White Trousers, Lots of Belts, and a Full Belly

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Things I WILL do: scat, efro, omorashi, farting, vanilla, watersports, belly noises, furry.

Things I WILL NOT do: vore, disposal, eating, gore

GP Mikasa getting a boner from taking a dump and it’s just the most embarrassing and weird experience she’s ever had. She’s sitting on the outhouse, her white trousers crumpled in a heap at her boots, her boxers stretched between her legs. Just doing her business after a long day, laying a fat turd, and her pretty pink penis is just throbbing, hard as can be, flushed cockhead twitching, spilling out beads of shining precum every time her pale butt domes open and her anus widens around a girthy mudpie. Mikasa is blushing, sweating, hands clenched, sinking into the meat of her white thighs, trying to avoid looking at her huge needy member curving rigidly toward her belly, pulsing with lust. Her balls are so full of boiling cum, she knows she needs to empty them as much as her bowels needed to be emptied. Poor girl is absolutely dying to masturbate, just like she was dying to poop all day. She first felt the urge to jack off (not to shit, she was already feeling that heaviness in her gut for a while) when she ripped a nasty bubbly fart on her way to the dining hall, the kind that she wouldn’t know if the dampness between her buns was because of her release or just sweat. When the stench of her rotten meaty ass gas reached Mikasa’s nose, her girl cock began to stir, rising to attention, and— by the time she had reached the hall— she was hastily tucking her boner into the waistband of her boxers, her painfully erect penis held to her belly by her belt.

Barely listening to Eren and Armin while they argued about the necessary evil of instructors versus controlled anarchy, Mikasa’s squirming in her seat, pitching a tent in her pants at the thought of the dump she urgently needs, the thick log nestled just within her little butthole or the thought of passing gas around Eren. She hurries to the outhouse after dinner before a second bulge can appear in her pants, this time in the seat of her trousers instead of the front. Because the girl worth a hundred soldiers actually really needs to poop, it’s been a while since she’s needed to go this bad. in addition to Mikasa’s bulging erection that she’s sporting, a brown tail is also sprouting from her widened asshole, creeping toward her white cotton boxers. She throws open the door, locks it behind her, causing her to lose ground to a few more centimeters of brown, and works on her trousers. Her teeth catch her lower lip, and she hisses as the cramps worsen, squeezing her poor tummy like a vice. Finally, her trousers slide down her thighs, her boxers— gray with sweat, a damp spot at the front where she leaked precum— are peeled away, and Mikasa takes her seat on the wooden throne.

Immediately, her hand is on her rock-hard flushed cock, palming it, letting it grow and settle in her grasp, the syrupy sweetness of precum leaking down the side. Mikasa stifles a moan as she experimentally jerks it a couple times, sending shivers of pleasure running up her spine like an electrical current. Her asshole twitches twice before splitting open to reveal a clay-like, soft mega-turd that winds its way out of her like a twister touching down. Mikasa’s jerking faster now and she licks her hand shamelessly, moaning for real this time as she slicks her hand up and down on her throbbing cock, her huge dump turning her on in the most mortifying way possible. Her anus pinches off the log and it falls with a splat down below in the waste, and Mikasa’s pumping her cock, hunched over it like a personal project, cute little gasps escaping her soft lips as another turd pokes out of her, growing into a thick log that curls as it falls like an elephants trunk. Mikasa rips a couple bubbly farts like the ones she passed in the mess hall, her hole vibrating as they buzz into the toilet. She’s close, she can feel it, building up, her orgasm stifled for so long, her balls so full, she’s so—

Mikasa cums, spurting her load onto her pale toned belly, toes curling, eyes rolled back, a breathy guttural groan tearing from her throat; it had been so long. Tears of relief from both the terrible weight in her stomach, gone, and the release from her orgasm. She wiped her eyes, while the embarrassment catches up to her. She shifts self-consciously, all too aware of the load drying on her stomach and the waste steaming below her. Her face heats up and she covers it, mortified that she just came while taking a shit.

Your fave has been baking brownies in the oven for the past three whole days. They’re on vacation in the mountains and the only available toilet is accessible from two rooms, with people constantly occupying those two rooms and your fave is so poop shy that they won’t even consider it.

Today, it’s bad. They’re lying on their bed, pretending to nap, tucked into a fetal position, curled around their extremely full, bursting bowels. Low gurgles and moans echo from their poor stomach every few seconds and, worse, is the gas. Noxious jets of hot gas are spurting out from their ass every few seconds. Drilling their underwear with awful hissing farts that leave their hole tingling from the heat. And the smell, the smell is just atrocious, rotten and poop-scented; it’s so bad that it’s seeping out from the covers, infesting the room with a cloying stench. They muffle a whimper, brought to near tears from the pain in the tummy, the massive log that’s been festering inside them wanting so badly to just unfurl into their pants.

They tighten their hole as another cramp wracks their midsection, letting out a little gasp, hands working their bloated gurgly stomach. God, they’ve never been this full of shit before, bowels just absolutely packed. Another fart sputters out, gently flapping their cheeks as their gas purrs like a motorboat. They clench their asscheeks just as the fart gets louder, their stomach gurgling angrily at its denied relief.

“Oh, fuck,” they whisper to themselves. Just another— they check the date on their phone and groan— three more days. But by nighttime, it’s clear their body has reached its limit. They’re farting every few seconds, putrid puffs of gas that work around a huge turtlehead. And speaking of, the face of a truly massive log keeps prairie dogging in and out, spreading their hole before being clenched back into their stuffed rectum; they feel waves of shivers down their spine whenever this happens.

Suddenly, at around midnight, with your fave having given up on trying to sleep with the state of their bowels, the turd starts to creep out and clenching isn’t working, with the two cheeks pressing on the log, it’s like trying to panini-press an iron ingot. Your fave is throwing off the covers and waddling to the door. Moonlight streaming through the windows helps them not trip. They throw open the door and stumble towards the wooded area behind the cabin. Farts are bubbling out of them. Their stomach is contracting, forcing their hard-packed log further and further out; it’s nearly touching cloth. The night bugs hum and buzzing mosquitoes dart at them. They hurry, legs spearing urgently, log hanging out of their butt, one hand over their rump, one hand on their aching belly. Sweat runs down their face.

They make it to a tree, tear down their pajama bottoms and hover their ass over a cluster of roots. Immediately a fat rope of glistening scat unfurls from their spread hole, bumps and knobs sending shivers of pleasure through them as they loose a breathless moan at the pure relief from emptying their bowels, finally, after four days, and its coiling round and round, it just keeps coming, the log is getting softer, golden brown instead of tree colored. Urgent farts and pops of toxic gas squeeze past the turd and a crackling like fall leaves fills the air. Their hole pinches, cutting the loaf off and it doesn’t even fall, propped up by the curling logs that your fave just laid. An airy fart that lasts a solid five seconds before it starts to sputter obnoxiously shoots out of them, disturbing the leaves underfoot.

I’m sorry this is so fucking hot im losing my mind.

Eren had changed. His emotions and thoughts, once so accessible to her, remain locked up now, and the gap only grows as Eren gets older, his face maturing, his hair growing longer, to his jaw. But, despite this, Mikasa can still tell he’s acting weird today. It all started with that seafood dish that Niccolo prepared for them. Sasha had, of course, gorged herself. Eren had eaten a bit slower, but he still had two plates of buttered lobster, collard greens, mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli. After he finished the meal, Mikasa saw him grimace, patting his stomach and stifling a burp.

After, they had an important military meeting to attend, so the Survey Corp made themselves presentable in their green uniforms and endured the tedium of old men arguing over politics. Mikasa sat straight-backed. Eren slouches. Suddenly, a low watery gurgle like a clogged pipe sounds from Eren’s stomach. Mikasa looks over. He’s staring straight ahead, but there’s a worried little pout creasing his face, his ears are red, and a hand is on his belly. Mikasa blinked. Was he still hungry? Then, Eren catches her eye and looks away, his cheeks reddening. It didn’t sound like a hunger pang; it sounded like the noise Mikasa’s bowels make right before she...

Oh. He needs to…

Trying not to be too conspicuous, she glances at Eren again. He’s tapping his foot. Sweat beads at his forehead. Low rumbles like distant thunder coming from his tortured gas-filled bowels. A cute blush stains his face. She tries to give him privacy by paying attention to the military meeting. Something other than Eren’s plight catches her attention; one of the higher ups is mentioning a report on all the soldiers in the Survey Corp. This report would determine the Survey Corps future budget.

An hour later and Mikasa’s quietly testing the door knob to the higher up’s office.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks in a hushhed voice behind her.

“I’m reading the report,” Mikasa says, swinging the door open. She enters the sparsely decorated office. Eren follows her, a bit stiffly, more of a waddle than a walk.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Eren says.

“We need to know what we need to improve on,” Mikasa says.

Eren suddenly winces, his stomach moaning, chock full of pent-up farts, struck with a terrible case of the bubble guts.

Mikasa’s attentive ears catch a noise; steps outside the door. Quickly, she moves, grabbing Eren by the shirt and shoving him into the closet. She shuts the door behind them, locking them in darkness. Through the crack in the closet door, she watches Levi enter. His senses are just as sharp as hers and he looks around suspiciously. She’s flush with Eren, her chest pressed to his, his leg between her thighs, their arms not knowing where to go or what to do. Eren is not doing so well. One hand is doing furious circles on his churning lower stomach, gas moving from his intestines and inflating his rectum, only stoppered by his taut little hole.

Fuck, Eren says almost silently, fuck, fuck, fuck. His face is bright red with embarrassment and frustration at the prospect of holding it in another second, containing his gas for just a little bit more. He whimpers, squirming, his poor stomach groaning, so insanely upset from that seafood. Mikasa suspects that he had never had been this gassy in his entire life.

“Hold it in, Eren,” she whispers. She puts a hand on his bloated belly, feeling the gas swirl inside, the boy holding off on ripping ass only with pure willpower (and seriously clenched buttcheeks, quivering with strain). Eren does something surprising. He grunts, a small “eh” that makes him sound like a wounded animal. He’s shaking now, full-bodied, as he begins to lose control. Urgent hot farts are building at his exit, and Mikasa knows he doesn’t have much longer till he blows.

She peers through the crack. Levi is heading out, casting one last look behind him before he left. She hears his footsteps in the hallway. Eren groans, sounding close to tears. It’s strange to see him this way. This… vulnerability had been hidden from her for so long. It makes her love him even more. And right now he’s suffering, gas cramps killing him, stomach bloating, farts trapped indefinitely. She would have to release him from his punishment.

“He’s gone,” Mikasa says and with those two words, Eren explodes.

BRRRPLPRRRPPLLLRRPPTTT!

Eren’s ass sings, a huge rumbling fart that quakes the wall of the closet, Eren going nearly crossed eyed with relief, his mouth hanging open, a brilliant blush splashed across his face, finally ripping major ass after holding it in all day. The smell is oppressive and putrid, festering in his gut since lunch. Mikasa puts her hand over her nose and Eren squeezes his eyes shut as if he can’t take the embarrassment, whimpering as another gas bubble makes its way to his exit, a guttural gurgle coming from his bowels.

PLLLRRRRPPPPPP! PRRT! BRLPPP! BRP!

“Ohhhh,” Eren sighs as beefy machine gun fire farts blast out of him, snapping flatly against the wooden. Mikasa can’t believe his perky ass is making these rude noises. Eren grunts again and farts for the third time.

PSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH…

A quiet but deadly eases out past his asscheeks, warming his white trousers and immediately choking Mikasa with its rotten stench. She coughs and Eren mumbles an apology. She opens the closet door, stumbling out.

PRRT-PLRMP-BRAP-POOOT

Farts pop out of Eren with every step. He keeps saying how sorry he is, and Mikasa stops him with a hug.

BLRP!

Forcing another gassy expulsion out by pressing on his belly, but Eren hugs her back.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s natural,” Mikasa says.

“It’s still embarrassing,” Eren says, still tomato red.

“At least Jean wasn’t here,” Mikasa says. “You would never live it down.”

Eren smiles weakly. They leave the room, Eren finally relieved of lunch’s revenge.

Mounting her steed has another louder more bassy toot slipping out from between her spread cheeks. Almost as if in response, Mikasa’s horse raises a tail and blasts out a loud billowing ripper. Mikasa strokes the mare’s sides, absently lifting a cheek and warming the saddle with a silent puff of foul air. She must’ve been overfed, Mikasa thinks; normally, Survey Corp horses were kept on a strict diet for any sudden bouts of flatulence could alert titans. The horse’s stink and Mikasa’s stink are beginning to stagnate in the stables so off they go. Making sure to stay at the back of the formation, she joins up with the rest of the Survey Corps.

Bouncing around on the saddle has Mikasa’s stomach acting up again, jostling up big bubbles in her bowels. She’s farting up a storm, her passive face betraying nothing as long streams of bubbly gas exit her rump. She feels sorry for those downwind of her but she can’t help it. This happens every time she gorges herself on beans. The last time it happened was when she had them before combat training. She blushes as she remembers Sasha, her partner for the day, complaining about a sour smell in the air, not realizing it was emanating from the women worth a hundred soldier’s butt. Then, the wind changes and the Survey Corp formation converges on her, ensuring that she’s going to have to clench that fat ass and hold in her emissions for a bit. Her stomach growls angrily as she denies it relief. She sneaks a hand to rest on it, brow furrowing as cramps eat away her midsection.

Soon, Mikasa’s desperate. She’s squirming in her saddle like she needs to pee. Gassy doesnt even come close to describing her. She’s about to pop. She spares a glance back at her squadmates. They ride in a v-formation, with Mikasa at the front, so she can’t rip any ass lest they hear it and make the connection. After hours and hours of keeping that gas swirling in her belly, the mission is over and they return with a couple more people lost and a couple more titans slayed. But it wasn’t the important people to Mikasa, so she was content. Her stomach was terribly discontent. Gurgles and moans came from her poor bowels non stop, an endless drone. When she dismounts her horse, it’s all she can do to not fart. And when she’s waddling to the stables with her mare in tow, tiny farts pop from her clenched butt. She gets there, raises one leg, and relaxes her anus.

BRLLRLBRLBLBRR-PRRT-PLURRRRPP

An enormous cheek-rumbling bubbly ripper explodes from Mikasa, causing her horse to whinny and disturbing the hay on the ground. She sighs in pure relief and exits the stables… where her stunned squadmates stare at her wide-eyed, having heard everything.