Just a filthy blog

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.

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;

A's food is here.