Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2014 11:37:49 +0100
From: namab mass <namabmas@gmail.com>
Subject: story: straight lad's shit chapter 7

This is a story involving light to moderate scat play between two adult
males.  All characters are over the age of eighteen.  If this isn't your
sort of thing or it is illegal for you to view it, please leave now. This
story is entirely fictitious, and any resemblance to actual individuals is
coincidental.


Straight Lad's Shit

Chapter 7


`Oh fuck me,' groaned Connor.  `This fucking hurts.'

A car went by and he looked around, panic-stricken.  He shuffled from foot
to foot, wincing as he clenched his hole in tight.  He'd been shitting in
the morning for most of that week: every day about 9am he'd sent me a pic
of his turds in the toilet; all solid, nicely-formed logs.  Now it was
early afternoon, he'd eaten a lot yesterday, and he'd had a sandwich on the
train over, and then a cup of coffee.  It had been the final straw for him.
Even before we'd left the station he was looking uncomfortable and
wondering whether he ought to go to the toilet.  Now, a few streets away
from my place, he was wishing he had, and I secretly loved watching him
struggle, my dick stiffening in my pants as he squirmed in his desperation.
He'd promised to give it me it in the face again.  Now I wondered whether
he'd be able to last that long, and contemplated the prospect of seeing him
shit himself instead.  He straightened up again, breathing hard.

`Oh ... come on, Only a few minutes to yours from here, innit?'

`Yeah.'

`Thank fuck.  I've near enough got a turtle's head coming out.'

Time seemed to slow down as we scurried back to mine.  Every so often he'd
stop and squirm painfully, then carry on, hissing that he wanted to kneel
over me in the bath.  He was telling me how good would feel unloading all
over my face, when suddenly he stopped again.  His eyes widened in horror.

`Oh Jesus Christ, I'm gonna shit myself!'

He clenched himself tight, doubled over, straightened up and hopped about
as he fought to hold it in, and I grew harder still as he drew nearer to
losing all his dignity as he lost control and dirtied his pants.  He bent
again and clutched his stomach, face contorted in pain.

`Oh fuck, it's coming now!  I can't stop it!  Oh shit!'

He gave up, and groaned as his body overcame his willpower.  His jeans
bulged out slightly, and I could just hear the squishing noises as his turd
squashed across his bottom.  All of a sudden I could smell it, all sultry
and thick.  He groaned again as his bowels gave another uncontrollable
heave and the bulge in his jeans grew a little bigger.

`Come on, we'd best get back to mine.'

He straightened up slowly, looking around him all red-faced and subdued,
and grimaced as he took a tentative step forward.  He walked slightly
bow-legged now, trying to stop his mess rubbing about on his bum.
Thankfully we passed no one in the last couple of minutes' walk back to
mine, and when I opened the door he scuttled inside gratefully and straight
through to the bathroom, where he peeled off his shirt, undid his belt and
let his jeans fall round his legs.  I stripped as he did so.  He was
wearing trunks, mercifully; tight blue ones that held his shit in a big
bulge against his bum that wobbled slightly as he moved.  A little brown
stain was starting to soak through. He looked round warily, then grinned as
he saw me stroking myself.  The sight of him in his dirty pants was so hot,
and I couldn't resist starting to wank.  He went to take them down.

`Have you finished?'

`No, but I can hold it now.  Mmm, you enjoyed watching me shit my pants,
didn't you?'

`Yes!  Go on, finish off now.  You might as well, and then you can show me
what you've done.  Come on, let me see you finish your big smelly shit in
your pants.'

He looked dubious, but then he shrugged, put his hands on his knees and
strained visibly.  He farted into his turds, all muffled and wet, and his
head went down and he sighed in relief as he pushed out a load more.  The
lump swelled up and sagged to the right with a gorgeous squishing noise.
He paused, grunting, and did a bit more.

`I'm done.  Now, come and kneel behind me.'

I watched close up as he pulled down his pants.  His lower crack and
buttocks were smeared brown and the smell hit me afresh; not one of his
stronger ones, but rich and thick and satisfying.  Slowly he lowered the
mess to the floor and stepped out of it.  He watched and stroked his dick
as I bent to examine his squashed turds close up, and drink in the heady
pong.  He put a hand on the back of my neck and pushed my face closer in,
until my nose was almost touching his shit and the warmth and smell
overpowered me.

`Clean my ass for me,' he hissed.  `This is your fault.  You got me into
this, and now you can sort it out.  No, not with the bog roll, let's see if
your face is as good at being the paper as it is at being the toilet.  Now,
close your eyes and get ready.'

I closed my eyes, clamped my mouth shut, took a deep breath and leaned in
towards him.  For his part, he bowed his legs out and stuck his bum out.
His crack came closer and closer.  I could sense its filthiness and the
smell overpowered me again.  Then here he was, grinding his arse in my
face, rubbing it up and down, smearing it with his shit.  My nose was right
in his hole, worrying into the place from which this stinking, lovely mess
had come from, and then away again as he turned to wipe his bum on my
cheek.  Eventually he stepped forward, leaving me gasping for breath, eyes
still tight shut.

`There,' he breathed hoarsely above me.  `That's better.  Mmm, you clean my
ass good.  Now, you pervert, I want to see your face properly covered
before I wank off over you.  Get ready...'

I almost panicked, wondering what he was going to do.  His hand was on the
back of my head again, pushing me down towards the floor and back down to
his shitty pants.  He held me down over it for a long time, forcing me to
breathe in his stink, then pushed me down and rubbed my nose in his
excrement.  It was firm and slimy, cooling now.  He began talking dirty as
he did it; pure filth coming from his mouth, telling me what a disgusting
pervert I was and how I deserved nothing better than a face-full of his
turds, but all I could do in reply was whimper and try not to cum.  I
wasn't even touching my dick, but I was horned beyond belief.  He let me up
for air, told me to breathe in deep, and then stuffed my face right into
it.  It squashed everywhere; all over my mouth and cheeks and chin; slimy
and lumpy and horrible.  I hated it, and yet as he kept telling me what a
filthy bastard I was I worshipped him for it too.  Then he let go again and
I straightened up, fighting for breath through a nose half-blocked with
shit.

`Now, stay there, cunt.'

He began to wank, grunting and sighing louder and louder as I did the same,
until at the very moment I came all over the floor he cried aloud and
spurted massively all over my brown face.

`Oh fuck, I'm sorry,' he said softly.  `Got carried away.  Come on, over
here.  I'll help you clean up.  You go first; you need it more than me.'

We showered together, for the first time, him washing his backside only
after he'd made sure my face was clean.  He kept on apologising for what
he'd done, even though I told him he had nothing to be sorry for, and
afterwards he took me to the pub and bought several pints to make up.
Later I walked back to the house that still stank, musing on how much his
abusive top side turned me on, but how underneath it he was basically a
kind-hearted lad who could shock himself with how far he was prepared to
go.  I realised suddenly that in the weirdest and most futile of ways I
realised I'd become very fond of him.  Yet he'd said before he'd felt bad
about what we'd done together afterwards, and that at some point he'd try
to stop, and I just hoped that wouldn't be soon.  I wondered how he saw it.




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