If you're reading this, then I haven't deleted this blog.
22. Stressed out university student.
What you'll find here:
-Scat
-eproctophilia
-feederism/stuffing
-NSFW writing
What you won't find here:
-Disrespect for any kink or person (let's just be nice to each other please)
-death-feederism
-Vore
-Gore
-Furries
-Fics centered around real people.
-Role playing
*Accepting prompts but reserving the right to not write the ones that make me uncomfortable, that I don't particularly like, that I don't have time for.
*I don't bite, so lets interact (no pressure), just please adhere to the 18+ rule.
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Warnings- mentions of stuffing, eprocto, scat, voyeurism (?)
Following a night of fooling around with their partner, after a surprisingly large, very rich, somewhat spicy dinner, A rouses just past seven in the morning, shifting drowsily beneath the sheets. It takes a minute, but soon enough, the memories of the previous night wash over them, leaving them with a renewed feeling of euphoria. B had come home with two large bags full of take-out in their arms, and, as they'd eaten, B had let it slip that seeing A the way they had a couple week ago, upon their arrival, had confused them at first, but eventually, confusion had morphed into excitement, and more importantly, admittance. B wanted what they did; to watch them grow steadily, and turn into what B had affectionately called a 'gassy, eating and shitting machine.'
Even with a night spent with B feeding them a variety of foods from a restaurant in the city, with intervals spent with palms wedged into the fluff of their belly, coaxing out rancid gas, A can hardly believe that that the desires they'd harbored in secret aligns with B's. Which is why they've barely questioned it; at least if it by some twisted fate, it is a dream, they'd have made the most of it.
The musings don't last long, for A is soon reminded of what has awoken them this early on a Saturday morning. B is still asleep, cuddling them from behind, with a leg hooked over A's hip and an arm draped lazily over their side, their hand just above the ever-existent swell of A's tummy. And speaking of A's tummy, the gassy gurgles from the night before have returned with vengeance, except, by now, it's journeyed lower and powerful cramps makes their toes curl. Biting their lower lip, A brings a hand to their belly, pressing into the spot right below their navel. The pressure aids in allowing them to push out a deep, rumbling fart that vibrates their fatty cheeks, right against B's crotch.
Sighing uncomfortably, A squirms slightly at the pressure against the sphincter. It isn't abnormal for them to need a trip to the toilet in the morning, it's routine actually, but their tummy is rebelling with an urgency that is usually reserved for only when they absolutely must have relief, without time for delay. A couple of sputtering farts, that sound sort of like raspberries being blown into someone's stomach, accompanied by a watery spray has A whining desperately. Any more and they fear they'll be making a mess all over B.
A strained exhale parts their lips, already, beads on sweat is gathering on their skin. Each pungent toot brings them closer to losing control, causing them to groan inwardly. An especially loud blast rockets out of them, and worried that their control is dwindling, A sits up hastily, consequently waking B.
"Where are you going?" B mumbles, trying to get them back into laying position.
"To the bathroom," A protests, knowing that time is of the essence. Silent gas is seeping from their sweating rear as they speak and the heat in the air makes their stomach churn.
"Mmmm," B sits up, shifting to snake their arms around A's bubbling mid, teasingly pressing into the bloat that serves as their tubby belly, "Why?" They feign ignorance, "Can't you pee a little later?"
"I don't have to pee," A counters, pressing their bum into the mattress, desperate to keep their eager load at bay, "I have to take a fucking shit," they explain trying to shake of B's frim embrace.
Chuckling, B coos tauntingly, "My gassy little pet has to poop," they tease with a chortle, nibbling on the back of A's neck, biting down a little harder when a fart whistles from below A. Truly, they'd always hoped to share their desires with B, and the new teasing is painfully arousing, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't want to ruin their favorite sheets with a messy load.
"I really have to go," they beg, their toes curling in anticipation and their palms griping their knobby knees tightly, knuckles going white, "Please let me go."
B hums contemplatively, "Okay," they permit, but their hold has yet to relent, "But," it feels like they're taking their sweet time to get to words out, and A thinks their doing it on purpose. The fabric beneath them is uncomfortably warm and even if the moisture between their cheeks isn't poop, but A knows that it won't be long before that changes. "I want to watch."
"Done," they agree hastily, standing from the minute B releases them, keeping their hole pinched shut, cradling their belly and padding over to the adjoining bathroom, with B close on their heels.
Neither of them are much too concerned with the door, and from the moment A spots the pristine, porcelain throne, an immense sense of relief washes over them. Though, it's severely short lived when B stops them, rummaging through a neatly packed cabinet below that double sink. Before A can even manage the words, B is explaining, "Not in there silly. Clearly you don't like the toilet," they wink, referring to all the soiled laundry they'd found in the tub upon their return, "So why don't you just go on the floor?"
Still nursing their distended stomach, an electric spark of arousal travels to their crotch as warning toots escape them. But they're also a little self conscious, "Are you sure?" They inquire unsteadily as B lays out the fluffy white towel in front of the tub.
"Very," they reach to lead A over, "Come on baby, I know you're desperate."
"Uh huh," A agrees, lowering their naked frame into a squat. The position is a good one, but they're a little too heavy to support their own weight on just their legs like that, so A leans forward a bit, sticking out their ass and gripping the cool lip of the tub.
Gas hisses out of them, and immediately, their puckered hole yawns open, widening around the first, eager length. Its a bit on the bigger side, but its soft enough to not hurt, easily snaking out of them. Ample cheeks, riddled with the light sheen of old stretch marks, make way for the emerging dark brown, glistening loaf, which coils as it reaches the towel positioned below A. Their stomach contracts gently as A pushes, birthing the beginnings of what they assume to be a sizeable movement.
"Look at that," B muses huskily, from their seat on the floor not too far behind, "How does that feel sweetheart?"
A grunts, wincing at the twist in the pit of their belly, "It burns a little," they pant, "And my tummy hurts." Exertion gathers on their brow, and as the length breaks off with a thud. A's shit-stained lips wink as they bear down a little, feeling another mass descend through their colon, "Oh, here it comes," they announce as a lump rears its head.
A's always been a loud pooper, prone to grunting, moaning and even a little cursing, but having B around encourages them to be even more vocal. "Fuck," they lean further forward, so their heels lift off the floor just about an inch, "B, can you see that?" With the first half of the log cleared, the rest descends with ease, "It feels big," it's just as long as the first too, piling on top of A's initial rope of shit, before breaking of with a gagged edge.
"It is," B agrees, impressed, having to shift slightly to quell their arousal, "Are you done?"
"Nope," A blasts a series of short, nasty toots. It's a lot, sure, but they can still feel some more settled inside them, "I think I've got a bit more."
It takes a couple minutes spent ridding their gut of the gas, but eventually, they're crowning again, that mass wider than the first two, but much softer, rocketing out of A and slopping in a semi-solid mass next to the first lengths. A moans as their tummy groans and gurgles, pushing out greasy blasts, smaller flecks of wet poop accompanying the gas and peppering the white of the towel.
"Does it hurt baby?" B probes, shifting onto their knees to get a clearer view of A's fluttering hole, sucking in a sharp breath when a watery fart vibrate A's butt.
"Yeah," A admits, "But it feels so fucking good too," they rock their hips, "Ngh, it's coming." The poop is slowly snaking through their gaping hole, gathering with the other loaves, snapping off before the last lengths, shorter and far softer than the rest, lands on top of the pile. "Done," they declare after a couple tentative pushes.
"Whew," B whistles, "You shit like a cow baby," They stand, colleting the roll of tissue and then joining A, "So much and so stinky."
A blushes, feeling another spark reach their crotch, "Do you wanna do it?" They offer, "I think I got really dirty," just the mere thought of having B's fingers touching them like that was so erotic to them, cleaning up after them, like they always do. Taking care of them, as they always do.
Without a verbal response, B unrolls a wad of tissue, guiding it to the split of A's ass, starting low and dragging it upwards, fingers lingering upon brushing A's hole. A gasp breaks the air and A jumps slightly, gnawing on their lip.
B is surprisingly gentle. using at least four separate wads, pressing their pointer to A's hole each time they wipe, only stopping when the paper comes back clean. They're still crouched in front of the tub, with A hovering over their little mountain of poop, when B begins; "Now," the pepper kisses on to A's sweat-dampened cheek, "Why don't we go get you some breakfast? It's time to start fattening you up."
“You know this is why I never get any work done.”
Ozzy and Dakota have been married for almost 5 years. Old college roomates who had nothing better to do after their graduation ceremony, and a simple hangout session somehow turned into a date.
Dakota had always suspected that Ozzy had a thing for diapers; the occasional rank smell with no source, the suspicious white lining that would sometimes peak out of his pants, and that one time he found a pacifer under Ozzy’s pillow. He’d go pale whenever Dakota asked him about it, so Dakota stopped bringing it up.
It wasnt until their 4th date that Dakota decided to bring it up again. It was almost as if Ozzy could feel the question coming, and that same look of fear and worry dawned on his face as soon as Dakota opened his mouth. But this time Dakota wouldnt back down.
“I just want you to trust me Oz.”
He's huge. 6'5, broad shoulders, meaty arms and thighs with the slightest hint of a paunch.
Great.
He's sat on the toilet, legs spread a little wide to give that impressive girth some breathing room; he's gonna be there a while after all. Hands are pressed firmly to his thighs and his face contorted in a slight grimace, the man's really trying to focus on his business.
Between all the pungent, wet, nasty farts he's ripping, he's pushing out long ropes of soft shit. His sizeable load is coiling impressively at the bottom of the bowl and making the water a little cloudy.
The bathroom reeks of his noxious odor and ever so often, he elicits a primal grunt, that soft tummy straining to get everything out.
And through it all, you're just standing in front of the sink, trying to get ready for work.
Thinking about smug, arrogant villains being forced to mess themselves as comeuppance. Due to slipped laxatives, a device that triggers their bowels, or being caught by the heroes and refused bathroom breaks, etc. Their cool, collected composure breaks down as their belly quakes. No more sarcastic insults. No more scoffing and condescending looks. They’ve regressed to a whimpering, squirming mess trying desperately and failing to stop their hole from opening right in front of the heroes.
A flood of gassy diarrhea bursts out of their ass. Or maybe they lose control of their thick, heavy logs and load their pants over the course of a few minutes. Grunting and whining helplessly as their enemies stare. Either way they’re humiliated to the point of tears. Painfully self-conscious of the sounds and smell. Their overinflated ego takes a hit it’ll never bounce back from.
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Something I was thinking about was a couple who's just starting in the whole scat thing, so they're still trying to figure out which aspecs of scat they feel confortable with.
They decide to try something: after holding their shit for some days, person A is now constipated, so person B gives them a laxatuce tells them to sit on the toilet. Not wanting to cross any boundaries, person B decides to try something without actual physical contact, so they sit in front of person A, who is in the toilet, and tell them to descibe how they feel, describe the cramps in their stomach, describe how full they are, how much they need to shit, etc.
When person A finally starts to feel things moving, person B keeps encouraging them to describe it to them, to be as vocal as possible. While that, person B starts guiding person A on what to do, telling them when they can fart, when they can push, when they can hold their cheeks and spread them, all while person A moans and tries their best to follow the orders, describing how huge the shit is, how it stretches and hurts them, while also letting out big wet farts.
I really love to think about person A saying things like
"it's so huge"
"My ass hurts"
"I need to fart"
"It's too hard"
Ooo I'm definitely into this. Saying things like "It's coming out", "I'm pooping", and such are really hot. Or saying how long it's been since they last went. Maybe even talking about what they ate the day before and how it's getting its revenge. Love this scenario, thanks anon 😩👌
There’s a porn trope where people get stuck in windows, washing machines, etc then they’re found in that helpless position and it goes X-rated from there. You might be familiar. Anyway, it got me thinking of a scat scenario.
(A) gets caught in a similar predicament. Somehow they’ve managed to wedge their upper body in a tight space and try as they might, they just can’t wiggle free. The situation gets dire as whatever they’re stuck inside is pressing into their belly and the leftovers of past meals start to shift downwards with a loud rumbling. The more (A) struggles, the more nervous farts squeak and then thunder from their squirming ass. Sweat trails down their temples. Discomfort escalates to pain from their long, desperate attempt to keep the shit inside them.
(B) walks in just as their lover starts to prairie dog. Their ass is on full display, jiggling and jerking around as (A) urgently tries to free themselves. They watch the tip of the log poke into the seat of (A)’s pants. In and out, in and out along their weakening ring. Sticking out a little further each time as they fail to suck it back in.
“(B)! I’m stuck. Hurry, get me out. I’m gonna have an accident.” Their belly groans and quakes as if it’s crying out to be rescued, as well.
(B) kneels close and places their palm on (A)’s back to comfort them. It seems to them that (A) is stuck good and the most fitting thing to do is to pull down their pants so the clean-up of their unavoidable accident is easier.
Just wanna cuddle and maybe do other things😏 with a tall, chubby, gassy guy after he eats unwittingly eats trigger foods for dinner. Idk maybe it's garlic or dairy or something.
He's oh so shy about all those loud, deep, bubbly, farts but really can't help it.
The little suppressed moans and pretending to be okay at first
Cushions just vibrating beneath us every time he lets go 😶
The gas bubbles in his tummy rolling under my palms as I try to help.
-"Ugh, babe, I'm sorry, I don't feel so good right now."
Alrightly, now I'm thinking about what happens next.
Curled and cuddled up on a corner of the sofa, television muted and hands still kneading his bubbling bloated tummy. He's usually the strong silent type, but tonight he's so vocal. We're talking loud groans and moans punctuating mumbled swears and of course, apologies for his gas.
"Ohhhh, my tummy hurts."
And, "Sorry, I'm just so gassy."
And his gas is t e r r i b l e.
Rancid bubbles. Nasty rumbles. Long, drawn on sputtering emissions.
Eventually, after a couple hours spent with him fidgeting as the bubbly, sloshing travels lower into his system and his farts take on a wet, sloppiness that he probably shouldn't trust. His gas keeps getting wetter and it's surprising that they aren't actually sharts, but soon enough, he grabs my smaller wrists and freezes up as an urgent look cross his face, "I need the toilet," is all he says before pushing me off and hurrying to the bathroom, a hand pressed firmly to his jean clad ass.
Intrigued, I follow him to the bathroom, and he's in such a hurry that he's left the door open. His pants are barely around his knees and he hasn't even planted his ass on the seat yet before his body relents and a wave of slop pours out of him, splashing into the water.
By the time he sits, our sick chub is blasting watery gas into the bowl and clutching his tum. "You shouldn't have to see this," he moans through another round, possibly his third in just a few minutes, "I'm so gross right now." Despite his words, he doesn't protest when I approach him, instead pressing his bent head to my front, letting me rub his back as his cramping tummy voids itself of its affliction.
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A had been constipated for about 4 days now. No matter how hard they pushed or how long they stayed on the toilet, nothing seemed to be moving. As a solution, B makes them take a laxative. However, B also required A to wear a diaper. Why? Well, they didn’t want to risk A having a huge accident after taking the laxative. Trust me, it’s happened before. What B wasn’t expecting, though, was how damn attractive it would be to see A walk around the house in a diaper. Seeing A cross their legs and whimper each time a cramp struck, the sound of the diaper crinkling each step they took. It was almost too much for B to handle.
B catches A trying to walk across the living room and pulls them into their lap, sliding a hand around their waist.
“How are you feeling, A?”
“...H-hurts...” That was the only word A had the energy to spit out at that moment.
“Aw, baby, it still hurts? Here, let me feel your tummy.” B rolled up A’s shirt to expose their bloated belly, slightly taken aback by the warmth and the vigorous bubbling under their palm. B let out a small chuckle and pulled A’s shirt back down, bringing them further into their lap. “Well don’t worry, you’ll feel better in no time. But for now... Why don’t you stay here with me for a bit? Seems like I haven’t spoken to you in ages.” B began to plant soft, unexpected kisses along A’s neck, forcing A to fight with their increasing arousal and stomach issues. A leaned into B’s touch, wanting more of their famous kisses, but the slight movement from them expelled a rather sloppy sounding fart.
A froze and turned pale, expecting B to be horribly disgusted by what just happened. “B, I—“ B grabbed A’s chin and silenced them with a kiss to A’s lips, briefly pulling away to mutter the words “It’s okay” before continuing. The couple’s heated makeout session would pause each time A would fail to hold back a nasty fart, but the smell and sound didn’t seem to bother B in the slightest. Usually, A would keep their lips pressed against B’s even when they had to fart, but this time they found themselves pulling away fully. “A? What’s wrong, honey?”
A couldn’t speak for a moment, all they could do is squirm as a hand went down to their violently grumbling stomach before finally uttering out the words “Oh fuck, oh fuck..” Fart after fart sputtered from their asshole, each one wetter than the last until they eventually turned into loud squelches. God, A couldn’t control themselves in the slightest. These sharts were practically shooting out of them and the diaper did nothing to muffle its volume. A’s eyes were tearing up from embarrassment, but the flood gates were opening and they couldn’t move now. “B-B! Fuck, I’m gonna s-shit! I’m gonna— Hnnnng!” A grabbed onto B’s shoulders and tensed up as they felt the hard log plugging them up in the first place beginning to stretch open their hole, putting a temporary stop to their horrid farts. A’s load crackled loudly as it forced its way out, its length pushing against the seat of their diaper. Needless to say, solving 4 days of constipation would be an intense experience. The first log finally broke up and curled neatly into A’s now sagging diaper, but there would be no time for A to take a break. Several softer stools shot out of the poor individual, wreaking havoc on their hole. All B could do was rub soothing circles on A’s back as they emptied themselves directly in their lap.
A sobbed quietly and panted as they continued to grip onto B’s body, seizing up each time their bowels would painfully force another thick stool out of them, followed up with a few weak, airy toots. They had to have been popping for over 5 minutes straight before their tank finally felt empty, relaxing their grip on B’s shoulders. B carefully wiped A’s tears from their face before pulling them into a warm hug. “There, there.. It’s okay, you did great.” The added weight on B’s lap due to how much A filled their diaper was amazing, to say the least. B hated to see their partner in discomfort, yet they hoped this wouldn’t be the last time they’d have A wearing a diaper.
I’m gross I know
but a jock guy with stomach problems sharing all over my couch with no pants is pretty hot ngl
Him just walking around the house in a jockstap letting out farts probably making a bit of a mess of the more and chairs cause he leave a little “present” behind when he lets out a long nasty one, fuck dude
Just wanna cuddle and maybe do other things😏 with a tall, chubby, gassy guy after he eats unwittingly eats trigger foods for dinner. Idk maybe it's garlic or dairy or something.
He's oh so shy about all those loud, deep, bubbly, farts but really can't help it.
The little suppressed moans and pretending to be okay at first
Cushions just vibrating beneath us every time he lets go 😶
The gas bubbles in his tummy rolling under my palms as I try to help.
-"Ugh, babe, I'm sorry, I don't feel so good right now."
Warnings- Mentions of stuffing, Scat, Eprocto, messing, brief mentions of omo (but I'm not really into that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )
Boxes from varying take out restaurants are littered around them, everything from Chinese from that questionable hole in the wall down the street, to a popular burger joint a couple blocks over. They aren't all from just one day, no, some of these are from dinner five days go. They've never been as good at keeping up with the cleaning as B is, or perhaps, A thinks, this slobby behavior is just a consequence the laziness that accompanies their...…over indulging.
By now, B has been gone on their overseas business trip for about five days, which means that A has two days to get everything back into unassuming order, though, part of A warns that maybe they should get around to it sooner, rather than later. Still, they ignore it, because it just feels so good to live out their fantasy, especially after keeping it under close wraps for so, so long.
A loves B, they do, with everything in them, but there are just some things that they're almost positive B won't get behind, and so, its been easier to hide their less than conventional desires; only getting an extra serving of fries as opposed to the additional burger or two that they want, or getting a large soda instead of that extra large milkshake. Usually, A wishes that they could take things further than just a handful of fries and sugary pop, they want to push their body, see how much they can eat before they're too full to move, become an almost permanent resident of the living room sofa, only giving the weighed down cushions a break when they lug their heavy frame to bed. For as long as they could remember, that's the life that A has dreamed of. But it's quite possible that B, who's notoriously clean, neat and healthy would be absolutely repulsed by just the idea.
And A loves B too much to lose them.
But they also wish they could have that life, that dream, with their partner.
But they can't.
Which is why when B came home one day, announcing that they're cushy job, would be sending them away for a week of seminars, the idea had bloomed in A's head; this was their chance. At first A felt a little guilty, especially when the first delivery guy had shown up, both arms filled with A's order, making a joke about how they must having been having a party, because conventionally, one simply doesn't order off half the menu unless there's company. And then, when they'd offered up the card that B religiously maintains for them, A had felt even worse; they were lying to the person they loved.
But then A popped that first egg roll into their mouth. The crispiness of the egg dipped shell crunching between their teeth, the explosion of flavors; oily, fried cabbage and carrots, melding with the saltiness of soy sauce and the juicy meat inside, had them moaning in pleasure. By the time the first delicious roll was through, and A glanced down at their lap, seeing that there were five more to go, all remnants of contrition seemed to dissipate. For the first time in years, they could eat without someone at their side, reminding them to take it easy so they don't make themselves sick.
That night, the first one after B's temporary departure, A had surprised themselves by finishing everything they'd ordered. Granted, it was past one am when they'd popped the last dumpling into their mouth, and they most definitely couldn't move after, but that was all part of the fun.
Things became even more fun when all that greasy food had started digesting, or at least, tried to. A was no laid on the sofa, the blue light from the television illuminating room, t-shirt bunched up at their chest and their hand splayed on their bare, bloated gut. Loud, deep belches plagued them for a while, the scent acting as a reminder of everything they'd scarfed down; eggrolls, noodles, orange chicken and stuffed dumplings, all washed down with two liters of their favorite soda, straight from the bottle.
Ever so often, A would groan following a protesting gurgle emanating from their over worked tummy, and eventually, those gurgles and that audible sloshing, slowly began making its rounds through their system. They weren't ready for the toilet yet though; fetid gas had just started being expelled into the chair, creating a humid cloud around them and joining their wet burps.
As much as it hurt though, and as foul as their gassy emissions were, A could hardly find it in their being to be remorseful. The gas continued through the late night, progressively growing sloppier, with a dangerous moisture accompanying each drawn out, bubbling fart. Yet, despite the symphony created by their ass, their gut didn't deflate one bit, instead it continued to press against the waistband of A's sweat pants, stained at the front with sauces from their adventurous dinner. A hadn't gone to bed that night, opting to spend the night dozing off in front of the television, occasionally rousing to drowsily rub large circles on their tum.
It was early the next morning when a particularly harsh cramp gripped their tummy, squeezing out a long fart, reminiscent of a liquidly gurgle from their ass, ended in a loud squelch. The new slimy warmth seeping past their crack and spreading around the seat of their underwear made what had happened glaringly obvious, while the musky air had taken on a new foulness.
Briefly, they'd contemplated standing up, and heading to the toilet like they usually would, but the feeling of their sloppy mess gathered in their undies brought an incomparable pleasure, and so instead of standing, A simply turned on their side, bending their knees slightly, so their butt wouldn't be pressed into sofa. A short, primal grunt pressed their lips together in a tight line as they pushed, a blort audible over the hum of a morning show as a larger batch of runny poop landed in their pants.
"Oh fuck," they hissed, reliving their bladder too, creating a dark wet patch on the front of their sweats to match to one at the back. The thick, pee soaked fabric clung to their thighs, while at the back, the mess made it pull away from their skin.
Their tummy groaned angrily, bubbling under A's palm as their load came effortlessly, soft lumps stretching the puckered, swollen lips of their anus. The semi-solid masses were occasionally interrupted by waves of pure mush, making a sickly burbling sound as it joined the impressive load in their underwear, making it wetter and heavy. It felt like waves of thick, warm sludge was just steadily flowing out of them, as if a tap had been opened.
Eventually when A stood, they could still manage brief, packed toots, though, unless they wanted to risk the integrity of the sofa, they'd had to finish up in the bathroom.
That, was going on five days ago. Now, A has let go even further, eating whatever they want guiltlessly, making their pants double as their bathroom, regardless of wherever they are in the house, and showering only when whatever they're wearing threatens to leave telling stains on the furniture. It feels like they're living an absolute dream; a slobby, smelly dream. Though, in two days, its back to normal.
Two days, forty-eight hours, countless minutes. It's a ways away, so A figures that they can get away with their questionable hygiene and eating habits for a while longer, and with that in mind, they linger among the clutter they've created, sitting in their eggy stink with the television playing reruns of their favorite show, as they wait for dinner to arrive, a generous selection from the bar-b-que place a couple blocks away.
It's late, and while their latest pair of sweats is a bit tighter than usual because of the perpetual bloat they've acquired over the past few days and even a little stained from misjudging a couple farts, A's pants are mostly dry and somewhat clean. They've already decided that they won't give a shower too much thought until the next morning, and the evidence of their latest raid of the snack cabinet is littered around them. It feels like heaven, that is, until from down the hall, they hear keys jingling in the door.
And there's only one person beside them with a key. The other person that lives there, A's unassuming partner; B.
They're early!
"Shit," in the haste to stand up, the pressure on their on their pudgy tummy pushes out a rumbling fart, only worsening the stench in the room, and suddenly, what mere minutes ago felt like ultimate bliss feels like a cruel punishment. B can't see them like this.
"A?" A can hear the curiosity peaked in B's tone, and they know its because the musky odor has long travelled down the downstairs hall of their condo, "Baby what's-"
A desperately tries to greet B nearer to the door, and hopefully stall, before they can witness their unofficial base of operations, but they're too slow and they're just pushing aside some of the empty boxes and soda cans when B enters, one of their carry-on's slipping from their shoulder and falling onto the typically pristine marble floor, jaw hanging slack in surprise. Cautiously, B probes, "Did you have a party or something?"
With their already dodgy stomach knotting with nerves, A shakes their head; B probably gonna figure it out anyway. A hasn't even though about it at this point, but B pays all of the credit card bills, just one look at the next one is gonna give away what they'd planned on hiding. Really, it's best they just tell the truth. "No," A croaks, wringing their fingers in front of their distended tummy, squeezing their musky cheeks closed to keep a barrage of nervous gas at bay.
The shock on B's face is unwavering, and it takes a moment before they're finally able to muster up their next questions, "You ate all of this? This is...…all you?" A is just noticing the slight scrunch in B's nose, and it only fuels the fear that the end of their relationship is inevitable. Why would someone like B want to be with A, they think and there isn't a way in their mind that this is going to work.
"Yeah," A nods, embarrassed.
B seems like they're about to say something, but their thoughts are interrupted by a buzz on the intercom;
I read about people getting involuntary enemas from going down water slides and shitting themselves. So now my coombrain is in overdrive and I’ve exaggerated the reality, but anyway.
Imagine your fave seated at the top of a long, steep tube. The employee tells them to cross their legs before they go down but your fave just waves them off. What does that bored looking, bubble-gum chewing teenager know? It’s much more comfortable to go down with their legs apart. And that they do. They careen down the slide and soon their yells of excitement deepen into groans. Looking down, they see their tummy bloating from all the water rushing up their ass. Try as they might, it’s just too slippery and they’re moving too fast to cross their legs. With no way to dam the water, they helplessly moan as their belly swells. All they can do is pray for the burst of light at the end of the tube.
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someone wearing a plug after eating to keep their hole loose enough to push out their notoriously wide and hard loads. they know they get backed up by almost any food, so they start wearing plugs as a precaution — if they don’t, the poop is simply too big to stretch them open in a reasonable amount of time.
when it’s time for the poop to come out, their parter lays them on their back and pushes their knees to their chest. they grasp the plug and begin twisting, pushing it in slightly to feel for the stool. the plugged parter groans as the tip of the plug rubs against a firm, urgently-descending log. “hnnng, i wanna push it out, let me push it out,” they whine uncontrollably as the plug begins widening their bottom while their partner removes it.
just as the plug comes out with a soft pop, a contraction seizes them, and the blunt tip of a rocky stool quickly fills the gape the plug left behind. “hhnnng, oh, oh, oh-“ the pooper groans and whines.
“how does it feel, baby?” their partner asks.
“it’s…ugggnh..easier to get out for sure,” they say. they take a deep breath. “still gotta push though,” they grunt.
their anus blooms out and shuts back up, furiously ejecting rock after rock so urgently that the pooper shakes and sweats, their face twisted, red, and quivering. their loose hole still has to stretch to accommodate stools thick as hairspray cans. their body has churned up that day’s meals and now forces out the hard, smelly leftovers in the form of logs and bolders.
once their hole rests for good, their parter takes a baby wipe and rubs it clean. their anus twitches reflexively against their finger, their gut still acting on the instinct to push. soft tired grunts leave the pooper’s lips uncontrollably.
I've been thinking lately about a slobby gamer boy being locked in his room all day and night, living off of junk food and sugary drinks. Of course, he shamelessly rips ass throughout the hours of the day. But just imagine how his chair/chair cushion absorbs all of his farts, or even better, the position he'll be in when he has trouble getting them out. Leaning back into the chair, legs widely spread, and his gamer buds wondering why he's not responding as he pants and grunts trying to push his gas out. bonus points if he ends up shitting himself right there in his chair.
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