Date: Sat, 15 Nov 2003 15:20:02 -0800
From: Jack Jones <shiguy7378@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bodybuilder's Shit Slaves (scat)

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.