DISCLAIMER: I know this story might be a bit extreme for some tastes. In fact, I'm sure very few people, myself included, have partaken in a scenario anything similar to the one I've depicted. But that's the benefit of writing about a fantasy: You can live it out exactly as you've always envisioned it from the safety of your computer. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. This is my first story submission, so I'd be glad to get your comments.
BODYBUILDER'S SHIT SLAVES By Logjammer
It all happened last fall. My best friend Scott and I had miraculously secured our dream jobs at the National Bodybuilding Competition. We were getting paid a relatively meager sum to oil up the competitors before they went on stage. Seeing as how Scott and I had been absolutely obsessed with musclemen since high school, when we used to sneak copies of the latest muscle mags out of the local drug store and drool over the guys' gargantuan pecs and freakish glutes, obtaining this position at the country's top bodybuilding show was no small achievement.
We were soon a bit disappointed to find out, however, that the job was so demanding and the bodybuilders came and went so quickly before hurrying out on stage that we barely had time to revel in the fact that we were rubbing our fingers all over the most perfect specimens we'd likely ever see, let alone touch.
Don't get me wrong. The fact that my hands were caressing massive biceps that were nearly as big as my waist was never lost on my cock, which was in a perpetual state of arousal the entire morning. Luckily, I'd worn the baggiest sweats I could find to help hide my excitement. I didn't want to risk getting questioning looks from these huge, menacing-looking dudes, many of whom were notoriously homophobic.
Scott and I worked as a duo the entire day, taking a breather for a few seconds between contestants. Then the next giant would approach and we'd set ourselves to the task of thoroughly oiling our designated areas. For the first two hours, I'd opted for the competitors' lower halves while Scott devoted himself to the upper portions; then we traded positions. Even though some of the muscles we laid hands on that morning were truly awe-inspiring, Scott and I both knew the muscles we were really there to get our hands on: Billy Johnston's.
From the time Billy first hit the bodybuilding scene in the mid 90s, we were addicted to his mass, his rugged masculinity, and his unadulterated sex appeal. He was a perfectly mouth-watering hybrid of our favorite, hyper-masculine professional bodybuilders. He was like Eddie Robinson but taller, Art Atwood but even wider, Brad Hollibaugh with even huger biceps, Tom Prince with even more robust glutes.
We knew Billy's competition stats at any given moment. For this year's competition they were 5' 10", 290 pounds, 60" inch chest, 27" arms, and 35" quads, even more impressive than when he won the same competition the year before. Added to all those impressive figures were his piercing blue eyes, swarthy complexion, chiseled facial features, and fiercely cocky attitude. Billy was like the bully jock who used to harass you during PE in junior high but who you secretly fantasized about at night when you were playing with yourself in bed. You'd spend hours daydreaming about that big sweaty football jock flashing a swath of chunky white ass before he put his towel on to hit the showers.
Billy was known for swaggering onto the stage with a bad-ass punk's attitude of total entitlement. He knew that he was the hugest, sexiest beast to ever grace the world of bodybuilding, and the accolades (and obsessed groupies) followed him wherever he went. Within just a few years, he'd risen up through the ranks and, despite rumors that he'd made anti-gay comments in interviews, gained a considerable following among gay men.
Of course, it didn't hurt matters when he posed for a beefcake calendar wearing nothing but the tiniest of tank tops and fully exposing that gorgeous ass. Being a total buttman myself, those round, gleaming, voluminous orbs were enough to send me over the edge every time I got on the Internet to look at porn. When nothing else was cutting it for me, all I had to do was download that magnificent photo boasting Billy's humongous, hairless bubble butt along with that cocky-asshole look on his face that said, `You'd do anything to get your lips on this fuckin' ass and I don't blame you,' and I was cumming in a matter of seconds.
So, as the day of the competition wore on, Scott and I grew more and more excited at the prospect of getting an eyeful and handful of that ideal male body we'd been aching for and dreaming about for so long. Of course, I was afraid that the second I saw Billy approaching in his notoriously miniscule posing trunks, I'd spontaneously ejaculate and be forced to explain why my entire crotch area was drenched. But by noon, when we took a break to eat lunch, we still hadn't seen any sign of Billy.
While munching on our sandwiches, we entertained ourselves with one of our favorite games, "How far would you go with him?" This game generally consisted of one of us proposing a man and a sexual activity to the other, such as "Would you eat Paul Morgan's ass?" or "Would you sniff Jim Stanley's jockstrap after he'd worn it for five days straight?" or even "Whose ass would you suck your cum out of after you'd fucked him?"
Due to the wide selection of breathtaking hunks at our disposal that day, we were concentrating solely on the bodybuilders we'd been rubbing down. We both pretty much agreed that we'd do almost anything with any of the guys we'd oiled up that day: fuck, get fucked, suck, rim, whatever. Maybe because we were both so entirely turned on, our game gradually began to go further than it ever had before.
"Would you let Chip Tyler piss on you?" Scott suddenly asked me with a mischievous grin on his face.
"Really? You want to know that?"
"Yeah. Would you?" he said.
I gave it a few moments to give the impression I had to think about it. "Yeah, probably. I guess. Would you drink his piss?" I asked in return.
"Truthfully?"
"Yeah, truthfully."
"Yeah, I'd love to. I'd drink every last drop of his golden showers and then beg for more."
"Oh my god, I can't believe you. You're such a fucking pig," I kidded him.
"Hey, we're talking gods here," Scott said. "The way I figure it, there's nothing that comes from these perfect bodies that I wouldn't gladly consume."
"Are you serious?"
"Hell, yeah. And I'm not just saying that because I'm so turned on right now I could scream."
"Well then..." I said, getting ready to pose the question I was sure had been on our minds for a long time but had never been voiced. "Would you let Billy Johnston take a dump on you?"
Scott instantly turned red. "John, I can't believe you. You're a total pervert."
"I know, but answer the question."
Scott got a dreamy look in his eyes, as though he were fantasizing about the scenario I'd laid out for him.
"You know," he finally answered, "I think it'd be safe to say that Billy Johnston is the one man in the world who I would not only let take a shit on me, but who I would beg to let me eat the turd straight from his ass. That's what a fuckin' god I think he is."
"Man," I said. "I had no idea you were so damn raunchy."
"What, are you saying you haven't thought about watching those gigantic thunder thighs squatting down over your face and seeing those enormous butt-cheeks opening wide enough to reveal what I'm sure is the world's most perfect asshole?"
"Well, yeah," I said. "I've thought about that a lot."
"But you haven't taken it a step further and pictured him letting out a big ol' manly grunt and seeing his asshole open up and watching a big beefy turd start to slither out of that huge ass while he orders you to eat his shit?"
"Well..." I hedged.
The sudden bulge in my pants, even visible through my baggy sweatpants, gave me away, though. Scott knew he'd tapped into one of my deepest, darkest fantasies, one I'd been acting out in my mind for years, ever since I first saw a photo of Billy doing squats in nothing but tiny spandex shorts. I'd even gone so far as to create a whole detailed fantasy involving Billy dressed in nothing but a loincloth, squatting down over an immense silver platter, on which he squeezed out a steaming load of crap the size of a pitcher's mound. He then ordered me to worship his rank shitpile until I begged and pleaded enough so that he allowed me to sink my face in and devour every morsel.
"I suppose I wouldn't necessarily turn it down if that scenario presented itself," I told Scott, knowing that he could tell just how extreme my understatement was.
Just then a bell rang, letting us know our break was up. We quickly finished our lunches and hurried to our oiling station, both of us replaying these colorful fantasies in our heads and turned on beyond belief. As soon as we got to our station, however, Mack, the guy who'd been supervising us all day, abruptly approached us.
"I need you two to take your oil and go upstairs to room 312 right now," Mack barked at us.
"Don't we need to take care of the guys down here?" I asked.
"No, go to room 312," Mack said. "It's Billy Johnston's private room. He likes to get oiled up in private, and he's the champion, so he usually gets his way. Now get up there pronto!"
Scott and I were in such a state of shock, we could barely look at each other. Finally, after I'd had a moment to regain my composure, I looked at him and said, "Well, I guess we'd better go."
"Can you believe this?" Scott asked as he took the elevator up to the third floor. "Talk about a dream come true."
"I'm sure it's going to be the same as all the other guys, just in a different room," I said, intentionally trying to contain my enthusiasm for fear of going into convulsions of desire. "He'll walk up to us without saying anything, we'll rub him down, and that'll be that."
"Still, it's certainly a setup for something interesting to happen. Don't you think?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'll grant you that. It's like some setup for a gay Penthouse Forum story."
We reached room 312 and I hesitantly knocked on the door. We both held our breath as we heard loud, booming footfalls coming toward us. I felt sweat beads forming on my forehead and shivers running down my spine. I feared for a moment I might pass out from overexcitement.
"Yeah?!" we heard the deep voice of a barbarian shout just before the door opened. "What is it?"
The door swung open, revealing the divine object of my sexual fantasies. This was my ideal human being, the personification of machismo and sex and uncontained lust. Billy Johnston was standing in the doorway. In fact, he was filling the entire doorway, he was so unbelievably stocky. He was wearing a sweatshirt that was cut off at the hem, neck, and sleeves to strategically reveal a few ripples of his gorgeous abs, pecs the size of throw pillows, and biceps that, even unflexed, resembled bowling balls. On his lower half he sported striped workout pants that on anyone else would be baggy but on him conformed to every muscle.
He'd adopted a buzz cut since the last photos I'd seen of him. His closely cropped hair perfectly accentuated the sharp angles of his face and made him look even more masculine and commanding than usual. He must have been doing some last-minute iron pumping when we knocked because his flesh was glistening and he was slightly short of breath. Scott and I must have had our mouths open in utter awe because Billy was giving us a look like, `What are these freaks doing bothering me?'
"I said, 'What is it?'" he spit out with a nasty sneer. "What do you dweebs want?"
I conjured up the courage to take a step forward.
"Mack told us to come up here," I said meekly.
"Who the fuck is Mack?" Billy growled. With the lack of self-consciousness that only the world's most perfectly developed man could have, he began methodically rubbing his left hand over his right bicep as though to communicate to it, 'Don't you worry, baby, I'll get rid of these dorks and we'll get back to pumping you up to perfection in just a minute.'
Scott then took his turn at trying to explain our presence.
"From downstairs," he said. "He asked us to come up here to oil you up...before you go on stage."
Billy continued glaring at us for a few moments as if to detect whether we were telling the truth. His sneer then turned ever so slightly into a smile, albeit his signature cocky-asshole one, and he began slowly nodding his head.
"Oh yeah," Billy said. "I didn't think you'd be so fast. Come on in."
He gestured to let us in the room, which we entered apprehensively. It was a small, sparsely decorated room containing only a couch, a table holding the remnants of what must have once been a huge meal, a very large full-length mirror, and a weight bench, whose bar held the most staggering amount of weights I'd ever seen.
"I thought you were more of those fags coming around to get my autograph or sniff my butt or whatever it is they get off on," Billy said as he strutted his bulky body back to the bench and hefted himself down to sitting position. "Ever since I did those naked photos that ended up in that homo calendar a few years back, those fuckin' queers do nothin' but harass me. I ain't got the time to be drooled over by a bunch of cocksuckers."
He proceeded to lie back on the bench. He reached his mammoth arms up to the weight bar and began doing a set of bench presses as though that staggering amount of weight was nothing more than driftwood. He continued to blow out a few words at the end of each rep while Scott and I stood and watched in amazement.
"I mean, it's obvious why...phew...they're so fuckin' obsessed with me...phew...with this fuckin' perfect body...phew...what faggot wouldn't want me?"
He finished his set and sat back up, looking first into my eyes, then Scott's, then back again.
"You know what I mean?" he asked as though he were truly demanding an answer.
Was he trying to assess whether we were some of the very faggots he was talking about, or was he just making small talk?
"Uhh...yeah, I think so," was all I could think to say.
"You think so," he said, presenting that cocky smile again. He lifted his hulking body up to standing position so he was straddling the bench. He waddled to the end, well aware that we were watching his every move.
"So," he said, "now that you've seen this piece of perfection at work, what do you say we treat it to some of that oil you got there? I'd say it deserves it, don't you?"
And with that, Billy did what I had dreamed of for the past five years but had utterly feared since I'd entered the room: he shot his killer arms up to the sides of his head and flexed, revealing the most stupendous peaks imaginable, like massive globes pointing up to the heavens. A chill swept through me, ending at my penis. My cock had been hard since I'd walked in the room, but in just that instant it swelled to full capacity.
"I guess it would help if I got these clothes off," he continued. "What do you say the two of you help me? After I've been pumping for a while, my muscles get so fuckin' huge I can barely maneuver them. You! Tall guy."
"M-me?" I stammered.
"Fuck yeah," Billy said. "Get over here and help me off with this shirt. And you," he said to Scott, who appeared dumbstruck. "Why don't you take off my shoes and socks? And then maybe both of you can work on getting these pants off over these enormous thighs. It's not a job that one person can do very easily, as I'm sure you can tell."
"Okay," we both said with probably a little too much enthusiasm.
We did as we were instructed. I began working one of his impressive arms out of the shirtsleeve, while Scott kneeled down at his feet and began untying his shoelaces. While my hands clutched his bicep, I gazed up briefly at Billy, just long enough to notice where his attention was cast. While we were working away like servants trying to undress this burly behemoth, he was staring straight ahead into the full-length mirror. And he obviously liked what he saw. With each new revelation of musclebound flesh, that boastful grin of his got a little bigger until he was fully beaming.
Meanwhile, he'd occasionally mutter things like "Fuckin'-ay" and "God, it's so fuckin' amazing," the sound of which, combined with the feel of his flawless skin as I freed his beautiful body of his sweatshirt, got me so turned on that I was truly afraid I was going to achieve something I never had before: a hands-free orgasm. Of course, after Billy's homophobic diatribe, this was the last accomplishment I wanted to see come to fruition at that particular moment.
Having been relieved of his shirt, shoes, and socks, Billy stood before us like a statue of a Greek god, barefoot and bare-chested, with his tree trunk-like arms crossed in front of his huge, bulbous pecs. He continued to gaze at the glorious reflection in the mirror, turning slightly to one side and then the other to take in the full extent of his body's majesty.
"Now, that's what I'm talkin' about," he whispered throatily while nodding his approval. "Fuckin' perfection."
It was as though Scott and I weren't even in the room. We were merely the means through which the eye-popping spectacle of his chiseled body had been revealed to him, nothing more than curtain-raisers for the grand performance. Slowly, he appeared to come out of his trance-like state and realized that the two of us were eagerly awaiting our next orders, which we assumed would be to liberate him of his pants and expose those legendary thighs, calves, and glutes. The thought of running my fingers along the inside of Billy's waistband and letting them dance lightly down the length of his beefy thigh as I slowly eased the pants down his legs was making me salivate uncontrollably.
More than anything that day, I'd been looking forward to seeing what posing trunks Billy would don for the day's competition. Being a notorious exhibitionist and egomaniac, he was known for trying to get away with the showiest and briefest trunks the organization would allow. At last year's contest, he was almost disqualified for going on stage during the finals wearing red-and-gold-striped, string-bikini-style briefs that barely managed to cover his sizeable package up front. They didn't even come close to providing any coverage in back, since the narrow strip of shimmery fabric was absolutely miniscule compared to the gargantuan glutes it made a feeble attempt to cover. Loud gasps greeted Billy when he swaggered out on stage with that knowing grin ("knowing" in the sense that he "knew" the immediate spell he'd cast over the admiring -- and desiring -- audience). The judges knew that if they disqualified Billy, they risked the wrath of the audience, many of whom had never experienced such extreme levels of arousal. Since then, I'd spent hours imagining how Billy planned to top last year's historic spectacle. And knowing I was about to find out first hand was almost too much for my heart -- and straining cock -- to take.
Suddenly turning his steely gaze at Scott and me, he barked out, "What are you two losers waiting for? I've got two of the most muscular, perfectly formed legs in the world waiting here to be admired." He motioned to Scott. "You get on this side," he said, indicating his right side. "And you get on this side," he said, ushering me over to his left. "And we'll all be treated to one awesome unveiling. Just a warning: You two runts are probably gonna be so fuckin' jealous of my beautiful body, you're gonna puke the next time you look at your puny selves in the mirror. Hope you can live with that. I suppose it's a small price to pay for getting to lay eyes on my flawless physique."
Scott and I were transfixed. We were listening to Billy's speech, but the only thing we were comprehending was "body body body body..."
"So, fuckers," he said, spreading his legs considerably to take on an even more foreboding stance. "Are you prepared to experience the sight of complete and utter perfection?"
Each in our assigned location, Scott and I caught each others' eyes for a brief moment as though to say 'Can you believe this?' and then turned back to our muscle master, whose every word had suddenly become an official decree from the heavens. We nodded our ascent, having lost the ability to speak. At this point, we wouldn't be capable of denying this demigod anything, no matter how degrading or seemingly repugnant. The insurmountable desire we had for this incredible creature had supplanted all other mental faculties.
"Okay, I warned you," he said, raising his arms in preparation for yet another double bicep flex. "Drop the pants...now!"
I timidly reached over and tucked a finger under his waistband and began pulling downward. Scott was doing the same on the other side. But after slipping the waistband down only a matter of centimeters, I had to stop. My heart jumped and then seemed to stop beating altogether. I had caught just a flash of the vision we were about to be treated to. The tiniest strip of glittery silver spandex ran lovingly along Billy's hip. I had to take a few breaths to calm myself. As I slowly continued to inch the waistband down further, my eyes followed the nearly-invisible strip of thong fabric to Billy's front, where I saw a microscopic amount of the same fabric barely concealing Billy's plump cock. As I lowered the waistband down farther to his thigh area, I peered around to his backside, where I saw the fabric strip curve around his hip, graze the upper part of his buttock, and tauntingly disappear into the cleft of that staggering bubble butt. I could not believe my eyes! Billy Johnston was going to strut onto the stage wearing a thong so tiny that most Chippendales dancers would refuse to wear it.
"Fuck!" I exhaled. At first, I wasn't sure whether the word had actually come out of my mouth, since similar exclamations had been racing through my head ever since I'd entered Billy's lair. But once I caught a look of Billy's smug expression turn even smugger as he continued to stare into the mirror in full flex mode, I knew that he had taken in my assessment.
Trying to steel ourselves against the flood of adrenaline pouring through our veins, Scott and I worked to complete the task of taking off Billy's pants. Billy was so caught up in his own admiration that I knew he wasn't going to assist us at all in the task. I grabbed hold of his left thigh to coerce his leg up high enough so I could pull the pants off over his ankle. My hands didn't come close to covering the bulky thigh's circumference. Scott repeated this step with Billy's right leg and tossed the pants onto the couch.
"Behold," Billy intoned as though he were a sideshow emcee, "the most gorgeous physical creation you two low-lifes will ever set eyes on."
He gave one more climactic flex, which seemed to blow him up even bigger, taking him from merely mind-boggling to out-and-out mythic proportions. This guy was an ox, so big, stocky, and solid that no force of nature had a chance against him.
"So, what do you have to say?" he threw out to anyone in the room who still had the wherewithal to answer.
Scott opened his mouth. "I...don't know...what to say," was all he could utter.
Words Billy obviously loved, and was used to, hearing. He was visibly pleased by the power he knew he had over us.
"I'll tell you what to say, boy," he bellowed. "Say you'll get down on your hands and knees and pay this fabulous body the respect it deserves! That goes for both of you," he added, tossing a derisive glance my way.
"Yes, sir!" We both fell to our knees and bowed before our muscle lord.
"That's right," Billy continued. "You low-life scums need to pay homage to this body that I spend every day of my life sculpting to perfection. You need to let it know how much you appreciate all the grueling work it does just so inferiors like you can experience its ultimate beauty."
"Yes, sir!" we repeated.
"Now, I know you came up here to rub your oily faggot hands all over this temple of manhood," Billy said as he proceeded to strike pose after pose while admiring himself in the mirror. "But I'm too sweaty from my workout right now. In fact, I think you two need to rid me of my perspiration."
"Anything you say, sir!" I exclaimed before I had a chance to know what I was saying.
Billy looked down at me. "Damn straight you'll do anything I say. You no longer have a mind of your own. You're nothing more than a flimsy little body whose sole aim is to pleasure me in any way I see fit. Now, start at my toes and use your pathetic little pig tongues to lick the sweat off every inch of my body."
No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than Scott and I were wedging our tongues between Billy's toes, working our way up his feet to his ankles and calves, and letting our tongues loll and linger over his swelling inner thighs. Never before had I tasted such scrumptious sweat. As our tongues reached a new body part, Billy made sure to flex that area to give us the maximum amount of muscle to worship. We diligently worked in tandem, Scott still manning Billy's right side and I taking care of the left.
As we both eased our ways around to the back of Billy's upper thighs, we came face to face with the miraculous spectacle of Billy's ripe, rotund ass-cheeks, the two primary sources of my masturbation fantasies in recent years. Before I dove in and immersed myself in what I knew would be the closest thing I'd ever get to nirvana, I looked over to Scott, who met my eyes. I know he was thinking the same thing I was: This is too fuckin' good to be true. If we died right now, we'd die with smiles on our faces.
But our master was growing impatient. "What the fuck are you two waiting for?" he shouted. "Start slathering your tongues over those meaty hamhocks, you measly faggots!"
That was all the encouragement we needed. We went in for the kill, each of us starting at the deep crease separating Billy's buttock from his thigh, lapping at the delicious taste of his sweaty flesh and sporadically moaning in complete ecstasy.
"You think I wouldn't figure out that Mack sent up a couple of faggots here to service me?" Billy barked. "You think I couldn't see the pools of pre-cum staining your pants the second you walked in here and took a look at me? I can't stand fuckin' queers getting anywhere near me and slobbering all over this pristine body!"
Panic flooded through me. Did this mean he was going to order us out of his room, even though we were only halfway through our duties? I pushed the horrifying thought out of my mind and continued lapping away at the outer edge of his rock-hard glutes, figuring that I should get in every last lick while I still could.
"But don't worry," Billy said. "I've got a special way of handling faggots that I'm sure you two will love. Fuckin' dirty perverts!"
Whatever he called us was fine, I thought, as long as we still had access to the glorious globes we were devouring like a Thanksgiving feast. We licked and kissed and occasionally rubbed our entire faces against Billy's beefy backside. We eventually noticed that the only section free of saliva was the thin strip of skin beneath that sexy thong. We stopped for a moment and caught our breath. We weren't sure whether that tempting ass crack was part of our master's repertoire.
"That's right," Billy shouted, obviously reading our minds. "Stick those pitiful tongues into that nasty crack. Everyone tells me that's the tastiest part of my whole fuckin' body."
Having gotten the permission we desired, we both edged our tongues around the upper part of the thong and started easing our tongues down Billy's deep dark ravine, our tongues using the slender thong as their guide. Halfway down the crevice, we realized we'd need to pull out the thong to get full access to Billy's asshole. As though reading our thoughts, Billy raised his left leg and set his foot on the couch, giving us a nice, wide spread of ass to work with.
"That's right," he said. "This is where it really gets good. Why don't you run your noses along that thong to see what perfection smells like?"
Scott took it upon himself to grip the thong between two fingers and ease it slowly out of its warm, succulent home. As soon as he pulled the thong aside, an unmistakable stench hit us both full force. Although my first reflex was to hold my nose, I quickly realized that the answer to my prayers was staring me in the face at that very moment. The sweet, pungent butt scent I was breathing in was certainly worthy of the same worship I'd paid to the rest of Billy's offerings. I gazed, awe-struck, at Billy's lovely, hairless pink asshole, which was dilated about half an inch, and out of that beautiful cavern came the most intoxicating, manly smell that had ever filled my nostrils. Just barely detectable among the sweet folds of his asshole was something deep-brown and glistening. We'd struck gold!
No longer concerned about what Scott thought, I stuck my nose just an inch or two from the stench's source and inhaled deeply. The aroma held all the best qualities of ripe man-shit: musky, meaty, and hearty, with an underlying hint of mud and manure. I knew from my occasional investigations into my own bowel movements that the substance working its way out of Billy's tunnel was sure to be top-notch, grade-A turd meat, the kind that's solid and firm but not too dry and knobby. Crap with a smell like this was certain to be smooth, shiny, and chocolate brown like some sort of decadent eel that's slithered out of its dark lair. In other words, it was just the kind of shit that I needed to consume, if for no other reason than to feel a part of this magnificent human being inside of me, warming my stomach and filling my life's every void.
Billy huffed with impatience. "What's going on back there?" he demanded.
Again, I panicked. What if Billy had no knowledge of the buried treasure staring out at us right now and had no intention of sharing it with his voracious servants? What if he suddenly felt the pressure from the bowel movement that was certain to start at any moment and abruptly ran to the restroom, releasing his incredible gift into the ungrateful toilet rather than my greedy, insatiable mouth? I needed to stall in order to prolong this euphoric experience, along with the amazing possibilities that accompanied it.
"What do you mean, Sir?" I asked.
Again, he grunted, obviously not wanting to waste his precious time answering my ridiculous questions. "I mean exactly what I said. What are you two finding back there that's got you so captivated?"
By the tone of his voice, I suddenly realized Billy was fully aware of the dramatic event taking place in the vicinity of his asshole. This brown, glistening substance before me was certainly the mysterious "faggot treat" he'd spoken of earlier. He just wanted to hear me say the words. He wanted to hear me owning up to the total degradation I was willing to submit to in order to consume just one small morsel of this ideal creature.
"Well, Sir..." I began. "It looks like you're about ready to take a shit."
"You think I don't know that?" he yelled. "I've been carrying around this 5-pound load for the past three days. I'm sure I've got a two-foot sausage of butt-beef up there, and I'm just about ready to start squeezing it out. Now, what I want to know is what you two filthy cocksuckers are going to do about it."
I looked again at the pretty asshole in front of me. It was even more dilated now than it was a few minutes ago, at least an inch, and I definitely saw the head of that two-foot sausage starting to emerge. The scent was miraculous. As I stole another whiff, I thought I might just pass out from the huge amount of blood traveling from my head to my lower regions. The room was spinning. I looked toward Scott to try to anchor me.
"What do we do?" I mouthed to him. I no longer had any sense of reason. I was functioning entirely on hormones.
Scott seemed to be thinking for a moment as he took a long hard look at the beautiful brown offering before us. I noticed he was licking his lips like a dog eyeing a steak bone.
He turned his head to me abruptly. "Eat it!" he mouthed dramatically.
Billy was growing impatient. His left foot was still planted on the couch, his hurkin' leg bent at a 90-degree angle.
"I said," Billy shouted in his deepest baritone, "what are you two dirty, disgusting buttlickers going to do about the huge rope of turd-meat that's about to shoot out of my perfect muscle ass?"
I had no more time to stall. I looked again at Scott for courage. He nodded for me to proceed.
"Eat it, Sir!" I exclaimed.
For the first time since coming face to face with our muscle god, Billy laughed. And it wasn't just a snicker. He threw his head up in the air and let out several hearty belly laughs that echoed around the small room.
"You pathetic shit-eating faggots," he said once his laughing had subsided. "What makes you think you two measly worms are even worthy of feasting on my sweet butt candy? Do you know how many faggots out there would pay their life savings to get their hands, let alone their mouths, on the delicious butt-fudge this magnificent ass has to offer? Every day I get raunchy perverts emailing me, telling me they'll pay me $1,000 just to get one little scrap of my shit mailed to them in a plastic baggy. And you think you two can just flit in here, give my gorgeous body a little tongue bath, and automatically be rewarded with my ass-ambrosia? You're fuckin' out of your faggoty minds!"
Fear struck me again. Was he serious? After all this buildup to living out my ultimate sexual fantasy, was Billy really going to deny me access to his fecal delicacies because he didn't deem me good enough to feed on them? This terrifying thought made me crave that fragrant brown sausage all the more. I didn't care what I had to do at this stage of the game, or what price I had to pay, financially, physically, or mentally. I was bound and determined to get my lips on Billy's shit. I took another huge whiff from Billy's ever-widening hole to confirm for myself what I'd be sacrificing if I didn't take action immediately.
"Please, Sir," I said, bowing my head in servitude, even though Billy couldn't see me kneeling down in worship mode before his ass. "What can we do to make ourselves worthy of eating your glorious shit? We'll do absolutely anything you ask of us."
Billy arched his head around and looked in my direction for the first time since Scott and I had settled into our positions of ass-servitude.
"You disgust me, you filthy homo!" Billy roared at me. "Begging to eat my shit. Did you ever think you could get so low?"
"I know, Sir," I said. "But I just want to serve you any way I can. I know you would never lower yourself to do anything sexual with a filthy faggot like me. So if serving as your toilet is the closest I can get to having an intimate encounter with your lordship, then that's how far I'm willing to go."
Billy seemed taken aback by my persistence. He turned his head back around and stared at himself in the mirror. Once again, he flexed his two humongous biceps.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, once again in awe of the vision in the mirror. "So fucking amazing!"
He turned his attention back to me. "No," he declared.
"No, Sir?" I said, my voice quivering.
"That's what I said," he continued. "Are you blind? Look at me! No matter what you possibly do, you'll never be worthy of taking my precious shit into that poor excuse for a receptacle you call your mouth."
I'd never been delivered such a blow in my life. To think that I was this close to heaven's gate and was being denied entry. I looked at Scott and saw how equally dejected he was. But I wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. Despite his refusal, Billy remained in position, one mammoth leg perched up on the couch, as though daring me to defy him. Meanwhile, Scott continued to hold the thong to one side of Billy's crack, affording me a painfully enticing view of that beloved asshole, out of which that perfectly formed turd had just started to exit. There was nearly a half inch of firm brown goodness protruding from his ass lips, and I was sure as hell not going to let it go to waste being flushed down a toilet or wiped carelessly on some toilet paper.
Without giving a thought to the ramifications of my actions, I lunged toward Billy's hole and wiped my outstretched tongue along the turd-end. Oh my god! "Exquisite" doesn't begin to describe the flavor or the sensations flooding through my entire body. Once that initial taste of the rich, hearty meat hit me, there was no going back. I continued circling my tongue around the big beefy nub, which was at least two inches in diameter.
"What the fuck?!!!" Billy shouted, but he didn't move. Instead, I could tell he was pushing his ass out all the more, squatting deeper to make this small but satisfying meal all the easier for me to get to. But I wasn't going to take any chances; maybe this was just a momentary act of charity. It was settled in my mind: I was going to take a piece of Billy Johnston's shit into my mouth, give it a lengthy chewing, and swallow it down, come hell or high water!
Having covered the entire shit-nub with my saliva while savoring the slightly bitter yet heavenly taste, I sank my teeth in and bit off the decadent little morsel. First, I let the chunk roll around on my tongue, taking in the variety of wonderful flavors. Then, without even thinking about it, I began chewing it with the goal of coating my entire mouth with the contents of Billy's ass. The primal, animal-like taste permeated my mouth, seemed to fill my entire head. I was ravenous. This small token from Billy's shit tunnel would never be enough to satiate me; a turd as long as a garden hose wouldn't be enough for me now.
I suddenly realized that I was so completely caught up in my taste and smell sensations that I was paying no attention to the sounds around me. What was that bombastic moaning noise I suddenly detected? My god, I suddenly realized, it was me. Ever since I'd captured that golden nugget from Billy's turd-chute, I'd been moaning and groaning like a B-movie zombie. And what was that other sound? I looked over to Scott, who was still kneeling beside me. His eyes were closed and his mouth was gaping open like a hungry baby bird. He was moaning, "Please...please....I just want one little taste of that shit...please...I'll do anything."
I had no idea what Billy was going to do with us now that I'd so blatantly defied him, but I couldn't stand to sit there watching my friend in such agony. Knowing there was still a nice healthy layer of Billy's shit coating the inside of my mouth, I reached over and grabbed Scott's head and pressed my lips to his. He immediately forced his tongue between my lips and started vigorously navigating every nook and cranny in my mouth, obviously determined to lick every possible shit scrap remaining.
"Oh my god," he managed to mutter, still feasting on my mouth as though he were a starving man being treated to his first meal in weeks. "It's so fucking good...so good...so good."
As I finally dared to pull away from Scott, having determined that he had cleaned out my mouth more thoroughly than my dentist had during my last checkup, I witnessed the extent of Scott's obsession. Tears poured down his face as he stammered, "More...I need more...please...I can't live without more of Billy's delicious shit."
Although I could relate to his overwhelming desire, Scott's sudden fanaticism frightened me. Had we created a shit junkie who was going to forever be hooked on the taste and smell of the world's finest fecal matter? I mean, after tasting Billy's top-of-the-line gourmet turd-meat, any other shit on the planet was bound to taste like, well, shit.
I decided then and there that I would do whatever it took to get my friend his next fix of Billy's premium crack-candy. I looked up to the place where Billy's ass was before our feeding frenzy had begun, but the source of our sustenance was no longer there. For a split second, I panicked like any addict does when he is faced with the possibility of a drug drought. But then I saw where Billy's fabulous ass had gone. During Scott's and my moaning and crying jag, Billy had stripped himself of the tiny thong and seated himself backward on the end of his weight bench, his supreme muscle ass hanging luridly over the edge. Billy's wide expanse of back was arched inward like a ski slope, his haunches were swollen to bigger-than-ever proportions, and his huge arms were positioned out in front of him for support. Billy peered over at us with the look of disdain and superiority most people reserve for bums lying on the street.
"Hey piggies," he called to us, "you better get to the trough for feeding time."
Our god had taken pity on us! Without even rising to our feet, Scott and I both scrambled over to our feeding stanchion, our mouths already salivating and cracked wide open. Kneeling once more before our glorious deity, we planted ourselves on either side of that divine supplier of sustenance, his gaping asshole.
"So, you really want to suck on my giant turd, don't you, faggots?" Billy said as a command more than as a question.
"Yes, Sir!" Scott said. "We would be honored if you'd let us devour every ounce of your shit."
"You promise you'll eat every single bit?" he asked. "'Cause I ain't gonna waste my valuable turd on some two-bit shit-eaters who can't even finish their meal, especially when I can get perverts to pay up to $250 an inch for the stuff on the Internet."
"We promise, Sir!" I said. "We'll eat every scrap of your shit, we'll lick your ass clean, and then we'll beg for more."
"Fuck," Billy said, shaking his head in disbelief, "I've seen some raunchy, dirty freaks in my day, but you two faggots take the shit-cake. Okay, I'd better hear a whole lot of munching and worshipping coming from back there once I start letting 'er slide out. Ya hear me?"
"Yes, Sir!" we both cried out.
Billy let out an earth-shattering grunt as though he were doing deadlifts in a Strongman competition. He lifted his hefty haunches a few inches off the bench while he strained to unleash what was already appearing to be the world's most massive shit. We readied ourselves, our mouths just inches from our food source. As we saw that beautiful hole slowly grow bigger and bigger, neither of us dared to even blink for fear of missing the slightest nuance of that long-desired turd's arrival.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Billy grunted, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I can already tell this is going to be one for the record books."
A thick, shiny, dark-brown turd the width of my wrist slowly began easing out of Billy's hole. First a half inch, then an inch, then nearly two inches coyly slinked out, much to our delight. It was like a brown earthworm ever-so slowly poking its head out of the soil, only this earthworm measured nearly 2 1/2 inches in diameter and emitted the hearty aroma of day-old beef stew mixed with a subtle but totally erotic barnyard stench. Three inches, four inches slowly poured out of Billy's generous ass lips.
"Damn, here we go," Scott said.
"When should we start eating?" I said, suddenly concerned that we hadn't formed a better game plan.
"Goddaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammit!" Billy growled through his teeth. "I can feel that shit winding out of my muscle ass like a coiled snake. Are you two just going to sit there staring at it, or are you going to make love to it? Ya know, having sex with my shit is the closest you're ever gonna come to having sex with the world's sexiest bodybuilder."
Five inches of the best-quality butt-meat I'd ever seen dangled temptingly before our eyes. Luckily, the turd was so firm, there was no danger of it breaking off any time soon.
"Fuck," Scott said. "Let's just start licking the goddamn beast!"
Without a moment of hesitation, we pounced on that dream-turd with our mouths gaping open. Scott took one side of the turd, and I took the other. While Scott seemed to enjoy stroking his tongue back and forth along the length of Billy's log like it was a long popsicle, I opted for a little more variety in my shit worshipping. First, I ran my lips all along the chunky mass as though it were a lover I was giving passionate kisses to, then I gave it a few sporadic licks in order to savor the intense, musky flavor, and then I took the tiniest nibbles out of it, which I figured would serve as an appetizer for the full meal yet to come. As the beefy monster continued to grow every minute, Scott and I became more and more fixated on devoting equal attention to the entire beefstick. We didn't want one square inch to feel neglected, since every part was equally mouth-watering and had originated from Billy's exquisite insides.
"I don't hear you worshipping my man-turd back there, faggots!" Billy's voice shot out like a force of nature. "Ya know, it's not too late for me to pinch it off and haul it to the toilet if you're not gonna give my crap the respect it deserves."
"Please, no," I murmured as I continued running my mouth along nearly 6 inches of steaming-hot shit. "I love your turd more than anything else in the world. I would do anything for it."
"Yeah," Billy challenged me, "why don't you tell that to my beautiful turd? Tell it how much you love it."
My master's wish was my command.
"Oh, Great Turd, you are so beautiful. You taste so fuckin' good," I muttered as I kissed and stroked it lovingly. "I absolutely love you, adore you, worship you. I can't get enough of you. You're perfect in every way, almost as perfect as your creator."
"That's right," Billy said. "You'd better remember the divine muscleman who's created this meal for you."
Before Scott had time to join me in my worship, he noticed that the turd was dangling perilously close to the floor. Now came the time when we had to decide how to go about consuming this magnificent entity. Before I had time to think, though, Scott had sunk down close to the floor and clamped his lips around the tail-end of the mammoth turd. He began sucking on it as though it were a penis he was treating to a blow job, starting at the very end and working his way up its entire length until his lips met Billy's silky asshole. He sealed his lips around the three-inch-wide hole as the turd kept pouring out. Scott knew it was time for the real meal to start. He currently had eight inches of succulent turd careening down his throat as Billy continued to grunt and push out more. Scott's mouth was being forced open as wide as it could go by the sheer force of the growing log. I stared at the sight in amazement, fearing that Scott's jaw might crack in two.
"Yeah, you faggots," Billy said. "Eat my fuckin' shit 'til you keel over. I'm gonna keep feeding you until you fuckin' collapse."
Scott's eyes were streaming with tears, probably a mix of delirium and his gag reflex kicking in. He gazed up at me. Suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of charity, I nodded my permission. He hadn't wanted to start the actual consumption until he'd gotten my official approval. With gratitude in his eyes, he sank his teeth deep into that thick brown meat until his lips nearly met. Then he violently tore the log away from Billy's still-gaping orifice like a coyote tearing meat off its fresh kill.
"Fuck!" Billy declared, craning his neck to see what all the struggle was about. "It looks like somebody back there's got a Manwich appetite!"
Scott's cheeks were about ready to burst, they were so filled up with shit. Still, he looked nearly orgasmic as he began chewing on that scrumptious shit loaf in this mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head in a fit of pure ecstasy as he moaned with delight.
"I think you need to be tellin' me how fuckin' unbelievable my shit tastes," Billy commanded. "That's the stuff that faggot orgasms are made of, isn't it?"
As if he had been waiting for Billy to give him permission, Scott instantaneously tore off his shoes, sweatpants, and underwear. He flailed onto his back, now wearing nothing but a T-shirt and socks, and began gyrating his hips in ecstatic pleasure while he continued to chew on the massive clump rolling around in his mouth. His penis was beet-red, swollen like an overcooked polska kielbasa, and doused in pre-cum. From the looks of it, Scott was nearly ready to blow his load, although his hands were nowhere near his groin. In fact, he'd thrown his hands up above his head and was desperately gripping the carpet, as though that were the only thing keeping him secured to this earthly dimension.
"Oh my god!" Scott managed to utter between huge swallows. "I have never...tasted anything...so fuckin' fantastic...in my life! Billy! Billy! I worship you!!! I would do anything for you! I would die tomorrow for just one more piece of your perfect shit!"
And with that, Scott's cock, completely on its own accord, arched upward until it was pointing straight at the ceiling and spurted out rope after rope of creamy jizz, the first three spurts shooting high enough to coat the light fixtures. Scott continued wincing and writhing for at least 30 seconds while load upon load of cum discharged from his cock.
"Hot damn!" Even Billy stared in awe as Scott lay there having the sweetest seizures he'd ever experienced. "God, my shit is more powerful than I thought. I mean, faggots have been after my crap for years, but I just didn't know...I could start bottling the stuff and sell it for hundreds of dollars at the fag bars."
Billy then spun himself around on the bench so he was finally facing me head on.
"Well, shiteater #2," he said with that cocky smile spread across his face. "Looks like it's your turn. Don't you worry your little faggot head. I know I've got plenty more in there -- at least as much as what your piggy friend chomped down, maybe even more."
He eased himself down until he was lying on his back. He looked as though he were about to start doing more bench presses. But instead of reaching up to the bar he turned his head to look at Scott, who was gradually starting to return to a normal, functioning state.
"Hey, turdsucker," Billy said to him. "Why don't you come make sure your faggot friend here gets the full Billy butt-feast, just like you did? Get your scrawny ass over here and straddle my chest."
Scott, still a bit groggy from his mind-altering climax, staggered over to Billy, turned around so he was facing Billy's feet, and lifted his leg over Billy's immense chest so he was straddling Billy's torso.
"Now," Billy said as he began raising his legs. "Grab my ankles and pull those awesome legs as far apart as they can go."
Scott did as he was told. Instantly, before my eyes appeared what had to be the world's eighth wonder. Billy's gigantic hamhock-like legs were pointed up toward the ceiling and spread into a giant 'V' shape, which was growing wider as Scott continued to ease Billy's feet farther and farther apart. Once Scott got them to their final position, Billy's feet were poised nearly six feet from each other and pointing to opposite walls. This spread-eagle pose provided more-than-ample exposure to those amazing glutes and, more importantly, that divine asshole, which, to my great pleasure, was already presenting its most cherished gift to me: a two-inch-long nub of shit that was nearly the width of the fat end of a baseball bat.
"Ready for the best supper of your life?" Billy asked.
"God yeah!" I murmured as though in a trance. While never taking my eyes off that beckoning, baseball-bat turd, I proceeded to strip off all of my clothes, revealing a painfully solid erection spewing forth a long trail of pre-cum.
I took a step forward and kneeled down to the only place setting I would want from that moment on: Billy Johnston's two giant globes of ass beautifully framing a slick, robust knob of turd-meat that I was sure would be the most intensely pleasurable substance I would ever get my lips around.
"Eat it, fucker!" Billy commanded as he let out a supersonic grunt that was surely heard by bodybuilders and muscle-lovers alike two floors below.