Camp Multilimb

by Josh Dugan

Camp is very entertaining.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” my bunkmate said. “They are just hands,” he said, looking down at all of his hands. “I mean, I like them and all.”

It was our first week at Camp Multilimb, and we had been going to some of the workshops and activities.

Set in a lakeside wooded mountain resort, the campgrounds were dotted with shaded booths and open-air class areas and criss-crossed by plenty of trails suitable for four-legged hiking or centaur rides.

At the workshops, the camp counselors, shirtless to show off their tans and multiple arms, would demonstrate the additions and changes and would teach helpful skill sets associated with being multilimbed to their charges, who also adopted shirtlessness and eventually a universally statuesque nakedness, as their bodies became increasingly tanned and muscular and multilimbed over the course of the camp.

The shiva pose workshop was popular because it gave the boys chance to emulate the classic multi armed statues and illustrations, and it doubled as a kind of dance and yoga experience.

A few booths down the way was the boytaur workshop.

“Okay everybody, cross your hind legs and sit your front legs on top of them,” the counselor directed, sitting down on his own hind crossed legs, stretching his front legs out in front of him as he did so and crossing them so his two front feet rested comfortably on each other.

There was laughter and looking around at each other as some of the boys struggled getting into the position, helping each other and laughing as their four legs figured out what to do.

Out by the lake was another group being coached by a pair of counselors.

“Everyone pair with a buddy, four arms spread wide, and spread your front feet, and bring your hind feet forward between them,” one counselor instructed, while the other demonstrated by following the instructions.

The boys followed suit, helping each other as they mastered the slightly difficult insertion of their hind feet between the spread legs of their front feet.

“Okay now, muscle up.”

Following the lead of the second counselor, the boys tensed their bodies as they held the pose, immediately ejaculating and rocking up with enormous bulging muscles from their four suddenly enormous arms down to the bulging quads and calves of their four feet.

“Okay, wipe up” the counselor said, as the second counselor had the laughing, groaning boys pass tissues among themselves, to clean up the enormous gouts of come that accompanied their transformation.

Those who opted for six legs could get extra credit for wristfeet, so they were very popular among the boys, as could be seen everywhere in the camp, with large, beautiful dangling wristfeet swinging heavily from the muscular arms of the handsome, six-footed boys.

The boys were delighted to practice the traditional exchange of wristfeet as they greeted one another, offering their wristfeet to each other to kiss. The beauty of the large wristfeet made it understandable that such greetings nearly always involved enormous ejaculations from all three of their huge hardons as the spasming boys held and kissed each others’ handsome wristfeet, laughing and apologizing as each other’s six beautiful feet became soaked with each other’s come.

Sculpture garden was another fun activity that drew crowds of the taller, tanner, more muscular, ever more-appendaged and modified boys, and served as kind of a valedictory exercise for many of the various workshops.

“We are creating a human sculpture garden by envisioning multilimb poses that you can use to create unique and interesting sculptures,” the handsome, shirtless camp counselor announced, something of a ridiculously tall sculpture himself, as he was stacked with what appeared to be three or four torsos, each with its own muscular pair of arms handling its own enormous and handsome phallus.

In front of the admiring crowd of enormously muscled multilimbed and aroused boys, he would use one or more of his handsome tower of phalluses to point to the unique and handsome living sculptures that the boys had created from themselves as he walked his four legs among them.

“Shake hands with the hand tree,” he said, shaking hands with a long and beautiful arm from a medium sized tree that was actually as you looked at it a continuous sculpture of all arms, all alive, and the branches formed by them terminated in many beautiful hands, although you could tell when you followed the graceful trunk that it was again all arms, but as it swelled towards the floor that it terminated in what looked likeroots, but were actually, as you looked closer, all beautiful legs, calves, ankles and handsome male feet gracefully spreading in all directions to simulate the appearance of the roots of the tree.

“We now see more foot entries,” the counselor said, giving congratulatory departing hand shakes to several of the arms of the hand tree that reached out to him and playfully jerked off several of his handsome phalluses, drawing a laugh from the aroused crowd of admiring, multilimbed boys.

“One of the foot entries is this spiral swirling column of feet,” he said turning the crowd’s attention to what was very plainly a large floor to ceiling spiral-shaped swirl of sleek, muscular legs that of course terminated in very handsome male feet, holding an elegant 360 degree pose.

“Mmmm, very kissable,” he said, taking in hand several of the handsome, receptive feet, kissing them one after the other, to the appreciative, aroused groans of the crowd.

“This small ball of feet can roll itself,” he said, picking it up from the floor and passing it up from one pair of arms to the next until he could hold it affectionately against his cheek.

“And a couple long and very graceful leg wheels,” he said as from both sides two enormous and graceful wheels of legs rolled over their many-legged forms against him and leaned their graceful thighs, calves and beautiful dangling handsome male feet against him.

And, as he in turn with his many pairs of arms gently embraced and nuzzled the many legs, there went his giant phalluses, spurting and spurting with leaping wads of ejaculate.

“Whoops,” he laughed, as his multilimbed audience laughed and simultaneously applauded and ejaculated themselves. “There go those phalluses.”

With nightfall came the campfires and after-dinner activities, and tonight was no exception, with the crowds of boys entertained musically with a line dance under multi colored stage lights that held the starlit nighttime darkness at bay, with one of the multiple limbed counselors calling out the dance steps as the music played and the limb-spangled, muscular boys stepped their many handsome legs to and fro and mounted and dismounted each other according to the instructions of the line dance:

Okay everybody stomp your front feet. Everybody stomp your hind feet.

Everybody clap your front hands. Everybody clap your back hands.

Ride your partner mount his hind legs. Grab his back arms with your front arms.

Shuffle those front feet, back feet too. Get those four arms facing you.

Horse and rider time to switch, mount his legs without a hitch.

Hold his hands and grab two more. Plant his four feet on the floor.

Bring your four legs close to his. Grab four hands, exchange a kiss.

I decided to sit the next one out, so I made my way out from all of the colored lights through the crowd of shining, sweating muscular limbs and the aroused, handsome faces of their owners and found my way to the comfortable semi darkness of the sparsely lit outdoor bar where one of the trail centaurs was standing at the far end of the bar, a frosty long-neck beer in his hand, one of many relaxed hands that hung behind his front arms and even draped themselves over his shoulders.

“Funny,” I said, looking up at his tall, handsome torso, “I didn’t realize that you centaurs went for the multiple arms.”

“We don’t,” he laughed. “We like other multiples. Wink, wink.”

I winked back, smiling.

“And, these aren’t exactly mine,” he smiled, moving his handsome equine stallion body forward a couple of steps out of the darkness so I could see that they were his passenger’s.

“He’s plum tuckered out after our day on the trails,” the handsome centaur laughed. And sure enough, waking up from his nap leaning on the broad shoulders of the centaur, there was my bunkmate, rubbing an eye with one of his many hands.

“Well, I’m glad to see you coming to terms with all of your new hands,” I smiled.

“Definitely,” he smiled back, giving the centaur, who turned his head and kissed him, a wonderful multi-armed embrace. The centaur momentarily stumbled and spasmed with the kiss.

“Whoops,” laughed the centaur. “There go those phalluses.”

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