Uncle Grunge and Love

UNCLE, GRUNGE & LOVE: Chapter Fifteen

"What's wrong, Stewart," he said, approaching me.

"Nothing," I whispered. My cock was erect - rock-hard. His hung heavily, flexing up and down, like it was alive and separate from himself. It drooled a constant spew that seemed wasted on the concrete floor. Some fell on his hairy thighs when he walked, and I promised myself I would lick it off when I had the chance.

"Don't bullshit me - what's wrong?" Now he stood over me, his cock mesmerizing my eyes.

"Scared," I said.

"Why? You think I'm gonna hurt you?"

There was real concern in his voice - even if it was tinged with annoyance.

"No Dad - not that. I never think you're gonna hurt me - unless you want to, in which case I want to be hurt."

I looked up at him when I said that, trying to show the depth of my submission to his needs. My declaration of emerging masochism had an impact. I saw the words land - saw him process their meaning - then saw him return to our moment, having filed away this new piece of data for consideration at another time.

The flashlight hung at his right. The light in the space was dim. It was cold, but I knew our heat would soon warm it up. Yet, in that moment, he softened. It was as if telling him that he could hurt me made him less likely to hurt me, at least in this prison cell of our privacy.

"Why then?"

"I'm scared I won't be able to eat your shit - that I'll puke or something, Dad."

He stood for a moment, still, then squatted before me, like a curious ape.

"Have I asked you to eat my shit today, son?"

"No Sir," I said.

"And the last time you ate my shit, what did you do?"

"I swallowed it, Sir," I said, remembering that life-changing moment, speaking proudly, even as we both knew I had consumed just a portion of his sewage that morning. Still, I WAS proud I'd done it - deeply proud - and I spoke that pride now. It helped calm my nerves, in fact, which was his intention, I believe.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Stewart."

"Yes, Sir," I said, but instinctively he knew this wasn't enough. He knew when I was in my head and I was still there now. So, he stood up, stepped back, then flexed for me.

"Stand up," he said, and I did, quickly. He pulled me into his body, grabbing my head and pushing my nose into his pit. "Breathe deep, Stewart."

I did.

It was .... overwhelming.

He smelled so real. So ripe and dirty and real. I got dizzy again, and began licking up and down his pit, moaning in my desire to please him - needing to show him how much his scent aroused and completed me.

"Oh God, Dad -" I said and he pushed me away from him, nodding for me to submit, and I lowered back to my most comfortable position, on my knees. We had come so far since the day I had found him scorching through my phone, discovering my perversions, learning that mine were his own.

His cock rose, impressively. He threw more muscle, this time the flashlight swinging up in the air, painting the barren space with light.

"All week long you've told me I'm a God. Have you been lying, Stewart?"

"No Sir," I said, trying to figure out if I should fall to his feet.

He read me again.

"Go ahead, son," he said, quietly. "Get on the boots." I fell fluidly, moaning softly, kissing gently, licking and nuzzling the rough leather.

"You like it down there, don't you, Stewart?"

"Yes Dad - yes Sir."

"It's where you belong, right son?"

"Yes, Daddy," I said, stifling a sob.

"Am I a God to you, Stewart?"

I looked up now, felt I had to, even as I was overwhelmed by his power. His large hairy balls and cock swung over me, obscuring my view of his face.

"Yes, Sir - Yes, Jayson. You are fucking God to me."

"And what does that make you, son?" he said, quietly. I slowly rubbed up his muscled legs, licking the sparkling spew that had caught in his thigh-hair, taking in the totality of his strength and stoicism.

"Um - I - I ..." I said, trying to clear my head, trying to find the right word. "I'm your supplicant? A worshipper?"

He nodded. I didn't see the nod - just felt the acknowledgement in his frame.

"And when a God gives a Gift, what does the supplicant do, Stewart?"

"He ... is ... thankful. He says a prayer of thanks."

"My scent is a gift. My cock and cum - my spit and piss. They are gifts, aren't they, son?"

"Yessir," I whispered, nuzzling his cock, snorting, quietly, the funky grunge of his balls and trench and pubis. It rose, full hard again, as he talked about his power and inhabited it.

"And my shit is a gift, too, isn't it, Stewart? A gift from the center of me. It's been inside of me - where you wish you could be sometimes...."

"I do Dad - " I said, grabbing on to this image, articulating it. "Sometimes I want to crawl up inside you and be protected by your muscle and your body," I groaned, beginning to hump his boot, unable to control myself. The words came spilling out, in spite of me, but of course he had known this. Because ... of course he had. All he was doing was coaxing out the truth that had been laid before him all week.

"So why are you scared of receiving such a gift from the God you worship, boy?" he asked, simply rubbing my head with his big hand.

I just held him tight, breathing hard, letting myself go, letting myself be weak in his presence - a thing to be used and enjoyed.

"I don't want to disrespect it, Dad -" I finally said. "I don't want to disrespect you."

"Do you want to eat my shit, Stewart?" The ask was direct. Like him.

"Yes. I do. You know I do. I already did."

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it."

"How did it make you feel?"

"So good - so bad - so wrong - so strong - so disgusting - so perfect... I couldn't stop thinking about it, all day."

He turned then, slowly, and my heart exploded - beating furiously. My face was in his ass.

"Breathe deep, son. You haven't been down there in a few days. It's nice and grungy for ya. You're gonna love it. Take a nice deep breathe."

"Awwwwwgawwwwwd," I growled, taking in his rank, sweaty scent. "AWWDAD," I growled, pushing my nose into his cleft. I licked up, instinctively, scrapping his hole, feeling the ripe darkness of him.

"OhhgodIneedthissomuch," I groaned, and he opened to me, squatting into my face.

"Yeah, kid - get up in Dad's shithole. Where you belong." And I latched on to him, sucking out, wondering if this was the time - the time when I would fully consume him, but I was no longer in my head - I was in the moment - so what came next didn't matter.

Jayson had put me back in my place, with gentle coaxing and care. I had been accurate in my prior description of his man-sex-adolescence. But that was not the entire picture. It obscured the fact that he was also a skilled lover and a natural, patient Top. He had spied my panic, quashed it, then brought me back to the place I needed to be to meet His needs. It was an expert move that I didn't recognize in the moment but came to appreciate days later.

"Do you want to make me proud, son?" he said, squatting back into me, pushing out his asslips. Before I could dive in deeper, I moaned in ascent: "YESSIR - fuck yes, Dad!" Then I pushed in, covering his hole with my mouth, lunging my tongue into him, not at all surprised to find the hard edge of a hard beast lodged in his tunnel, waiting to be birthed.

My tongue lathed it, my body thrilled to it, flinching in fevered desire.

And then he pulled away, turning, chest heaving.

"Then, when the time comes, you'll do it."

I nodded, eyes glazed, panting like a dog.

"You're going to be my toilet, Stewart. We both know that."

I just nodded. It was a simple truth. It was the road we were travelling.

"So whatever happens today ... happens. Whether you puke or not - whether you fail or not - it doesn't matter. Because you're going to be my toilet."

He was looking at me sternly, but with so much love - given the conversation such love seemed strange - but it also seemed correct.

"Say it."

"I'm going to be your toilet, Jayson."

"Good boy."

He patted me on the head, then moved beyond me.

"Now - bend over the futon. I'm gonna fuck you. I need to get another load out - and I've been thinking of shit-fucking your ass all week long."

I did what I was told.

He rummaged around - pulled out a bottle of poppers - tossed them to me. They were ice cold.

"You need water? Beer?"

"No Sir," I whispered, pushing my ass out. The time he was taking was killing me - but I realized it was his plan. This was his playing-ground. He'd made it for us.

And, we had all day.

"I'm getting you both - Beer may calm you down - and it will help you piss. I wanna see lots of piss today, son - lots of piss...."

He just trailed off.

"And have some water, kid. It will help." He tossed me the bottle and I stood up quickly, barely catching it. I twisted off the top and gulped. He was right. It did help. He was moving slowly for a reason - to maintain control. All I needed to do was follow his lead - match my pace and timing to his. I took a long deep breathe. Then another. I saw him nodding, approving my adjustments as we circled our sin.

He grabbed his own poppers and flicked off the flashlight. It was very dark. Only slim lines of daylight creeped through the door.

"Too dark - " he said, flicking back the flashlight. "Where's the camping gear?"

As he asked that question he tossed me the grease. I caught it - more smoothly than I had caught the bottle of water.

I was having trouble tracking him, because he had ordered me over the futon, but now I was standing, holding water and lube, and he was searching for gear.

But then I realized I should just obey. That's what I wanted to do. That's what he wanted me to do. So, I answered his question about the gear, took swigs of both the water and the beer, and began to grease up. And, as soon as I did all that, I calmed.

He'd been right - about the water. It cleared my head - and about the beer - it brought a subtle buzz which I needed - and about the light - it was too dim.

I WAS too much in my head.

He WAS my God.

So I fell back to my knees and just watched him, waiting for his next command. He was bent over a box, rummaging through it. Then he pulled out a Coleman Lantern. He fiddled with it, put it on the floor, pumped it, and lit it.

As he did this, he spoke to me.

"You ever been camping, Stewart?" he asked. He seemed to be elsewhere - out of body - the voice was distant.

"No sir -" I said, surprised by the question. Then I kicked myself again - 'stay in the moment' I recited to myself, then focused on him. I shook my head, formulated my answer, and spoke.

"I mean, I went camping once, I guess. It was a day-camp - we pitched tents in the morning and then took them down before our parents picked us up."

"That ain't camping," he grunted, smiling, then turning to look at me. He saw me on my knees looking at him expectantly. I could tell it pleased him. He was learning to love being in charge of me - of us.

"You'd love it. Just - you know - a couple of guys, deep in the middle of nowhere. Half the time you can be naked -"

"It sounds like fun," I said, trying to imbue as much meaning as possible into my terse language. Him taking me on a camping trip was the apex of my fantasy structure. I felt like I was going to faint, which sounds so queer, but is also the truth.

The lamp was lit now. The glow was eerie, other-worldly. I could see the kind of perfect light it would spread in the full darkness of the wilderness. Here, it cast an industrial pall, which heightened my arousal. That we would consider doing the kind of things we were going to do, here, in a barely viable commercial storage unit, was enhanced by the lantern's harsh hiss. My hard cock got even harder - Jay saw and responded in kind.

"My buddy and I, Greaser," he said, nodding over his shoulder, looking at his gear. "He's one of the guys I'm in business with, remember?"

"I remember," I said. One night, at dinner, right after Lorrie had kicked him out, Jayson told me about his work and his business - which was going really well, according to him. It was all virtual - but I couldn't wrap my head around. I'd never been that good at business anyway. I got a "C" in economics in college.

"He and I used to go camping once or twice a year. We had a helluva time. We haven't been in a while." There was a pause as he looked at me. "You know - relationships -"

"Let me guess, Lorrie didn't like to camp."

"How many times have I told you, Stewart?" he asked with faux sharp annoyance. "Her name is 'That Bitch.'"

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, enjoying the levity. "'That Bitch' didn't like to camp, did she?"

"No."

"I would love to, Sir - I mean - Dad," I said, looking at him with puppy eyes.

The tone had changed again. Minutes ago my lips were latched to his anus, my heart was pounding in my chest. I was frightened and focused on being fed. Prior to that I'd been throat- raped like a rag doll.

Now, we were back to relationships, past, present and future.

I was beginning to wonder if he did this intentionally, to keep me off balance. I was beginning to wonder whether his own journey was just ... bumpy - that he was careening like I was.

If that was the case, l loved him even more than I already did.

His eyes changed as he stood, his cock glistening in the new light.

"You'd love it, kid," he said, approaching me with a far gone look on his face. I saw a trace of romance in his demeanor, even though he swaggered with sexual tenacity. "Just us guys, just being alone together - you gotta piss, you piss. You gotta shit, you shit. You don't want to hike, you hang out at camp, stripped of clothes, sitting in the dirt. You live the way we USED to live - naked men living off the naked land. We'd have a great time."

His eyes were bright, alive with the future. "We could head southwest - "

"Dad -" I said, putting my hand up, interrupting his litany. I was excited, and tongue-tied, but I still tried to express myself as best I could: "I would love to - it would be like ... like, the best thing ever, for me. So ... much of what's happening - Dad - is all my fantasies ... that's one of my fantasies ... being out, in nature, with another dude - but not just another dude, someone like you who ... you know, is like kind of a Father Figure...." My breathing betrayed my emotion, and I didn't care. "My dad didn't do stuff like that with me - never - like not even once. So I spent a lot of time imagining ..."

My voice trailed off.

He stepped back, eyeing and appraising me. Then he nodded.

"After the holidays, then. My clients are coming at me with a vengeance and I know you got to work, too. I got a ton of shit to do between now and the end of the year. But we can take a week off - maybe more - January or February. We'll go amazing places. Fuck - with your core by then - you and I could do twenty-five miles a day - more some days. You do that and you can go anywhere."

I just beamed. I felt a beatific glow exuding from my center even as my cock bucked and flicked in the light.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Stewie?" he said, gently.

"Yes, Sir - Dad -Daddy ... I really would." I was breathless - head swimming with lust and love. I can't recall ever being so horned up and so emotional all at the same time.

The fact that I felt FULL - almost uncomfortably so - only heightened my arousal.

He stood closer to me now, arms akimbo.

"I'd like it, too, son," he said, and there was a treble sound that I'd never heard from him before. It was paternal, and it had a resonance that I'd never heard either. He, like me, was falling farther and farther into the father-son fantasy, beginning to take command of it. It added a layer of nuance that both shrouded and supported the incest we were committing.

His eyes burned. He stepped one step closer.

"You'd do anything I told you to do, wouldn't you, son?"

It was a question, one man to another; one Top to His bottom. One uncle to his nephew.

One Dad to his boy.

We were family, and that genetic connection was foundational to our perversion. I don't think we would have achieved these depths without the taboo which rippled through our lives.

"Yes, Sir," I said. "Anything."

He stood for a very long minute or more. Then he reached down and grabbed his brutalist cock, pulling back the skin, letting it drip with constancy. He looked down at it - almost as if it was a foreign object - an alien of some kind. Then he looked back up at me.

"That's the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life - "

"It's true," I whispered.

"I've never been more turned on, Stewart. I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself today."

"All I want is what you want - "

"I want to fuck you."

He grabbed my arm when he said that - a gentle, firm grasp that pulled me up into his body, and drew me toward our destiny.

((((()))))

"But Daddy," I said, purposefully, deciding to go all in on our family-fueled father-son depravity. "I haven't douched."

He didn't miss a beat. The athlete in him wouldn't allow it.

"That's okay, baby," he whispered. "Daddy doesn't want you to douche anymore, unless he tells you to." He was reaching behind me, pawing at my butt.

"But it's gonna be dirty," I said, whimpering adolescently. I don't know where this came from, but suddenly I felt younger - WANTED to be younger - drive the narrative to an even more twisted place.

"That's how Daddy likes it," he growled, responding to my indecency. Then he turned me, pushing me to the futon. It wasn't a rough gesture, but it wasn't kind, either. It was brutalist, like his cock. The father wanted no more of his son's mewling. The father wanted his son's unclean hole - and he was going to take it.

There was an urgency to his arousal that drove me nuts. But then he continued the deviance, speaking gently: "Here, honey," he said, pushing me over, grabbing more lube and pushing it up my hole. "I better get up in there before you shit yourself - "

And then there I was, ass in the air again, this time his cock probing me, beginning to enter. I took a hit of poppers to help me open up. I had gotten used to him and was learning the particular demands of his particularly demanding particularly large cock - but we hadn't fucked in days and I felt tight.

And, I had never done THIS - never been intentionally fucked full and dirty - it was going to be different.

I purred in need. He responded.

"So fucking horny," he said, like he was at the start of a race. The head of his cock bounced around my opening. I shivered in need. "Went too long without this ass, son, I can tell you that."

"Yessir," I whispered, pushing back on his club of a cock.

"And now I'm gonna shit fuck you," is what he said next, as he torqued the head of his cock at my entrance. He was proficient - he knew how to snag my hole with the head of his dick, then hold it steady.

"Oh, fuck," I said, emitting a growl.

He pushed, halting for a moment - giving me time to adjust - then he sawed in the first third and stopped immediately. He felt it. I did, too. He pushed up against my fullness - touching it. Instantly he started pumping his cock, and I knew he was pushing out pre, massaging my shit with his glans like I'd done to his shit with my tongue.

It was immensely erotic - outrageously obscene. I could have let him pump up against my shit- stop all day long.

"I feel it -"

"Uh huh," I said, shaking. "I do, too -"

"It's so hot - almost scalding -"

"Oh God -" I bit out. It was all too much - all so much of what I had always wanted. "FUCK," I bit out in a hungry cry, having to fight my body's internal desire to expel the waste.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhfuck I'm gonna love this," he said, and then slowly pushed through, driving it back into my guts, sliming it all over his invading cock, burning us both with a scalding shit- stained sear that is forever etched into my brain and my gut. He pushed deeper and I felt myself reverse shitting as grunge got stuffed farther up my cavity - the opposite of the biological imperative. By the time he hit bottom - by the time I felt his bull balls block my stretched hole - I was so stuffed I felt pregnant- and the response I had was like a pregnant woman. I began to contract, and as I did, I clamped down on his cock like a bear-trap.

"Jesus Christ," he said, and when I looked back at him his eyes were narrowed. He looked at me, eyes lasering like Superman. "Nothing. Ever. Felt. Better. Than. This."

And then he pulled back out and pushed back in. There was a squelching squish inside me that made my jump and hump - he just growled, and pulled out again, this time letting me adjust - letting me feel the pump of his gel as it poured steadily into my shit-stream.

"Oh gawd, Jay," I huffed, body trembling, sweat pouring from my pores. He was fully in me now: my shit and his cock had joined - I could feel their unification and it frightened and aroused me utterly.

Then he pulled out and I could tell he was looking at his cock, seeing its harsh reality. A low whistle pushed through his lips as his own body shook at our scat sin.

Then, he started to fuck in earnest - a steady sawing in and out that used my grut as lube in the tunnel of my shame. The smell came soon after. It was familiar to me - so it aroused me - I worried about how it would impact him, but I shouldn't have - he plowed forward, completely accepting the reality of a dirty fuck and - rather than panic - he went all in.

"Fuck - shitty cock - my fucking cock is covered in nasty shit -" he growled, pushing around inside of me. His tone was primal.

"Show me," I grunted, needing to see it - needing to witness what he was witnessing - so he pulled out. I flipped over - determining to stay on my back - I needed to see him - gauge him - understand him - follow his lead.

It was grotesque. This was no minor slippage of a shoddy douche. This was a raging cock covered in crap, pulsing with grotesque beauty. It actually stopped me in my tracks - mesmerized me. I felt his eyes on me, watching my reaction. I wanted to dive on it, taste it, but I didn't want to take away his agency. He was in charge - he was the one that had plunged into my gut, knowing it was foul.

So, I continued our scene...

"It's so dirty Daddy," I said, squeaking out a youthful reply. "I'm sorry... " I said, innocently. When I said that a wet fart flopped out of my hole.

The entire scene was obscene - indescribable. His evil cock had been made even more lewd - more profound.

"Oh God, Daddy," I huffed out, actually frightened, but I didn't know why.

No - I knew why. I was frightened because this was just the beginning and seeing it, all I wanted was more - more depravity, more filth...

"I told you, baby -" he said, whispering with pure paternal love, gripping my legs and pushing his cock in closer, a deviant and desirous look in his eyes. "I like it like this." Then he pushed back against my hole. The waste joined with his pre-cum and slogged out a dingy lube. It turned us both on.

"Oh God - oh God -" I said, losing myself completely. "Stick it back in -"

He did, and then he fucked deep, pushing at the grunge that had shifted in his absence. He leaned down and looked at me - we kissed - deeply and meaningfully, as he slowly dirty-fucked me, and I welcomed it shamefully.

He looked at me again - the strange color of his eyes shifting to a mystical grey - I swear he was a King in a prior life.

"I'm so close - can barely hold it back -" he said, stopping himself. He breathing was ragged, holding back a pant that was lascivious and lush with lust.

"How do you do it," I asked, coming out of scene, directing his attention away from his cock.

"Do what?"

"Deal with the smell - I mean - it's my shit, so I'm used to it - how do you ..."

"I don't know - it doesn't bother me - never has. If anything it turns me on. I'm getting off on getting to know your smells, Stew. I'm getting off learning your shit - "

"That's why I was scared, Dad," I said, looking him directly in the eye, keeping him focused away from orgasm. His cock flexed inside of me, squishing in my center. "I may not like the smell of yours -"

"You're gonna love it, Stewart," he said. It was both a certainty, because he trusted that I could do it, and, it was an order, but not an obvious one. "That's why we're starting with you. It will stink up the space - get you comfortable. Once mine comes ..."

He kissed me again, this time, deeply.

"You'll be begging for it," he finished his sentence, pulling away from the kiss.

My hole was beginning to emit grungy noises.

"You want it, don't you, son?"

"Yessir," I nodded, touching his back, holding him, telling my truth.

"You want your father's shit, don't you?"

"Yessir."

"Say it."

"I want your shit, Dad. I want it so bad. I want."

"Why?"

"I want to eat it?"

"Why?"

"I want to be your toilet, Sir," I said, lunging up into his increasing thrusts. As he questioned me he had increased his pistoning speed, and I met his thrusts now, willing myself to be the shit- slave I had always imagined.

"I'm gonna cum," he said, matter-of-factly. "Gonna fill you with cum, son."

"Oh God yes - breed my grunge-cunt - shit-fuck me Daddy -"

He pushed me back, getting ready to slam and as he did I could see between us - I could see his shaft and his pubic hair - it was sickly dirty, hair matted and foul. His cock was covered in shit - he started to fuck rough.

"I fucking love this, man," He said, aggressively. "This is how men should fuck - all the time -"

And then he slammed into me - hard - and slammed again - and again - I took it. I was THERE for him - he pounded my dirty hole and I wanted him to - I fucking loved it just as much as he did.

I grabbed his neck and pulled myself close as he slammed me -

"I'm gonna eat your cum after I shit it out of my ass -" I whispered...

And when I said that he came, hard, growling like a tiger - pumping and pumping sperm into me at a torrent. I took it - wanted it - sucked it into me and reveled in the fact that it was blending with my bile - becoming a new substance - a unique one.

"Fuck," he groaned, eyes rolling back in his head, face smiling in relief - "You are the best fuck I have ever had. FUCK I love FUCKING you - " and then he slammed in again, finishing his orgasm and clearing the road for more debauchery.

I held steady. The feeling of fullness was growing - I wondered if my body would expel no matter what I did. But still I held him and still he pumped me full of sperm. I felt his cock expand and then contract - as he often did he remained hard, but eventually, as his sweat shook loose from his pores, he shrank, slightly, and then he pulled out.

It was monumental.

Most human beings would consider it gross. I saw only beauty. Looking up at him, I could see he saw that, too. One final spurt of cum came out and I instinctively pushed up and licked it off the dirty tip.

Now he was standing.

I fell to my knees.

I almost asked this question: "Do you want me to clean it off, Dad?"

But, then I realized the point was moot. I was too far gone - he was still in post-orgasm haze and I was ready to do things I'd only ever dreamed about. I grabbed the popper bottle, snorted a huge sniff, held steady, and then dove on his cock like a hungry pig. I was so beyond disgust that the foul taste was welcomed in my throat. I pushed my face into his dirty pubes, saliva gurging on his thick meat, and then sucked up the shaft, pulling my own filth into my mouth. I looked up at him at the corona, showing him my prideful swallow, then lowered myself again, easily taking the spongy semi-hard into my gullet, tasting the creamy extract of his balls and the harsh reality of my filth. In no time he was brownly cleaned, a striped mucousy display that's indescribable here, but that held in my mind for future bates decades later. Having barely cleaned his cock I snorted more and then dove on his balls, all the while looking up at him while he stared at my sin. Chunks of gunk were sucked into my mouth, as I cleansed his testicles and they retightened in arousal. In time he pushed me off his cock, lizard brain kicking in. He was hard again - rock hard - just like that -

He took his hand and wiped it over my face, barely cleaning my shame, then holding his hand out for my viewing. What he held there - what fouled his hands - had just recently fouled my visage. I couldn't even imagine how I looked - but I could imagine that it would only get better .... only get worse.

His manner and tone were gruff now - abrupt. As if he was pissed off I was having all the fun. He took his own bottle of poppers and directed the action: "Turn around. I need to get back in there - " was all he said. And I obeyed, barely imagining the filth of my hole, bending over and trying to crawl back on the futon - but before I could he grabbed my waist and pushed his cock against my ass -

"This is so fucking nasty," he said, and shoved back inside me in one thrust. The intrusion was so total and so powerful that he rammed me into the floor - the cold concrete covered only by a ratty, shit-stained, drop clothe.

"Ooooonnnnnffff," I grunted, pushing my ass back like a good bottom should, giving him the access he needed to get his desire.

Then he rode me and I just moaned, bucking and accepting his use. The sounds were sick; slick with sex and shit and sperm and sweat. The poppers had goaded him - my cum and crap mixed into a slimy sluice that sludged my slot and all I could do was spread wider to give him greater access to my mess - and let him dirt me in a way I had never done, but always imagined. It was everything I had fantasized about and nothing like it whatsoever. The grunge was hot and harsh and soon it felt like we were pigs, rolling in our own mud.

Jayson was - as he had promised - virtually out of control. I felt drool and snot dropping on my neck as he grunted and pushed through my filth. The smell had now overtaken the room and blended with our grungy body odor to create a funk that I'm incapable of describing. All I knew is I couldn't get enough of it, even though I was snorting like a pig, and when that realization occurred, he latched on to it, reaching beneath his pounding balls, swiping scut, and then mawing my face with his dirty paw.

"AAAAAAAWWWWWWFUCK," I cried, no longer caring about what the outside world would hear. The smell that affronted me was so entirely foul and so entirely me that I nearly came right there. My entire body shuddered as I heard him goad me with greedy grunts. "Pig. You're a pig, Stewart. You're a dirty (thrust) fucking (thrust) pig (double-thrust)."

I nodded my ascent and pushed up and back, body trembling with a weird kind of orgasm that was not connected to my cock but seemed to arise from my soul. But as I did that a greater urge overcame me, shuddering through my body.

"Oh fuck - Oh fuck DAD!" I cried out, unable to stop the sensation that had snuck up and was now barreling forward from my gut.

"Fuck," was all he said, driving into me doggy style, but I flinched, hard, and my body contracted. It was gonna happen. I was wide open and I couldn't stop the biological process that had determined to assert itself at this very moment.

He made one more drive into me, deep, triggering an even more profound tremor and then I heard him gasp, "What's wrong, kid - tell me -"

I could tell he barely had patience for my discomfort, but his care for me overcame his vibrant, violent cock which, I was sure, was on the precipice of another epic orgasm. Even so, he was perfectly focused and calm in that moment, even as his body was alive ... on the verge ... and it made me feel so cared for that he could stop his locomotive of desire and check in with his son....

I gasped air - "I don't know, Dad. Think I'm gonna shit - I can't stop it - I'm so open -"

He held me still, his own body vibrating with arousal - then placed one hand on my belly. As he did so he pulled out and then pushed right back in, doing so with gentle force.

"That is so fucking hot son -" he whispered, pulling out again, pushing back in - "I'm fucking the shit right out of you -"

"Oh gawd -" I gasped, my bodily functions overtaking me - his own deviant desire slamming away any resistance I felt.

"Do it - " he grumbled, his voice reverberating in the space like an twisted, tempting troll. "I need to feel it - want to - fucking shit all over my dick -"

"Jayson -"

"Dirty - I said I wanted to get dirty - "

"Awww jeez -" I felt it coming now. I was nodding.

"Do it - do it - grunt on my cock -"

"Oh God," I said, knowing that we were crossing another threshold. "Here it comes - fuck -"

"Push hard, son - I want to feel it -"

And that was all I needed. My body flexed, my stomach tightened and I pushed out - bearing down with his full approval and disgusting goading - letting out what felt like an enormous pressure, and as I did he pushed his cock in as deep as it could go - forcing me to expel around his thick member.

"OHFUCKYEAH -" he groaned, feeling the shit push out over his crotch and balls. "Fuck yeah kid - shit on my cock - shit on my cock - " And so I pushed out more, fully sexualizing what had previously been a personal and prurient act. The heat was amazing and the deviance was profound. Some of his cum came out and the noises were grotesque, great farting gasps of wet sludge. Both of us shook at those sounds, shaken by their obviousness and then he did the unthinkable - he drove even deeper and came inside my second anal cavity, just as it was expelling the filth that made his invasion possible.

That's right - while I shat on his cock, it exploded yet AGAIN. I could actually FEEL the wet heat of his orgasm as it plastered the passing shit - I cried out in horrible anguish and desire.

This was everything.

My rib cage was heaving now, even as additional contractions pushed additional gore out of my distended hole. But, eventually, I was fully evacuated, even as I was still full of cock. Then, of course, unable to stop myself, I let loose with a harsh spray of urine and Jay just growled approval, holding my loose cock, letting my spray cleanse his hands of the filth that had spread .... everywhere.

Then he slowly pulled out. All you could hear was the gasping of our lungs -

There was a pause - a silence - and I realized he must have been looking at the mess.

"Turn around."

I did.

His cock was lewd and depraved and disgusting - half hard, now, drooping with the weight of my thick grime. Semen drooled from the head, which was nearly unrecognizable.

In the hair on each side of his cock, and above it, my filth matted against his body. Some of it was thick. More shit had fallen on the tarp below. It lay there in chunks. It was the most repulsively beautiful thing I had ever seen. It took my breath away. The smell was sharp and outrageous and filled the room. It was overwhelming to me but in a profound way. I was handling it, wanting to welcome his own into the space. For now, I was silent, looking at the results of our disgusting mating.

"Come closer," he said, and I did, edging on my knees -

"Stand up," he said.

I did.

He looked me in the eye. The stare was blank. He had gone somewhere - and wherever it was, I wanted to follow.

"You've made a mess," he said, quietly. Then he cupped his hands under his balls - first the right side, then the left, and swiped up, scooping thick grunge into his hands. He presented them to me, right below my face. "It's a disgusting mess, Stewart."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, as simply as he was speaking to me, but there was a whimper of shame layered into my tone, meant to extend our deviance. He nodded, then smeared one hand down one pec - and the other down the other, streaking my whole body with my shit and his cum. I shivered, cock flexing. He wiped his hands under my balls, then looked up at me, eyes on mine, pushing his hand between my legs and feeling the filth there, too.

"Do you have any more inside you, son?" he asked, quietly.

Again the nature of the conversation was direct - like this was the most normal thing to talk about. There was a paternal, tone, too. He had followed me and now here we were, farther along in our roll play: a father and his much younger son, and dad was willing to help with his little boy's toilet training.

"Maybe," I whispered.

"Then we better get it out, don't you think, baby?"

His tone was loving - puerile and perverse.

"Yes, Daddy," I pouted, loving where we were - wanting to stay there forever.

"Go ahead, then, baby, get rid of it. Give it to your Dad." As he said that he pushed his hand under my balls, spreading my legs, cupping under my anus.

"Squat down, now, baby - show daddy how you poop. I want to see it, son. I need to. This is important -"

I squatted and he followed. Our eyes were locked.

"Yes, Daddy," I said, grunting, giving it my best push. I leaned into him and when I did, he put his other arm around me, holding me. "Push out, baby," he whispered in my ear, and I did. The final turd bloomed out of my ass into his waiting hand.

"Oh good boy - shitting in your daddy's hand - good boy," he whispered, keeping up a litany of disgust as he petted my head with his other, still wet, piss-covered hand. Then he kissed me, a sweet, intimate kiss, tongues touching as I poured the last of my bowels into his hand.

"Oh God, Daddy," I groaned. This was so wrong - so intensely intimate. My cock was raging hard even as the reality of our actions kept sinking in. Unable to do anything other than moan, I leaned in to kiss him again, but he pushed me back, shushing me.

"Here - look -" was all he said, and I did. It was right in front of us. By now my smell had permeated the space. It reeked all over and around me, but because of that, it had become incorporated into our reality, just as our body funk had become normal for both of us. My cock throbbed.

"This is who we are, son -" Jayson said, explaining to me. "This is perfectly natural - we shit - it is who we are." Then he grabbed a piece, looking at me.

"Open," He said, and I did. He put it in my mouth and I closed it, gratefully.

"Hold it - don't chew - don't swallow."

I did - then he did the same himself, taking a larger piece into his mouth - wrapping both arms around me, the one hand loaded with shit gripping my ass, then rubbing up my back, and painting me with even more filth. As he held me, he shit-kissed me, pushing his tongue into my full mouth as I explored his own, and we lunged and swallowed and swapped shit, spit and love - it was the most beautiful kiss I'd ever had, and as our bodies melded, my shit left its stain on his magnificent body.

Eventually he pushed me away. He stood, swaying. Our filth permeated the space.

"Fuck this is disgusting," he whispered, and I nodded, agreement. But, then he said: "We're not dirty enough." As he said that, though, he looked down at his cock. If, before, it had been a grotesque version of itself, now, after I had intentionally evacuated on it, it became something different - something entirely strange and otherworldly.

His pubes were thick with dirt and grunge, his balls looked twice their normal size, brown balls of beautiful mess. I could barely see his cock under my excrement.

His eyes blazed.

"Gonna have to clean me off again, son. It's a terrible mess."

"Yes, Sir," I said, meekly. Tears formed and I let them fall freely from my eyes. I'd been a bad boy - a naughty boy - I'd shit all over my Daddy's beautiful cock and now it was my job to make it right.

"I'll take care of it, Daddy," I said, pushing him back on the futon, in a seated position. He spread out, his body lightly streaked with our shame, then opened his legs, like a man does.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, lowering myself to my knees.

"It's okay, baby," he cooed. "You had to go poop. Now you have to make things right."

"Yessir," I said, actually crying now, and when I looked at him I saw he enjoyed my tears, reveled in them. I also saw he had grabbed his phone from his tossed shorts, which he used to wipe his hands.

"Gonna have to take a few pictures of this, son, as a reminder of what happens when boys shit on dad's cock," he growled.

I shuddered in horror, shame and incredible arousal. This was another line. He was going to document us - document me - document my descent into a sub-human state. It could come back to haunt me - to mark me - but I didn't care. I was his. If he wanted to have a record of my deviance, that was his right.

If he also wanted to share that record, it was also his right. I was no longer ashamed of who I was. I was proud of who I was.

His cock had shrunk and the filth was overwhelming - but it was the grunge at the base that would be the problem. I looked around - found the poppers, picked them up, handed them to him.

"When I get to the base, put those under my nose, please, Dad" I said, and he copped it immediately. Then I got on my knees, looking at the filthy cock. I no longer wanted to wait - to hesitate around my chosen fetish. I took the dick in my mouth, looked up directly at my Uncle, who began to film with his phone. Then I began to suck its dirty shaft into my mouth willingly, body shaking in arousal. When I could, I reveled in the job, scraping off thick spackle and consuming it. He got harder, of course, watching my degradation, which only goaded my actions.

I few times I began to choke, pulling myself back, gasping for air, trying to control my wretch reflex. A few times brown sputum chugged out of my mouth, dripping on my cock.

When that happened, he was encouraging, but constant: "You can do it, son. You know you can. You know you want to."

"I do," I sobbed.

"You're a filthy pig-boy, Stewart. This is your dream. Time to get it."

He used the same voice here that he used in the gym and it motivated me - caused me to surge with confidence and even pride in my twisted and hideous horniness.

I dove back down, eyes bulging, looking at the thick and matted hell that lay at the base of his massive cock. I pushed forward and then the poppers appeared. I sucked in, hard, both nostrils, then dove to the base, my face pushing into the filth. There was no smell now, because my nostrils were actually filled with gut grime. As I did this his hand simultaneously slid down my back and reached for my ass - there he found more filth and stuck his fingers in, which only aroused me more. I was so far gone, now. I was a pig, wallowing in filth, and it felt like we were just getting started. This was the beginning of a long journey and his own hardness and his own excitement only confirmed that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

I sucked and slathered, continuing to slobber up my shit from his shaft. Two or three times I pulled back and he looked at me, sometimes disdainfully, sometimes lewdly, all times sexually.

"You're a fucking mess," he said, as I pulled off his cock. He reached down, scooping out sludge from his balls that I hadn't been able to reach, and he presented it to me. Without the help of poppers I dove on it, consuming my raw waste, reveling in it.

My stomach was beginning to fill with excreta and I LOVED that feeling. "How disgusting can a man be who enjoys a stomach full of shit?" I asked to myself as Jayson took another picture - then turned the phone to show me.

The answer was before me - raw photo-evidence of my disgrace.

I cried some more, even as he reached down, gripped my cock with his shit-covered hand and yanked it, proving my deviance by demonstrating I was hard as a rock.

There was a long pause as I tried to stop myself from cumming, moaning with my lips closed, eyes shut...a shit-zombie that had finally come home to himself.

Then, a whisper: "How you doing, Stewart?" came the question from my God.

"Fine, Dad. So good. Kind of crazy."

"What do you mean, baby?" he asked moving into me, letting go of my cock, bringing his arms around my smaller frame.

"So much, Daddy - this is so much - I feel like I'm lost."

"I know - It's a lot," he said, holding me.

"I wonder why I'm like this," I said, revealing the question that was blaring in my brain, even as I tried to shoo it from my thoughts.

"Stop thinking, Stewart. You think too much. You need to just do -"

"But -"

"Shhhhh," he said, holding me close, giving me his strength. "We are what we are. The important thing is we found each other. This is just ... just ...."

"Just us guys," I whispered.

"Yeah - just us guys."

I felt his body shift - then he was holding a bottle in his hand.

"This will help."

I grabbed it - it was the beer and I was happy for that. I needed some kind of taste to mix with the shit in my mouth, which seemed to permeate my entire being. He tipped the bottle into my mouth - my eyes still closed - and I drank, and it was good.

"Are you hungry," he said, with a voice full of love and care.

"Yes, Dad - I am - no breakfast this morning," I answered. It felt like we were coming to a pause, and it was good for me - I needed to catch my breath, get my bearings. Just then my stomach growled and he reached down with his other hand, caressing it. He was so gentle when he wanted to be - meant to be.

"Aw baby - stomach is empty except for his own shit. I gotchu, kid," he said, getting up, moving away. Suddenly I was alone on my knees and I opened my shit-stained eyes. He was magnificent as always, but this time marked, like a warrior, with brown and dark stripes all over his body. He was less grimy than me - but still our muck had stained him. He wore it valiantly - the perfect accent to the perfect man.

He bent over and I sucked in my lungs, seeing his incredible ass. He rummaged around the cooler but couldn't seem to find what he was looking for. Then he rose, eyes lasering at me, cock hard again - astonishingly - and said: "Aw, baby - Dad forgot the sandwiches."

There was a tone that was unmistakable - it shook me. Before I could understand where we were heading he walked the few steps that separated us and said: "Guess Dad will have to feed you something else."

And then he grabbed my neck, firmly, and lead me over to the futon. I crawled on my knees, brain firing, and then he had one leg up, was bent over, and my face was in his trench.

"Daddy, I - " I said, haltingly -

"Son," was all he said. "It's time."

"But -"

"No," he said, sternly and forcefully. "I told you - stop thinking. It's time."

"Dad," I squeaked as he shoved my face into his butt.

"Now, son. This is gonna happen now. You're hungry. I can feed you. It's my job to feed my boy when he's hungry."

My mouth opened, covering his anal opening, which flexed and twitched with strain and muscular contraction.

"We both knew this day was coming. Now, it's here."

"Awwwwwwwddddadddddd,"I growled, turned on again, lost again, brain firing again. I stuck my tongue in him and felt it. It was big and harder than the last time. My heart thumped. My arms and hands flung around his thighs - he was right. Now was the time. I WAS hungry - I DID need to be filled - and this WAS my destiny.

No longer fearful of the smell, given the olfactory overload - the shit that was still stuck in my nostrils - the smell that permeated the space - now all I could imagine was success or failure and all I wanted - all I EVER wanted - was in this moment. And so I sucked, hard, letting him know I was urging it forward into my mouth. My throat and chest made unseemly noises of lustful derision as his own body shook with the relief that only comes when you release a large load from a stuffed gut.

"Oh, God," he said, the voice deep and resonant in the space, and then it breached. This time he seemed unable to hold back, because suddenly my whole mouth was full of hard turd. The heat of it burned my tonsils but beyond that it just felt like any other cock and I had sucked a lot of cock, so all I did, eyes wide shut, was inhale, opening my throat to its invasion and hoping I would not choke.

I did not.

I did NOT.

It filled my mouth with stench, the taste a glorious, very (very) harsh manhood that felt entirely His own. Instantly I glommed to that taste, gripping my cock feverishly, yanking like the pervert that I was, as his harsh crudeness connected to my own sensual deviance. This was now a taste I needed - wanted - desperately - even as it scalded my throat and tongue, and then I swallowed, shoving down the huge mouthful only to make way for the next shunting shit that replaced it. The sound he made was perfect - the relief of a man who had held on way too long and way too hard. That I was giving him such relief after such discomfort was ecstasy to me. I sucked more, harder, goading him on, thrilled with my success, desperate to show him how completely submissive I was to his EVERY need. More turd entered my throat and I opened to it - it literally fell into my stomach, I was so open to him. Then he pulled away, turning, looking down on me. I opened my mouth to him, showing my decrepitude and he gripped his mighty erect cock, showering me with his piss.

I chewed and swallowed, then sucked on his cock as it washed his filth down my throat, eyes never leaving his, showing him my complete degradation, my utter toiletude. Then, taking my mouth off his cock, letting it spray me with a harsh stream, I said the one thing that he needed to hear.

"More," I growled. "MORE."

And he pushed me over, cock still spraying piss, and squatted over my face, his lizard eyes an accusation of my hunger and my need. Now he bore down, and I knew we were only half done.

I opened my mouth and he dumped in me, unloading. Even as he did there was some care in his eyes, some focus on my capabilities, and as soon as my mouth was overflowing he shifted back, cutting off the log and letting me process his waste, even as he let out a low, guttural groan and laid the final last crap in a long line on my chest, perfectly settled between my heaving breasts.

"Eat," he said, expressing the satisfaction of a man who has just emptied, but who has ALSO just discovered the joys of combining basic biological function (excretion) with basic biological imperative (breeding) and basic human control (domination).

More turd fell from his straining hole as I gladly chewed and swallowed his waste, realizing this was the apex of my sexual life: to be fully used as a toilet for another stronger, bigger, better man, and to love it - to take joy in it.

The beatific glow on my face must have triggered him because he cooed at me, petted me, told me I was a good boy, even I gulped and swallowed, even as he pulled me up, gently, pushing his cock in my mouth, washing down his organic matter with more harsh but perfectly paired urine.

And the log he had laid stayed stuck to me, even as the smell finally assaulted my senses but nothing was going to stop my descent - nothing. I was a toilet now, a true toilet. I was proud to be that. Mere smells would never get in the way of that vital duty.

And then, after he had drained the remaining liquid form his bladder, he picked up the piece he had laid on me, holding it gently in his one large hand. He stood, looking at it with the pride of a young boy who has made his first bowel movement in his first potty-training, and sat back on the futon, beckoning me to follow. I did, dizzy, dazed, delirious - desirous. I crawled the small space between us on my hands and knees as he kept an eye on me and an eye on his creation, then he looked at me, with that simple innocence that was so singularly his, and said: "Time to finish your breakfast, baby."

I just nodded, knowing this was my role.

The both of us, I believe, cemented our future in this moment. Jayson was an adventurous man, willing to take on many sexual positions, but at core, he was a feeder and I was an eater and here we sat, in the dungeon of our own making, fulfilling dark lifelong fantasies that - when we joined together - finally found the light.

"Yes, Daddy," I said, simply and gratefully, opening my mouth. I can't imagine what he saw when I did that - stained teeth, coated tongue, but my mouth was empty, and needed filling, and he broke off a piece and fed it to me. I swallowed it gratefully.

He did it again.

I swallowed again.

It was so good - so fulfilling - so perfect.

For the next piece he chose a larger chunk. It was vital and hard and still perfectly warm.

"Chew it, Stewie," he said, gravely. "I want you to taste me."

"Yes Sir," I said, obviously, and when he placed it in my mouth I savored it, first caressing it with my tongue, mouth closed, body trembling. I let out a doleful grunt of satisfaction as my taste buds caressed his waste-meat, and then I chewed, gratefully, eyes open, body trembling in joy.

"Good boy," he said, as I swallowed.

Then he grabbed his cock with his free hand, motioned for me to do the same, and fed the last - and largest piece to me, shoving his palm in my face.

"Last piece," he said, as he jerked his cock with intention. "Enjoy it, son," he said, motioning for me to join him. I gripped my cock, already so close. The turd entered my mouth, his hand covered my face, I chewed, salivating, groaning, making lewd noises as I edge to climax.

"Cum with me, baby," he said, reaching out and grabbing my neck, pushing his lips and his tongue into my filthy mouth. And, I did - I shot a monumental load as I swallowed his grunge, swapping his spit with my salivating filth, and then I felt him rise, bringing me up with him. He grunted, hard, a low guttural groan as he pushed, simultaneously, yet another epic orgasm from his epic cock, which covered my hand as I frantically jerked seed into the stagnant space between us.

As he did this - as he completed this monumental masculine mating - his eyes widened, and he made a guttural declaration.

"One more, Stew," he said, knowingly, and so I pushed my free hand between his legs. Then, as he grunted out a final turd from his anus, as I cupped that magnificent excreta in my hand, as sperm shot from his shit-stained cock, as I used his shit to lube my cock, and as my own balls continued to fire hot shots of semen that painted our chins and joined our grungy kiss in ecstatic affection, I declared my love to him, just as he, in the same moment, grunted an orgasmic and scatological utterance of equal affection.

"I love you, Daddy," I growled, crying now, complete.

"I love you, too, son," he said, gripping my entire body, folding it into his own, as we shook and spermed and slimed our scat between us.

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