Weekend with Tyrone

jakeryderxxx · 2025-07-13T01:47:52Z

Jake's life as a pass around party bottom was a whirlwind of depraved, kink-filled adventures. He thrived on the attention and the raw, uninhibited sex that came with being the center of the action at various underground parties and private gatherings. His reputation grew in the pig and [banned word] communities, making him a highly sought-after hole among those who craved extreme sexual experiences. His main dealer, a towering man named Tyrone, but better known as “Big Smoke” to those on the street, was a dominant pig who knew exactly how to cater to Jake's insatiable desires and make a fuck ton of money in the process.

Tyrone, a hulking mass of roided out muscle with a thick beard and a mohawk, stood tall at 6'5" and had an intimidating presence that only added to his allure. His black skin was adorned with wild tattoos, telling a story of his life in ink, and a thick septum piercing that gave off the perfect pig energy. His unyielding gaze could make even the most seasoned pig quiver with anticipation. His cock, a monstrous and thick uncut beast at 14” with Prince Albert piercing, was always at the ready. Even before his strong dose of trimix he was the stuff of legend. Tyrone was into the nastiest kinks imaginable, and he loved exploring all of them with Jake, who was always eager to please.

Tyrone in all his glory…

Overall, Tyrone was a solid dealer and well known in both PNP and pig groups. He always had top notch product and was very reliable. Despite his tough, menacing exterior, he was always friendly and very trustworthy. His jacked muscles, sagging pants, and Jordans made him look like any other dealer and that was the Tyrone that most everybody knew. But to a select few—Jake included—Tyrone was so much worse behind closed doors.

The weekend invitations from Tyrone were never subtle. He would send Jake a simple text message with an address and a time, often accompanied by a crude photo of Tyrone’s hard cock pressing against a nasty jockstrap. Jake knew what was expected of him when he received these texts: show up, get slammed, and get wrecked. And that's exactly what he did. Jake was always available for Tyrone, so when he got the text he knew what to do.

Jake's heart raced as he approached the location—one of Tyrone's buddy’s apartment, a place he had been to several times before. He was feeling the familiar excitement and anticipation of a weekend of complete submission. He had been with Tyrone countless times before, but each visit was a fresh thrill that never failed to get his blood pumping. He knocked on the door, his body exited as he waited.

The door swung open, and there stood one of Tyrone's piggy friends, a massive black man named Jamal. He was a massive man, with thick, bulging muscles that threatened to tear through his tight white tank top and a thick beard that framed a sinister smile. His bald head gleamed with sweat, and his eyes were dark with desire as they roamed over Jake's body. He was wearing only a ratty, old jockstrap that barely contained his substantial package, the fabric stained with a mix of sweat and precum. The scent of musk and male arousal filled the air, making Jake's cock and hole twitched in his shorts.

Behind Jamal, Jake could see the apartment, a cesspool of depravity that was the setting for their weekend-long orgy. The walls were covered in posters of muscular men fucking, fisting, and extreme bondage. The floor was sticky with the remnants of past parties. The air was thick with the smell of meth, piss, and sweat—a heady cocktail that made Jake's knees wobble.

Tyrone emerged from the smoke-filled room, his own muscular body covered in a patchwork of ink, his cock straining the torn fabric of his jockstrap. He had a sadistic glint in his eye that Jake found utterly irresistible. He called Jake inside with a grin, showing off his own jockstrap, which was even more disgusting than Jamal's.

As Jake stepped into the room, the door closed behind him with a finality that made his stomach flutter. Tyrone grabbed him by the neck and shoved him down to the floor, tearing off his shorts and tank top with a feral growl. Jake's eyes went wide as he saw the three other men that had gathered—each one larger, dirtier, and more intimidating than the last.

First, there was DeShawn, a beefy bear of a man with a thick beard and a gut that hung over his jock. His cock was already hard and leaking as he watched the scene unfold. Then there was Marcus, a lean, mean-looking stud with a shaved head and piercings all over his body. His eyes were wild and hungry, and his jock was stained with what looked like a week's worth of sweat. Lastly, there was Marvin, who was the shortest of the group but made up for it with his sheer bulk. His chest was a carpet of hair, and his cock was the largest Jake had seen in a long time, even semi-soft.

Tyrone tossed Jake his own jockstrap and a pair of used socks. "Get into these, pig," he barked, his voice thick with lust. Jake eagerly complied, sliding the socks onto his feet and pulling the jock up over his hips. The fabric was wet and sticky, but the smell of Tyrone's sweat and cum only served to make him hornier.

As soon as Jake was dressed in the filthy attire, Tyrone's friends descended upon him. They pushed him onto the mattress, which squelched under his weight. Tyrone had his friends prep the slams they would soon share, while he switched out his septum and Prince Albert piercings, both thick and well worn. He frequently swapped them, loving the smells deep in his nose.

The friends took turns admining their slams, finishing with Jake as the rush hit each one of them. With the excitement hitting all the men, they started filling Jake’s tight ass with their thick, raw dicks, passing their pipes and bongs as they went. The high was intense, a rush of euphoria that mixed with the pain and pleasure of their rough treatment.

Once the drugs were really hitting, the men's last inhibitions disappeared. They began to groan and grunt, their movements becoming more and more aggressive. They spit on Jake's face and in his mouth, using him as their personal cumdumpster. They slapped his ass, pinched his pierced nipples, and pulled his hair, making him squeal with every thrust.

Jake's body was a canvas for their kinks. They marked him with bruises and bitemarks, leaving no part of him untouched. His skin was slick with their sweat and spit, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The stench of piss grew stronger as the men relieved themselves on Jake, their streams mixing with the sweat and cum already coating his body.

The four of them took turns using Jake, switching between his tight hole and eager mouth. They laughed and jeered as they fucked him, treating him like the dirty whore he craved to be. Every inch of him was claimed by their raw, uncut cocks, and he felt like he was going to burst with their cum. But they were just the beginning.

The guests at Tyrone's weekend parties were a veritable smorgasbord of piggy depravity. They were a motley crew of men drawn from various walks of life, united by their insatiable appetites for the darker shades of carnality and their deep pockets that could afford Tyrone's top-shelf drugs and exclusive entertainment. The parties were a clandestine affair, a secret club where the rules of society were tossed out the window and the basest instincts of mankind were celebrated.

Among these guests were the "Brewers," a trio of bearish, burly men with thick beards and equally thick cocks. They were known for their home-brewed poppers, which they eagerly shared with anyone who would partake, turning even the most vanilla of experiences into a mind-bending, hole-wrecking adventure. The Brewers were always dressed in leather and nothing else, their hairy bellies and cocks on full display as they moved from room to room, filling and refilling bottles of their potent concoctions for the eager pigs.

Then there were the "Meat Injectors," a group of five or six muscular, tattooed gym rats who were obsessed with fisting and inflation. They'd arrive in their tank tops and jockstraps, each one with a medical kit full of syringes, lubes, and various-sized dildos. They were the masters of stretching limits, pushing Jake's body to the brink with their skilled hands and toys, making him feel like a human balloon animal. Their sessions were a mix of pain and pleasure, with Jake's cries echoing through the house as they competed to see who could make him the fullest.

Another regular was "The Maestro," a refined, yet sadistic, older gentleman with a penchant for sounding. He'd bring an array of gleaming steel rods and plugs, and would conduct the evening's debauchery with a stern, yet artistic flair. His gentle touch belied the painful ecstasy he inflicted, as he meticulously worked his ever larger instruments into the willing piggies, turning their screams into symphonies of suffering and desire.

And let's not forget the "Breeders," a pack of hung, hairy, and hyper-masculine daddies with a penchant for breeding load after load into any hole. They'd circle Jake like hungry wolves, each one eager to leave their mark deep inside his guts. Their sessions were raw, unbridled, and messy, with Jake's ass serving as the canvas for their fertile desires.

Tyrone's parties were a playground of depravity, where no kink was too extreme and no limit too sacred. The air was always thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and poppers. The sounds of grunts, slaps, and wet flesh colliding filled the space as the pigs reveled in their hedonistic pursuits. The guys were into everything you could imagine, pushing each other and Jake to the edge of human experience.

These were nights that Jake would never forget, even if he sometimes wished he could. The intense highs of the drugs and the relentless pounding of cocks, fists, feet, and toys inside him melded into a delirious haze of pleasure and pain. Jake was passed around from one man to the next, his body absolutely wrecked. After a weekend of being double fisted, pissed on, and used in every conceivable way he was a smiling mess. But through it all, he reveled in the feeling of being completely and utterly used, a mere receptacle for their lust. He was stretched beyond belief, his ass feeling like it might split in two at any moment, but he never once complained. This was what he lived for, the ultimate expression of his submissive nature.

And as the sun rose the next Monday morning, the party would finally come to an end, leaving Jake a trembling, used mess, covered in a concoction of cum, sweat, and human filth, but always eager for the next weekend's invite.