Part 3: Lea's Lust for Poo

DEAR READER! Since this is a novel, I ask for your understanding that not every chapter is full of sex scenes. After all, characters and plot need to be developed. It is about people with deviant sexual desires, with whom they get along more or less well. They help each other to cope with it, if necessary. There will be just about all deviations! The main character is Lea, a beautiful lesbian professional dancer, who has to give up dancing for health reasons and wants to start a new career as a model on the Internet. A film professional helps her with this, and like Lea, he has, amongst others, a very special desire: scat! Every now and then there are scenes in this regard, if it gets too much for you, please click away!

Part 1: Helga, Lea's future mother, as a teenager on the farm. She's so cute with her dear parents, but she follows a sinful plan. Helga will appear again later in the novel.

Part 2: Lea, is crazy about her friends' dirty panties. She even messes with her best friend Greta's family's laundry! But that's not all!

Part 3: Some amateur psychology here, as some deviations are being discovered and explored. Plenty of Foot Fetish, but also lots of references to scat, so be careful! Please do read part 2 first, thank You!

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I was in Greta's bathroom for almost an hour. So it didn't stop, like i hoped, it would. But now everything is clean and tidy again, I've had a long shower, brushed my teeth three times, my fingernails are clean again.

Then I locked Greta's apartment, put the key through the letter slot, and now I'm struggling up the last few steps to our own apartment.

I'm completely exhausted, I barely have the strength to walk. The door is unlocked. Mom is already home from the late shift. I just want to secretly go to my room and sleep. But when I close the door, she comes out from the kitchen. I must look miserable, she looks at me very carefully and I have to start crying immediately, and then I fall on her neck.

"Honey, for God's sake, what's wrong? Did someone harm you? Tell me, what's wrong?" She hugs and caresses me, I have to cry even more. She lets me, doesn't ask any more questions, caresses me, hugs me tightly. I cry some more, in between I stammer "Mum, I think I'm crazy."

"I don't think so, darling, you're just going through the end of puberty. This may feel crazy sometimes, but I'm sure there's nothing wrong with you. Now tell me, what's going on?"

I tell her everything, about the snooping in the changing room, about Greta, about my visit to her today. In between I have to cry again and again. "Oh my God, so it got you too."

"What do you mean, Mummy?"

"We need to have a long talk now, darling. Now is the perfect opportunity, and this is the best way I can help you. And it will do me good too."

"Okay, Mum, but I'm so ashamed."

"You don't need to be, darling. you haven't done any harm to anyone, you're just in the process of discovering yourself. To make it easier for you, I'll just start. Do you know what a fetishist is, darling?"

"No, mom."

Okay. Fetishists are people, who are extremely fond of certain objects or body parts or even body features. There are many different types. There are people who like freckles, plaster feet, extreme body hair, saliva, or shoes. But most of these people are into breasts.

You may have noticed people staring at your boobs, men on the street, boys at school, and probably some teachers too?

"Yes, I did. I've gotten upset about it sometimes too."

"Well, they really are very beautiful."

"Mom!"

"What I want to say is: everyone thinks it's normal. Almost all men like our boobs. But they also are crazy about our behinds, our legs, and sometimes, they are even crazy about our feet.

So there are also many foot fetishists out there. These people like feet so much that they are taking a very important role in their sex lifes. Often even the central role. And some of them are solely attracted by the target persons feet. Nothing else matters. (© METALLICA, grin)

It's summer now, and we often wear flip-flops. Start paying attention to people who stare at your bare toes. You'll see that there are many. Most of them are men, but there are also quite a few women who like feet. Like me, for example....."

"Really mom, you like feet?"

"I adore feet, my darling, I'm addicted to them. At least, I know where my addiction comes from. Most fetishists don't have a glue about the origin of their desires. Most of the time, the causes lie in early childhood, and it's no different for me.

Some years ago, your grandma showed me photos of me. She took those pictures when I was very young, maybe three or four years old. I was lying on my stomach under the table, and was happily sucking on her toes. She thought it was so sweet and funny. And I laughed so much too, she told me, and, obviously, I was happy.

At some point she stopped letting me suck her toes. She probably found it suspicious that I was always sliding around on the floor on my little tummy and pelvis, while I did it. I started sucking my own toes. Somehow I felt that no one should see it, so I did it at places where I wouldn't be disturbed.

And in all these years I couldn't stop doing it, nor did I want to. It was always so nice. For some reason, I enjoyed it even more, when my little tootsies were a bit dirty, which happened quite often, because we lived on that farm. The older I grew, the more I enjoyed it. I was hooked, I knew it, and it didn't bother me at all.

"But what does that mean, what do you do now?"

"That means, my darling, that I'm constantly holding back, because the foot fetish, unlike the boob fetish, has not really arrived in society yet. That's why I don't want to expose myself too much, but I take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way. And if there's no opportunity, I have to rely on myself"

"That means you do it yourself and..."

"Yes, of course I rub one out, occasionally. What do you think? When I killed your dad, we hadn't had sex for two years. And that happened years ago.

After that, I had no real desire for male acquaintances. And I'm not bisexual, I never was. And of course I didn't become a lesbian either. But I do adore women's feet, they are so much prettier than men's feet. And as I said, if there's no opportunity, I masturbate. And sometimes I lick my own feet while I do it."

"But what exactly is so beautiful about it?"

"For me, first and foremost the smell. I'm sure you can understand that, you're a bit of a sniffer yourself, aren't you? And I'm not just talking about the changing room in dance class. you've always smelled me too, especially when I was fresh out of the bathroom. Or when I went out, which didn't happen very often, and put on perfume."

"That's right, Mum, I really like smelling people or things."

"You see, same with me. And nothing in the world smells better to me, than a girl's or woman's foot. And nothing looks more beautiful, provided the foot is well-proportioned and well-groomed. And apart from the sensual experience of having a woman's beautiful toes in my mouth, there is still another sensation.

You know that I love your grandma very much. She gave me a wonderful, sheltered childhood and youth. And she also gave me, perhaps for over a year, as I now know, the joy of sucking her toes regularly, without thinking anything of it. She just wanted to see me happy.

So when I lick on a woman's foot, and suck her toes while I masturbate, I don't just find it horny. I also feel safe and secure at the same time. And this combination is hard to beat. And that's why I like doing it so much."

"And what opportunities have there been for you? I've never seen you with a woman. You haven't even had someone here for coffee?"

"Well, I know I still look pretty good, and I visited bars and coffeshops where only women met. I've practically always been hit on there. Some went away, when I asked them to take off their shoes.

And I pissed many women off, when I explained to them, that I just wanted to lick their feet while masturbating, but would be unable to do more for them.

But almost everytime, I found matching women. These women were almost always single or amateur lesbians, whose husbands were at work. So I always went home with them.

And, to tell the truth, I liked some of them so much, that I allowed them to lick me, while I took care of their feet. And it was always good, and sometimes it was sensational."

"So you just went out and hit on women. I think that's very brave, I wouldn't dare to do that."

"Not always, there were also spontaneous opportunities, in the supermarket, in the waiting room, at art openings and so on. There were also other brave women. They came straight up to me and told me how nice they thought I was.

Then there was always a brief talk about my preferences, and if it worked out, off home to the girl with the pretty feet. Yes, and then..."

"Then what, mom?"

"Of course, we must also talk about the very best opportunity. The most beautiful opportunity."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you, my darling."

"What do you mean, me?"

"Sweetie, after everything I've just told you: How many women's feet do you think I've looked at? Since I've been fixated on them since childhood?

I also have an extensive video collection, with very tasteful movies on the subject, which I often watch when I masturbate. The models in them are incredibly beautiful. I have probably seen tens of thousands of women's feet. But the most beautiful ones were and are and will be: Yours."

That completely blows my mind. I had never paid attention to anyone's feet. Not even my own, mom had always...

"I see, you get it. I've always done the pedicure for you, and you've often complained that it takes so long. To be honest, darling, I could do it in half the time, but I don't want to. To work on your beautiful little feet is pure joy for me. I don't even know how I manage not to moan with pleasure every time I do it."

"Mummy!"

"Take it easy, sweetie. You've heard that I have no sexual interest in women. I would never long for a sexual relationship of any kind with you. You are my sweet little daughter, you are the most important thing in the world for me, I love you more than anything, but I love you like a mother. And that will never change.

But you still have the most beautiful feet in the world.

I've often watched you in your sleep, I just couldn't help it. your sweet little feet, how they peeked out from under the covers. How you often cramped your little toes in your dreams. But then how you suddenly became completely calm, when I put them in my mouth.

Darling, I know this is all a bit sudden. But remember, you never suspected anything. And it would have stayed that way, if you hadn't confessed to me today. I figured, that you would feel better after my own confession."

I fall around her neck "Oh mummy, I do, I love you so much." We cuddle a little.

"Now tell me, baby. The snooping in the changing room. Why do you do that?"

"You know, since the incident with Dad, I've kind of..., I don't know, I just don't want a boyfriend..."

"Oh darling, that's what I thought. You are so beautiful, it must be hard to keep the boys away. I always found it very strange that you never introduced a boyfriend to me.

"Yeah, I always tell the boys at school, that I have a boyfriend who is already 25, and if they don't leave me alone, he and his friends would beat them up."

"Very clever, sweetie, very clever indeed. So you're more attracted to girls at the moment, there's nothing wrong with that. But why do you sniff their panties?"

"I just don't have the guts to hit on a girl. There are a few that I like, especially Greta, of course. But I'm afraid of embarrassing myself, and possibly being bullied after coming out. If I touch, kiss, smell and lick their panties, then for me it's somehow like as if I were doing it with the girl herself."

"Honey, you've just successfully analyzed yourself. That's exactly how things work out for you at the moment. Again, there's nothing to it. But you're also right about the bullying.

You are extremely popular everywhere, but if you really want to have intimate contact with a girl, you must choose someone outside your school or dance class. Otherwise, it would be really too risky.

Nowadays, everyone claims that homosexuality is no longer a problem. But I don't really trust them. I think most people only pay lip service to that new liberalism. Wait a little longer, you'll soon be out of school, and out of dance class.

And then, if you still want to, approach your dear Greta carefully, because a new part of your life will begin then anyway." We hug again.

"It was very brave of you to tell me everything. You now understand what happened in the changing room. But there's one thing we still have to get through." We look deep into each other's eyes. "Greta's bathroom, honey." I start crying again. Mom hugs me again, caresses me, then she says, "We'll do it like before, I'll start.

You know, that since your father's death we're not on a bed of roses, financially? (© BON JOVI, again, grin) He was a complete idiot and a pig, which I unfortunately realized far too late. But he earned a good living."

"Yes, Mum, I know. That's why you have to work shifts, because the pay is better. I promise you, as soon as I can..."

"Sweety, you finish school, finish your dance lessons, and above all, enjoy your youth. Making a living is solely my job. Also, there's still some of your fathers money left, and you yourself contribute as well! The pay for your occasional modeling jobs for the fashion magazines isn't bad at all.

We have plenty, we don't have to starve. Why do I talk about money? When I killed your father years ago, things looked much worse.

I was charged with murder. I lost my job, although I was released after a very short time. The inheritance hadn't been settled. We lived on the meagre welfare benefits.

Your grandparents also supported us, but they aren't millionaires. Their allowance was not too generous, but they just could not afford more.

Our apartment here is nice and big and centrally located. It swallowed up almost everything, but I really wanted to keep it.

We lived mainly on cheap food, rice, pasta, potatoes, all that crap. How our two beautiful figures survived that, is still a mystery to me. Anyway, we both needed extra money."

"Yes, and how did you get it?"

"I told you about the fetishists, and how many of them there are, and what they like?"

"Yes, and now I know, that I'm one of them somehow, and why."

"That's right. And one of the most extreme sexual deviations is certainly, well, you know, the bathroom..."

I manage an answer without crying this time: "Yeah, I know. But I still don't know why."

"Sweetie, we'll figure it out. But let me finish first. You know that I grew up on the farm with your grandma and grandpa. We go there every other week for a visit."

"Yes, of course, I love grandma and grandpa so much. And there's grannys wonderful food, and we always have her delicious cream cakes for dessert."

"Darling, be careful. If this is going to be another complaint, why I don't cook like Grandma..."

"Sorry Mom, I did'nt mean it..."

"Okay, well, they've modernized everything today, especially the heating and the plumbing. But when I was a girl, everything was much more primitive, as was the standard back then. There was no toilet in the house, we had an outhouse."

"Oh God, that still exists today."

"Yes, of course, far away from the house, near the stables. And unlike today, it was the only toilet back then."

"So you always went out there, even in winter, even when it was pouring?"

"Yes, of course, just like all of us, grandma, grandpa, the farmhand and the harvest workers. No one uses it today anymore. But you can probably imagine what was going on there, what it smelled like.

No fragrance spray could override the stench of the animals. Nothing stinks as bad as pig poop, believe me. And in this stinky outhouse, I actually had my first erotic fantasies."

"What, what kind of fantasies?" "The farmhand, darling. He was a beautiful man, tall, strong, blond. He was as dumb as a post, but friendly and helpful. He always jokingly called me 'young lady', I liked that, of course. I really liked him, and told him so.

He looked into my eyes and said "I like you too, but that's not allowed. Please don't ever speak to me like that again. I'm just working here. I don't want to get into trouble again. If you talk to me like that again, I'll have to leave."

I didn't understand, but I didn't want him to leave either. So I just looked at him from a distance. Day after day. Also in summer, when he wore nothing but tight shorts and clogs.

I always went to the outhouse when I felt the urge to discover my body. No one would bother me there. I often went there before, to suck on my toes.

It was just lovely, despite of the stench. And one day, I had my first orgasm! I had the images of the farmhand in my brain. I had the stench of that toilet in my nose. And I had my fingers on my pussy!

In the time that followed I had hundreds more orgasms, all in the smelly outhouse. Pooping gives you a relieving and pleasurable feeling, the stench just goes with it.

But I associated that stench also with my sexual climaxes, and all the pleasurable feelings, that went with them. Anyway, I have no problem with shit, and I can understand people who like shit. Which brings me back to our extra earnings.

I used to buy erotic magazines, to go through the personal ads. There were also ads from poop lovers, looking for like-minded people. But most of them didn't want to meet anyone.

Most of them were just looking for, let's say, souvenirs. The vast majority were men, who wanted women's poo. But there were also women. Interestingly, they also wanted women's poo. Not once did I find an ad, in which a woman wanted a man's poo. Anyway, and to cut a long story short: I sold my shit."

"Wow!" I gasp.

"Wow, exactly. And you can't imagine, how much money people were willing to pay for it. I also added a bonus on top, seperatly wrapped, of course.

I took some Polaroid photos of myself during pooping, and sent them along. I showed everything but my face. I even had regular customers. Some of them just wanted more photos of me, which was fine with me as well.

But things went slow, so I also advertised myself, I came up with a cheeky text: 'Attractive woman in her mid-thirties sells worn underwear. Anything is possible, from a slight skid mark to a full pile. Special requests will be considered, payment by individual agreement.' Plus three photos of me, from neck down front and back, and my butt in action. You have no idea.

Even if I had pooped like a bear, I would still have had a waiting list from hell. And that's where you came in."

"Whaaaaaat???"

"Of course, darling, I couldn't poo everything myself, ha-ha-ha. Sweety, why aren't you laughing? Did you not get the joke, do-poo, no?"

"But how, I didn't know... you never said anything..."

"Of course not. What on earth was I supposed to say? Maybe something like that: 'Hey, sweetie, why don't you take this here Tupperware, and shit in it for me, a lot, if you can, I want to sell that.' You would have believed, that your old mother had lost her marbles."

"I don't get it..."

"Okay, it wasn't that important at the time, but maybe you still remember. We once had to wait three weeks for the plumber. I always gave you a bin liner to take to the toilet?"

"Yes, I remember, the flush was broken."

"No, it wasn't broken, darling."

"Can't be true. You did the same thing I did today at Greta's."

"That's my clever little daughter. Thank God you weren't as skillful back then as you are today, otherwise you would have found out straight away. And when the 'waiting for the plumber' story was no longer credible, what did I do next?"