Family Foursome 02: Saturday Morn

Martin entered the kitchen and saw his sister Frieda at the counter, yawning and pouring coffee in a mug, even though it was almost noon. She was 22 years old, a senior in college, home for the summer, blonde and blue-eyed. She was wearing a sky-blue camisole that barely covered her breasts and reached to the top of her well-trimmed bush and nothing else. Martin, 24 and home on a two-week holiday from his job at a trucking firm, continued to the fridge and took out a small bottle of orange juice. He wore a T-shirt that said I LOVE SH_T on it and nothing else.

"Mom and Dad been down yet?" he asked, sipping his orange juice.

"No," she answered. "They were really enjoying themselves last night. Did you hear them in the shower room?"

"I got in pretty late," he said. "All was quiet by that time."

"I still heard them when I got in and even went in to see what they were up to. They were covered head to toe in shit. They asked me to join them, but I told them I was tired and said no. I kind of wish I did now. I like your T-shirt, by the way."

"Mmmm, I like the one we both have that says WE instead of I; we get such interesting looks when we wear them together." They both smiled at that. Frieda recalled a time they were at the shore walking along the boardwalk arm-in-arm like two very intimate lovers wearing those shirts and wondering if onlookers would be more shocked by the message on the shirts or the fact they were brother and sister. "Looks like a nice day out after that heavy rainstorm last night," he continued. "Come out on the porch with me."

They went out a sliding door onto an enclosed screen porch. "Smells nice out here," Frieda said.

"I got a call from a very interesting woman yesterday," Martin said. "A woman named Pam, who runs a liquid fertilizer plant for farmers. She's looking for a trucking company to deliver her product, the one they use now is apparently going out of business. I went over to her plant and we talked a bit."

"I thought you were on your vacation," Frieda interrupted.

"Yeah, I am, sort of," Martin responded. "But this sounded important so I thought I'd go speak to her. One thing led to another, and guess what I found out?"

"What," answered Frieda, "you dated her in college once and she was hoping she'd never lay eyes on you again?"

"Har-dee-har-har, you're just sooo funny, one fucking laugh after another," Martin growled, shaking his head.

She smiled, "What can I say, dear brother, you bring out the best in me." She went over to him and hugged him, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Knowing it would be impossible to resist her, no matter how much she needled him, Martin put his arms around her shoulders and held her. "Maybe I won't tell you what she told me now, keep it all to myself and leave you out of the fun."

"And what fun is that?"

"She told me she knows a group of people who are absolute scat fiends like us and wouldn't we like to meet them?"

She pulled away from him and said, "You told her we were scat fiends?"

"Yeah, why not, after she told me she was. I wish I had this I Love Shit T-shirt on, I would have made a big impression on her."

"Is that why you were so late getting in last night?" Frieda asked, sounding a little apprehensive. "You were scatting together?"

"No, but if she's into it as much as she indicated, I would have loved to; she's maybe in her mid-thirties, but, man, is she hot-looking." And it was his turn to smile.

She knew he said that to rile her, but she didn't bite. "What else did she say?"

"She told me about some of the people she knew and a little about a scat club they all belonged to, and said as long as we were really into it and not just imagining we might be or being half-assed about it, she'd make some contacts and arrange a meeting. I said I'd talk to you about it, but that you were even more in love with shit than I was, and that was saying a lot."

Frieda began imagining what it would be like attending a scat orgy where everyone was fucking covered in shit. She could picture several groups of people gathered together in heaps, smearing one another in handfuls of shit to their hearts' content, while some man or woman squatted over her tits and defecated all over them, the shit soft and heavy, her hands spreading it all over her while her cunt was being fucked. "Might be fun, huh, Martin."

"Yep, just what I thought. I'll get in touch with her to get the ball rolling. This might even mean she'll use my trucking company. Win-win all around."

They stood gazing out at the spacious property behind the house. "You should help me weed out the garden, if you're not going to be doing anything," Martin said.

"Why would I want to do that?" she asked.

"Because it might be fun. Come on, let's take a look." They went out into the yard. It was large and well-concealed by strategically-placed fencing, hedges, and several large ornamental bushes. They thought nothing about being nearly naked as they walked, holding hands, across the manicured lawn to the garden's edge.

"Wow," Martin said, inspecting the garden. "It really poured last night. Look at that huge puddle in there." He put his arms around Frieda and kissed her. He ran his hands all along her back under the camisole down to her ass, delighting in her soft, warm skin.

"I waited for you in my room last night," Frieda told him softly, "hoping you'd come in when you got home. I even had the bed all prepared for some scat play. That was the real reason I didn't join in with Mama and Papa."

"Sorry. I did peek in, but you were sound asleep. I was going to wake you anyway, in fact, don't know how I ever resisted crawling into bed next to you, but realized we'll have lots of time together before my vacation ends." They embraced and kissed again.

"Sure you don't want to help me weed?" he asked.

"No way," she replied. "Besides, it's too muddy to do any weeding."

"Exactly. But it still might be fun, like I said."

She suddenly panicked and pushed him away. "No, no!" she yelled. "Martin, don't!" And she ran away from him, with him in hot pursuit. They ran all over the yard, laughing and Frieda squealing as Martin tried to grab her. He pulled off his T-shirt and ran after her some more. He finally got hold of her and lifted her off her feet and carried her to the garden's edge, as she kicked her legs and pounded him on his back. Then without hesitation he plopped her right in the middle of the puddle on her back, going down into the mud with her. The mud engulfed her body, submerging most of it, turning the camisole and her skin black. They wallowed around in the soupy muck until they were both completely covered. She sat up and took the camisole off over her head and threw it on the lawn.

"If that's ruined beyond saving, you owe me a new one!" Frieda bellowed, and then threw herself onto him, laughing. They slithered their bodies over each other, thrilled at the feeling of the mud all over them. She kissed him, their faces the only place not yet mud-covered, and he put his hand on her breast. "Touch my tits," she said. "Feel my tits, rub them hard with mud." He rolled her onto her back and, half lying on her, scooped up handfuls of the creamy mush onto her tits and rubbed them all around them and up to her neck.

"Fuck, that feels so wonderful!" she said. "It rained just enough to make it a perfect consistency." Her hands joined his as she spread the buttery mud all over her tits and torso. She also took handfuls and sloshed them over Martin's back as she pulled him down onto her. He kissed her again.

In the house, in the upstairs master bedroom, Wilma stood at the window gazing down at them. "Look at those two," she said to her husband, Gunther, laughing. "They're having a good time." Wilma's body was covered in a dark-brown layer of shit, from her hair to her toes, the result of the wild scat session she and Gunther had had the night before in their specially designed shower room. Gunther was still in bed on a shit-smeared cotton sheet over a plastic mattress cover, his own body likewise layered in poop. It was getting near daybreak when they finally ended their shit session, which had begun as a diaper dump at the mall, and decided to go to bed without showering. He got out of bed and went to the window.

"Yeah, that's for sure," he agreed. "God, that looks awfully sexy, doesn't it?" They watched them for a few minutes and Wilma said, "Come back to bed; I haven't peed yet this morning... watching those two has made me horny... let me rain on you like that storm last night. I think I have enough for a deluge."

"I love it when you pee on me," said Gunther. "But I hope you don't mind getting a little wet yourself. I'm ready to burst, too."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she answered. Gunther laid on his back on the bed and Wilma stood over him. She began to urinate, a soft drizzle at first, which intensified into a steady drenching. She used her fingers to direct her flow, first aiming for his cock and then working her way up to his face. When she finished peeing, she knelt down and embraced his body, rubbing her breasts and belly in the wetness. The liquid revived the dried shit on their bodies and they smeared it on themselves some more.

"Come lay down," Gunther said to his wife. "Let me piss on you a little, and then I have a surprise for you."

"Hmmm," cooed Wilma. "A surprise! What could that be?" She quickly got on her back and Gunther knelt over her face. He pointed his cock towards her tits and released a stream of piss onto them. The warm golden fluid flowed over her tits and onto her belly. She rubbed her hands all over her tits and then put them in her mouth to suck. A few seconds later he filled her mouth with his pee, which she swallowed, and then he stopped. He took a small step forward on his knees and positioned his ass over her tits.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Always," she answered. She played with his asshole a bit with her fingertips until she saw the head of a dark brown turd become visible.

"Ah, yes, your surprise for me, no doubt," she murmured. The log emerged, about five inches in length, and landed on her tits. She immediately picked it up and put one end of it in her mouth. "Yummy," she declared. "Do you want to share this with me, love?"

"Of course. But what I really want to do is to rub it into your skin; in fact, that's what I want to do with all the shit on your body, massage it into your skin like a body cream and then go downstairs. Okay?"

"Sure," she said. "I'd love that." Most of her body was already covered in a layer of shit, so this would be kneading it in with his fingers and palms to keep it in place. Gunther enjoyed doing this to his wife, and his strong fingers performed magic on her. Every inch of her, except the soles of her feet, was soon glistening in slick dark-brown poop. She looked resplendent when he was done, like a goddess.

Frieda and Martin frolicked in the mud for quite a while, Martin dumping handfuls on her head, she splattering it on his face. Once she grabbed his cock and slid it repeatedly between her tits, to his immense pleasure. He felt himself building to a climax, but she stopped stroking him before he could reach it.

"Nope," she teased. "No coming yet. I want you inside me for that."

Just then Wilma came out the door from the porch onto a small deck and waved.

"Looks like someone has decided not to wash up yet," Frieda said, waving back.

"You've got to admit she looks beautiful like that," said Martin. "Dad must have really spent some time getting her body to look all radiant like that. It makes me want to fuck her as much as I want to fuck you right now."

"Let's go and see if we can do something about that," she said.

She got up from the mud and retrieved a nearby garden hose. She turned the water on and standing just next to the garden, began rinsing the mud off her body. It didn't take very long to get clean, and she washed Martin down as well. When she was done, she picked up her camisole and rinsed as much of the mud off as she could.

"I think you're just going to have to buy me a new one," she said to Martin.

"Fine," he said. "Come on."

They went in onto the porch and saw that Wilma had put four toasted English muffins out on a plate in the center of the very large, heavy oak table that occupied much of the porch's space. As many as a dozen people had eaten comfortably around that table, its size easily accommodating them.

Frieda grabbed a towel from a cabinet on the porch and gave it to Martin to dry her with. "You two look ravishing," she said to her parents who were sitting at the table. "Did you forget where the shower is?"

"A compliment followed by an insult," noted Gunther. "I told you how many times, Wilma, that we should just cut her tongue out."

"I guess that means you wouldn't miss my tongue rimming your asshole," said Frieda. "Okay, that's it, no more for you."

"Does that mean more of your tongue for me?" chimed in Martin, smiling, holding Frieda close to him wrapped in the towel.

"Nope, just for Mama, she'll get most of my ass-rimming from now on."

"Now, wait a minute," Gunther said, laughing. "Let's not be too hasty here."

"What are you saying, Dad, you don't like the prospect of having just Mom available to satisfy your desires back there?" Martin chastised, smiling broadly.

"I'm saying nothing against your mother or her charms and abilities; no one suits me more."

"Such a sweet man," cooed Wilma, pouring it on a little thick. Then to Gunther she added, "That deserves a special treat for you later."

"Very good, Papa," cried Frieda, "and I'm sure you will enjoy Mama's treat immensely. But my tongue seems to still be out of the picture, sadly."

"Well, I guess I will just have to learn to live without its magnificent pleasure-inducing qualities, all of which were taught to you by your mother, by the way."

"Almost all," countered Frieda.

While they were bantering back and forth, Frieda went into the kitchen and got a plate out of the cupboard and a butter knife. Speaking to her parents she said, "I assume you two are pretty empty now, so how about if I provide us with the spread today."

She immediately got up onto the table and squatted over the plate. This was a family ritual practiced by them every Saturday or Sunday morning whenever they were all together, each taking turns as the provider of the spread, though more often than not Wilma would make the contribution. Not just a culinary treat, this act of sharing took on a deeper meaning, confirming their all-consuming dedication to the scat fetish as a family.

After a little bit of straining and some manipulation of her asshole with a finger, a long turd emerged from Frieda's ass onto the plate, curling around in a large letter C. She sat down on the table and put the plate in her lap, after smelling it deeply. "I hope that satisfies everyone," she said, and they all agreed it looked just fine.

Wilma put the plate of English muffins next to Frieda and got a large glass beer tankard from a cabinet and gave it to Martin. He held it by the handle and pissed into it, almost filling it. Frieda took the knife and broke off pieces of her log with it, spreading them on the muffins. Sitting at the table, except for Frieda, who remained seated on it, they all ate and passed the mug around to share the liquid.

"That pee tastes better than the coffee I made earlier," said Frieda.

"Of course," Martin replied. "No surprise there. But the spread tastes as delicious as ever. Almost as good as Mom's." He looked at his mother, admiring up close how lovely she looked smeared head to toe in shit, and then said to her, "You look absolutely stunning like that, so beautiful, ravishing even. Great job, Dad."

"Be careful, Mama," Frieda stated. "I think he might be angling for something."

Perceiving instantly what she meant just by her playful tone, Wilma said, "Martin will be welcome to anything he wants," and smiled.

"You're just a spoiled brat, aren't you?" Frieda chuckled, looking at Martin.

"Jealous, are we?" he said to her.

"I hope not, Frieda," piped in Gunther. "I try to spoil you all I can, too."

"Thanks, Papa," she replied. "I know that, and love you for it. Even if you don't relish my tongue in your ass anymore."

He sighed and muttered, "I give up." Everyone was laughing by now.

When they had all finished eating, there was still about half of Frieda's turd left on the plate. "I hope you all don't mind," she said and picked it up, while at the same time reaching for the mug of pee with her other hand. It was still about half full, and she dumped it down her naked body beginning at her tits. With her body wet and gleaming, she put the log to her tits and began smearing it. She closed her eyes and an impassioned "Oh fuck" spilled from her lips as she massaged the poop onto her tits.

"Shit, Frieda," Martin declared, "you look amazing doing that." He stood up and reached his arms over to her. "Here, lie down."

Gunther went into the house and returned a few minutes later carrying a plastic container. "Your mother and I had this left over from last night, so let me put it to good use now. First, though, Martin, seeing your sister used up all the pee in the tankard, if you have any left you might want to piss in there to soften it up a bit." The container was half-filled with shit. Frieda said she would do it and sat up again. She grabbed the container, turned slightly onto her left ass cheek, raised her right leg straight up in air, placed the container under her, and pissed into it briefly. When she was finished, Gunter took it and began spreading the moistened shit on Frieda's legs, feet, and ass after she laid back down again. The shit spread perfectly and thoroughly over her skin.

Frieda murmured to her brother, "Martin, kiss me, touch me, make me all hot." He crawled up onto the table next to her and kissed her lips, fondling her breasts at the same time. He loved kissing her, licking her neck, feeling her soft pliant breasts, sucking them; he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world as well as the sexiest.

"I have something for you I think you might want," he whispered to her. "I hope you do, anyway. I've been saving it just for you, love."

Frieda pleaded, breathing hard, "Give it to me, Martin, yes, I want it; get your ass over me now and give me all you've got. This is what I was hoping for last night." She was quickly spiraling off into a region of pure emotion and sensation.

Martin squatted over her midsection. He felt his feces moving down his rectum and about to explode out of him. For effect, as he felt it plow through his sphincter, he stood, or half-stood, so his shit, as it cascaded out of him, plopped on Frieda's belly and spread upwards onto her tits. A second emulsion emerged, even softer, and cascaded onto her tits, some of it splattering onto her face. She immediately cast her hands into it, smearing it around, moaning and even shivering at the feel of it. Wilma stood next to her and also helped her rub it on her. Martin knelt on the table over her face and put his cock to her lips. She opened her mouth and took him in. Wilma took some of the shit and wiped it on his ass and between his legs.

"I want to fuck your pussy," Martin said to her. "I want my cock in your cunt fucking you."

"Yes," she groaned. "I want that, too, and Papa in my ass. But cover me first, spread your shit all over me, you too, Mama."

Martin turned around and straddled her head facing her and began smearing the poop wherever he could reach. He brought her hands to her face and she rubbed them across her mouth and cheeks and forehead. Martin took a large handful and mashed it in her hair.

"You just love it in my hair, don't you," Frieda admonished him. "It's so hard to get clean again."