The Scat Chronicles Pt. 02

Author's Note: Many thanks for the kind remarks on the first installment! Please note that part II contains water sports and some pooping, but no scat. All characters in this story are eighteen years or older and are entirely fictional; any similarities to actual persons are entirely coincidental. Enjoy!

***

She feels it deep in her stomach, that unbearable giddiness growing with each passing second as her two dates for the evening – Mark and Sam – sit in a booth near the old, scratched pool table. A brief glimpse as she crosses the old dive's creaking floor tells Morgan that they look exactly as described online.

She weaves through the thick crowd, shuts the bathroom door behind her, and heads to the mirror. The simple white-tiled room is claustrophobic with two powder-blue stalls and a baby-changing table, and right now it's empty, but that doesn't last long as the door swings open, briefly allowing the outside to spill in.

Out of habit, Morgan turns her head to look at her company. "Cute" is the adjective that jumps to her mind, her acquaintance having fair skin, short bleach-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and a sparkly nose stud. She's wearing a denim jacket and a snug-fitting white tank top that's tucked into a floral print skirt.

"Ohhh," the girl grimaces as she leans against the door, her hands on her stomach. She turns her head to Morgan. "I'm sorry lady; you should really take a hike. It's going to get nasty in here."

Traces of the girl's lilac perfume play on Morgan's senses and excitement floods her system at the words of warning. "Are you OK?" she asks, managing a decent imitation of concern.

"I will be shortly," the girl strains. "If I don't shit myself, that is." She takes a deep breath and makes a mad dash for the nearest stall, her wedge sandals hitting the tile with sharp click-clacks. With no time to spare for privacy, she leaves the stall door wide open as she drops her panties, lifts her skirt, and plants her ass on the seat. Out blows a long, wet foghorn blast, and Morgan hears the splatter of chunky diarrhea hitting water. "God damn!" the girl protests as loose shit morphs into pure liquid, and it sounds like she's pissing out of her asshole.

With the stall clearly visible in the mirror, Morgan can see everything. She's staring, and she feels bad for it, but she can't make herself look away; the girl looks so damn sexy hunched over and clenching her stomach. "Lady, seriously. Do you have to look at me?" she says.

Morgan snaps to attention. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

The girl sighs. "It's OK. I don't mean to be crabby. You know what? This exact same thing happened to a friend of mine just last week." She grunts out two watery splats. "I must have spent an hour with her in the bathroom. She was shitting her fucking guts out."

"My friends and I are like that," Morgan replies. "We always keep each other company when someone feels sick."

The girl nods her head. "That's what friends are for." She looks up with a weak smile. "I guess this makes us friends, then?"

Morgan smiles herself. "Shit buddies, if you will."

"Still, help me close the door. I can't reach it from here, and I really don't need another person walking in and seeing me like this."

"Of course," Morgan replies, turning around.

The stall is so close to the sink that it's only a couple of steps to reach the door, which she dutifully shuts as the girl blasts another shit stream. Now she needs a toilet too, so she takes the other stall, checking the seat for pee first and then sitting down and cutting a squeaky fart before letting her bladder take over. "Nice one," the girl comments.

"A friend told me once that a pee without a fart is like a wedding without a band," Morgan quips over the tinkle of her piss.

The girl gives a strained chuckle. "That's pretty good. I think I've got Aerosmith playing my wedding." She stops short as more sloppy chunks hit the water. "Jesus, lady, I'm sorry about the smell," she adds.

Morgan can't argue with her; it's like she's trapped in an outhouse filled with rotten hard boiled eggs. She quietly sniffs at the fumes like a fine wine as she runs a finger over the flaps of her cunt, exploring her wetness, her clit a Leiden jar ready to discharge.

For a split second she considers strumming herself just a little bit, just placing her fist in her mouth and quietly slipping into that ecstatic void as her new shit buddy craps her brains out, but then reality intervenes and she remembers that she has three men waiting for her outside.

So with a clandestine sigh, she wipes and flushes. "I hope you feel better soon," she says to the girl as the toilet water gurgles back up into the bowl.

"Yeah, me too. Take it easy out there."

Outside, she pauses for a moment near the bathroom door, glancing at Ricky as he idly twirls his coaster on the bar top. She turns to look at Mark and Sam, and then back to her husband as a surge of gratitude fills her up, and for that split second she can't possibly imagine a luckier woman on the planet. Ricky is six feet, four inches of lean, well-built, rugged handsomeness. With his chin-length dirty blonde hair, strong jaw, and brooding thick eyebrows, he could easily model, though he doesn't get by on his good looks. He makes use of his high intelligence to provide for the two of them, and she adores him for it. To top it all off, she gets to run wild and follow her hyper-libido wherever it takes her; she gets to be herself, and then at the end of the day come home and share her sick scat perversions with the man that she loves.

She navigates the floor once again to the bar and tells Ricky about her bathroom adventure. After they settle on arrangements for the evening, they kiss goodnight and she finds herself passing the old, scratched pool table on her way to Mark and Sam.

***

The single story, white vinyl sided house is tucked into West Dodds Street, near the hospital. Morgan pulls up to the curb and cuts the ignition, hearing a fading ambulance siren as the engine settles, and as she climbs out of her car, she takes in the collection of small houses and modest lawns surrounding her, training her eyes on Sam as soon as he pops out of the tan Honda that she followed all the way from Sharron's. He's at least six feet tall, with piercing blue eyes, choppy blonde hair, and a day's worth of sexy stubble anointing his chin. "I can't believe you ate sixteen wings," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "And drank three beers. Where do you put it all?"

She smiles demurely and pats her stomach, thinking about how much fun she'll have with Ricky when the wings complete their passage through her system. "What can I say? I guess I was born with a high metabolism."

"I guess so," he concurs as he shuts the door with a thunk. Mild concern sweeps his face. "Are you sure that you're not even tipsy? We're not in this to take advantage of you, you know."

"Don't worry. I can handle my liquor," she replies smoothly.

The driver's side door opens and Mark emerges. He's shorter than his friend, his brown hair trimmed clean like his beard. She shoots him a grin full of sinful promise, and his impish brown eyes trail over her body in return. "Let's get this party started," he says purposefully.

With that, they complete the short walk up to the front door. Morgan pulls up the rear as they traverse a worn brick pathway pushed up by weeds and lined with cone flowers, and she listens to the scratchy call of a cicada in a nearby elm as she tamps her nerves and waits impatiently for Sam to unlock the door.

True to the bachelor's code, he's kept his house sparsely decorated. In the living room, she sees a large brown sofa and clear glass coffee table, a matching chair, a TV with a game unit, a tall lamp, and a poster of some Quentin Tarantino movie on the wall.

"Would you like a beer or something?" Sam asks. "I've got weed, too."

"I'll stick with beer," she replies.

He disappears around the corner and moments later returns with three sweaty, opened bottles in his hands. He hands one to her, then one to Mark, and finally takes a swig of his own as she does the same. It's hoppy and refreshing.

The time has come at last, she decides. She sets her beer down on the coffee table and turns around. "Mark, would you do the honors of unzipping me?"

"So this is it? Done and done!" he says, and as she shimmies out of the dress with his help, she eyes Sam, who sits down at one end of the couch, settling in while Mark takes the liberty of unhooking her bra too. Mark's hands cup and grope her tits as she reaches behind and squeezes the sizable bulge in his jeans. The feeling of thick, hard flesh sets her pussy to drip, nearly instantly wetting her panties.

Half naked and still wearing her heels, she lets go of Mark's crotch and struts over to Sam to help pull off his jeans. His cock springs up, its long shaft and plump head twitching in need, and she crawls onto the couch and out of impulse runs her tongue seductively up his cheek, diving down next and wrapping her lips around his dick and taking it as far into the back of her throat as she can.

She holds his cock there as he moans and squirms, breathing in the manly scent trapped in his pubic hair, and then slowly comes up, teasing the underside of his shaft with her tongue. Spit strands link her lips to his perineum as she lifts her head up and looks back at Mark. "I have more than one hole, you know."

He takes the hint. His clothes are off in a manner of seconds and he's behind her, yanking her panties down. "Morgan, you've got a beautiful ass," he compliments, searching the fiery folds of her slippery box with his thick, stiff rod. "There it is," he affirms when he finds her fuck hole. Her eyes roll back into her head as he eases in, taking her in stages, going slow at first. It isn't until he begins to thrust that she remembers the throbbing dick staring her down.

She's done teasing. As Mark finds his groove, the hair on his legs brushing against the smooth skin on hers, she works nearly every inch of Sam's prick with strong, purposeful strokes of the tongue and cheeks. Mark picks up the pace just a little bit, and Sam shifts forward. She hocks a wad of spit over his cock, then angles her head and sucks each of his nuts into her mouth as she simultaneously strokes his tool. He grabs her head and directs it back to his dick, and she willingly obliges, going down again and losing herself in the flavor of his flesh as Mark drills her.

Her body feels weightless, buoyed by the energy of these two men filling her up with cock. She loves how the one tastes, and how the other wields his tool like an expert craftsman, and in between long stretches of pure-mind pleasure, she catches herself wondering which one will make her come first.

"I think it's time that I had a turn," Sam says after some time.

"I think you're right," Mark replies, pulling out and falling back on the other end of the couch in a huff of exertion. "It's a good deal, too. I don't know how much longer I could have lasted."

"Were you about to spurt?" Morgan playfully chides as she stands up. Sam comes up behind and wraps his arms around her, pulls her in tight to his body as her eyes grow wide at the sight of Mark's cock, slathered in her pussy juice.

"I was close," he admits. She makes a move toward him, but he waves her away. "I need a second to calm down."

"Suit yourself," she shrugs, and she takes Sam's old position, spreading her legs wide as he comes in on top of her. The feeling of his cock sliding into her burning pussy is electric, and he grunts as her tits shimmy beneath him. His taste lingers on her tongue, and the way he hits her clit with each thrust makes her body quiver as an orgasm mounts deep within.

She wants to come so badly, but out of nowhere, her body announces other plans. "Uh oh. That beer is working through me," she manages. Sam stops thrusting and pulls out, and she blows out a hard breath. "I'm sorry honey, but I have to pee. Can you direct me to the little girls room?"

He points and she cranes her neck to follow his finger. "Go through the kitchen and around the corner."

"If you two will excuse me," she says. "I won't be long."

She's about to get off the couch when he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Wait."

"What's up?" she asks.

"Dude, don't make it weird," Mark protests.

"I'm not making anything weird," Sam indignantly replies. "I was just going to ask."

Mark rolls his eyes. "You don't get it. Asking is making it weird."

Her interest thoroughly piqued at this point, Morgan has to know what's going on. She swivels her head between the two of them. "What's all this about?"

Mark groans. "Here we go. Sam has this fetish, OK? He likes to watch women pee."

"Oh yeah?" she replies with a surprised grin, thinking that it may not be scat, but that it's dirty and perverted, and she likes it. "You like to watch women pee?"

Sam sheepishly confirms. "Yeah, kind of."

"That's not weird at all," she corrects. "A lot of guys like that kind of thing – like my husband, for starters."

His eyes light up, and Morgan catches them with her own sinful gaze. "Do you mean that I can watch you?"

"Fuck yes. You can watch me piss."

His excitement is palpable. "Are you for real?"

She giggles and slaps him on the hip, then gets up from the couch. "Don't worry Sam. I'm not fucking with you." She turns to Mark. "Care to join us?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," he says. "It's not really my thing." She frowns. It doesn't matter to her, but she's going to feel guilty for leaving him with a hard dick and no hole to match, and then there's also the simple truth that she wants to take her time with Sam in the bathroom, that she doesn't want to feel rushed. Making up her mind, she pulls Mark up and off the couch. "What's going on?"

"I've come up with a solution," she says as she lowers onto her knees, spits, and gives his slippery mushroom cap a deep massage while she continues her explanation. "I'll make you come now, and then go off and Sam and I can do our thing, and when I get back, you'll be ready for round number two."

He throws his head back without response as she slides her mouth over him. The buds on her tongue light up with the musky taste of her cunt, followed shortly by the bitter taste of his sperm after several quick, hard sucks leave her with a mouthful of thick, slimy goo. She swishes it, extracting every last bit of flavor and thinning it out with saliva before downing the load.

Standing by their side, Sam is eager for the bathroom, and so is she. They make the short walk together, and once inside, she shuts the door and pulls him in close on a hunch. "So, tell me you nasty boy," she starts as she runs her hands over his chest, pinching a nipple with two fingers. "Do you really just want to watch me pee?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"Well," she murmurs. "In my experience, when a guy says that he likes to watch women pee, he almost always likes to do more than that."

He hems and haws. "I . . . I guess I wouldn't mind doing more," he finally admits.

The lights buzz faintly above them and she nods as she holds his gaze. "You've got me in here stud, so take advantage of this opportunity and tell me exactly what you want."

He hesitates. "I don't know. I've scared off plenty of women doing just that."

"You won't scare me away," she promises with a finger trailing down his cheek. "I'm very open-minded. You name it, and I've done it."

He stares at her for a few moments. "Fuck it," he decides, stepping back to give himself some room. "If I'm being honest . . ."

"Yes?"

"It's not just pee. I'm into poop, too."

She arches a brow. "Like watching women poop, or getting pooped on?" she asks.

"Both. Damn!" He curses. "Why did I just tell you that? You must think I'm a real creep."

"Oh, no, no, no," she assures, slowly advancing. "You don't know who you're talking to. There's nothing that I love more than shit-play."

"You've got to be fucking with me," he says, his jaw agape.

She drapes her arms over his shoulders and shakes her head. "I'm totally serious."

"But you're so damn hot. I couldn't ever get a hot girl to admit that she pooped in the first place."

"Oh, I poop," she assures him. "I take big, stinky shits. I like to smear it over my body, and I absolutely love to eat it."

"Christ," he exhales.

"Sam, I'd be honored to take a shit on you. Fuck, I'd shit in your mouth, and we could share it." She peers down at his cock, which looks painfully hard. "I think you'd like that."

"Fucking-A, I'd like that."

"But right now, I'm afraid I just have to pee. I can piss on you, though."

A pregnant moment passes between the two of them, and Sam pulls her face toward his and their mouths meet, their tongues feverishly sliding over one another. He drops his head, laying kisses over her chest, and then sucks a firm nipple into his mouth. Morgan takes a deep breath as pleasure centers in her pussy and brain go crazy, dulled only by the grave pressure in her bladder. "Sam, baby, this is serious. I'm going to piss myself soon," she chuckles.

"Yes, of course," he replies. "How are we doing this?"

She scans the room, assessing their options. The tub is the first thought that jumps to mind. The cleanup will be easy, but experience has told her that it won't be comfortable. Then she spots a stack of disposable paper cups on the sink; he probably uses them to rinse his mouth after brushing his teeth, she reasons. A wicked idea takes shape in her head. She could piss into a cup over the toilet and then feed it to him; but then most of her pee would be lost to the bowl. Finally, she realizes that they're both standing on a large, shaggy, cream-colored bath rug. "How would you feel about washing this mat?" she asks.

"Right now, I'd torch the thing if that's what needed to be done."

She smiles. "Go ahead and lay down on it, and I'll piss in your mouth."

Sam gets on his back, and she plants her feet on either side of his head and lowers into a squat. From behind, she hears a rapid fapping as he jerks his cock. "I'm ready."

The relief is sweet, and Morgan sighs contentedly as she produces a powerful stream of urine. Sam makes slight gurgling noises below, struggling not to choke on her nectar, and she smells the beer in her piss, the pungent stream lasting much longer than anticipated. It quickly dies away and she gives a final push to expel the last few drops, cutting a zipper-like fart.

He gulps. "Fuck that's hot. Bring that pussy closer."

She sits on his face, letting her knees sink into the now squishy tendrils of the soaked rug, and a flutter passes through her body as he taps her clit with his tongue. He expertly plumbs the depths of her pissy cunt, mounting a sublime pressure at the base of her spine, her extremities trembling and her breaths coming shorter and shorter. Sucking on her clit now, Sam finds the perfect spot. "Keep doing that!" she urges, close to orgasm. "Just . . . keep . . . doing . . . that . . ."

The bubble bursts, her nerves delivering a ball of electricity to the base of her skull where it explodes and shatters her mind into a thousand illuminated pieces and makes her cry out ecstatically. She can't help it, but she squeezes his poor head with her thighs as she rides the orgasm to the end.

Releasing him from her clutches, she finally dismounts, breathing hard and shaking. He sits up and licks his shiny lips. "God damn, you're piss tastes good."

"You need to come now," she explains.

"Stand up for me," he simply replies.

On her feet now, he nudges her face-first against a wall and slips his cock into her pussy. "I can't wait to get really nasty with you," he breathes into her ear.

She's staring down a towel rack to her left. "You have no idea, Sam. Next time, I'm going to take a massive shit on you. I'll do it anywhere you want – on your chest or in your mouth, or on your fucking cock. And then the real fun will begin."