Please see my album "With Rhys" for photos of the event.

2014 had been a disappointing summer, wet, overcast, cool. Normally, the beach would be dotted by groups of naked guys, chatting, frolicking in the waves and getting up to all sort of things, Today, it was deserted. My horniness abating, I trudged over the pebbles to my favourite secluded spot. My camera set on interval timer, I stripped to my speedos for some stretches and press-ups. A gentle heat from the sun behind the thick clouds soon made me hot and sweaty so I collected the camera and made my way over the great rise of grey clay cliffs and climbed to where I knew there would be running water and a cool pond. The stream still ran clear but a mud slide had tumbled down the cliff and replaced the pond. This new mud puddle was about three meters across by two wide. I could see that the centre was liquid. I stepped to the edge of the pool which wobbled, leaving deep foot prints as walked tentatively round the firmer edge.

As the edge started to yield and crumple, I dropped to my hands and knees, the mud, warm and silky engulfed my hands and forearms. I felt that familiar thrill of a sloppy mudpit, newly formed and as yet untouched. I stretched over to the liquid centre and planted my face into the warm wet velvet slop. It yielded, so warm, so smooth, that i pushed further until I immersed my head fully. I felt a stirring in my speedos and I pushed my head in further. The sucking noise as I finally pulled my head out of the mud was as seductive as it was rude. The hungry mud pulled and my arms and knees as I pulled myself back to firmer ground. As I stood up, heavy globs of mud fell from my head, my face to my shoulders and chest. The sensation of it trickling down my torso felt do very good. The interval light on the camera blinked. Another shot.

I cleared my eyes and glanced up and down the beach. Was it still deserted? In the near distance, a man walked along to my my stretch of the beach. Instantly recognisable by enormous shoulders and chunky legs, it was Rhys, He wore his ragged and threadbare t-shirt with a square cut collar that enhanced his thick muscular neck. He was a giant of a man, enormous forearms and hands, his shorts wet from the surf, clung to his muscular, hairy thighs. For such a big man, he moved with surprising speed and agility. There was no point making a dash to the sea to wash off, or to try and hide within the dark cliffs, so I beckoned him over as he approached.

"Always the one for the mud pies aren't you Jim?" I grinned, foolishly and babbled "Ah, yes, I guess so. There was a stream up here and now..". Rhys interjected "And now it's a mud puddle Jim?". "Ah, yes. It's mud now".

Rhys scrambled up the cliff to where I stood, my head shoulders, chest dribbling with mud. I had this curious feeling of humiliation and excitement. Rhys's smile was slightly mocking. He looked at the camera as the interval light blinked. "Better not publish any photos of me from that thing" he growled as he pulled the tattered t-shirt over his head. Stripped to his shorts and in such close proximity and had a chance to take in his impressive physique. It was not a gym body, it was genetics and the product of manual work, Huge shoulders, and enormous barrel chest his torso slightly less tanned than his arms and legs. The stirring I'd felt in the mudpit was rapidly turning into a heavy sensation of swelling in speedos. I tried to put it out of my mind and held Rhys's gaze.

He bent over and with both hands, scooped up an enormous double handful of liquid mud. "It's warm. It feels nice" he said with a tone of surprise. "You like this Jim, don't you?".

I nodded, swallowed, nervously and nodded again. Mud slopped from his hands, but his right hand still held a sizeable amount. Rhys planted the mud on my face, his giant hand literally covering my whole face, his thick fingers smearing, encasing. I let out an involuntary moan.

"Yeah, I can see you really like that Jim" More, mud, this time on my shoulders, my back, my chest. I knew better than to get Rhys muddy. Rhys was in control and my job as to be on the receiving end, My cock strained against the lycra speedos. "Yeah, you like that don't you muddy hog?" He tweaked my cock between his thumb and forefinger, my legs felt like jelly and sensing this, Rhys pushed me to my knees. I couldn't help notice the sizeable swell in his shorts, which were now directly in my eye line.

"I reckon you want to be completely covered in mud, Jim, that's what you want". I nodded, perhaps too eagerly. He moved away for the camera to take another shot on interval, but returned again with, a huge handful of mud, to my chest, down my torso, over the bulging speedos. There was never a missed opportunity to rub my cock or give it a quick tweak. I surrendered myself completely to the muddy plastering from Rhys's massive hands. His muddy arms, his chest, sweaty and glistening, his engorged cock, heavy in the mud splattered shorts, bobbing in my face as yet more mud was slapped onto my body, down my speedos, his massive fingers rubbing mud into my groin, my buttocks, my cock. Another handful of wet, sloppy liquid down my speedos and his thick muddy fingers started exploring the crack between my buttocks, my perineum, my sphincter, so gentle and light, so exquisite. My body quivered as I felt a hot, intense load building and a craving for release. Rhys attentions changed as he shifted his hands back to rubbing mud into my torso and then down in my speedos once more. Rhys's fingers pushed deeper, more urgent and I bucked back and forth riding Rhys's right hand while his left hand pumped his own cock within his own shorts. As I came, Rhys thrust his right hand into his own shorts to pump more urgently, ejaculating and losing his balance to land splat, alongside me in the centre of the mud pit.

The camera light blinked once again. Rhys pushed himself up and scraped the mud from his toro and legs shaking the mud from his hands to land in big splats in the muddy pool. "Muddy Jim, Mudhog. Mudhog Jim. Remember, no photos of me and if you tell anyone what happened today, do not use my real name. Understood?". "Understood" was my immediate reply as I struggled to pull myself from the sticky, sloppy pond.

I knew I would need to record these events dear reader, as much as I knew that while this encounter was by chance and luck, it would not be the last.