The S Club - Chapter 4 – Pig Week Five: Public Use Day

They called it “Open Kennel.”
Twenty-four consecutive hours.
Saturday 9:00 a.m. to Sunday 9:00 a.m.
One Pig on display in the clubhouse great room.
This weekend it was Claire’s turn.
I delivered her myself at 8:55 a.m.
She hadn’t worn clothes in two days. The pink PIG collar was the only thing on her body except the dried cum flaking off her inner thighs from the quick throat-fuck I’d given her in the garage. Her knees were already scabbed from constant crawling; her nipples were raw, dark berries from constant pinching. I walked her naked across the parking lot on a short leash, tits swaying, cunt lips swollen and glistening in the morning sun. A handful of early risers pretended to read newspapers on the veranda, but every pair of eyes tracked the jiggle of her ass.
Inside, the great room had been stripped bare except for a low, padded platform in the exact center (three feet square, waist-high, black vinyl mattress bolted to a steel frame). Four short chains dangled from the corners. A rolling cart beside it held lube, towels, water bottles, and a laminated sign that would soon hang around Claire’s neck.
Victor waited in a white bathrobe, sipping coffee. Marlene stood beside him holding a fresh pink leather hood with only mouth and nostril holes.
“Morning, David,” Victor said pleasantly. “Kennel rules are simple. Pig is bolted spread-eagle. Mouth is free for use. Cunt and ass are free for use. No condoms. No permanent marks. You may watch, feed her, hydrate her, or join in. You may not remove her from the platform until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Understood?”
I nodded, throat dry.
Claire was already trembling, cunt visibly clenching at the word tomorrow.
Marlene fitted the hood first. Soft leather, laced tight, turning my wife into a faceless pink fuck-hole. Only her mouth showed (lips painted whore-red, tongue nervously wetting them). Then they positioned her on the platform: back flat, wrists and ankles locked wide to the four corners so her tits pointed at the ceiling and her shaved cunt gaped open like a blooming flower. The clit hood was so swollen it peeked out on its own.
Marlene hung the laminated sign around Claire’s neck on a short chain so it rested between her tits:
FREE PIG MOUTH
TIP APPRECIATED INSIDE
NO ROUGH FACE-FUCKING OVER 2 MINUTES
MANAGEMENT
Victor patted Claire’s inner thigh once, almost affectionately, then turned to me.
“Clock starts now.”
The doors officially opened at 9:00. The first man was already waiting (seventy-eight, retired dentist, cock half-hard in his golf shorts). He stepped up, unzipped, and fed himself into the waiting red hole. Claire moaned around him immediately, cheeks hollowing. Two minutes later he grunted, held her hood tight against his pubis, and unloaded straight down her throat. Pulled out, wiped his dick on her chin, zipped up, and walked away whistling.
By 10:30 the line was twenty deep.
They came in waves. Some used her mouth like a urinal (piss first, then cum). Some skipped the piss and just fucked her throat until mascara ran from under the hood in black rivers. A husband-wife team took turns (he fucked her mouth while his wife straddled Claire’s face and ground her seventy-year-old cunt to a squirting finish). Another man brought a small funnel, inserted it between Claire’s lips, and jerked off into it so every drop slid straight down without waste.
I sat in a leather wingback ten feet away, cock out, stroking slow, keeping count.
By noon: forty-three loads.
Her belly was slightly distended from volume. Cum and drool pooled on the vinyl beneath her head and ran in slow rivers toward the drain someone had thoughtfully installed.
At 1:00 p.m. they flipped her (still chained) onto all fours, ass toward the room. New sign: FREE PIG CUNT & ASS – FINISH INSIDE.
The next eight hours were a blur of cocks sliding into her raw holes, balls slapping against her clit, cum bubbling out around shafts and dripping off her new jewelry that hadn’t even been installed yet. Someone wrote TODAY’S SPECIAL across her lower back in red lipstick with arrows pointing down.
At 8:00 p.m. the dinner crowd arrived. They used her like a side dish (cock in mouth while they ate prime rib, then bent her over the platform again for dessert). One man finished in her ass, plugged it with a jeweled stopper “to keep the meal warm,” and went back to his table.
Midnight brought the drunks. Rougher. Someone fucked her throat until she retched, then made her lick the mess off the platform. Another pair double-penetrated her cunt at once, stretching her so wide the lips turned white around their shafts. She came screaming around the cock in her mouth, squirting so hard it splashed the shoes of the men waiting their turn.
I fed her water through a sports bottle, tilting it into the hood’s mouth hole, watching her swallow desperately. Every time I wiped her chin she tried to nuzzle my hand like a grateful animal.
By 4:00 a.m. the room was quiet again, just the low hum of the AC and the wet sounds of the occasional late-night regular. Claire’s hood was soaked with tears, sweat, and cum. Her cunt and ••••••• gaped open, red and used, leaking a slow steady stream. The platform beneath her was a shallow lake.
I counted out loud at 8:47 a.m. when the final man (the same dentist who’d started the day) finished a lazy morning throat-fuck and added one last load to the collection.
Total: 187 confirmed uses.
Some men had come back three, four times.
Victor appeared at 8:59, robe still pristine.
“Time.”
He unclipped the chains. Claire collapsed instantly, legs splayed, body shuddering. I removed the hood. Her face was a wreck (lips swollen to twice their size, eyes red, cheeks streaked with everything the community had given her). But when she saw me she smiled, slow and dreamy, and rasped:
“Did I make you proud, sir?”
I wrapped her in a towel that immediately soaked through, carried her to the golf cart, and drove home with her curled in my lap, reeking of sex and piss and other men’s cum.
In the shower I hosed her down while she knelt at my feet, then fucked her ass against the tile until we both came again (her first orgasm in twelve hours that wasn’t forced by a stranger).
Afterward she fell asleep on the bathroom rug, pink collar still locked tight, my cum leaking out to mix with the other 186 loads inside her.
Week five complete.
Seven days until final Pig exam.
And every night that week she begged me to chain her to the bedpost the same way, whispering, “Please, sir, keep your Pig ready for next time.”
I always did.

great test for her, sir you have a hottie going

Love the pic, she looks hot, looking forward to more. pics and more of the story.

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