know, it doesn't taste that bad. I've eaten worse. And it's nice because as I remove some shit by swallowing it, I feel like I have a little more room in my mouth and that the gag doesn't feel so big. I am thankful I never designed it to be inflated -- we've got other gags that do that.

With The Gimp not having his hand over my hose, I can get as much shit-stinking air that I want. I wonder if Big Daddy and The Gimp are just standing there watching me. Of it they're making out, or if they are both even still in the dungeon at all. But I get my answer when The Gimp comes back with a leather harness in his hand.

Like the mask, I know all about this harness, because I made it. I like leatherworking, doing all the rivets and cutting the leather. A few times a year, Big Daddy buys a whole side or two of cow, and me and The Gimp make things from the tanned hide. I made this "bishop's head harness" that looks like a web of leather straps. It goes over the rubber gasmask, and provides a few features that the smooth (and often crap-smeared) rubber doesn't have.

First of all, The Gimp buckles the harness on, and then moves every strap up a notch making it even tighter. I feel the shit squish around my plugged ears, and the gag is shoved a half inch further into my mouth. My feel the rubber of the gasmask pressed solidly against my forehead and chin. The force now presses my cheeks in, sandwiching them between the gag and the harness. Suddenly, the gag feels really big again, and I realize that I can't move my chin at all.

The harness also has lots of metal d-rings, and The Gimp quickly uses some clips and rope to tie my whole head firmly to the sling. I am soon unable to move my head from side to side, or up and down. Since I can't move my jaw or open my mouth, the only thing I can move above my neck is my tongue, and only that can move a little bit inside my shit-filled mouth.

I start to fantasize. I swear I make my bondage a hundred times worse by giving my brain terrible things to think of. For example, I can't see a thing inside the mask since the glass "pepperpot" lenses are covered with duct tape. And no light can get under the rubber seal around my neck. I kind of (only kind of) wish Big Daddy would have sealed up my eyes with duct tape before putting on the mask. As it is, I can blink and stare, but all I see is darkness. I remember a story I read where the Master sewed a slave's eyes shut, suturing the eyelids to his cheeks, and I wonder what it would be like if Big Daddy did that to me.

This make my dick really hard. You see how I end up torturing myself? I can't stop these thoughts that get me so horny I can't start it... which gives me MORE thought and ideas, which make me even harder. I know Big Daddy and The Gimp can see my hardon and they know how much I'm enjoying myself.

What if Big Daddy filled the rubber hood with his shit before putting it on me? Or what if the hood was filled with horse manure? And then I had to eat mouthfuls of it before I could breathe again? That makes my erection grow. What if my whole head was surrounded by The Gimp's puke from a big breakfast? Or what if Big Daddy makes The Gimp eat a bunch of shit, and THEN puke it up into the hood, and THEN I have to eat all the shitpuke before it can come off, and then, and then...!

Before I can work myself into a frenzy of kinky thoughts, I am distracted by noticing the stench in my nose has changed. The Gimp, that fucker, is messing around with my nose tube again. But this time, instead of cutting off the air, I get a blast of poppers. Man, I love poppers, I'm really a poppers pig. And my mind thinks, oh yeah, this is Amsterdam Black, like I am such a connoisseur that I can tell the different stinks of poppers. And then my mind fades into a black void as the poppers take hold. And I sink into the depths of the my bondage.

I don't really go unconscious. Instead, I just feel like I don't need to do anything for the moment like move around. Just breathe. Breathe the poppers fumes into my lungs. But now, I notice it's not poppers anymore, just maybe a hint of amyl as the scent goes away. Instead, it's.... something different.

So, I told you about the "stinkbox". It's a small glass aquarium with a covered top. One of the "t-junction" hoses that I'm breathing through can go into the box. And then The Gimp can find things to put in the aquarium, and I'm foced to smell them. It's a fun game. And even though I don't want to, I'm playing along. I smell, something spicy. Maybe cedar? Or cinnamon?

Big Daddy always videotapes our scenes together. We have tons of terabytes of hard disks with MP4s. He jacks off to them later, and Paul and I do, too. So, weeks from now, I went back and watched was going on, and I can see The Gimp put a sweatshirt into the aquarium and then turn the air hose over to the other intake.

Yeah, it's Big Daddy's sweat-soaked gym shirt. If it's from lifting weights this morning, it's probably still wet. It definitely stinks -- Big Daddy doesn't wear any deodorant or cologne. I love the smell... my cock is harder than ever. It's pinched to a blood-busting level by the rubber cock ring they put on me. My erection almost hurts it's so throbbing. I wish someone ANYONE would just reach down and jack it off a little bit.

All smells went away. I can't even smell the cold shit still smeared around the top part of the gag and the roof of my mouth where my tongue can't reach. I think the omnipresent stink of that cold shit is now my baseline, and my brain has started to ignore it. Instead, I smell rubber, and now something else. Mold? Like a wet basement?

It's pungent odor, and my brain recoils from it as a bad stink. Like mildew, or the water in a tree stump that's turned rancid. I finally figured out what it was: gym socks! If Big Daddy worked out and that was his shirt, of course The Gimp would grab the next close-by thing. I imagined The Gimp running around the neighborhood grabbing the worse-smelling stuff he could find: rotten fish, handfuls of mud, dogshit, gasoline, cigar butts, maybe farting into my air hose just to be mean. Just to force me to smell it.

Instead, I got another hit of poppers -- this one pretty long. Maybe we were moving into another phase of the play. Later on tape, I could see The Gimp and Big Daddy talking about what to do next. Big Daddy tells Paul to stop fucking with the airhose, and Big Daddy drops the almost-empty cold shit container in the aquarium and then he gets fully undressed.

Good thing I couldn't see this part. I bet I would have shot a load without touching myself. Big Daddy is a handsome man, and I love to see him naked... all covered in body fur. He has great muscular shoulders and a broad back. And after playing with me all the this, he has a he erection, too -- a really thick cock, and it's pointed at my asshole as he stands behind me in the rubber swimming pool.

Big Daddy and The Gimp make out a while. It's hot on the camera later seeing the big fuzzy black-and-grey-haired bear rubbing his rubber slave all over. The Gimp is excited, too, as you can expect, though he can't get to his hardon through all the rubber. Finally, Big Daddy tells his slave to get under the sling, and the next part happens.

Even though I can't see a thing, and I'm stoned on poppers, I feel a slight tugging on The Gaper. Remember the huge plug in my ass? Well, I had forgotten. That is, until Big Daddy started fucking with it. He would take an Abolene-greased finger and slowly (SLOOOOWLY!) rub it clockwise around the outer rim of the plug, where my rectum was all stretched out tight against the opening. Then Big Daddy would slip a finger between my asshole and the base of the plug, tracing a circle slowly (so slowly), counter-clockwise.

This instantly got my cock dripping. On video, you can see my shaft bobbing up and down on its own without anybody touching it, pumping out a constant stream of pre-cum like I'm pissing. All that pre-cum is landing near my belly button and sliding down my hairy lower belly to pool in a puddle underneath my lower back.

I feel Big Daddy take all his finger and grab the base of the plug and shake it. I almost hit the ceiling. Then, he pulls it out a bit, and I wonder if I'm going to get relief, and I hold my breath, and wait for the plug to get yanked out and all that backed up shit and diarrhea to come flooding out.

But that's not what happens. Instead, Big Daddy shoves the plug back in -- pushing it even further into my ass. I groan. The huge plug hits my prostate , and I feel loads of shit get pushed back up my colon. Big Daddy pauses a moment, and then he starts shaking the outside of the plug again.

This gives him an idea, and he has The Gimp go get a vibrator. At this point, I'm barely holding the plug in. Instead, The Gimp turns the switch on the Hitachi, and places it flat on the base of the silicone plug, and all of a sudden my whole ass is buzzing.

Inside my head, I cum. I don't know if this is one of those "ass orgasms" I've been lucky to have in the past, or if my body has just suck into a popper-induced stupor and given up, but my whole hole just relaxes. I swear Big Daddy could shove the plug up my intestines three more feet, including his fist, and I wouldn't even mind. I feel like a big bag of liquid shit just floating in a bubble, like a waterbed filled with runny sludge, and the plug isn't holding anything back as much as I'm swelling up bigger and bigger like a tick.

So, The Gimp is holding the vibrator tight to my ass, which has the nice side-effect of holding the plug in. The Gimp is on his knees under the sling, looking up at Big Daddy's hard cock and me legs in the leather sleeves connected to the sling. Must be a nice view. Big Daddy, for his part, starts to jack off with one hand, and massages my body with the other. He takes a fistful of Abolene and starts making my balls all greasy.

He starts pulling on the sack, stretching my scrotum out really tight. My hard dick bounces when he does this, bending down from the pressure. Big Daddy starts squeezing each testicle pretty hard, and it gives me a shock when the Abolene makes the squish out suddenly between his fingers. This hurts pretty bad, so Big Daddy does it again and again.

Big Daddy encircles both of my balls in his huge ham fist and mashes them together, and I am inhaling big breaths of air, trying to focus through the pain. I am wide awake, and the poppers have work off, and I feel my heart racing, as this hurt a fucking lot. Big Daddy mashes my balls up and down. Pulling them left and right, squeezing each one individually, and then together. Through the pitch black darkness inside my gas mask my eyes see blotches of red pain. I am trying to sit up, my whole world is paying only attention to the feeling in my balls.

So, I don't even know when it happens. Big Daddy yanks the rubber plug out of my asshole, and I start yelling around the shitty gag. The vibrator has loosened up my assuring so that he didn't even need to pull much. He just stood back and let go of my balls, and the plug shot out into the rubber swimming pool where The Gimp was sitting

Nothing happened for a second. It was like one of those funny cartoons where the character has walked off a cliff and isn't falling yet because he doesn't know what happened. I can't say I even felt any relief, because pulling out the plug gave me a big gaping hole because my asshole refused to close. It seriously didn't even have the strength.

And then the shit.

This wasn't an explosion as much as a dam breaking. I didn't even cramp up, it's like the shit no longer had a "floor" and everything just dropped out of me and onto The Gimp. I've never felt anything like it -- it was like giving birth to a river. My ass didn't do anything, it just stayed open as I felt what seemed like a gallon of brown water just cascaded out of me.

This was pure liquid, there weren't even any chunks yet. After a full minute, the initial rush stopped. My guts took back over and it was like my colon was trying to clench down. But there was still more stuff inside me, and the next "hiccup" of my rectum pushed out another pint of water. And then another.

So, on the video, I watched it in slow motion. One minute, The Gimp is laying below me in a black rubber catsuit. But then my asshole opens up and turns into a firehose, and all of a sudden The Gimp is covered in what looks like brown paint. It's watery but thick enough to stick. The Gimp was kneeling with his chest at my ass-level, so the initial spray caught him in the face, and splashed out into the pool and all over the dungeon floor. Then the next spurts were lower and not as forceful, and soon the entire front of The Gimp's suit was plastered in my brown shit.

My asshole wouldn't stop and it would spasm, releasing more shit, and then try to pull back closed. It wasn't like I had a prolapse, but I also didn't have the ability to clench my ass closed. My colon would spasm, and the shit was turning more solid now. Earlier, it had been like undigested brown bits in mucus, but now it's like thin mud, or wallpaper paste. My eyes rolled up in the back of my head, and I just curled up as much as I could against my bonds and felt like the whole world was coming out of my asshole.

This wasn't a really good feeling. First of all, my dick had gone soft now. And after ten minutes of spasms, it was like my colon was getting sore. I wanted all the shit out of my body, but there kept coming more and more. The Gimp stood up, and all my shit dripped off his body into the swimming pool.

The other unpleasant thing was the smell. On video, you can see Big Daddy backing away, his hands to his face. You hear, "GODDAMN!" as my stink fills the dungeon space. If Big Daddy though my farts smelled bad earlier, this was pure liquid hell. Big Daddy stepped to the side of the aquarium and unscrewed my air hose. He said something like, "If WE gotta smell it, then YOU gotta smell it too!"

The air hose fell almost to the floor, and then I could suddenly sniff the air of the dungeon. Big Daddy was right, I was RANK. It was like a sick animal in a barnyard, or fermenting medical waste. I think it was all that ground beef -- the air stank of rot and decay. Whoo, it was bad.

But this just drove The Gimp into "goblin mode". That's what we call it when Paul gets a little too excited and hyper. The Gimp is on his back in the kiddie pool writhing around in my shit. He's take handfuls of it and pouring it back on himself, but the sludge just drips back into the wading pool. After a few minutes, Big Daddy says something to calm him down -- I don't know what. But The Gimp grabs a nearby towel, and starts to clean himself off. Actually I think the he was still wetter than the towel when he was done, but Paul stepped carefully out of the kiddie pool and started to strip out of his catsuit.

I am laying in darkness, and I'm trying to get my guts under control. I don't think there's anything left inside me, but still my colon is spasming every few minutes. It's starting to feel like it hurts again -- not the relief I was expecting.

I remember the tacos, and I just feel regret. My asshole is so sore from all the pushing, and then there must have been a lot of peppers in the Mexican food I ate, because my whole orifice is just burning like fire. Even time I clench down, like a tablespoon of gravy comes out of my ass, and it just irritates the hell out of my hole

Then, I feel Big Daddy's fingers inside me once again. That feels wonderful. His fingers make wide swooping motions inside my asshole, and my rectum just opens up wide to take him in. Usually, it takes twenty minutes of play to be able to take all four of Big Daddy's fingers in my ass, but right now I think I could take the whole fist. But Big Daddy just swipes around back and forth, and my asshole feels a lot better. I think he's using some cream, or maybe it's just all the butt mucus from my intestines coming out, but nothing is burning any more.

Big Daddy has on these big black rubber industrial gloves. They kind of suck because they easily add an extra half inch to the circumference of his hands. But I don't mind -- I'm so wide open. The black gloves are so slick... the heavy rubber gives my asshole nothing to grab onto, and with all the Abolene and ass lube, every time Big Daddy slides four gloved fingers in, it's like his whole hand almost goes in, it slides right up to his knuckles. And that the part that stretches me out, the widest part of his hand causes me to take notice, but there's no pain, just the endless motion of those big rubber gloves going in and out of my hole.

Big Daddy turns on the poppers once again. I think they've been freshened up by The Gimp because they are REALLY strong again. The wonderful sensations from Big Daddy's fingers and the floating of the poppers mix together, and everything is really wonderful, and I almost feel like crying isn't so good. I don't want to come any more, I just want this feeling to go on forever, and Big Daddy slips his whole hand into my ass and there is no strain or effort, it just slides in, and I feel full but it's not painful or anything, just like Big Daddy is part of me and where he starts and I end it's like we are one creature together and I feel Big Daddy's sweat from his chest hair drip down on me onto my lower belly and his head is almost laying on my stomach because his whole hand and fist are on me and he keeps pressing into me with so my pressure and I just keep taking it, and then he pulls his whole hand out in one movement, and it's like I'm giving birth again, but no shit this time, just ass juice and lube, and I feel every inch of his finger leave me as they pull out and I see stars I swear I see the whole cosmos or planets or whatever the fuck and it's not black, it's just like there are stars.

Ok, ok, enough poetry. Here's what The3 Gimp has been doing lately:

First of all, it's not "The Gimp" anymore since he's taken off the suit. It's just Paul. Horny Paul -- Paul who follows the instructions of Big Daddy. And here's what the two of them were talking about while I was laying there shitting out everything inside of me:

We've got several plastic beer pitchers. We stole them from the local leather bar. Don't tell them. Paul's got a couple of those. And he's got a plastic funnel, and all the hose that fits into the end of the "dog bone" gag that goes into the gas mask. This is something I built as well, so all of these s my own fault.

The funnel has bungee cords that hold it to the top of the sling. And the rubber food hose goes into the end of the gag. I notice this happening because all of a sudden, I can't suck air through the mouth gag as well. It's like sucking air through a garden hose. I put two and two together and my stomach drops.

Honestly, if I hadn't just shit myself, I would have shit myself.

Big Daddy and Paul are not letting me out of the sling. This scene isn't over. And inside my sick little head, I know that there is still punishment left to be accounted for. All the farting in front of Big Daddy. Bothering him. Being a pig and eating too much. I thought the punishment was the ball squeezing Big Daddy gave me before, but no. That wasn't anywhere near close to what is going to happen.

Big Daddy is still playing with my hole. But not he starts jacking me off with his other hand. Just one finger at first... a rubber forefinger rubbing up and down the underside of my shaft. My cock is hard again, and Big Daddy takes the drip of pre-cum from the tip of my dick and plays with it. He smears it like lube all over the head of my cock. And then his fingers make an "O" and he slides his fist down my entire shaft to my balls, and then moves his fist up again, squeezing my cock like he's milking it and more pre-cum oozes out with each motion.

This isn't good. I mean it FEELS good, it feels fucking fantastic. But I know if I cum, I'm not going to be able to stand the next part that's coming. And that's because I know the funnel is attached, I know what that's for, and in my blackness and bondage, all I can do is wait helplessly.

If you were watching the video, you'd know that for the last two hours during this play session, Big Daddy and The Gimp were pissing into one of those plastic beer pitchers. And it was almost full -- Big Daddy can piss a LOT. You could see the dark yellow color and the froth on the top of the liquid. So, you wouldn't be surprised when Paul stands on his tip-toes and starts to pour the warm broth into the funnel that's hanging several feet above the sling. Or, at least you wouldn't be as surprised as I was, and I had a feeling that this was coming.

I designed the gasmask, but never perfected it. Which is to say that it's REALLY fucking hard to drink out of it. The rubber dogbone sticks so far down your throat that your tongue can't fit itself over the airhole in the end of the gag. In other words, any liquid goes straight hitting the back of your throat. There's no stopping it. You can't even really swallow, because that also is caused by your tongue sealing up your mouth enough to generate suction. Try it -- put a straw down close to your uvula -- the little thing hanging down. You won't be able to drink anything, and if you pour liquid down the straw (don't try this part) you won't be able to swallow correctly.

So, when I say I wasn't able to swallow correctly, that doesn't mean I didn't swallow. The now-slightly-cold piss fell four feet down the rubber tube with a lot of force. That means after a half-second, the liquid was falling at almost 5 meter per second (you can check the math). That much liquid with that much force hit the back of my throat, and without the ability to stop the flow with my tongue, all that liquid just went right down into my stomach.

Part of the flow also went down my trachea, too. I started to kind of choke, which terrifies me when I'm tied down. But here's the thing: without getting into too many details -- I'm pretty good at getting waterboarded. Or rather, over the last few years, I've been FORCED to get good at being waterboarded. It's something that Big Daddy like to do. And he'll do it to you, too, if you ask nicely. All we need is a table or chair (often outdoors), some rope, wet towels, and a "beverage" like water (if you're lucky).

In my case today it was piss. And the first thing I did by reflex was to breathe out as hard as I could. That's like coughing. This forced any piss out of going into my lungs, and slammed my throat shut. Some piss shot down my throat, but then I was able to use the back of my tongue -- the really far back part -- to close off my throat, and take a painful swallow.

Paul gave me a break, and stopped pouring. This gave me enough time to take a breath and reset. Then, when I felt another cup of two of piss come down the tube, I took a swallow right before the liquid entered my mouth, and the reaction sent as much fluid down into my stomach as I could manage.

I'm making this sound like I planned this, but the truth is everything happened in a split second. Paul kept pour piss into my gag, and I tried to ingest as much of it as I could without joking. It's like this little game we play.

I am trying to concentrate on swallowing, taking a breath, and then swallowing again, when I feel Big Daddy start moving his fingers around in my ass again. This breaks my momentum, and I ending coughing harshly, sending a half cup of piss out from my throat and back up my sinuses. Inside the gag, I can feel piss shoot out my nose and pool around the front of the gag. I am gasping and not really concentrating on anything else I am feeling than the sensation that I am about to drown in piss.

It takes about ten minutes for Paul to force me to drink an entire 32 ounce pitcher. I have kind of a headache, and as Paul leaves me to go find something else to start fucking me with, I collapse back into the sling as much as I am able to. Big Daddy starts the poppers, and starts massaging my dick again. Up and down. Pausing waaaaay longer than I want him to. Squeezing, and kneading my balls. I start to whimper.

You guys might want to stop reading this now. It's been a fun story up until now, normally this is where Big Daddy would make me shoot, and then all three of us would shower off an go to sleep in a big puppy pile. But this wasn't that kind of a party.

The gag comes out. This requires Paul to pull the bottom part of the gas mask out, and I can see bars of light from under the bottom. I help him by spitting the gag out, and the whole part of it slides out, trailing a thick brown rainbow of spit and shit from my chin. I can't tell you how good this feels: my throat is scratchy from the coughing and piss, and my tongue is now free to explore my whole mouth. My tongue searched my upper teeth and my palette, and I am shocked at how much (formerly cold) shit is still in my mouth that I haven't swallowed.

This part takes a bit of visualization -- with the gag gone, there is a hole in the front of the gas mask. This lets in a whole bunch of light, and also a lot of air. I can now see the shit-stained rubber interior of the mask a little bit if I look down low. My lungs breath in a lot of oxygen, and I don't mind if the dungeon still smells like my diarrhea. It's air, good air.

Big Daddy must have switched the nose hose to all poppers, but it's nice because I am able to decide for myself: I can breathe out my mouth and not get spacey, or I can snort popper through my nose like a little piggy. I play with alternating between the two.

I still can't move my head at all, and my jaw is locked into place. But my tongue is free and I can swallow whenever I want. In fact, my mouth is kind of dry from all the swallowing, and I gather as much spit as I can to choke the rest of the shit in my mouth down into my stomach.

Nobody is playing with my dick or ass, and I think that's a good thing. At least I think so, because I haven't cum yet. Instead, someone stands between my legs, and I think the rubber kiddie pool is still under me, because he starts to pour.

Ok, this is the shit from the kiddie pool. Paul had scooped it all up from where it had splashed, and gathered an entire pitcher of diarrhea from my ass. On the video, it's dark brown, like a pitcher full of root beer. It's a lot of liquid, but there are chunks in it. And I will be able to taste those chunks when the unknown person starts to pour the pitcher into the open hole of the gas mask and into my mouth.

I wish I had a phot of this to show you -- even with the gag gone, the mouth hole is pretty big... about three inches in diameter of stretchy rubber. But there's not a lot of room between the gas mask and my face, maybe an inch. Anything you pour into the hole either goes into my mouth, or if my mouth is closed, it cascades down my neck to the back of my head. And there's only about room for two cups of liquid in the gas mask, probably less since the bishop's head harness is holding the rubber tight.

So, when someone starts pouring the warm sludge from my ass into the front of the gas mask, I instinctively closed my mouth. This just caused the goop to flow up my nose and all over my chin. Within three seconds, my entire head was swimming in poo, and the mess was filling up my lower jaw until the whole gas mask was filled to the brim and shit was flowing into my eyes.

I coughed like a motherfucker, shit shooting back out my nose. I opened my mouth, and someone took advantage of this by pour the warm runny mess into my mouth. Some semi-solid matter when down my throat, but most got coughed out into a brown cloud.

Big Daddy took his big rubber fingers and shover them into my mouth. Don't try to bite -- those big industrial gloves can withstand anything. Big Daddy's fingers went past my teeth and down my throat, causing me to puke. Paul, I guess, was still pouring the pitcher of chunky shit down Big Daddy's hands, and the gloves were holding my mouth that throat open so the glop went right into my stomach without stopping.

Big Daddy says he loves to fist me while I'm puking. One hand fully in my ass, and one hand down my throat. As my body convulsed and my stomach clenched to shoot runny bile out my mouth, he says I could feel every contraction in my ass. Every time I heaved, he says I could feel my ass try to push out, like it was shooting crap out of both holes simultaneously. He loves to do things like that.

Oh what the fuck, by this point I didn't even care. I felt like dying. Big Daddy was throat-fucking me with those big black rubber gloves of his, and I was constantly coughing and puking, shit flowing out my nose like snot. There was runny shit from my ass being poured constantly into my mouth, drowning me. I think I blacked out. Big Daddy said he almost came hands-free just from watching me struggle.

I guess Paul ran out shit, or maybe in their fury, the two of them just ran out of things to do, but Big Daddy ended by sticking his gloves as far as he could down my throat. Green bile and my own swallowed shit cam spewing out. Big Daddy kept massaging the shit into my gums. He grabbed anything at hand -- ash from the cigar he smoked earlier, wads of Abolene, at one point he tried snaking the rubber tube directly down my throat. But when he saw I was no longer resisting, I think is lost interest. I was just lying there, stunned.

It takes a long time to clean up a mess like that. Paul carried the kiddie pool out to the back yard and dumped it out into the flower garden. Our shit really makes them grow, even if it makes the backyard stink a bit. Big Daddy showered and dressed. Paul cleaned and put away all the gear. And still I laid in the sling.

Paul took off the rest of the hood, but neither of them let me loose or let me clean up. I laid in the sling, and knew better than to say anything. I could see the dungeon, and blinked through red bleary eyes at all the light, even though the remnants of shit liquid made my eyeballs burn. Then Paul turned off the dungeon light an left me swinging there slowly in the sling.

Ever sleep in a sling? It can be done, although your muscles can get sore from not being able to move. I am always amazing at how dark our dungeon gets at night. There are no windows in the basement, but all the doors must really be sealed well to not let in any sun. I think they must be sealed well because no stink or smell of shit ever gets out of our dungeon to float upstairs, and we get it really smelly at times.

I waited a lot longer. I hadn't cum yet, and I hadn't eaten anything but force-fed piss and shit in several hours. My stomach growled like it wanted real food. At one point. I had to piss, and since I was in bondage, I just pissed all over myself, the arc of urine reaching up to my nipples and sliding over my chest to drip on the floor. Then, I got a little cold from laying in a sling with piss.

I blinked against the light and the sudden noise, when Big Daddy came barging downstairs and flicked on the dungeon lighting. "Now let's see if yer REALLY empty," he yelled.

Paul came downstairs after him, and quickly busied himself around the dungeon grabbing stuff. I think it may have still smelled bad down here, or maybe it was stink coming from the dried shit on my body, because Paul sprayed some air freshener everywhere until the room smelled like linen laundry.

Big Daddy order Paul to get, "the stuff", and they must have worked it out beforehand, because Paul soon had an enema bag full of warm salt water hanging above the sling in the same position the funnel was earlier. Big Daddy, for his part, was gloved up again, but this time with thinner latex gloves that were black. He had a tray full of a bottle of J-lube and some dildos on it. Big Daddy lube up both his hands like a farmer about to help a cow give birth to a calf.

"Now, we gotta clean you out so ya don't FART any more, " said Big Daddy.

"Yessir," I said.

Two fingers of Daddy's wen up my asshole, and I was sore. My butt had gotten played with a LOT that day. Paul had stuck a Bardex nozzle onto the enema bag, and gave it to Big Daddy to insert. I could feel every inch of the rubber bulb as it settled inside my asshole.

This kind of Bardex has two balloons of air: one goes inside your ass and the other goes outside. You can inflate each one with a little squeeze pump. Big Daddy quickly inflated the inside balloon and it made me gasp. I didn't feel the outside balloon as much, but I sure noticed how much the two balloon squeezed together around my sphincter and I knew no liquid could get out, even if I tried to shit.

Paul has done this before, and opened the clamp to let the flow start, and I suddenly felt the warm water in my rectum. It's a weird feeling if you've never felt it before. Like shitting in reverse. Your body says, "there's liquid in here, time to shit out," but you can't and more and more water goes up your lower colon backwards.

I like the feeling, and wished I had more of those poppers to enjoy it with (as I said, I'm a real poppers pig). But I like the real full feeling. My stomach swelled up so much that I looked pregnant. I tried to stretch in the sling but I still couldn't move a muscle with my legs stretched out like that.

Big Daddy made me hold the water much longer than I wanted to. He got out a paddle and started hitting my balls, one soft hit every second, like a low thump. When I accidentally shit out a big gush of water, he railed back and really thwacked my nuts HARD. I screamed, but also clenched down. That worked for about twenty more seconds before I fucked up again.

After five minutes, Big Daddy let me release, but first Paul put the empty beer pitcher right under my asshole. On Big Daddy's command I relaxed, and all the water in my guts shot out into the pitcher, making a loud whooshing noise.

We did this one more time, and by the end, the "water" in the pitcher was a light brown with bits floating around in it. It looked like lite beer if you didn't look too closely. My guts felt better, but I was exhausted. Big Daddy put more grease on his latex-gloved hands, and stuck to fingers in my asshole, opening me up to make sure I had no more water in me.

Ever have yer ass played with right after an enema? Shit, I could feel every motion. My butt was so sensitive that I like out a constant yell.

"Ahhhhh! Oh my god, please stooooop!"

"Nope," replied Big Daddy, "We still got some more stuff to do."

And he shoved his hand in deeper, a real fisting this time. In an out, he pumped his hand, and every time that big fucking knuckle of his went past my sphincter, I felt it. Hard. He started to turn his hand, mixing my ass like a washing machine. In and out, round and round.

Fuck, I was yelling. I didn't even care. Big Daddy threatened to gag me, but I really got going when he started pumping my dick with a handful of Abolene. Nothing fancy and nothing gentle this time... this was a hard grip meant to make me cum as soon as possible.

Paul got in on the action, standing above my head and twisting my nipples -- he knows I love nipple pain. Or maybe I hate it, one of those two. I looked up at Paul's body and caught a whiff of his armpits... he had been working had in the rubber suit and cleaning, and he smelled like a beast. That scent just sent me over the edge, and I came in a giant holler, and white ropes of cum shot out of my dick and landed in a line from my right shoulder down to my belly-button.

Now, Big Daddy can be a dick sometimes, too, and he just kept pumping my dick even though it was really sensitive. I was screaming and screaming, and soon nothing was coming out of my dick, but I wanted him to stop so bad. It was just too much to take. I think my body know when it's done, because my dick got real soft real fast, like it was trying to withdraw up my body. It looked like a small little worm by the time Big Daddy got done with it, and he even flicked my dick with a finger just to hear me yell once more.

What was left? Thumbscrews? Was I going to be in this sling all weekend? After an orgasm, all I want to do is sleep. It takes me 4-6 hours before I can shoot again. I thought maybe the boy would leave me alone and I could sleep more, but I REALLY wanted out of this sling, stretched to all four corners by my legs and fistmitts.

Nope, there was more. Paul rolled out a fucking machine that we have. I mounted It to a table so it has a solid base. The table goes up and down. So it can be adjusted to fuck someone whether they are in the sling, or maybe on all fours on the spanking bench. Or hell, even standing up or suspended upside-down -- both Paul and I have been fucked that way.

This time I was going to get fucked in the sling, and Big Daddy lined up the machine, and screwed on one of the largest dildo attachments we have. He slathered the dildo with more Abolene... you really gotta keep the thing greased up while the machine is fucking someone if you want a really fun ride. Otherwise, the dildo just gets stuck in your ass and you don't get the full effect of the eight-inch stroke.

Meanwhile, Paul was getting the enema bag down. This time he filled it back up with the enema that had just shot out of my ass. By now, a lot of the "sediment" had settled down to the bottom of the pitcher, and yeah... there was still a lot of shit chunks in there... bit of fiber and brown stringy bits floating in opaque fluid. Paul made sure it all went into the two quart enema bag.

Big Daddy put the tip of the fucking machine against my asshole so the first stroke would sink right into my butthole. I thought that maybe he would go slow at first, and let me get used to the penetration, but nope. Big Daddy hit the switch, and I swear, the machine was on full-speed as fast and deep as it can go, and I felt the huge dildo plunge right into my cavern of a hole, and then it pulled right out. Then back in again before I could catch my breath.

At the same time, Paul put the end of a rubber hose into my mouth. No gag, just a tube that was pinched between Paul's fingers. As I yelled at the shock of the sudden fucking, Paul let go of the hose a bit, and all of a sudden, a warm used enema was flooding my throat. I tried to swallow as fast as I could. It didn't taste like much -- like warm tea that tasted like shit, slightly bitter and fragrant -- but the little bits that went down my throat were annoying. Like drinking boba tea.

That was what was happening: getting fucked as fast as possible in my sore asshole, while forced to drink my ass slop. Actually, the fastest speed of the fucking machine is weird... it goes so fast that you can't really feel anything. It just holds your hole open. That is, unless Big Daddy uses one of the dildos with bumps on it. Then you can REALLY feel it.

I think Big Daddy knew this, because he soon turned the speed down. Or maybe he didn't want the thing to overheat. My stomach was full. I had eaten last week's shit, and then drink 32 ounces of piss, the most of a pitcher of diarrhea, and now the remains of what cleaned me out. I was gonna need an enema to clean me out tomorrow to get rid of all the sludge that was inside me right now.

Big Daddy set the fucking speed to something nice and slow it was at the resonant frequency I was swinging in the sling, so as the dildo pulled out over a nice three second stroke, the weight of my body pulled me forward. Then the fucking machine impaled me again, but it pushed my body away. My asshole was so loose at this point that everything felt kind of nice.

What's weird is that I didn't have a second orgasm right then, even though I was still being constantly fucked by the machine. But I didn't really NEED another one. It's like the whole scene was one big mindfuck. Sure, I knew that later before bed, I'd probably go off by myself and jack off like a little monkey. That is, unless Big Daddy gives me orders not to. But for now, I feel happy and complete. Ok, ok, I feel more than a little sore, but that goes with the territory. If you play hard, you have to give yourself time to recover.

Paul came over and kissed me. He said I tasted like shit. I said that he tasted like donuts, and I love to eat donuts. (It's a stupid joke we have). Paul threw all our toys into this industrial sink we have and got ready to wash them all and put them away. Big Daddy came over to make sure I was all right.

I usually digest everything in 24 hours -- I'm regular that way. Big Daddy said that he was going to hook up Paul to my asshole and make The Gimp slurp down everything that was my guts right now. As the electric dildo machine was pounding at my ass, Big Daddy explained the rules: he was going to put me in a diaper until tomorrow at this time, and anything I shit between now and them would get eaten by me. Otherwise, Paul would eat the rest.

That sounded like a fun game to me. The idea of having to scrape out the contents of a diaper with my front teeth started to excite me, and my dick start getting hard again. Big Daddy looked down at me, "You want some MORE?" he asked incredulously.

Yes, of course, I always want more. And usually I get it, and then some.