I always thought I knew my type. I was attracted to big, beefy, manly men. I also found guys under 35 to be inexperienced and immature, not anything I felt I had the energy to deal with. My preconceived notions of the perfect guy had served me well (or so I thought) even though I wasn’t in a relationship, and had survived my share of bad sex and dating. Then, a simple elevator ride changed everything.
I had worked with Josh for a number of years. I didn’t really think anything about it. I was front-of-the-house staff at the local country club and he worked in the kitchen as an evening chef. We exchanged pleasantries on passing, but not much more. Josh was nothing that I found hot in a man. He was only just 22 for starters, shorter than I usually like (about 5’7″ or 5’8″ at the most. I tend to like guys larger than my 6′ frame.) He was thinly built, yet had a slight beer belly. He wore his jeans too loose and was a devout boxer shorts guy. I liked men’s jeans more fitted to their asses and preferred boxer briefs or tighty-whiteys. In short, he was the polar opposite of anything I found attractive…and he was straight…and engaged to his high school sweetheart, a cute, slightly chunky girl he had moved in with recently. They were to be married in the fall. He was not only not on the radar, I never gave him a second thought…until that day.
I had loaded a cart full of stuff on the elevator to take to the bar. I pushed the button and the doors started closing when I heard another cart coming down the ramp around the corner and heard a medium-pitched slightly nasal voice call out, “Hold the door.” I shoved my hand into the closing door, reopening it. “Thanks,” he said. I nodded my head. Although it was only about a ten second ride from the lower level to the main floor, we managed to have a short conversation in that brief time. For the life of me, I can’t remember what was said. He uttered something, and I replied with a quick one-liner in my usual dry wit. Looking up, I caught his eye. His face lit up and he grew this coy, shit-eating grin, his mocha eyes twinkling with life. I felt my dick instantly spring to attention. In that instant, I realized that this short, thin, young, engaged hillbilly redneck was one of the hottest little guys I had ever laid eyes on. Everything I had ever believed about my taste in men swirled the bowl in that one second. Suddenly I was very self-conscious and I felt my face flush. My hands attempted to cover the huge bulge in my trousers, but I saw his eyes catch sight of it, and the grin grew even bigger. After an awkward second, the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors opened; he left through the back to the kitchen, I went through the front to the lobby and bar.
From that day on, we talked much more. Every time I saw him, I noticed something about him I had never seen before. One day, I watched him pushing a cart down the hall. Although his black work slacks were the usual loose fit, I could tell that a nicely formed, round ass lurked underneath. His hair was dark brown, thick, and cut very short, the way I like it. He sported a kind of goatee, I guess. It was really more of a soul patch and chin whiskers, but it was very appealing on his cute round face and sharply chiseled chin. He frequently wore shorts and a t-shirt to work, changing into his uniform once there. One day, as he entered the building, I caught sight of his legs and realized how hairy they were; another thing that was on my “like” list. The best thing was I was starting to get a sexual vibe from him. Whenever we were alone, the smile and sparkling eyes would appear. It was the type of energy a young girl would put off when she was around a guy she thought was hot. It was very flattering, considering I was old enough to be his father; however, I kept myself in pretty good shape, and thanks to good genes, looked about ten years younger than I actually was.
One Friday in mid-summer, a bunch of us went to a neighborhood dive bar after work, about ten in all. His fiance was out of town for a week getting ready for their upcoming wedding, so Josh came along. As the evening progressed, he began to descend into a cloudy haze of tipsiness, his brown eyes reddened and scrunched into a squint. One by one, our coworkers left; pretty soon it was just he and I left on the seedy patio, sitting around a rusty metal table in mismatched chairs. He had forgone shorts that evening, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and brown polo shirt. As the evening wore on, the patio emptied, leaving only the two of us in the sultry heat of a summer night. Josh looked at me in a beer haze and slurred, “I think I shunt drive…you shud take me home with you.” With that, looking around the empty patio, he leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips, pulling back and beaming that familiar grin at me. I was completely gob-smacked and managed an, “Are you sure”? He stared into my eyes, leaning close to me. I could smell the beer on his breath. “Dude, I knew…know what you want,” he whispered. “I wan it too. You kin do anything you want. I’m on my own for the next week, and don’t work until Wednesday, so I’m yours.”
I was shocked, but not so much that I didn’t realize what was being presented to me. I, myself, was off work for the next three days, so a lot of fun could be had. Looking into his eyes, I leaned in and told him, “Look, I don’t think you know how kinky I really am. The things I want to do to you are pretty out there. Do you think you can handle it”? “I’ll do whatever you want.” That was all that needed to be said. I knew he was tipsy, but not so much so that he didn’t know what he was getting into. I led him to my car and 20 minutes later we were at my house.
Once inside, he literally attacked me, kissing and grabbing, stroking every part of my body. I in turn was doing the same as I led him to the bedroom. As we kissed, I reached down inside his jeans and shorts; as loose as they were, it was an easy task. His buns were soft and squishy, but furry. I was so turned on I almost shot in my pants. As I grabbed his ass, he cut a loud fart. I felt the heat of it on my fingers. “Oh shit man, I’m sorry,” he said his face reddening in embarrassment. I looked at him and smiled. “Don’t ever apologize to me for farting. In fact, do it as much as you need; I think it’s hot.” He looked at me with a stunned expression on his face. “My girlfriend thinks it’s gross, but I do it a lot.” “Well,” I replied, “I’m not your girlfriend now, am I”?
“Oh, man…” he said, laying his head on my shoulder and letting another one rip, the room becoming ripe with the smell. It was like a hit of poppers to me, the odor turning me on like nothing else. Cutting another, he suddenly looked up at me. “Dude, if you want to fuck me, I’m gonna haffa shit first. I gotta go perdy bad.” I grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I’m going to ask you this and it’s going to sound weird, but I need an answer. Is it a hard or a soft shit”? Looking puzzled for a moment, he replied, “It’s almost always hard. I’m usually border-line consa…consa…pated. oh, fuck, I’m drunk. I can’t talk too good.”
“Then you don’t need to go. Lie down on the bed.” He started to protest, but I turned him around and pushed him down, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and pulling them and his boxers down over his ass to his knees. I grabbed his shirt and pulled it up and over his head to the back of his neck. Reaching down, I undid my own jeans, yanking out my hardness and placing it against his fuzzy ass cheeks. Spitting in my palm, I lubed my dick and put it on his hole, pushing in. In less than an inch, I hit the knobby hardness of his massive turd, and started to press against it. He grunted and farted on my dick, protesting again, “Dude, I gotta go, please.” “No, just relax but don’t bear down. I’m gonna push it in. It’s going to be unpleasant, but bear with it. You said anything goes, so take it like a man, little boy.” He groaned loudly, bucking his hips up, a strangled cry escaping his lips; his grunting and moaning testament to the incredible discomfort he was in, but at the same time, his dick was rock hard. I rubbed his slightly distended belly as I rode him, his moans and cries edging me closer. I could smell the redneck sweat and stink; I couldn’t believe that I was so turned on. Thrusting hard into his chute, I grimaced into his ear as my sweat dripped onto the back of his neck. I unloaded a massive nut into his bowels, the creamy liquid spurting into the solid brown log embedded in his ass. I squeezed his dick in my right palm, and he came, the hot sperm spraying onto the sheets beneath him and all over my fingers. He almost screamed in ecstasy as he emptied his nuts onto the bed.
Exhausted, I leaned down into his ear. “This is only the beginning. Are you ready for what’s next”? Panting, he nodded his sweat-soaked head against the pillow. “All right, squeeze down while I pull my dick out.” He complied, farting softly as it popped from his hole. Rolling over to look at me, he started to protest, “I really got to go, man, pleeeasse…” I responded, putting my finger over my lips. “No talking.” “But, it’s…” “I said NO TALKING! You said anything goes, so shut up. I mean it. Nod if you understand.” Sheepishly, he lowered his head, looking at the floor as he complied. “Good boy. I’m going to tie this bandana over your eyes. Don’t worry, I’ll lead you to where were going next.” Grabbing the Navy blue kerchief, I placed it over his eyes, securing it with a knot, and grabbed his shoulders, guiding him from behind to the basement stairs.
He grabbed his crotch with his right hand as we walked, squirming with pointed urgency. I knew that the lube and spunk was greasing his shit-chute, making the load in his butt push against his sphincter, and as any guy knows, the combo of beer and shooting your load will increase your need to piss. He was right where I wanted him. “We’re going downstairs now; step, step, step.” I guided him down to the cool, damp basement, my hands gripping his shoulders firmly. “Just two more; step, step, you’re on the floor now.” He couldn’t see where we were going. “Stop and turn around. Reach behind you; you’ll feel a padded column. Grab it and use your hands to guide yourself down until you’re sitting on the floor. Leave your hands on the post when you’re seated. Nod if you understand.” His head bobbed up and down twice in response. He did as instructed, grabbing the padded pole with his hands, sliding slowly down it to the floor. As he neared the cold concrete, the pressure in his overstuffed backside caused him to blast yet another ripe shot of ass-gas through the denim, making him grimace as he squatted.
Reaching a seated position, he leaned his head back against the cushioned post as he stretched his legs out in front of him. He began to squirm, his legs squeezing together, obviously a by-product of his need for a toilet. “Lean forward and open your mouth. You’re going to feel me put something in there. Don’t be alarmed. You’re going to feel something over your mouth and you will feel me securing straps behind your head. It’s all right. Just relax.” Grabbing the leather gag with the tube through it, I placed the ball in his mouth, causing him to retch a little. “It’s okay. Breathe through your nose. Once I get it fastened, you can breathe through your nose or the tube.” I cinched up the straps, pulling the gag snugly to his face. Moving behind the post, I grabbed the police-issue cuffs that were screwed securely through the padding into the wood post, snapping them around his wrists in one single movement, causing a gasp from the suddenly surprised young man.
As he began to protest through his gag, I reached down and slipped off his bandana blindfold. His eyes pleaded with me as his predicament began to register in his slightly beer-hazed brain; he was fully dressed, handcuffed to a pole in my dank basement and in dire need of a bathroom. A combination of agony and desperation was etched onto his brow, his eyes wincing closed as another spasm of need coursed through his tortured body. His legs flailed helplessly in front of him as he squirmed in desperation, trying to free himself; agonized grunts emanating through the gag. Leaning over, I grabbed his head with my hands and tilted his face up to mine, leaning in close. “You, my friend, are on a 72-hour lock-down. “MO, MO, MO! CAMPT HOWD IPH! GOBBA GO! PWEAZE! MMPHFF!” He screamed at me, shaking his head violently, twisting and contorting his body with every ounce of strength he had trying to free himself.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes, buddy. You are a prisoner until Tuesday morning. I will feed you and give you lots of water, but you are not leaving this spot for ANY reason, got it? “MMM MMMPH” His struggling became animalistic. Knowing how he felt, and the helplessness of his predicament was so incredibly hot. His size 8 sneakers kicked at air as he flailed about, yanking and jerking on the cuffs in a fruitless attempt to break free. It was such a simple method of restraint, but so effective, and my dick throbbed in my jeans as I watched. It was time to add another layer to his humiliation.
“Hey,hey, Joshie,” I yelled from my seat a few feet away. He stopped struggling long enough to turn his head, his tortured eyes watering from desperation, his breathing heavy from the struggle. “I want you to look around for a second. See those little pinpoint red lights in your field of vision. Those are cameras, buddy, and there are a couple more behind you that you can’t see. We’re filming this, and I’m going to edit this whole session into a series of videos that I’m going to post to a website called Wetpantsboy.” He shot me a confused look and fired another fart into his jeans, grunting loudly as he did, the sound amplified as it echoed off the concrete under his butt. “Yeah, you’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a site where guys and girls get off watching others guys and girls have accidents in their pants. I have a feeling that you’re going to be a real hit.”
It took a second for the concept to register because his brain was so focused on his restraint and desperation. Suddenly the light bulb went off. He realized that not only was he about to humiliate himself in front of me, but that untold numbers of people would jack off watching him humiliate himself online. He began to sob, tears streaking down his round cheeks as he begged through the gag, “MO, MO, PWEEZE MO! WEP ME GO! GOBBA GO BAFROOM!” His struggle really kicked into high gear now. The stink of his body began to fill the room, not just his farts, which were coming with increasing frequency as his load pressed hard against his back door, but his acrid sweat, and the rank odor emanating from his shoes. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, despite the cool dampness of the basement as his struggle reached a crescendo. He squeezed his legs together in a last ditch effort to keep control.
Suddenly the look on his face changed. A dark spot appeared on his crotch accompanied by a stifled grunt. His face twisted up as he clamped his eyes shut and threw his legs wide apart, a soft hiss coming through the denim as the spot grew, leaving tendrils down the fabric; the pool of pale yellow liquid inching forth like a piss-tsunami from his butt and spreading out under his legs. The tendrils grew together as the wet patch got larger and larger. I never knew that a small guy could pee like that. The stream was full force for almost a minute before subsiding.
The young lad panted breathlessly for a moment before drawing a sharp breath. His eyes opened wide, an astonished look on his face as he slid down the pole a little, at least as far as the cuffs would let him, onto the small of his back and drew both legs up slightly. He cocked his head forward and began to grunt, cutting another one into his jeans; this one ending with a soft crackle. His face reddened as he pushed; he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and grit his teeth, drawing a deep breath, grunting and pushing, grunting and pushing, more crackling and popping accompanying each tortured push. The loose denim covering his ass began to lump, growing as the boy gave birth to a load of fudge the size of three or four summer sausages. After what seemed like an eternity, he heaved a heavy sigh, his expression a mixture of relief and total disgust. The oversized jeans bulged with so much waste they literally looked two sizes smaller, in the ass at least.
He remained in his awkward position for a moment; I walked over to him, grabbing him under the armpits and lifting him back into a seated position against the pole, the heavy hard load in his pants squishing into his cheeks as I sat him down in it. Salty tears ran down his youthful face, the result of his utter humiliation. The stink of him filled the room. I squatted down in front of him and stroked his cheek, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. Leaving him to sit in his mess, I walked over to the cot I had set up to sleep on and fell into a deep slumber.
I stayed by his side for the next three days, feeding him, coddling him, watching him as he messed himself again and again. By the time his ordeal was over, he was sitting in three huge loads of hard crap which had been rehydrated by at least a dozen bladders full of piss. He was literally a human toilet at this point and I had it all on film. I had placed other men in similar situations, yet no one had turned me on as much as Josh. Being a bound piss and shit whore was his destiny; while some are blessed with a talent for music or painting, his artistry was in being bound and gagged, howling and screaming as he struggled against his restraints, the stress of need etched in his brow; he was a true master of his craft.
I released him as promised on Tuesday morning, helping his stiff, sore body to its feet, massaging his neck, back and arms, kissing his lips and forehead gently as the stink of him wafted to my nostrils. I never told him, but just standing there with him, I shot in my pants without even touching myself; that has never happened before or since. I escorted him to the shower, stripping naked and joining him, helping him wash three days of torture off his small frame. He dressed himself in new clothes I had bought for him; I held onto the ones he had been wearing, keeping the thoroughly stained dark green boxers with the gold fleur-de-lis on them, a massive mountain range of poop dried into the seat, and the oversized jeans awash in his beautiful foul stench. The brown polo shirt stank of rancid sweat and body odor; it also found a special place in the collection. I even kept his stinky socks and sneakers and released him back into the world and his girlfriend. I never expected us to speak of this again.
She didn’t take the break-up well at all. He told her he wasn’t ready for marriage; she cried, he cried, and they went their separate ways. A few days later he was all moved into my house, ready to submit to whatever whim I tossed his way, accepting each challenge readily. No one at work has noticed the difference, the slight change in his gait, the result of the inflatable butt-plug I keep in him for at least two days at a time. By day two, his log is pressing firmly against it, but his intense discomfort is expertly masked to everyone but me. Every so often, in the elevator, I grab a quick feel, or we practice two seconds of tonsil hockey. There’s more in store for Josh. I can’t wait; I know he can’t either