Warning: this story includes scat!

Mudchute Services
by Robert Furlong


If you’re driving along the motorway and feel like a break, I would strongly recommend Mudchute Services.  They’re fairly easy to find, right next to Brown Wood, and you’ll find the toilet facilities make a very worthy detour.

I’d paid little attention to gents’ toilets all the years I’d been married, but these days I love finding out what different amenities have to offer. Most of the women I’ve dated have found it impossible to keep up with my sex-drive so it was almost inevitable that I would discover what pleasures can be had behind the locked cubicle doors of certain public toilets. Since then, I have – without any serious difficulty I have to say – broadened my sexual interests considerably.

The toilets in these particular services had seemed promising as soon as I’d walked in.  Several men at the urinals turned to look me up and down and one or two even smiled at how slick I looked in my well-fitting business suit.  I’d smiled back at them but hadn’t lingered – standing alongside a row of strangers groping each other’s members through our flies has never really appealed to me – and instead headed through to the WCs at the rear.

This part of the toilet was much less busy but the gaps underneath the cubicles doors revealed a multitude of boots and shoes shuffling around – something that’s always a very good sign.  Better still, a rusting fan unit was whirring noisily in the ceiling, obscuring whatever intimate sounds were going on between the occupants.

I took a moment to choose the most encouraging venue from several possible contenders and in the end plumped for a vacant stall next to a cubicle door under which I was sure I could make out two pairs of feet.  Once inside, I was pleased to find that the toilet roll dispenser had been obligingly removed, exposing four screw holes and offering an opportunity for a private viewing of the adjoining cubicle.

I sat myself down on the toilet and spent a few enjoyable minutes watching a man in a suit a couple of shades lighter than mine standing having his hugely engorged manhood sucked by some lad in a high-vis jacket.  The kid was clearly loving feasting on the hefty-looking cock that was poking, along with a nice fat set of nuts, out of the guy’s straining zipper.  The boy took as much of it as he could into his eager mouth, soaking the thickened shaft with a copious froth of spit as he swept his lips up and down its veiny girth.  At times he would withdraw and spend a few moments lapping at the bloated purple head, teasing the precum from its gaping slit and gratefully gulping down the trickle of salty liquid.

I knew full well that the two of them were aware of my presence and were no doubt enjoying performing for their unseen observer.  I can’t deny that I grew a hard-on of my own from watching the lad so ardently devour the impressive rod of meat in front of him, but I’d come in here hoping for a lot more than just a peep show.

So it wasn’t long before I was quietly tapping on their door, smiling to myself at how my ex-wife would react if she could see what now I got up to in places such as this.  To my delight the catch was quickly clicked open so I could push my way inside, my own cock throbbing in my trousers at the prospect of meeting two of its more sociable brothers.

I found that the suited bloke was middle-aged like me and looked as if he was maybe an accountant or solicitor from how formally he was dressed.  The lad in front of him was in his early twenties and seemed like he might be a builder or part of a highway maintenance crew.

I didn’t pay much attention to the kid, though, to be honest.  He was quite happy to be on his knees, tossing off the laughably small prick that was poking out from his dirty tracksuit bottoms while he slavered away in at the older man’s much bulkier offering.

No, my interest was on the suited guy, whose thickly veined shaft was being so hungrily serviced, and in particular the lovely round arse which was pressed firmly against the back of his dark grey trousers.  He’d hitched his jacket up as if to flaunt how amazing his big, chunky buttocks looked inside the tightly stretched material and how inviting was the deep, alluring valley nestling between them.

I should probably point out that in the last couple of years the huge variety in the sizes and shapes of other men’s backsides have become quite my thing.  I used to be a tit-man when it came to women – and still am given the chance – but these days I’m very much a butt-man: especially when the said butt has a nice hairy cleft and comes with a heavy pair of knackers swinging around underneath it.

I have to admit that this guy’s arse was of the sort that had emerged as my out-and-out favourite of all the many types of male bums I’d encountered. His cheeks were hard and muscular, pressing outwards against his trousers as if struggling to be contained, and their shape was wonderfully masculine: squat and solid with a striking symmetry to their curvature.

Better still, I knew that between a firm pair of buttocks like his – two big manly cheeks that had spent the day cooped up underneath trousers and underwear – there’d likely be a deep dank crack that had grown wonderfully sweaty and pungent.

You see, that’s become my thing too, I’m afraid: the smells and tastes lurking between men’s butt cheeks.  It might sound unlikely but that’s the direction my sexual interests have recently taken: getting my nose and tongue into the trench between a guy’s haunches has turned out to be the match that lights the gay end of my sparkler.  While I still appreciate the sensual aromas of my occasional female lovers, these days I more usually revel in the crude anal stink of the men I seek out for sex.

After I’d locked the cubicle door behind me, the guy in the suit turned in my direction and grinned as the lad’s mouth slurped away at his large erection.  I marvelled at how big his bollocks were, being pushed outwards from his gaping zipper.  They were plump and full, just like mine get if I go a few days without release, and his stretched, hairy scrotum kept tickling the boy’s chin as he bobbed his face back and forth to pleasure the swollen shaft.

I smiled back at him, unzipping myself, and manoeuvred my own stiffened organ out through my fly.  I’m pretty well-hung and the accountant or solicitor or whatever he was looked down at it with undisguised approval. I grinned more broadly and jerked my foreskin back and forth a few times to show my over-sized phallus off at its most impressive.

“Nice set of junk,” he observed in a voice that sounded quite loud from where I was standing but which would fail to carry beyond the confines of our cubicle because of the noise from the fan unit.  I had never been so grateful for a piece of malfunctioning equipment: one is so often reduced to barely-audible whispers and even arm-waving mimes in such places to avoid rousing the attentions of one’s defecating neighbours.

With the lad nibbling and lapping at his dribbling bell-end, the guy wanked his shaft a few times to keep his precum flowing.  As I admired his technique, working a trickle of his hot sticky ooze onto the boy’s tongue, I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring.  Its design was quite fussy, with small diamonds studded along its golden circumference, and seemed like it would have been chosen to match an even fussier feminine version.  I wondered if his wife had any idea of the sort of things her big, brawny husband got up to in the toilet cubicles of motorway services.

The man threw me a thumbs-up and I realised he thought I was waiting my turn: giving him time to discharge his load between the kid’s eager lips so I could take up his position and have my own larger manhood similarly serviced by the youngster.

Perhaps that’s how it usually works in these toilets.  Maybe blokes on the way home from work would regularly tap on cubicle doors in the hope of having their knobs sucked by whoever was willing to do the honours.  I wondered whether, once this guy had finished and I was having my own throbbing organ dutifully sucked, I was supposed to let the next fella sneak in so he could stand alongside with his chubby dick poking out from his fly, only to shuffle over to take my place once I’d climaxed.

If that was how it was supposed to work then I’m afraid I had rather different ideas.

I moved around behind the guy in the suit and, before he could object for fear I might want to jerk off onto his bum (a fate that had once befallen the back of my trousers in a different toilet cubicle), I knelt down and pressed my face towards the dark grey material that was stretched tight across his voluminous buttocks.  Even at first sniff, I could tell this was a bloke with a wonderfully whiffy arse: well before my nose had closed in on the fabric it was obvious that what was lurking between his cheeks had infused deeply it with its strong, distinctive scent.

At first the man pulled away, unsure of my motives, and glanced around to see my face level with his backside and my nose directed towards his flavoursome furrow.  Realising where my interests lay, he grinned and pushed himself back towards me, chuckling when my nose plunged slap-bang between his butt-cheeks.

I moved my face up and down against his arse, following the stitched hem which ran down the middle of the seat of his trousers.  The material which had nestled between his buttocks smelt strong and ripe, even high up where his big, brawny posterior pressed outwards at its roundest.  I worked my nose lower down, pushing it deeper into his effluvious gorge, sniffing eagerly at his most secretive scents and feeling my cock swelling upwards at how harsh and musky they were.

This guy might look clean-cut and well-turned-out, I mused, but the back of his trousers revealed he was concealing an especially raunchy arse.  That’s usually how it turns out in my experience: rough-looking grubsters too often have backsides that smell only of soap and shower gel; it’s always the posh fellas with well-coiffed hair and crisply-ironed shirts that have butt odours that make you wince even through their trousers and underwear.

I heard him chuckle, “Oh, nice one, mate!  Yeah, go on!  Sniff my arse!” and he grabbed the back of my head and pushed my face further into his large rump.

I inhaled his darkest and least decorous scent as deeply as I could, my mouth watering at the sheer crudeness that was clinging to the material of his trousers.  It was Friday night: he must have been wearing these trousers all week at work, having the murky hemline that my nose was pressing against working up into his odorous ditch as he sat at his desk. I sniffed further between his legs and deeper into his pungent ravine and gasped as I found a small patch of material that must have been rubbed by his fingers against his hot, moist hole when he’d discreetly worked them into his crack to scratch a persistent itch.

I was in veritable heaven: what a find this was!  This was the smell I loved to savour: that which I craved and had hardly dared to hope I would find here when I’d pulled off the motorway.  It was making the large, ripe helmet of my cock swell and glisten, and the hardened shaft behind it thicken expectantly at what it signified.

I heard the guy hastily unclip his belt, and then he yanked his trousers down to the tops of his thighs.  Underneath he was wearing tight white briefs and, before he could hook a thumb into each side of these and pull them down too, I pressed my face into the damp bitter gusset that had worked up between his flexing cheeks.

The smell of the back of his underpants was much riper and more powerful, and to some noses, no doubt, would have been deemed vulgar and offensive. It was the brash and earthy pungence of a man’s muscular arse after a day of being constrained in the back of his trousers, made all the better by being untainted by deodorant and soapy perfumes.

“Ah, yeah!” he called down to me, grabbing my head again and directing my face towards his butthole.  “Sniff my stink!”

The boy must have tried to pull away from him, eager to see what I was doing round the back of his companion, because the guy took his hand away from my head and returned his lad’s mouth back to his cock.

“Come on, keep sucking!” he commanded the younger man.  “Use your tongue!”

The rhythm of the lad’s mouth quickly resumed and I seized my own swollen manhood to match his pace with the tight masturbatory grip of my fist.

Satisfied that his cock was being properly attended, the guy reached round again and pushed my face further into his strong-smelling arse crack.  He leant forwards to splay his cleft more widely and give me better access to the fascinating flavours that were lurking inside.

His scent was exquisite – except that it was far too powerful to be accurately called a scent.  Low down in his deep fissure, right where his dirty rosebud would be lurking just beneath the white material, was the fierce reek of this big bloke’s most unseemly stink.  I inhaled at it hungrily, well aware of what I was sniffing and suspecting that the inner side of his underwear was probably heavily stained with a row of lewd-looking skid-marks.

I wanked myself faster, thankful that what had at first seemed like such a formally-attired backside had yielded so sumptuous a sensory feast.  This was full-on male butt odour at its absolute finest.  Since I’d discovered I had this unlikely fascination, I’d had my face buried into a rich and varied assortment of other men’s rears in places such as these.  However, this well-dressed guy’s hot, dank valley stands out as one of the best and the way he was holding my head to grind my face against the rank-smelling gusset of his dirty briefs only served to compound my pleasure.

I sniffed deeper, pushing my nose right up against the carnal stink of this man’s unsavoury arsehole.  Years earlier I would have been appalled by the mere thought of wedging my face into somewhere so vulgar, be it on a woman’s body but especially on a man’s.  But now I was well aware that the smell I was so keen to experience had a sexual component: it was that which was making my head spin and my hand beat faster.

You see, this wasn’t just the stink of some stranger’s dirty arse: for me the smell held far more pleasurable and intimate associations as the delicious aroma of same-sex intercourse.  It was a mere foreshadowing of the strong, biting odour the two of us men would revel in if we were panting and gasping together with my manhood pummelling his behind.

I had grown to love this smell in spite of, or perhaps because of, its more obvious associations with filth and squalor.  I had come to find it deeply erotic as a reminder of how intensely erotic it was to have sex with my own kind: the stronger the smell of butt, the harder my cock would throb at the memory of how it had felt thrust and buck against another man’s rear; how hard and fast I’d had to slam against his buttocks to produce such a wonderfully powerful odour.

“Lick it,” the guy commanded me and I pulled out from his bracingly odorous crack.  I looked up at him and found him grinning mischievously: he’d probably never had anyone who’d been so eager to get their face into his butt-crack; probably not at home and definitely not in a public toilet.

He hitched his briefs down around his thighs, which slightly disappointed me as I’d been enjoying sniffing the back of them.  But when I saw his bare arse in all its big, muscular glory, my cock throbbed excitedly at how incredible it looked.  His crack had coarse wiry hair spilling out from it and low down, where his flavoursome hole would be nestled, whole clumps of it were matted together, making my mouth water at what I knew was awaiting me.

“Eat me out,” he whispered, encouraged by the sight of me licking my lips. “Shove your tongue right in there, really deep.”

I grinned back up at him: he had my sexual peculiarities pretty well figured out.

The boy pulled off his cock and peered around at me quizzically.  In spite of the clothes he was wearing, he had a lovely sweet face – light blue eyes and pink, full lips – and seemed oddly boyish to be a builder or labourer or whatever physical job he held.

“Yer not gonna lick his arse out, are ya?” he inquired in a surprisingly deep voice which was laden with a combination of amazement and disgust.  I figured it mustn’t be something he’d ever done himself.

I smirked and nodded.

“But won’t it be, like… you know… proper shitty?” he asked, glancing at the skid-marks which were indeed coursing along the inside gusset of the pulled down briefs.

I shrugged.  “I prefer to think of it as lube!”

The guy chuckled from above us and I hoped his amusement meant he might be up for a butt-fuck.  My cock was aching in anticipation from the smell of his arse and had got me into just the right mood to bend him over the toilet bowl and roughly rut with his big, hairy rump.

That was the main reason I came to places like this, you see: to find men who would let me unload my seed up their bowels.  Sometimes I’d allow my fleeting companions to discharge themselves into me, but more often, in the absence of a woman in my life, I would seek men willing for me to use their hot, hairy rears as a very enjoyable alternative outlet.

And even if they didn’t, I was more than happy just to take in the scenery – sniffing and licking the part of the male body I had so recently discovered to be a powerful aphrodisiac.  In some ways it was more erotic to probe a man’s orifice with one’s tongue: it was vastly more intense and incredibly sensual.  I greatly enjoyed masturbating in that position: tasting and smelling a fellow male’s most intimate of flavours and imagining what it would be like for our bodies to be connected in copulation.

The lad watched me intently as I leaned forwards and pushed my face between the two hefty buttocks that were gaping open in front of me.  After pausing to savour his intoxicating stink straight from his companion’s bare arse-crack, I extended my tongue and, with a few exploratory sweeps through the dense, pungent thicket spilling out from his trench, quickly found his hot, moist opening.

I heard him and the boy gasp in unison.  I was sure the guy had never been rimmed and that the boy had also never seen it done.

I tickled the suited man’s hole with the outstretched tip of my tongue, first working around the puffy circumference and then pushing more firmly into the swollen ring to enjoy the thick, acrid bite of his most sordid taste.

I pulled back from his big, hairy arse and peered up at the guy’s face.  He was grinning down at me over his shoulder, his smile broad and full of surprised delight.

“Go on, mate, lick me out properly,” he urged.  “Stick your tongue right up my fucking hole!”

I smiled back up at him, hoping it would indeed turn out to be a ‘fucking hole’: a hole for fucking.

Again I wondered if he really would be up for that.  In spite of how keen he was to be rimmed and how he’d chuckled at my quip about lube, my instincts told me not.  He no doubt regularly stopped off here on his drive home from work and enjoyed having his cock sucked by whichever random bloke was willing to get on his knees in front of him.  He would probably even be partial to working his knob up some stranger’s arse if he was in the right mood, but bitter experience had taught me that guys like this – married and no doubt classing themselves as totally straight – were almost invariably unwilling to have anything more than a tongue slid up their backsides.

“Come on,” he demanded, pulling his cheeks apart with one hand to tempt me with the furry hole inside.  “Get your tongue up my arse!  Right in deep!”

The lad kept gaping at me poised with my face in front of this guy’s large, solid buttocks.  I grinned at him naughtily: I loved being seen like this, poised in front of a bloke’s big brawny backside, salivating at the prospect of working my tongue up the hot, slimy chute.  This wasn’t what strangers normally do during furtive encounters in public toilets: I was fully aware of that.  They normally wank each other off, maybe suck each other’s cocks – and occasionally one might offer his puckered hole for the other to quickly and quietly fuck – but rimming was seen as far too personal and intimate to be traded in a toilet cubicle.

But that’s why I like it: it never ceases to astonish men when I duck down behind them and apply my face between their buttocks.  Even when they’ve got their underpants pulled up and I just nuzzle my nose into the whiffy material riding up between their cheeks, they are quick to express both their surprise and gratitude.

With the young builder looking on, I extended my tongue and pushed it back into the suited guy’s arse crack.  He grinned as I lapped between the big round cheeks like a cat taking milk, enjoying the feel and taste of where the hair was clumped together.  I made an ‘mmm’ sound to show how much I was loving tonguing such a odorous bum and then pulled back away to see his reaction.

He was smirking at me wide-eyed and said, “Fuck yeah!” to encourage me to go in for another taste.

I chuckled back at him, pleased to show him that butts aren’t just for shitting and fucking, and he looked down at my cock to see with amazement how horny I was from where my face had just been.

I yanked my foreskin right back for him, flourishing my large, ripe bell-end and he grinned more broadly and said, “Fuckin’ eat his hole out, mate!”

I lunged back in and feasted on the guy’s arse, driving my tongue forwards and pressing it firmly into his slippery, puckered entrance.  I was surprised at how readily it opened to my advances: perhaps I’d been wrong about this guy and he wasn’t as averse as I’d assumed to having the occasional horny bloke like me work a prick up between his butt cheeks.

I rimmed him deeply, grabbing my cock again and masturbating it quickly, as I tasted the rough, pungent slime inside his yielding hole.

I was feeling so glad that I’d called into these toilets on the off-chance. I hadn’t actually needed the loo and had wandered in purely on spec.

“Bend over the loo,” the suited guy instructed the kid.  “I wanna fuck you while he licks my tush.”

I pulled away from rimming his arse, keen to see the lad getting his builder’s bum fucked.  While such sights aren’t exactly rare when you’re lucky enough to be let into a cubicle with a couple of guys, they’re uncommon enough not to be taken for granted.

The builder and I both got up and the youngster smiled nervously at the suited guy.  Then he said, in that curiously deep voice, “I dunno, mate… I weren’t really expectin’ owt like that…”

“Come on,” the other man retorted, his wet cock curving upwards and looking large and expectant.  “I promise I’ll cum really quickly…”

The lad looked uncomfortable and said, with a cute-looking blush, “Thing is, right… I came in here for a dump and –”

“I couldn’t give a fuck about that,” the suited guy snapped at him.  “Just turn around and bend over!”

“Yeah, but what I’m sayin’ is…” he went on and then blushed a deeper shade of red.  “Basically, what it is, right… me arse is prob’ly full o’ shit!”

“Isn’t that how arses usually work or am I missing something…?”

The lad shrugged.  “I just mean, ya know… I don’t mind ya shaggin’ me wi’ me arse full o’ crud, but I reckon it’ll make an ‘ell of a stink once ya get started!”

“I couldn’t care how bad it stinks, son.  I just wanna nice, proper fuck while he crouches behind me with his tongue licking up my back door!”

“What if yer knob ends up covered in shit…?”

The bloke shrugged.  “It’ll make it more… interesting…”

The lad threw him a small smile, obviously warming to the idea.  “Ya reckon…?”

The suited guy reached down and pulled a condom from his trouser pocket. He must keep it within easy reach at times he was pursuing his hobby.

He gestured towards me and suggested, “Like he said, it’ll act as lube, won’t it?”

The lad grinned more broadly.  “Felt like it were gonna be a sloppy one, so it prob’ly will!”

The older bloke chuckled, unfurling the sheath down his large erection. “Good job in a way, ’cause I forgot to bring any KY.”

The lad chortled at that and made to take his high-res jacket off, but the suited guy quickly objected.

“No, leave it on,” he muttered.  “I want to screw you with you wearing it!”

The lad yanked his trousers down and turned around to bend over the toilet. His bum was pale and almost entirely hairless: only a few short, wispy hairs were visible emerging from his arse-crack.  There was a peppering of small pink blemishes around the crease where his buttocks met his thighs. He must get quite sweaty down there when he was lugging masonry around or whatever it was he did during the day.

The older man shuffled up behind him and parted his cheeks with his finger and thumb.  Slap bang between them we could both see the lad’s prominently puckered arsehole: the distended raised ring of someone who was in the regular habit of receiving other men’s cocks.

While in most cases one might expect such a well-ploughed hole to be inflamed red or purple, in this lad’s case it was a deep, dirty brown.

The suited bloke laughed, “Fucking hell!  I think you might have been touching cloth when you pulled in here, mate!”

The builder glanced back at us.  “What d’ya mean?”

The guy extended his middle finger into the murky trench, drew a small circle around the lad’s bloated ringpiece and then thrust the unsanitary digit towards him, putting it so close to his face that he could probably smell the stink on it.

On seeing how discoloured it was, the boy laughed heartily, “I told it were gonna be shitty!”

I found it refreshing that he was so unconcerned about the mess his arsehole was in even with two strangers staring at it.

The guy turned to me a grinned.  “Fancy sticking your face into that?”

I shook my head with a smirk, “I’ll let you do the honours…”

That was too much even for me.

The suited guy chuckled and pushed forwards so he could start pushing his rubbered organ against the lad’s muddy pucker.  His swollen muscle relaxed obligingly and the lad murmured at the feel of having his anal ring cleaved open.  In spite of his roughness, he was obviously no stranger to bending over to take another fella’s big cock into his rear passage!

“Ah yeah… shove it right up!” he called back to the suited guy.  “I wanna feel yer bollocks pressin’ between my legs!”

“Like having it up you, don’t you!” the older man chuckled and eased his thick cock further into the flagrantly-soiled hole that was being so eagerly offered.

I peered over so I could take a good look at what I once would have regarded as an unpleasantly crude variant of sex but which I now found utterly compelling.  Male penetrating male: the combining of two masculine anatomies never ceased to enthral me even if, in this case, it was somewhat tarnished by the unsightly state of the builder’s arse.

“Aah!” the boy suddenly gasped with a wince.  “Take it a bit slower, will ya?”

The bloke grabbed him by the hips and held his cock steady.  The top half of it was plugged inside the lad’s straining ring, the thickened shaft seeming to swell and stretch it further.

“You okay?” he asked his young companion.

“It’s like I told ya… my arse is well full!” the builder retorted. “Can’t you feel it around yer cock?”

The guy laughed.  “No complaints from my side!  It just feels hot and slippery!”

He pushed in another inch and the lad gasped again.  “Jesus – talk about packin’ fudge!”

The bloke kept chuckling and continued to work himself into the widening arsehole.  He seemed to find it funny that he was for all intents and purposes sliding his cock deeper and deeper into a big steaming dollop of the young builder’s shit.

“Oh God!” the boy panted.  “I feel like I’m gonna burst!”

The guy laughed again.  “Bet you wish you’d taken that dump!”

“Too fuckin’ right I do!”

The lad repositioned himself, opening his legs as much as he could and bending further down to open his arse up wider, trying to give his short-lived lover more room inside him.  He farted loudly which sounded utterly disgusting and the suited guy guffawed at the effect his cock was having on the over-filled rectum he was slowly pushing into.

“I once had two fellas bum me at the same time,” the builder muttered breathlessly.  “My arse feels even fuller than it did then!”

The suited guy kept grinning and pushed his cock the last few inches up into the gaping crack of the builder’s spread arse.

“Aah!  Jesus!” the younger man gasped.

Finally the suited guy’s huge bollocks were pressing into the backs of the builder’s legs and the lad let out another fart which sounded and smelled even ranker than the first.

The bloke turned to me and asked, “Have you ever done a guy like this?”

Thinking that, perhaps in my boring work suit I looked like a novice to the pleasures of male anal penetration, I chuckled at the question.

“Of course I have!” I retorted.  “Loads of times!  I’ll bang you while you bang him, if you want me to prove it!  I’ve got a condom in my wallet.”

He smiled back but shook his head.

“I only give, I don’t take,” he informed me before going to clarify: “I didn’t just mean have you fucked a guy’s arse, but have you fucked one like his – one that’s chock-full of turds…?”

“Oh I see,” I replied.  “No – not that I know of.  How’s it feel?”

“Surprisingly sexy,” he grinned.  “All wet and squelchy around my prong. Warm and yielding… soft and thick.”

He glanced down at my erection, which hadn’t lost any of its earlier stiffness, and added, “You like the sound of that?”

“Perhaps,” I nodded.  I wouldn’t have thought something so repulsive could possible titillate me but now that I was faced with the reality of it, I found it distinctly intriguing.

The guy slowly withdrew his cock from the boy’s arse and the two of us gasped in astonishment at the thick layer of crud that was covering it.  I winced at the stink from it – it really was atrocious – but the bloke just laughed and said, “Who’s for a choc ice?”

The boy peered around and over his shoulder at our dumbstruck faces.

“What’s up?” he asked.  “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Your mate’s cock looks a lot thicker now it’s on the way out!” I told him, trying not to gag at the stench.

“Thicker?” he asked.  “How?”

“It’s… er… extremely well-lubed!”

He looked at us stupidly, failing to get the joke, and then sniffed the air a few times before realising what we were referring to.

“Oh right!” he chuckled back.  “I told you I were desperate for a crap!”

“Oh Jesus Christ!  The smell of it!” muttered the suited guy with his cock still plugged up the dirty arse.  “It stinks like… I dunno… like…”

“Shit?” I asked.

“Yeah!” he chortled.  “This is gonna be the stinkiest fuck I’ve ever had, and believe me I’ve had quite a few!”

He reached up to grab the builder by the shoulders and started sliding his cock slowly in and out of the filthy hole.  Some of the lad’s shit squelched out every time he pushed in and the smell of it grew even stronger in the confines of the cubicle.

The guy turned to me and grinned, obviously enjoying how sordid this butt-fuck was becoming.  The skid-marks on the back of his own briefs paled into insignificance compared to the mess that his cock was now making as it penetrated this younger man’s arse.  There were soon sloppy brown gobs sticking to his pubes and two thick stinking stripes smeared on the inner sides of the boy’s pale, splayed buttocks.

The boy also found it amusing that he was delivering such inelegant intercourse and smirked up at me from where he was bent over the toilet bowl.  He seemed as eager to see my reaction on seeing this extreme caricature of anal sex, as I had been his when I’d shown him what rimming looks like.  His face was full of expectation, as if he was hoping to surprise me: like he wanted to show me something new and unsuspected in the same way I had when I’d licked the guy’s arse.

I just smiled back at him.  What I was watching was graphic and perhaps a little grotesque, but I certainly wasn’t shocked by it.  After all, I’d enjoyed enough anal liaisons with other men to recognise that such sex can bring with it exposure to faecal matter.

Dissatisfied by my muted response, he asked, “Does it look really ‘orrible… seein’ me gettin’ a bum-job wi’ me arse full o’ shit?”

I shrugged.  “Maybe not ‘horrible’… but as anal copulation goes, yours doesn’t leave much to the imagination!”

He didn’t understand what I meant because he persisted, “Does it look… you know…. proper nasty?  Seein’ me gettin’ bummed up me dirty, stinkin’ arse?”

He seemed determined that I should concede that the sight of him being butt-fucked was offensive.

I smiled.  “Well, your arse is oozing shit around his cock as he’s fucking you.  I wouldn’t call it ‘nasty’ but I admit it’s not the sort of thing one’s likely to see on a Valentine card.”

Again he didn’t appreciate my humour and instead said defiantly, “Well I’m fuckin’ lovin’ it me!  I’m fuckin’ well into it!”

He grabbed his erection and, pushing it back between his thighs so I could see it underneath the older man’s roughly jabbing organ.  He jerked his foreskin back and forth as if to show me how aroused he was from being so lewdly and indecorously penetrated.

His cock really was remarkably small: it had a nice, curved shaft and a lovely moist pink head, but it was thin and short and he had to wank it between a single finger and his thumb.  Not that I’m being critical of it: cocks are always fun to play with it and, while it might not make the most fulfilling fuck were he and I ever to find ourselves in that position, there were many other things the two of us could no doubt enjoy doing with it.

He sneered up at me while he wanked himself, again trying to elicit a reaction from me.  He paused to sniff at the cloying stink of his own excrement, and then grinned at me more broadly to show his pride at how strong and overpowering his odour was growing.

“From now on I’m gonna make sure I hold me dump in before I get me arse bummed!” he informed me.  “Make it stink somethin’ rotten!  Get the other bloke’s dick all brown and shitty!”

Again it seemed important to him to instil shock in me.

I said, “Thank you for that information.”

This time he just gawped up at me and I turned to watch the cock sliding in and out of his rear become progressively more layered with the thick sticky mess that was still exuding from his anus.  It was splattering all around the suited guy’s pubes and sticking in moist chunks to his huge bobbing nut-sack.  Even the lad’s arse was coated with it: it was filling up his arse crack and was smeared in a sloppy circle on his buttocks around the relentlessly pumping shaft.  When this was finished his bum would look like he’d had the mother of explosive diarrhoeas.

The older bloke turned to me and said with an eager smirk, “Jesus, mate, look at all his shit going everywhere!  All over my knackers and right across his arse!”

I grinned back at him and he went on, growing still more excited, “This is as rough as fuck!  It’s proper shit-stabbing!  I swear to God I’ve never fucked a bloke half as dirty as this!”

I was surprised at how much it was turning me on too: my hard-on was throbbing upright at the sheer squalidness of what I was witnessing.

He looked down at the growing ring of excrement encircling his cock and how thickly matted his pubic hair was with wet solid chunks.  His bollocks were now completely brown and were making an obscene-looking smudge every time they slammed into the back of the lad’s thighs.

“This is what it must be like when blokes do it in prison!” he panted. “This is how it looks when they’re shagging each other in their cells!”

I wasn’t sure why he thought that, but the picture in his head cranked his tempo up a notch.

I wondered if he was right and this was indeed what prison sex looked like; spontaneity and a lack of lube encrusting every liaison in a brown-coloured hue.  No wonder the men so often chose to do it in the showers.

“This is how it stinks!” he went on, struggling for breath.  “This is how it reeks when all the blokes go at each other’s arses… the whole fucking prison…. stinking of all the fucking butt sex going on!”

He started thrusting even more powerfully into the builder’s slurping arsehole, grunting and gasping while sniffing hungrily at the disgusting pong from the mess that was spreading outwards from his exertions.

“Lick my arse!” he panted with an urgency that suggested his orgasm was drawing close.  “Lick my arse while I… while I… sodomise this boy’s dirty shitty hole!”

The relish with which he said he was sodomising the lad suggested that there was more to this for him than just a raunchy fuck in a seedy motorway toilet.  Maybe he hadn’t been aware of it until he’d started fucking the lad’s over-stocked backside, but this most vulgar and abhorrent form of buggery was clearly something that turned him on immensely.

Perhaps the gritty squalor of prison sex was something that had always fascinated him, or perhaps he liked his encounters with other males to be far more crude and sleazy than the more sensual lovemaking he must enjoy with his wife.

Whatever the reason, having another man’s effluent spattering all over his genitals while he so enthusiastically pounded his rear proved to be something that – perhaps unexpectedly – he found utterly compelling.

“Come on – lick my arse!” he insisted and I saw that beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.  I moved around behind him again pleased to be able to finish off the job I’d started earlier.

I knelt down behind him and noticed that his buttocks were also growing wet as they flexed back and forth to slam his hips against the builder’s bum. His sweat was trickling down from his back, soaking his shirt as it did so, and coursing between his cheeks to make his butt hair glisten.

I leaned forwards and extended my tongue into his crack, enjoying how the new saltiness from his sweat mixed with the deeper and richer tastes lurking within.  He grunted more strenuously when he felt me lick his arsehole and I tasted again the pungent bite of the tunnel inside it.

However, compared to the all-consuming stink of the lad getting fucked, the guy’s taste back here now seemed woefully inadequate.  I wanted so much more than what he was offering me here: I wasn’t sure what, but I had to try to find out.

“Squat down a bit!” I commanded him.  “I want to get my tongue between your legs!”

He did as I’d ordered, crouching down a little so that I could see through his thighs.  His swollen balls were jiggling around between his legs as his shit-coated cock was hammering in and out from between the lad’s copiously-daubed buttocks.  The smell of their sex hit me like a blow: with my face so close to the relentless and thickly-smeared cock, this most crude and extreme version of anal sex stunk far, far stronger than any previous sexual encounter I’d had with other men.

To the rational part of my brain the stench was vilely repugnant, but to a different part – a much deeper part – it proved to be invigorating. It was like an intense distillation of all the darkest, most secretive scents I’d come to savour since discovering intimacy with my own gender. It was like the smell of male-on-male penetration cranked up to the max: many magnitudes stronger than any experiences of same-sex copulation that I’d had before.

I started wanking my foreskin roughly and quickly as I saw the builder was doing the same to his own.  It was almost comical how his cock was straining to achieve its full hardened size but was only managing to grow to a mere fraction of what the older man’s huge, pummelling organ was capable of.  The boy’s face had frozen into a permanent wince as if he was in pain while his finger and thumb thumped away at his tiny dick.  His own climax was nearing; the stink from his own cock-pounded shit only serving to propel him more quickly towards it.

I pushed my face between the guy’s legs and licked the hairy underside of his heaving bollocks.  He grunted his encouragement, his hips whacking faster and harder against the lad’s splayed buttocks, and I pushed further forwards, reaching my tongue outwards to taste what was covering his wobbling nutsack.

“Oh yeah!” I heard him gasp as I experienced a taste far stronger and more exciting than I ever had during rimming.  I could tell that what was on my tongue was as base and distasteful as I might have expected, but on a purely animal, sexual level it proved to be electrifying.  This was in no way comparable to the subtle and secretive scents I enjoyed during anal sex with my fellow men: it was the full-on consuming punch of a man’s basest stink at its most primal and intense.

“Lick my bollocks!” I heard him call out.  “Lick his fucking muck off them!”

I continued lapping at his full and heaving scrotum but I pushed my face further between his legs as my sights were now set a little higher up.  I was fascinated by his massive thickly-coated cock, slamming back and forth as it prepared to unload itself inside the lad’s shit-encrusted arse.

I reached my tongue up towards it and he sensed my intention.

“Aah yeah – that’s right!  Clean it!” he called down to me.  “Clean his shit off my cock!”

I pressed my tongue into the battering shaft of it and felt the glutinous material collect on its tip as it drove back and forth.  The taste was appalling but nevertheless the sensation of what I was doing made my own aching erection strain still harder in my rapidly beating hand.

I couldn’t believe that I was actually doing this – how utterly depraved I was behaving to be licking one guy’s crud off another’s frantically driving cock – but I was and… oh God!  It felt so exciting!

I reached my tongue further forwards towards the gaping arsehole, with the builder’s stinking mess still squeezing around the huge shaft of the cock. Before I could lick it, though, I felt my climax kick in.

“Fucking lick it!  Eat it!” the bloke was grunting down to me as the hammering of his cock became a squalid brown blur.  Suddenly a massive outpouring of semen frothed out of the builder’s arse in a dirty beige lather, reminding me of a milky cappuccino that had abruptly overflowed. The sound of his thrusting cock became wetter and more sloppy and the smell from it, splattering the lad’s spunk-moistened shit in an even wider diameter across his bum, intensified still further.

I pulled out from between his legs and struggled back to my feet behind him.

He was growling animalistically as he emptied his bollocks into the builder’s well-used arse, holding him firm with both hands as he rammed his cock home over and over in long deep lunges.  His semen was bubbling out of the lad in a dirty brown lather, trickling down the backs of his legs and getting caught in big frothy gobs on the suited guy’s pubes.

Only then did it occur to me that the condom must have torn.

I pressed my middle finger between his muscular buttocks as he discharged the last few squirts of his load into the dirty rectum.  Among the coarse sweaty hair of his crack, I found his spit-moistened hole spasming and puckering in time with his diminishing thrusts and worked the top of my finger into it.  He grunted appreciatively as his hot muscular ring squeezed tightly around my finger.

Being fingered gave his orgasm a second wind and he let out a series of carnal grunts as his cock fired off a further surge of his cream up into his companion’s over-filled bowels.  It frothed out from the boy’s arse crack with renewed vigour: a foaming lather of fresh man-seed, sullied and discoloured by thick brown gobs of semi-solid shit.

That seemed to propel the builder towards his own climax: the sloppy squelching sounds as well as the strengthening odour from his semen-loosened rectum driving his tiny kiddy-sized dick to start shooting a few derisory splashes of jizz across the rim of the toilet bowl.

A movement above me made me glance upwards and I saw that we were being observed over the cubicle partition from the next stall by a lad who must be standing on the toilet.  He was young – maybe nineteen or twenty – and was wearing thick-rimmed specs with his smooth wavy hair flawlessly gelled into a luxuriant quiff.  He looked like a fashionably nerdy student; probably just some lad intent on taking a dump whose curiosity had been diverted by the activities going on through the peep-holes I had used earlier.

His expression was one of revulsion: he seemed utterly appalled by the depravity going on below him.  And yet his shoulder was shuddering rapidly betraying that, however offended his face might appear, his hand and his hard-on were both enjoying the scatological show.

He glanced over at me – his eyes wide with horror – and I suddenly wondered if perhaps he was concerned that gay sex might always look like this.  Whether he’d been secretly fantasizing about getting together with another guy and was now fearful that the union of their bodies – something he might have imagined as being meaningful and beautiful – would end up with them wallowing together in a mess as crude as repulsive as what he was now seeing.

I smiled up at him in encouragement and muttered, “It’s not usually like this!”

He seemed not to understand and instead looked back down at the churning froth of dirty spunk spewing out from the builder’s arse as the cock’s rhythmic release finally began to abate.  In spite of how disgusted he looked at the vulgarity of what he was seeing, his shoulder was shaking faster and harder as he whacked himself off as quickly as he could.

He was like me: on one level appalled by the utter filth he was witnessing, while on another unable to stop himself becoming desperately aroused by it.

The suited guy’s big softening cock finally flopped out of the builder’s splayed slimy hole with the condom hanging in tatters from its shaft.  A thick gunge of shit mixed together with the older man’s seed poured down the backs of the builder’s thighs and the horrendous stench of it made us all wince and pull away like a slap across the face.

“Oh God!  The stink!” the lad peering over the partition said, looking back at me in outright disgust.

I smiled again: in spite of how roughly he was masturbating himself on his side of the partition, he seemed genuinely horrified that all of this might be typical of sex between men.  That the tender gay lovemaking he had perhaps romanticized about at night in his bed would in the event prove to be as obscene and explicit as this.

“It doesn’t normally smell like this,” I told him as he stared at me in revulsion with his hand pounding at his dick.  He was clearly hugely turned on by how wild and untamed anal sex between men could appear, but at the same time revolted that for him and his male lover, this might be the normal smell of their homosexual intimacy.

I didn’t want him to feel reluctant to explore his sexuality on the basis of what he was experiencing here.  I wanted him to know that this was something bizarre and extreme and that if he was curious about being gay or bi, the sex he would enjoy with other guys was likely to be just as beautiful as he imagined.

Of course I didn’t tell him any of that – not there like that – but instead I pulled my finger out of the suited guy’s arsehole and raised it to the lad’s shuddering face.

The finger was streaked with a light brown sludge; a mere fraction of what was caked around the huge softening cock from which the remains of the condom were being yanked.

“This is how dirty a dick normally gets after a butt-fuck,” I told him. “And this is about as shitty as gay sex normally smells,” I added, extending my finger towards his nose.

He sniffed at it hungrily, enjoying the earthy pungent odour I knew to be more typically released during anal sex between men.  This was the smell that I so adored myself; the smell that had drawn me here and caused to me to squat down and apply my nose to the suited guy’s big brawny butt.

“That’s the smell of bum sex,” I confided, chuckling at how much he was loving inhaling the suited guy’s bum-stink on my finger and how powerfully his shoulder was now thumping against the partition.  “This is the smell you’ll get when you fuck some guy up his butt, or when you bend over to let another lad do it to you!”

His expression turned to one of flinching pain as his cock started squirting on the other side of the partition wall.  I was amused that it was the thought of bending to receive a cock that had been the trigger of his orgasm; perhaps the thought of working his dick up another lad’s arse didn’t seem so appealing now that he’d seen what had oozed out of the builder’s.

Once our observer’s climax had subsided and he’d clambered down from the toilet to wipe himself down, the problem in our cubicle became one of sanitation.  For my part, I’d escaped largely unsoiled – I only needed to wash my hands and buy a bottle of mouthwash from the shop out in the foyer – but both the suited guy and the builder found themselves in a much messier predicament.

“What the fuck am I going to tell my wife?” the suited guy muttered, looking down at how much wet brown slop had spattered onto his shirt and trousers.

“Yeah, my mum’s gonna go fuckin’ ape!” the builder added, seeing the state of his sodden underwear and how grim the back of his tracksuit bottoms looked.

I let myself out of their stall feeling like Arnie saying, “I’ll be back!” and went to wet a wodge of paper towels with warm soapy water.  I have no idea what the other men in the toilet thought I was doing, amassing such a sopping bundle of wet towels, but it would have seemed inconsiderate for me to have just left my two companions like that: doing their best to daub off the worst of the stinking mess with flimsy sheets of toilet paper from the dispenser in the cubicle.

I’m sure the suited guy must have still been a bit whiffy when he got back to his wife but no doubt he had an excuse at the ready.  And the young builder could surely have talked his out of the state his shorts and tracksuit bottoms were in to his mum: a backfiring portaloo at the building site, for example, or an unpleasant practical joke thought up by one of his mates.

On the drive home, I was unable to shake my thoughts from what I’d done in the cubicle.  I didn’t feel disgusted with myself – after all, my part in our threesome had, for all intents and purposes, been a rim-job which had taken a somewhat uncouth twist.  I couldn’t help being plagued by recurrent worries, however, about the sort of outcome such an interest might lead me towards.

I felt a bit like the voyeur student: fascinated by the barbarity of the sex I’d found myself wrapped up in, but at the same time unnerved by the implications of it.  Was the excitement I’d felt when I’d licked the man’s shit-covered cock just an aspect of my fascination with bloke’s butts and my fondness for sniffing and rimming them?  More importantly, did I want to pursue such excremental encounters any further?

I didn’t yet have any answers as I knew this would need a good deal of further thought.

My musings started that very night at bedtime when, with my hand firmly gripping my organ as it swelled upwards through my pyjama fly, I replayed the whole experience back in my head for what proved to be the first of many enjoyable occasions.  Each time I replayed the memory, I took my own part a little further, exploring different scenarios to see what effect they would have on my masturbatory pleasures and the rapidity of my climaxes.

Soon I did have some answers, even if they weren’t the ones I might have been hoping for, and I realised that what I’d done in the cubicle would likely be merely the first manifestation of a whole new side to my sexuality.


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