In the sweltering, toxic hellpit beneath the abandoned warehouse, the air was a choking fog of sweat, piss, shit, rotting cum, and the acrid burn of crystal meth. Tyler—once a person, now just a pathetic, cum-addicted sissy faggot—lay sprawled in the filth, his obscene bubble butt framed by the shredded remains of a fishnet bodysuit. His greedy cunt-hole was already a prolapsed, blooming wreck, red meat hanging out, twitching and leaking from hours of brutal warm-up with bottles, bats, and his own double fists.
Six hulking Black gods circled him like predators: Jamal with his wrist-thick 13-inch monster, Marcus, Dre, Tyrone, Kwame, and DeShawn—every one of them uncut, veiny, raging hard from railing lines off each other’s shafts and slamming points all night. They were gods of pure destruction, ready to annihilate the white piggy whore completely.
Jamal kicked Tyler’s face into the soaked mattress. “Spread that shithole, toilet. You’re nothing but a waste dump tonight.” Tyler whimpered, eagerly pulling his fat cheeks apart, exposing the sloppy, blooming rosebud. Jamal hawked a thick gob of spit into the gape and slammed balls-deep in one merciless thrust, punching past the second ring. Tyler’s scream was a guttural pig squeal as his guts rearranged around the invasion.
They tag-teamed him without mercy—no lube but spit, ass juice, and leaking filth. Every withdrawal left his hole a farting, prolapsing crater, rose petals sucking air and squirting brown slime. Tyler babbled in meth delirium, “Ruin me, Daddies… breed your filthy pig… I need Black cum and waste…”
Fisting started early and savage: Tyrone and Marcus double-fisted alongside Jamal’s pounding cock, one fist churning beside the shaft, the other punching the prolapse in and yanking it out harder. Tyler’s belly bulged, fists and dick elbow-deep, turning his insides to slurry. He shot thin, watery sissy loads hands-free, over and over, prostate pulverized.
Then the depravity exploded.
DeShawn growled, “Fill the piggy.” All six surrounded the ruined ass and unloaded thick, hot piss streams straight into his cavernous bowels, plugging the hole with cocks to trap it, bloating his gut until it sloshed like a full enema bag. When they pulled out, Tyler farted explosive geysers of piss-muck, then begged for more, “Make me your toilet…”
They fed him. One by one they squatted and packed his rectum with fat, stinking logs—firm and runny—turning his hole into a packed sewer. Tyler smeared it over his prolapse, fingering chunks deeper, moaning like a bitch in heat. “Shit-fuck me… I need it dirty…”
Jamal plunged first into the packed mess, squelching obscenely, stirring guts into chocolate slurry, forcing shit out in wet farts around his shaft. They rotated, shit-fucking relentlessly, pulling out to force Tyler to ATM their brown-crusted cocks, gagging and swallowing greedily.
It escalated fast: double BBC, then triple—three massive shafts grinding in the muck. Fists punched waste deeper, scooping handfuls to smear on his face and force down his throat, washed with piss.
The scat feeding turned vomiting nightmare. They piled fresh logs straight into his open mouth until it overflowed. Tyler chewed at first, meth-crazed and addicted, but the overload hit—his bloated belly rebelled, erupting in thick, chunky geysers of regurgitated shit, cum, piss, and bile. The bulls laughed, forcing his face into his own puke puddle to recycle it, triggering endless cycles of eating and vomiting. They face-fucked him mid-retch, puking around their shafts until it bubbled from his nose.
To keep him spinning, they switched to pure anal slamming. In the sling, legs chained wide, prolapse pulled inside-out like a sock of raw guts, they slammed rigs directly into rectal walls—first one by one, then triple, then all six needles at once, flooding him with massive points. The rush was apocalyptic: seizures, foaming, involuntary shitting, endless orgasms.
Mid-fuck they slammed more—needles plunging blindly while four, five, even all six BBCs fought into the spasming crater, jackhammering in unison, geysers of meth-shit slurry exploding with every thrust. Fists joined constantly, churning deeper, force-feeding the chemical waste.
Hours blurred into non-stop annihilation: multi-cock penetration, endless mid-fuck anal slams, fist-pumping waste, forced feeding and induced vomiting recycled as lube. Tyler blacked out repeatedly, slapped awake to feel more destruction.
By dawn his hole was a vast, shredded cavern—prolapse hanging to his knees, twitching, leaking rivers of chemically charged filth. Belly grotesquely swollen, face buried under layers of puke, shit, and cum.
The gods unloaded one final torrent of thick, ropey breeding, dozens of loads overflowing in waterfalls, then unchained the broken pig and let him collapse into the lake of sludge.
Tyler lay barely conscious, body destroyed beyond recognition, fingers weakly stirring his ruined cavern, rasping through cracked lips:
“Thank you, Black Daddies… more slams… more cock… kill me with it… I’m your eternal piggy toilet… come back and destroy me worse…”
The six gods laughed, zipped up their filthy cocks, and left the meth-ravaged faggot marinating in his personal hell-heaven of total degradation, knowing he’d crawl back begging for even more.
