Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 12:44:58 -0700
From: Castro Pig <dudestink@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Pigslave Journal (Authoritarian/WS/Scat)

MY PIGSLAVE JOURNAL

During the months prior to my move from Birmingham, Alabama to the West
Coast, I decided to take a few risks in my social life. I was going to be
leaving town anyway. So, I figured there would be no threat my "reputation
and standing" around town (such as it was), if any of my "experiments"
turned out badly.

One such "experiment" led me to meeting up with a very mean young man who
dominated me completely during my last few months in Birmingham. This man
-- boy, really -- was less than half my age. Yet, he became my Master, the
complete focus of my life. And I became his groveling slave and even his
personal toilet. In fact, I became the receptacle for all his body fluids,
as well as the object of his extremely harsh verbal and physical abuse.

This young man gained great satisfaction from tormenting and thoroughly
degrading me. Yet the truth is that he provided me with the greatest sense
of fulfillment and inner peace I have ever experienced.

This journal describes how I -- a respectable banker in my late forties --
became a groveling pigslave to this young sadistic male, and how I
descended to depths of depravity few men ever get to experience.

********

I will not waste time with too much preamble about myself. Suffice it to
say that I have always been a loner. I was always the outsider at school
and felt even more of an outsider when, as an adult, I spent time in the
"gay world". The truth is very few gay men turn me on. My erotic interest
has always focussed on butch young men who, of course, are always
unavailable, at least to the likes of me. As a result, my sex life has been
solitary to say the least.

So, here I was at the tender age of 47 and still jerking off to fantasies
of worshipping masculine studs young enough to be my son. I joined a
college gym (via a "community membership") just to be surrounded by jocks.
I loved everything about them, especially their carefree attitude,
something I have never enjoyed in life. In my eyes, they were Gods. And I
deeply wanted to "own" one.

Now, one of the things about jacking off alone is that you get to develop
all kinds of elaborate fantasies. Reality doesn't get to intrude. And so it
was that I started fantasizing about being a slave to a young jock. The
fantasy felt so completely "right" -- it was truly what I wanted. To deeply
worship the God of masculinity as represented in the muscular body and
ripe, smelly juices of a young, athletic male.

It was with this in my mind that I summoned up the courage to place an ad
in the online Yahoo personals. The ad read:

"Man seeks Man: Seeking degradation by younger man; Birmingham, Alabama.

"I'm one of those trolls you see hanging out in the gay bars. I am
clean-shaven, overweight, and out-of-shape. I lust after masculine young
men and constantly fantasize about their personal stink, especially their
dirty crotches and buttholes. If you are a young man with a very mean side
to your character, then I want to worship you. I will truly obey your every
whim, no matter how mean or nasty, and will even respectfully suggest a few
punishments designed to fully degrade myself in front of you. All I ask in
return is that you permit me to honor all your body smells and fluids, as
well as your dirty laundry and footwear. I will even be your personal
toilet if you feel motivated to destroy the very last remnants of my
self-respect. I will respect and obey you without question at all times,
and, if I fail to do so, I expect to be harshly punished. I expect no
commitment from you. When we are together, I will exist only for your
amusement and pleasure. If you have ever wondered what it would be like to
have a grown man groveling at your feet, obeying all your commands without
question, then you should respond to this ad."

Jesus Christ! I reread that ad sometimes and can't help thinking: what a
total fucking loser I am!! But, the truth is: That's exactly what I truly
am. I'm just honestly fessing up to that fact through my ad.

Now, realistically, I knew that my ad was very much a long shot. The
chances of a genuine young stud responding were very slim. But, hell, I
thought it was worth a shot.

I also knew that, in the event that I actually got a real response, the guy
would not exactly be your typical jock. He would surely be mentally twisted
in some kind of weird way. Perhaps he would be a nascent sadist looking for
an easy outlet for his desire to hurt others. Or perhaps he might be a
young man with a very negative emotional agenda against older men. There
were all kinds of possible psychological profiles. Who knew what might
motivate a good-looking stud to respond to my ad? And in that very
uncertainty, lay the clear risk that I might find myself getting involved
with a psycho. But, despite the risks, I felt completely driven to try. I
determined in my own mind that if I received a serious response, I would
not chicken out. I desperately wanted my fantasy to come true!!

I pressed "submit" on the web page and the die was cast, for better or for
worse. Or, more likely, nothing.

Within a few days, I had received some responses. But, they were all of the
"you sick fuck" or "get therapy" kind. And then, on day four, the following
arrived:

"Hey noselfrespect Bitch,

"I'm Mark. I am 5'11', 170 LBS, Brn/Brn. 7" Cock. I would luv to control
and degrade you. If you wouldent (sic) listen to me I would make you my
little urinal. I would give you an enema or two. And if you are good you
could even let it all out. I think I am exactly what you need. Hope to hear
from you soon. Mark".

I immediately looked up his Yahoo profile, which didn't say much apart from
that he had listed his age as 22 and his residence as Birmingham, Alabama.

I thought to myself that his response was kind of amateurish. He begins in
an appropriately demeaning way, yet he ends with "Hope to hear from you
soon" which is kind of friendly. But, then I thought, hey, the guy's a
kid. What do you expect? John Preston?

The enema bit, though, came as a surprise. Who would want to mess with my
middle-aged ugly butthole? But, hell, if that was what he wanted, I was
sure not going to stand in his way.

Anyway, I was intrigued. And I had nothing to lose by responding. So, I
did:

"Sir:

"I am honored that you chose to respond to my personal ad. I have never
done anything like this before. But, I am extremely sincere in my DEEP
desire to be tormented and degraded by a younger man.

"If you choose to give me enemas, Sir, then I will of course be honored
(and also extremely humiliated, but that, of course, is the point). I would
be especially honored if you would place a very dirty, stinky pair of your
underwear over my head while I am being given the enema. I would then be
able to worship some of your most intimate smells while you flush out the
foulness of my intestinal tract. You might also like to consider gagging me
with a pair of your sweaty sox. Please understand, Sir, that I am not
trying to be presumptuous in suggesting these ways of humiliating me. I
make these suggestions only to demonstrate my sincere motivation to be
degraded by you.

"I would very much like to meet up with you at your earliest
convenience. Perhaps over a drink or coffee, you can decide, Sir, if I am
worthy of your attention. If so, you would be most welcome to return to my
house where I will be glad to serve your every whim.

"Please feel free to email me at toiletmouth@usa.net.

"Sir, I thank you for your interest and I look forward to groveling at your
feet for your amusement and pleasure.

"Your no-self-respect bitch."

So, would he respond? Or was he just a joker having some online fun with
the personals?

Well, the next day, the following short email arrived from him:

"I'm for real. are you? if you are, give me your number and ill (sic)
call."

Hmmmm....decision time. And I'll tell you this: if I hadn't been leaving
town soon, there is NO WAY I would even think of giving him my number. But,
I WAS leaving town. And this was exactly the kind of risk I'd been thinking
of taking. So, I mailed him back, giving him my number.

"Sir, please feel free to call at your earliest convenience and I will
respectfully answer any questions you may have. Evenings after 6 p.m. are
best. Thank you, Sir.

"Your no-self-respect bitch."

The call came through that very same evening, around 9 p.m.

I answered the phone with a simple "hallo", to which he responded, in a
country drawl, "Yahoo personals mean somethin' to ya?"

Oh my God! It's HIM!!!!!

I immediately went weak at the knees, almost collapsing. My hands started
trembling uncontrollably. On every previous call in my life, I had been
your typical middle-class respectable guy. Buddy/buddy talk and all
that. Peer to peer conversation. And now suddenly I had to change my role
dramatically if I wanted this connection to proceed further. I had given
some thought, of course, to how I would behave when and if he called. But,
nothing had really prepared me for the stark reality of his call.

But, I did know this: if he was serious and was what he claimed to be, then
I desperately wanted to act out my fantasy of being his slave. I really
wanted this. I was not going to chicken out. Period.

I also figured that, given his young age, he was probably just as much of a
novice as I was, and that it would be serve me well if I "made it easy for
him" to degrade me. I would (subtly of course) assist him in my own
debasement.

So, taking a deep breath, I responded, "Yes, Sir. Yahoo is where I placed
my application to be degraded and tormented by you, Sir. I'm extremely
honored that you have chosen to call, Sir. Thank you Sir."

Yeah, I know, I was laying the "Sir" stuff on a bit thick. But, I needed to
communicate my seriousness to him.

"Jeez, you're serious about this shit, aren't you?"

"100 per cent, Sir. And I hope you are too, Sir."

"Well, maybe I am. And maybe I'm not. I just don't git what yer after."

He didn't "git" what I was after? Christ, how much clearer could I have
been in my ad and follow-up emails? He obviously understood perfectly what
I was after. But, he wanted me to say it in my own words, without hiding
behind the veneer of cyberspace. It was the start of my humiliation.

"Sir. I'm extremely serious about what I put in the ad. I have this deep
need that's built up over the years to serve a young masculine male."

"Whaddya mean 'serve'?"

"Well, Sir, I guess what I really mean is that I'm hoping to find a young
man who would enjoy tormenting and punishing me for his amusement. That's
what I want and need. I also have this need to worship you, your body, your
smells, your dirty clothes and all your body fluids."

"There you go again. Using this fancy talk. Whaddya mean 'worship'....'body
fluids'? Don't go giving me no more of this fuckin' bullcrap college
talk. Spit it out."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I won't do that again. It's just that it's difficult for
me to be open and honest about my inner desires, Sir. I've just never done
anything like this before, Sir. But, I'll try to explain, Sir.

"By 'worship your body fluids', Sir, I mean....", as I took a huge gulp of
air to give me the courage to continue, "... that I want to swallow your
spit and phlegm, eat your snot, drink your piss, lap up your virile sperm,
lick your sweaty feet and breathe in the stink of your sweaty crotch and
butthole, Sir. And...hmmm...er...I feel so embarrassed about saying this,
Sir.....but, in time, I would also like to eat your shit, Sir....directly
from your hole, Sir. I'm just being honest, Sir"

"God...you really are a sick motherfucker, aren't ya?"

"If you say so, Sir."

"So, Mr. College Education, what do I get outta this?"

"Well, Sir. It will only be worth your valuable time if you think you'll
get pleasure from tormenting and humiliating me. I would like to add, Sir,
that I've bought a leather strap for you to punish me with if I fail, in
any way, to please you. I've done this even though I have never been hit in
my whole life. But, it's clear to me that my Master should have the right
to punish me whenever he sees fit. Hence, my purchase of the strap, Sir. I
hope you approve of my purchase, Sir, and that you will take pleasure in
using it on me when you so decide."

"Well, I might could get some enjoyment from degrading you. That's why I
responded to your ad. More than that I won't say. My feelings ain't none of
yer business. But, I still wanna check that yer really for real."

"Fully understand, Sir. How can I help you do that, Sir?"

"Well, bitch, I'll tell you what. Meet me tomorrow. I'll check you
out. But, I'm not promising anything. Get it?"

"Got it, Sir."

We then made arrangements to meet late afternoon the following day at a
midtown McDonalds near where I live.

By the end of the call, he was really starting to get into the whole thing
about degrading me, ending the call with, "Don't be late, fuckhead."

I began to respond, "No, Sir. I won't be late." But, he had already hung
up.

And then I collapsed on the sofa, not quite believing what I had just
done. I had set myself up to be degraded by a man young enough to be my
son! Was I being a complete fool? Or was this the best thing I had ever
done for myself? Only time would tell. I guess that's what risk-taking is
all about.

It was several scotches before I calmed down and felt able to go to bed and
sleep, although thoughts kept racing through my mind about all the
possibilities the next day might bring.

**************

Well, I was useless at work the next day, partly because of all the
scotches I had drank the night before. But, mainly, because of the huge
nervous trepidation I felt. It seemed like an eternity before I was able to
quit work and head over to McDonalds, still dressed in my business suit. I
arrived a good fifteen minutes before the appointed time and sat down and
drank coffee, awaiting the arrival of the young man I hoped would become my
Master. What would he look like? Would he even show up?

Fortunately, I was pretty sure that we would recognize each other. The
place was almost deserted. He had said that he would be wearing a red plaid
shirt and levis, which should be very easy to spot. And, then, of course, I
was the only one wearing a business suit. No, if there was going to be a
problem, it would not be because of a lack of mutual recognition. But,
would he show up? Would he show up, damnit?

Well, the appointed meeting time came and went, and I began to start losing
hope that he would show.

But, then, twenty minutes later, this young man walks through the door.
And, yes, he's wearing a red plaid shirt and denims. And, God, is he
eye-catching.

And, yep, he looks his stated age (22). I'd put him about 5' 11'' and about
170, just as he had said in his email. The build of a solid wrestler.
Extremely short, dark-brown hair cut military style. The beginnings of a
five o'clock shadow. And a wide belt around his waist, similar to those
worn by carpenters. All these observations I made in the millisecond that
it took for me to spot him.

He also spotted me immediately. He knew I was coming straight from work,
saw that I was the only one dressed up in a business suit, and drew the
obvious conclusion. His face revealed nothing about his initial impression
of me, although I'm sure that he picked up my definite lustful interest in
him, but it didn't seem to put him off. After all, he was the kind of
good-looking guy who almost-certainly got hungry looks all the while, from
both men and women.

He strode across toward me and I stood up to shake his hand (force of
habit, I guess, but hardly the behavior of a potential slave!). He looked
at my outstretched hand and ignored it, and instead stared straight into my
eyes and said, "Get me a quarterpounder with cheese, large fries and a
Coke. And get a Coke and fries for yourself."

"But, I'm not hungry."

"Just do it. And I'll meet you at one of the tables outside."

Wow! He wasn't wasting any time taking charge. Last night's conversation
must have primed him just right. But why outside? It was close to 100
degrees out there, with matching humidity. Nobody would sit outside by
choice. But, he seemed to know what he wanted. So, I got the food and
joined him outside.

I placed the food on the table and waited for him to say, "Sit down", which
he finally did. The scene seemed completely surreal to me. I simply
couldn't believe that I was actually meeting a young man with the objective
of getting him to totally degrade me! But, this meeting really was
happening. This was no product of my imagination. This was for real!

After I sat down, he started attacking the burger and fries, looking down
at his food and ignoring me. I just sat there impassively, ignoring my
fries and Coke. I guess I was just awaiting his instructions on what I
should do next.

"So, you're serious about all this degrading shit, yeah?"

"Yes, Sir," I whispered, even though nobody was around to overhear our
conversation.

He stared at me a while. I guess he was taking in the scene of this suited
businessman sitting opposite him - a man who, the previous night, had told
him that he wanted to "worship" his sweaty stink and all his "body fluids".

He continued, "Before this goes any further, I wanna test ya some to see if
y'all are as serious as you say ya are."

"But not here, Sir, surely?" I stuttered, on the point of objecting.

"Stay cool, dude. It'll be okay."

Nonplussed is probably the only way to describe the resulting expression on
my face. Totally nonplussed. What the fuck did he mean? I didn't have to
wait long to find out.

Just as he was picking up the expression on my face, he reached across and
grabbed my still-untouched french fries. He then turned away from the
window, snorted his nose, hocked some phlegm in his nasal passages, and
spat a disgusting phlegmball directly onto my fries.

"Eat," he commanded.

With this simple -- but extremely direct --command, my emotions began to
run riot. My "respectable" side kicked in, and I began fuming. Here was
this fucking upstart "kid" bossing me around. Jesus, he's about the same
age as the office juniors at work. I am just not going to tolerate any kind
of disrespect from the likes of him. Period!!

But, just as my outrage began to surface, so did other feelings. And these
feelings went much deeper - way deeper than my bullshit conventional
outrage.

Emotionally, I began to feel the same way I did when I walked into the john
at college and saw a small turd belonging to the previous occupant - an
incredibly hot stud in my class. I knew when I set eyes on the precious,
dark, rich meat, that I would be eating that turd. I knew that I would not
be able to resist the craving. And with that sure knowledge, I felt a
welling up of excitement that went to the very core of what I am as a human
being. I remember shaking uncontrollably, going weak at the knees and
almost fainting. But, far more importantly, I felt ALIVE.

Well, I did chew on that small turd, and while swirling the chewed-up mess
in my mouth, I had the most explosive orgasm of my life (at least up until
that point).

Now, in the presence of this young man, I felt all those same feelings
rushing to my head. I knew that I would not be able to resist. To do so,
would be to deny my true desires.

And so it was that this stud took me under his control.

I looked down at the whitish, gooey slime on my fries and then up at his
impassive expression. My hands and knees were trembling.

And, then, just as he had ordered, I picked up a couple of fries with the
greatest amount of phlegm-slime and, keeping my head bowed, placed them in
my mouth with as much deference as I was able to muster. I wanted my Master
to know that I felt honored to be given the opportunity to feast upon his
nasal dredgings. And I chewed, slowly, savoring the taste and consistency
of my Master's phlegm.

He said nothing, but just stared at me, probably not quite believing that I
was really going through with this degradation. All the emails, and the
telephone call the previous night, now meant nothing. There was just the
present reality. And in that reality, I was worshipping one of my Master's
precious "body fluids". My evident commitment to my own debasement did not
go unnoticed by this masculine young man sitting opposite me. And I saw the
beginnings of a cruel smirk cross his face as he began to understand the
power he held over me. But, he still kept himself aloof. He wasn't ready
quite yet to completely unleash his cruel side upon me. There would have to
be some more tests of my motivation.

He grabbed the fries again, turned his back away from the window, and
hocked another slime ball directly into the middle of the remaining
fries. Now I understood why he had chosen to eat outside - all he had to do
to get some privacy was turn away from the window. I was beginning to
develop some respect for this ingenious young man - the man I desperately
hoped would become my Master.

"Keep on eating."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for your phlegm, Sir."

I ate a few more slime-drenched fries and he grabbed them yet again. I was
very happy for him to completely drench my fries with his phlegm if he so
chose. After all, I was riding high. I was jubilant. I was savoring this
experience. And my dick was throbbing. Finally, I was living!

But, this time he hesitated. Instead of hocking another slime ball, he
continued chewing on a mouthful of his burger. And, then, just as I
realized what he was about to do, he spat the chewed-up mess all over the
rest of my fries. A slurry of sloppy burger, ketchup, pickle and bun, all
steeped in his saliva, covered my fries. My "normal" self wanted to throw
up on the spot.

But, when I looked down at the horrid mess, all I saw was this precious
gift from my Master. I didn't hold back for a second as I hungrily gobbled
up these wonderful fries that had been coated with semi-digested food
disgorged from my Master's mouth.

And then, for the first time, my Master relaxed and laughed mockingly at
me. He knew he "had" me. I was his plaything to taunt and torment to his
heart's desire. Hell, I was far more fun than the small animals he had
tortured in his childhood and early adolescence.

But, even though I had proven myself, he still had a couple of tricks left
up his sleeve.

As he was finishing up his food, he burped loudly and announced "Hand me
your Coke."

"Yes, Sir." As I handed him my Coke.

"Don't move."

Then he headed off the bathroom.

And I took this opportunity to breathe a huge sigh of relief, momentarily
letting go of the intense pressure I had been feeling.

At that point, if the truth be known, we probably both needed a breather to
calm down from the excitement of crossing the threshold from talk (which is
cheap) to action (which takes guts). I desperately wanted a very stiff
drink. But, that, I knew, would have to wait.

My Master was gone for about five minutes and I naturally assumed he was
taking a crap. I really wanted to be there with him, inhaling the stink of
his shit, worshipping him while he sat on the throne, available at his
command to tongue-clean his dirty hole.

I daydreamed briefly about kneeling before a pile of his turds, my hands
handcuffed behind my back. I'm sniffing deeply, my eyes completely locked
on his excrement. I am craving to eat them. My cock is rock hard, bobbing
up and down in lust overload. Without warning, he pushes my face directly
into the shitpile. My nostrils immediately fill up with his stinking
waste. At some level, I feel thoroughly disgusted and humiliated. But, even
so, I find myself uncontrollably opening my mouth wide as I feverishly
begin devouring my Master's rich, dark brown turds. However, before my
daydream develops any further, I notice my Master returning.

I couldn't help staring at my Master as He returned from the bathroom. God,
he's magnificent. The kind of young, masculine guy you long to find
yourself next to when you're in a gym changing room or on a bus or
plane. And for me, the kind of guy whose dirty underwear I would lose my
right arm for. Ten minutes with my nose nestled in the sweaty crotchstink
of his briefs would be worth ten years off my life. And if I played my
cards right, all his personal stinks would be MINE... Yes, MINE... I MUST
NOT FUCK UP!!!

This young man was extremely hot by anyone's standards. But, I chuckle now
with my fixation on his looks. What I have learned through experience is
that looks count for little. Whether smooth, hairy, skinny, chubby,
conventionally attractive, or nondescript, what really counts is
attitude. If the young man feels that it is perfectly natural to take a
shit while squatting over my face, then he is the kind of Master I will
deeply respect and from whom I will welcome the most awful kind of abuse
and humiliation.

A bully in the schoolyard does not spend much time analyzing why he pushes
around other kids. He just does it. It's part of the natural order of
things. There are those who bully and there are those who get bullied.
Simple.

And it's the same here. I exist to be pushed around and abused.

Anyway, enough of my reflections. Back to what happened.

He handed me the Coke container as soon as he returned. It was warm, very
warm, and certainly no longer contained iced Coke. It had to be his piss. I
had never drunk a man's piss before. But, if I had to drink piss, this was
the man whose piss I wanted.

Surprising even myself, I immediately took the straw to my mouth and began
sucking up the contents of the Coke container. And, boy, was it strong.
Acrid and rank. But, I took to drinking my Master's piss like a duck to
water. In fact, everything between us started to feel "natural", as if we
had always interacted in this way. I was elated. For me, I knew there would
be no turning back. And I really didn't care. I had, as the cliche goes,
"found my calling".

"Drink it all up, piss bitch."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for your piss, Sir."

"Just drink up and shut up."

And I did just that, with my head bowed down in deference to the
superiority of my Master.

He ignored me and turned away, staring into the distance as he finished his
Coke. He was evidently making his decision as to whether he would continue
having his perverse fun with me or drop me there and then. I thank God that
he chose to continue pushing me around and degrading me, at least for a
while longer.

"Finished?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, suck on this, asswipe", he said, as he handed me a paper napkin.

I was confused about this latest instruction, until I unfolded the white
paper napkin and saw the wide brown streak.

I briefly lifted the napkin to my nose and sniffed the rich stink. I
completely lost myself in my worship of this young man's shitsmell. And
then, as instructed, I placed the shitty part of the napkin in my mouth and
started chewing, thoroughly enjoying each and every dry morsel. My toilet
training had begun! The daydreams of just a moment or two before were
finally becoming reality.

He said nothing until I had finished swallowing, and then he announced his
decision.

"Well, let's go. I'll follow you back to your place."

*******************************

We got back to my place in next to no time and he parked his beaten-up
pickup behind me in the driveway. We'd made it! And I couldn't wait to get
inside to get on with the "scene". I was giddy with excitement, but tried
to "cool it" a bit in front of my Master, although the hardon tenting out
the front of my pants must have left Him in no doubt as to my excitement.

After I let us both in, I immediately got on all fours in front of my
Master, with my head bowed in complete submission. I think he was a bit
shocked at my blatant and immediate submissiveness. But, I wanted this new
phase to start out on the right note. I wanted him to know that he would
have no trouble in getting me to obey his every order.

"Permission to speak, Sir?" I asked, with my face hovering over the front
of his dirty boots.

I guess he was a bit startled and there was a slight delay before he said,
"Yeah".

"Sir, I feel that I should be punished for sharing the table with you at
McDonalds. I have no right to sit at any table in your presence. My place
is at your feet, Sir. Can I have permission to go get the strap so you may
give me the punishment I deserve?"

I think this startled Him as well. But, He sure didn't show it. Getting
right into the swing of things, he commanded, "Right boy, go git it."

And with that, I made my way on all fours to my study where I kept the
strap. Holding it between my teeth, I made my way back to my Master who had
taken the easy chair in the living room. I placed the strap at his feet and
prostrated myself before him, with my nose touching the floor.

I said, "I await your pleasure, Sir", at which point he picked up the
strap, raised himself out of the seat and walked to my side.

"Lift your ugly ass, bitch. And spread your legs."

"Yes, Sir," as I struggled to stick my butt as high as possible in the air.

And then the blows starting coming. And he didn't hold back one little bit,
applying every ounce of his muscle power to brutalizing my rear.

I screamed when the first blow hit me and I collapsed forward on the floor,
completely winded. Never in my whole life had I felt anything so
painful. It was like a lightning bolt had hit me.

But, even so, I got back up on my hands and knees and stuck my butt out to
receive more punishment from my Master. I knew that I needed this
punishment - that I just had to be flogged mercilessly by him. I don't know
how I knew. I just knew.

"Thank you, Sir."

And then he strapped me about nine more times (I wasn't exactly
counting!). Each time, I screamed, though less loudly than the first
time. And each time, I thanked my Master and proudly stuck my butt out to
receive more. I remember clearly that, even in my excruciating agony, the
beating felt incredibly "right". I felt, in a very deep sense, that I had
"come home".

"Well, pig, have you had enough?"

My intellect told me to count my blessings that I was being given an out by
my Master. The punishment could now stop. But, emotionally, I knew that I
had to have more, no matter how painful.

"Sir, I fear that I have not truly learned my lesson. Might I respectfully
suggest that you give me another twenty hits, this time on my bare butt? I
think then, and only then, will I have properly learned my lesson and my
place as your slave."

"Okay, pig, drop your pants now and bare butt. And spread your legs,"
instructions that I followed in an instant.

"Jesus Christ, bitch, you got one ugly fat ass. God I hate even looking at
it. You'd better start working on that flabby cuntass real soon, or I'm
really gonna be laying into ya'."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir, for having an ugly fat ass. With your guidance and
direction, I'll try to do a lot better in the future, Sir. Thank you,
Sir. May I have the rest of my punishment now, please Sir?"

And then he recommenced my beating, spacing each blow by about every ten
seconds.

This time, I was psychologically far more ready, even though each blow was
more painful than those I had received in the first set. I was beginning to
learn the lesson of pacing myself, especially with respect to breathing.
Nevertheless, the punishment was brutally agonizing, and by the end tears
were flooding from my eyes and clear slime was running out of my nose. But,
I had survived!

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir." And without thinking, I turned sideways
and moved my face down to kiss his boots in gratitude.

"You fucking loser. I'm outta here. Okay, cuntface, be here tomorrow
morning at ten."

And, with that, he turned and left my house.

So that was the end of my first strapping at the hand of my Master (indeed
my first thrashing ever). It seemed at the time to be awful torture. But,
the truth is that 30 lashings with a medium-heavy strap, even when applied
with full force on the naked buttocks, is really not that excessive. Within
weeks, I was able to take sixty lashings in one session. Yes, those
sessions wiped me out and severely bruised my butt. And, yes, I dreaded
each and every stroke. But, the beauty was that for several days after my
punishment, my soreness would be a constant welcome reminder of the
wonderful time that I had spent with my Master.

In any case, I later found out that my Master had been regularly "whupped"
by his daddy well into his teenage years. As far as my Master was
concerned, I was well overdue some good thrashings to knock out my
college-educated airs and graces, and learn some real respect. And, of
course, he was perfectly correct. For this lesson, I remain grateful to him
to this day.

************

The next morning, I called in sick (my first time ever!). I didn't hesitate
in the slightest. I desperately wanted to spend more time with my Master.

He showed up at 10.15 am. It turned out that he was working on a
construction site nearby, and that the crew typically had their breakfast
break around 9.30 (having begun work at 6.30 am). So, as I later figured
out, he was stopping by my place on his way back to the site.

I opened the door to let him in and immediately went on all fours. I had no
idea what he had in mind.

"Get up and go get a toilet roll," he commanded.

I returned moments later and handed him the roll (with my head bowed toward
him, my eyes cast downward).

"Now, lie down on the stairs," he said, pointing to the short set of stairs
leading to my living room.

I assumed he was going to beat me. So, I laid face down the stairs, just as
he had commanded. I braced my butt to receive a lashing from his belt. But,
he had something different - very different - in mind.

"Not that way, asshole. Turn over. I'm gonna shit on your face."

Christ, I thought. He can't mean this. What about going in small stages?
I'm just not ready for this.

But, ready or not, I complied. I had no self-will. I knew that.

And, as soon as I had settled in position, with my head resting on the last
stair before the landing, he stepped over me.

Looking up, I saw him unbuckle his belt. Then, with one move, he dropped
his pants and shorts, and immediately squatted his ass over my face.

No words can describe my ecstasy at being presented with the hottest sight
I have ever witnessed. You would literally have to be a toilet to obtain
such a wonderful view.

My Master's sweaty, hairy balls hung low, just within my sight, and,
hovering no more than six inches above my face, was his hairy ass. I
immediately fell in love (lust?). I had the most amazing view of his
puckered sphincter, and I felt myself craving to reach up and deeply
tongue-worship his hole. I had waited a long time for this moment, and I
was, frankly, completely in awe of what I beheld.

Gruffly, he barked, "Open your mouth," and I instantly complied.

And then it happened. Dark brown mush appeared out of his anus, and plopped
directly into my mouth. My nostrils filled with the stink of his shit. And
I began to gag from the acid taste of his excrement. My eyes started
streaming tears and I had to fight the urge to sit up and spit out my
Master's shit.

And then he really let rip. I closed my eyes as I felt the deluge of his
crap land all over my face. My gaping mouth was completely full of his
stinking waste, and my nostrils quickly became blocked. I furiously
breathed out through my nostrils, to maintain some kind of airflow. My eye
sockets were overflowing with his waste. I was effectively blinded by his
shit.

I was stunned, more than sexually excited.

I was not psychologically prepared for this moment. But, he obviously
didn't give a damn. My mouth was there for him to shit in. End of story.

I could see nothing. But, I did hear him raise himself up and wipe his butt
with the toilet paper I had provided. I felt the used tissue land on my
arms and chest. And then he stepped over me, and made his way to the front
door.

"I'll be back at five. And, if there's any stink of this mess, you're in
for it. Got it?"

I pathetically mumbled my assent as best I could.

And then he left, leaving me there on the stairs, a pile of his soft turds
covering the whole of my face.

I lay there motionless for several minutes, recovering from the extreme
shock of it all.

I briefly lamented that his shit was not more firm. All my fantasies had
centered on devouring hard, knobbly turds. Yet his shit was soft.

But, any regrets, such as they were, lasted only momentarily. This was MY
MASTER'S SHIT. THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS.

And from that day onward, I never passed judgment on the texture of my
Master's shit. I am his toilet. And I exist to eat his waste in all its
varied forms. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

With that realization, I began to deeply relax. I felt my cock stir as I
relished my situation. I had achieved my dream of being a toilet to a very
mean and nasty young man. Kick back and enjoy!!

I began munching on the shit in my mouth as I masturbated. As I came closer
and closer to climaxing, I started swallowing my Master's stinking waste. I
felt my stomach object, but I swallowed anyway. The sensation of my
Master's crap sliding down my throat was feeding my lust in ways I had
never experienced. I simply couldn't stop myself from devouring as much as
I could.

And then the orgasm hit, and I swear I must have jizzed a good three
feet. It was so intense.

But, then, just as quickly, my stomach started heaving, and this wave of
nausea swept over me. I turned on my side and vomited violently.

I felt disgusted.

**********

Despite the fact that I subsequently threw up, that orgasm was the most
powerful experience of my life. I will never forget the sensation of
swallowing my Master's excrement while my sexual energy was in overdrive. I
had found my place in life. I felt completely and utterly at one with the
whole experience. My addiction to stinking, young male shit became firmly
set in place, and remains so to this day.

That was also the first, and only time, I ever vomited. I am so glad my
Master was not there to see my body reject the precious gift of his
shit. Today, I find myself far more "integrated" with the experience of
being a full-service toilet to my Master. My body welcomes my Master's
waste in all its forms. I have learned what true worship is.

I want to return to this journal soon, and describe other key development
points in my evolution as a committed pigslave. Worshipping my Master's
sweaty, stinking feet. Tongue-cleaning his filthy, stained underwear. Being
his spittoon. Eating his snot after he picks his nose. Drinking his rancid
piss. The night he drank too heavily on an empty stomach and finished up
vomiting directly into my wide-open mouth. The feelings of completely
submitting myself to my young Master's will, and the cruel punishments I
have received when he has felt in the mood to abuse and torment me. And
then, of course, those moments of pure bliss, as when I would swallow his
salty, made-in-Heaven cum straight from his throbbing Master dick.

But, all those details must wait a while...I really need to go jack off.

Even though my Birmingham days are far behind me, I still possess several
pairs of my Master's stinking, dirty briefs. With a pair of those over my
face. I'll relish sucking on the piss stains and breathing in the raunchy
stink of his sweaty crotch. And, then, as always, I'll orgasm as I thrust
his skidmarks up into my nostrils and imagine my nose stuck way up into my
Master's slimy, stinking butthole.