Pig in Palm Springs - 5. Chapter 5

At exactly 5:07 PM I pull up to the massive iron privacy gate my GPS has led me to.

I punch in the code I have memorized out of sheer, eager excitement and watch the tall iron panel slide open, revealing a beautiful vintage-modern white structure that is all mine for the next few days.

I am giddy with a dumb, toothy smile plastered on my cum crusted face. The house looks even better than it did in the pictures. I park my jeep under the overhang, switch it off, and bound towards the front door, eager to check out my new digs.

The cold air hits me as the large metal and glass door swings open. I kick my sneakers off and start peeling my damp socks from my sweaty soles before the door even closes behind me. My sweaty feet add another more subtle smell to the rest of the stench radiating off of me, mixing perfectly against the fresh scent of bergamot and lemongrass in the house. I walk down the hallway leaving sweaty footprints on the cool tiled floor.

The house is quintessential Palm Springs. A ranch-style home, recently renovated with tall ceilings, and large windows; open and airy with the main focus of the home, including two of the four bedrooms, on the view out back. The entire back wall was made up almost only of windows and doors. The desert mountains stand tall just past the high fence bordering the well-manicured, completely private, large backyard.

The AC feels wonderful against my sun-warmed skin as I walk around curious, taking in the architecture, the view, the subtly homoerotic artwork, and the furniture, feeling my soul fill with joy and my cock fill with blood at the prospects of what will be happening all over this place, inside and out. I peel off my dirty tank and toss it on a chair catching the strong odor from my hairy pits as I lift my arms.

Walking into the kitchen I see a fruit plate laid out next to an ice bucket with an envelope propped against it. I empty my pockets of my keys, phone, wallet, smokes, lighter, and rank trucker briefs, throwing everything in a pile on the counter. Grabbing the envelope to read the note inside;

“Dear Christian,

Welcome to Palm Springs! I hope you had a pleasant journey. The indoor and outdoor fridges are stocked to your specifications. I am grateful you chose my humble little home for your stay. If there is anything, anything, you may need while in town, please let me know.

Best,

Peter”

“Good ole Peter,” I say out loud to no one.

I smile at the note, thinking about our correspondence over the past few months while I pop a crisp grape in my mouth and grab the bottle of chilled Casamigos Blanco. A loud clunk echoes through the empty house as the ice cubes drop into the short glass waiting for me. I pour the clear liquid more than halfway and twist a lemon slice, giving it a swirl before taking a long-awaited sip.

A satisfied “Ahhh” escapes my lips.

I place the drink down and undo the bottom of my swampy shorts, letting them drop to the floor and step out of them as I walk further into the kitchen. I open the oversized stainless steel fridge. It’s stocked to the brim with all sorts of drinks and prepared and unprepared foods. I definitely went overboard but I was just so damn excited and the last thing I wanted to deal with was running errands, grocery shopping, liquor runs, etc when all that time could be better spent naked, with or without company. I take another sip of my drink so happy Peter has been so accommodating and took care of everything I could imagine, and more.

I go back to the counter where the stank pair of briefs lay on top of my belongings, I can’t resist picking them up for a quick deep inhale of the trucker's sexy stink. It’s heady and sharp, making my hand lower to grab my straining jock-covered bulge. I toss the briefs to the side, there will be plenty of time for that later, and grab my phone, a smoke from the pack, and a lighter. I make my way to one of the many sets of sliding glass doors. The heat hits me again as I slide the heavy glass to the side. August is not for the faint of heart here in the desert.

It must be at least 96 degrees still well after 5 pm. I take a deep inhale, getting a strong whiff of all the masculine musk radiating from my warm body mixing with the soft floral aromas and dry heat of the surprisingly lush desert yard. I light my cigarette and take a walk around the backyard.

I have been studying every corner, plant, and feature through pictures online for so many months, my tour felt oddly familiar. As much as Peter and my connection influenced me to choose his house to be my pigpen, it was the backyard that was the real draw.

The giant freshwater pool with deep turquoise tiles was the focal point. A freshwater pool was key - I love to swim, which is kind of in opposition to the way I love to smell as well as how I like others to smell. Chlorine can be so strong that it overpowers body odor… saltwater pools are better, but freshwater pools, the ones using copper? Or was it oxygen? Either way, whatever it used to keep clean, didn’t affect the scent. Jumping in this pool, soaking in the hot tub, or taking a cold plunge would have no more effect on my odor than standing in a shower, either one of the many inside or the one outside, for a quick rinse with no soap.

In addition to the magnificent pool, this backyard really had everything I could imagine wanting or needing for a slutcation - cabanas for shade, hammocks for napping, tall palm trees, lounge chairs, dining tables, two outdoor fridges, a grill pit, fire pit, private corners, speakers, a wet bar, multiple fountains (which help muffle sounds of passion), beautiful lush landscaping - plenty of interesting places to have all kinds of freaky weird sex with all the privacy needed to fully indulge.

I walk to the pool and sit my bare hairy ass down on the warm concrete, dunking my legs into the cool water. I put my cig out in the conveniently placed ashtray and make a note of how attentive and accommodating Peter has been. I think about the potential party he encouraged me to have and feel my cock fighting for freedom against the ripe, damp jock I’m still wearing.

I open my phone and swipe open Sniffies, activating my profile.

Pig in Palm Springs - 36, 6', hairy, fit, vers

Total vers switch pig visiting for a few days. Looking to get into sweaty, raunchy fun. Piss, pits, musk, jocks, cum, bareback, rimming, sniffing, foot play, gear, etc. Looking to get covered in as many loads and as much piss as I can while I’m here. Role-play scenes are a total turn-on. Send me a scenario and let’s play pigs.

I chose a photo of me in a jockstrap with subtly noticeable stains on the white pouch right after a workout in a full-length mirror at my gym from one of those rare times no one was around. My body is angled so you can see the curve of my bare hairy ass and prominent bulge with my torso slightly turned so my furry chest, swollen and sweaty from a fresh pump, is squared off in the mirror. One arm holding the phone up, the other resting behind my head, exposing the nest of wet armpit fur, both biceps flexed.

I had told myself I wouldn't hide with headless torso pics, and although my face is mostly hidden by my phone, it isn't hard to tell from the photo that it is me in the picture. There's just some lingering fear of exposure I hope to overcome by the end of the trip.

Now that the profile is live, I tap another button and activate “currently hosting.” I hop up, toss back my drink, and walk around the side of the house to get to the driveway. When I step to the front I freeze, remembering I’m practically naked before realizing, the entire property is private and the front gate has closed automatically. I pop open the trunk, toss the two large heavy duffles over my shoulders, and wheel the large suitcase into the house, hairy ass on full display.

The layout of the house is so familiar from my online stalking excitement. I walk towards the left, dropping one duffle at the door, then walk past the open, sunken living room, past the kitchen to the other bedroom doorway to the true master suite.

I smile widely when I walk in, everything is as Peter promised. The room is painted a deep shade of blue somewhere between aqua and navy with masculine, bulky, dark wood furniture. The California king was stripped down to nothing more than a black rubber-fitted sheet. I could see all the restraints dangling off the bed at every possible angle, as well as the large tufted headboard. The chaise lounge was also covered in a rubber sheet. The armchair from all the online staged photos had been replaced with a small rocking rim chair next to a canopy-style sex sling, situated right in front of the giant glass doors that open to the patio. I walk past all of it toward the enormous bathroom, doing my best to ignore the painful boner leading the way.

This bathroom is what dreams are made of, a huge soaking tub next to a double-wide clear glass shower stall with double rainfall shower heads, complete with a glass wall looking out to the secluded part of the yard with views of the mountains. The entire bathroom is constructed of black marble and tile, glass, and bronze hardware. It has two single free-standing sinks mounted on a gigantic wall made of one giant mirror. It is truly incredible - there is even a urinal next to the toilet and bidet.

I drop the suitcase and duffle at the center island of the walk-in closet knowing I won’t need its contents until tomorrow. I peek in, seeing how much is already there I realize there was no need to bring as much with me as I did.

I walk back through the bedroom and can’t help but chuckle at this pop-up sex club that I have for the next week practically. All of this is slightly intimidating, but it is nice to have every possible option. I know I’ll find a way to make it all useful.

I head back toward the other bedroom making a quick stop to fix a fresh drink. Picking up the oversized duffle on my way in, I can’t help but appreciate the dichotomy of the two main bedrooms. This one is just slightly smaller but looks huge without all of the furniture for sex and painted white with bare walls except for one large sepia tone of a man, naked except for a cowboy hat and boots, hitchhiking in the desert. A standard king bed with a low headboard and overstuffed white linens between two sleek nightstands and a large bench at the foot of the bed - a simple clean design, perfect for when I needed to sleep, exhausted from all the endeavors I’d be partaking in.

The bathroom was much less grand but still luxurious, it has a similar setup but all in white and at a much smaller scale - plenty of room to set up my toiletries and make myself at home. The closet, although still a walk-in, is much smaller than the master as well but has a more than adequate amount of space to unpack all my skimpy items.

Peter had insisted this would be the better setup when I requested the reverse, stating if I was spending more time in this room doing more than just sleeping with all of the space in the house, the yard, and the city as my playground, I was doing my slutcation wrong.

As I start to unpack my assortment of skimpy clothing, I decide to lay everything out on the dozens of empty shelves rather than use the drawers. One shelf for jock straps and thongs, one for all the various types of swimsuits, one for shorts, one for tank tops, one for socks, and one for gym clothes.

Shit, I forgot my gym bag. I run back out to the car and grab it along with the last duffle bag filled with shoes. I open it up and a burst of damp sweat escapes, luckily without any trace of mold. I lay out my damp tank top and shorts from this morning’s workout on the shelf, hoping they will dry enough to use tomorrow.

After lining up the multiple pairs of shoes, ranging from boots, sneakers, and various sandals, I can't help but laugh at myself. Although all the clothes fit in one duffle, I realize I have enough for a month, all the revealing items spread out in front of me.

Finally situated, I am ready for a swim! I finally slip off my jockstrap and enjoy the relief of bouncing free. Wearing the damp thing all day was exciting and played into my fun for sure but not the most comfortable to drive in. The smells of my sweaty, pissy crotch and cum covered ass are strong. I pick it up, holding it to my nose, relishing in all the activities that collectively increased its ripe stench throughout my day. My cock had finally gone down to half-mast but was rapidly firming up.

Standing there, thinking about today’s events and what is yet to come, my hand starts stroking my ignored member. I feel the cum in my balls churning and reluctantly let go. I’m not gonna waste my first load! I’m going to need a bathing suit to help me resist stroking.

My cock, hard and dripping again, directs me over to my swimsuit shelf. I opt for a small pale blue thong. I rip the tags off and slide it on in front of the full-length mirror. My big round ass swallows the thin stretchy fabric, but damn it looked good. The dark fur and pale skin are in contrast surrounding the light blue nylon stretching to the max around my bulge. I need to deepen and even out my tan but that will be part of tomorrow's conquests.

I grab my phone, drink, and a towel from the bathroom, and walk out the sliding doors of the bedroom to the pool. I place my glass and the towel down on the ledge, open my phone to scroll through the text thread with Peter, and click the link to connect to the speakers throughout the backyard and inside the house. Soft rhythmic Bosa Nova starts to surround me before I dive into the glistening still water.

“Fuck that felt good,” I say to myself as I emerge from the cool, refreshing plunge.

I do a few laps, then a few more to repump my tits, before catching my breath as I float on my back, staring at the clear blue sky. I fight my horniness a few moments longer, enjoying the peace, the stillness - calming my mind after the long, exciting drive, clearing my nervous thoughts spurred by shame and guilt, dismissing any hopeful expectations, letting myself feel proud in my sense of accomplishment for making this all happen. I spent a lot of time, effort, and money to make my dream of a slutcation a reality, and I did it!

Giddy excitement fills my chest and a giant grin spreads across my face as I realize all the work is done, and now it is time to play!

After one final deep breath followed by an underwater release of vocal tension, I swim to the ledge, take a big swig of my drink, dry my hands, and grab my phone. It’s just after 6:15 as I swipe open my home screen and check to see if there have been any hits on my newly active Sniffies profile in the past thirty minutes or so.

Holy shit! There must be at least twenty-five messages.

I scroll up and down in disbelief, I've never had such an instant response. There are plenty of blank profiles but also lots of promising indications to go through and set up for later, but right now, I need to blow a load in or on somebody, ASAP!