The Scat Lovers Ch. 20

"That means she probably put through every female caller, not to take any chances."

"If anyone's attuned to sexy females it would be Millie. If she wasn't old enough to be my mother, I'd probably be getting myself in all kinds of hot water hitting on her."

"Older women are crazy over younger men, you know."

"Yeah, except I met her husband once at a Christmas party. I don't know who's luckier, her or him."

We spoke easily with each other, reminding me of what it was like back in Boston. We also exchanged personal phone numbers and arranged a date at a restaurant we both knew for the next Saturday evening. He didn't say anything about Denise, and I certainly wasn't about to ask. Greg said things were crazy busy there, and he'd have to reluctantly get back to work.

"Some guy named Elon Musk is coming in to borrow a couple of billion dollars for rocket ships he's building or some car company, I can't remember which."

"Really?" I said laughing.

"No, I suppose not. It's actually Ms. McGillicutty borrowing a couple thousand bucks to redo her kitchen. More along those lines." We hung up and I smiled to myself, already looking forward to Saturday night.

As I prepared for our date a few hours before I was to meet Greg, I kept reminding myself that a woman named Denise was in his life somehow and to be prepared for the worst if it should come. Such as: "Oh, by the way, Denise and I are getting married next month." That sort of thing. I didn't really expect to hear something like that, or why wouldn't he have said so earlier? But maybe I should wear sneakers instead of heels anyway in case I needed to make a fast getaway. But then I told myself not to be foolish. Besides, I was wearing my sexiest dress, a red mini, that should help my cause (did I have a cause? I guess I did) immensely. As I left my bedroom I even glanced at the bed, reminding myself how I had made sure a plastic sheet was on under the regular one, just in case we ended up back here after dinner. Now that was a much more pleasant thought!

The restaurant was a nice one, not ridiculously fancy but quiet and cozy. We ordered some wine and he complimented me on my dress (no surprise there).

"So, how did Ms. McGillicutty make out with her loan?" I asked, just to get the conversation rolling. "Did she get it?"

"Oh, yeah," Greg answered. "No problems and she was pleased. She even offered to make me dinner one night when her kitchen was finished."

"Maybe she'll want to redecorate her bedroom after that," I said, and for a second regretted saying it, but then smiled as broadly as I could.

"Hmmm, interesting. I never thought of that. She's pretty enough, you know, though handsome might be more accurate."

"Meaning?"

"Well, unlike you, for instance, she isn't drop-dead gorgeous, and wouldn't be even with the help of a sexy red minidress." That certainly made me feel good.

"Ah, flattery will get you everywhere, as the old cliché goes."

"Will it?" He was looking at me steadily, as if he indeed had a goal he hoped to meet.

Just then the waiter came over to take our order. When he left I changed the subject and tone of our conversation.

"I feel bad about what happened in Boston," I said, "deserting you like that. Did you think I deserted you?"

"Maybe a little at first, but then no, not really. Didn't I say you should go?" he replied, "I would think about you, though, wonder about you."

"Everything happened so quickly, your being convicted and then the offer I got to come here. It seemed like the chance of a lifetime. I had to take it."

"Oh, I know," he reiterated. "I knew we loved being together doing our thing, but we weren't engaged or anything like that, not even actually living together, though we spent so much time with one another it probably seemed like we were."

He filled in the details about his sentencing, his ten months in prison, and the new evidence that set him free. I knew some of it from a friend, but not all.

"When I finally got released," he said in conclusion, "I had so much else on my mind, especially what the hell was I going to do with my life? What kind of job could I get? It's about all I could think about. I really feel I've gotten a tremendously lucky break with Attavan, that my life is very much back on track again. No regrets."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"And no hard feelings toward you, either," he added. "I know you did what you had to do; it was a great opportunity. I hoped you were happy."

"So what about Denise?" I asked, grinning, trying to make it sound as if my asking was just part of our conversation. "Are you two serious?"

"We've seen each other for a few months now, but we're not an item. We have a good time together."

"Sounds familiar," I said, thinking of Greg and me in Boston. Of course, I wondered where he ranked her on the "drop-dead gorgeous" to "handsome" scale, but couldn't think of a way to ask without it sounding like I was fishing for a compliment. Instead, I added, "You know, whenever I think about us, what we had, you know what I think about, right?"

"Our scatting adventures, I assume. It's what I think about, for sure."

"Yes, exactly," I said. "Sometimes I've felt haunted by them, in a very positive way. I've actually tried getting back into that through online sites, but it's been a disaster. Only once did I meet someone who was totally into scat the way we were, and that wasn't too long ago. A guy named Gordon."

"Are you two seeing each other now?" Greg queried, sounding a little depressed.

"Not how you probably think."

"What do I probably think?"

"That we're exclusive. I was with him alone one time, and I'm not going to lie, it was utterly fantastic. It reminded me of so many of our times together as you and I flew off into shit heaven, covered in it, devouring each other. But it's mostly a group thing with him; he has a group of friends, and they're like one big happy family, all into scat. I was invited to one of their parties, and it was like an orgy. It was pretty wild."

"Sounds perfect," Greg muttered, sounding even more depressed. "I hope that works out for you. Really."

"Tell me to mind my own fucking business, Greg, but I've got to ask. Is Denise into scat play?"

"No," he said. "She's not a prude or anything, but scat would be a bridge too far, so I've never really pursued it with her."

I wondered what that must be like for him, how he dealt with that. Would he resign himself to not ever doing scat again, or did that make Denise more of an interlude until he could find someone who could enjoy that with him? We were silent for a bit, eating, and the food reminded me of a time once with Greg in a hotel room north of Boston.

"The food is really delicious," I said.

"Do you remember that time at the Sheraton when we ordered room service," Greg suddenly mentioned, smiling. "I think it was beef Wellington or something, which was pretty good, but the dessert wasn't so hot, so we scraped it off the plates and then each of us took a shit on each plate and we fed that to one another? Now that's what I call delicious, not to mention out-of-this-world sexy."

"That's incredible!" I exclaimed. "It must be that we're sitting here eating like this, but that's exactly what I was thinking of, too! But it wasn't long before we stopped feeding each other and began smearing it all over one another and then fucking in it."

"Yeah, that was just fantastic. How did we ever explain that mess to the hotel people?"

"Oh, we didn't have to, remember? We were going everywhere well-prepared for scat sessions by that time and I had an old sheet, some plastic, and a large garbage bag packed. No mess to speak of, except on us."

We were silent again for a moment, each of us lost in our own scat memories; at least I was. "Whenever the urge to get filthy becomes unbearable," I told him, "and I engage in a solo shit session, I often think about that hotel, or that time camping on Cape Cod, to really get me flying."

"Oh, yeah," he responded, "Cape Cod. I'll never be able to look at a marshmallow again and not get an instant hard-on as my mouth begins to water."

"I'll have to remember to keep a bag of them with me at all times," I laughed, before I realized what the hell was I saying!

"Whoops," I said, looking apologetically at Greg. "I'm sorry. That's being way out of line. Really dumb of me. Wow!"

"No, that's okay. I love that you said that; it makes what I'm about to say easier."

I looked at him and suddenly felt panicky; was he going to tell me something about him and Denise, perhaps that dreaded announcement I tormented myself with earlier? Oh, fuck....

"Listen, Heather," he began. "Ever since I first saw you again at that nightclub I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, what it was like for us, what we shared so passionately. I didn't realize how much I missed you, how much I want to be with you again. But I do, very much so."

"What about Denise?" I asked, my stomach slowly returning to normal.

"Denise is a great girl. But she's not you. I'm happy with Denise, but with you I'd be ecstatic. What do you say, Heather. Would you be willing to give it another go with me?"

I stretched a hand across the table, and he took it with one of his. "I missed you, too, sometimes obsessively so. Yes, Greg, I'd like that a lot, being with you again. Us."

We struck that pose for a while, until it made us both feel self-conscious.

"Next step, I guess," I said lightly. "Your place or mine?"

"Well, I don't know," he replied.

I laughed out loud, mostly to lighten the mood even more. "You're going to really think I'm pushy now, but let's make it my place. I've got the bed mess-proof already."

"Pushy? Hardly! You were just always a great planner, that's all."

We made love slowly, even deliberately, at first, as if filling in lost spaces with new but somehow familiar sensations, crossing openings on newly built bridges offering beautiful sights for the first time. He remembered how I touched his lips with my index finger as we kissed passionately, inserting it gently, almost as if I was trying to crawl inside his mouth; I was reminded how he pushed my tits together, nipples touching, as he sucked and licked them both simultaneously. Little things that flooded our memories: the feel of his tongue in my pussy, hitting spots I didn't know I had, my lips and teeth nibbling the head of his cock. But obsessions never die, and I was the one who broke the ice and told him what I wanted to do the most, which would be no surprise to him.

I got a tube of lubricant from the nightstand drawer and put it on the bed. I then had him lie on his back and I straddled his chest facing toward his feet. He knew what I wanted him to do, knew from experience that it was one of my favorite foreplay activities, and he grabbed my ass to hold it over his face.

"Lick my ass," I told him. "I want to feel your tongue in my ass."

He spread my cheeks and pulled me down onto his face, his tongue penetrating my hole. He alternated strong hard swipes with deep penetrating thrusts.

"Your gorgeous, beautiful ass tastes as wonderful as ever," he said. "So delicious. I know how much you love this, but I still wonder if I love doing it even more."

After several minutes of relishing his tongue savoring my asshole, I took the lubricant, squeezed some onto my hand, and rubbed it on his cock. I moved my body down, still facing his feet, and inserted his cock into my ass. It went in easily with the lube, with no discomfort whatever. I moved my ass up and down his shaft taking all of his cock into me. Old sensations flashed from my memory banks as his cock fucked my ass. His 8-inch shaft slid perfectly into my anus, and soon it was stimulating my need to defecate. I felt so full in there, with the compulsion to evacuate becoming unbearable. I could feel my poop sliding down my rectum, and he must have also, because he said, "Let it out, love, shit on my cock, give me all of it."

He withdrew his cock and a long turd emerged, landing on his cock and into his pubic hair. He smeared it all over his cock and lower belly and across my ass cheeks. The smell was dizzying in the most wonderful way, like walking into an overfull flower shop, and his hands spreading the warm creamy shit on my ass felt exquisite. Then another log cascaded out of me; this one he picked up and placed on his chest for future use. He told me how the smell unlocked a torrent of memories long submerged.

He asked me to turn around and sit on his cock facing him so he could cover my tits with the second log. I did, putting his cock up my cunt this time. He took the log and began massaging it into my breasts, driving me wild with desire. The feel of it, like a soothing lotion, had my stomach doing tumblesaults; his palms caressing my nipples followed by his pinching them with his fingers made me moan with pleasure. When he had them totally covered, he pulled me down to him and began licking them, first one and then the other.

"Just as I remember," he said. "Not bitter, even rather mild, almost sweet. I love doing this again with you, Heather; it's amazing." He held my ass and pulled my cunt onto his cock, fucking me hard, his face buried in my shit-smeared tits.

Then he rolled over, placing me on my back under him. I put my legs on his shoulders, opening myself wide to his thrusts. I held my tits in each hand, rubbing my nipples, and then, with my hands filled with shit, smeared it on his face and my own. I did it methodically, not wanting to miss any spots on either of us, kissing his lips as I went along. I finally scooped some shit onto my finger tips and inserted some of it in his mouth, the rest in mine, then yanked his face down to mine and we shit kissed, long and deep. I licked his face, running my tongue into his ear. I felt as if my body was about to explode into pieces, that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to make that happen.

"Give me your treasure, Greg," I urged him while nibbling on his ear. "I want your shit all over me, in my mouth, on my pussy, in my hair, everywhere! I crave it from you. Get on your knees."

He exited my cunt, sucking my tits one more time as he did, and knelt in front of me on all fours. I sat behind him, my legs between his, and buried my face in his ass crack. I licked it hard and furiously, wanting my tongue deep inside of him. I held his cock as I plowed into him, drooling my shit-brown saliva all over his rosebud as I stroked his cock. Finally, a long juicy turd emerged and pointed right for my open mouth; he pushed gently so that it slowly snaked its way along my slimy tongue into my mouth; he tasted tangy just as I remembered. It fell from my mouth into my waiting hand, and another log came out and joined the first; what overflowed my hand fell to my belly. I mushed the shit up in my hands, smearing some on his ass and cock and using the rest to paint my torso and streak into my hair. I closed my eyes and put my hand to my mouth, wiping it off on my tongue, savoring his taste and texture.

He turned around facing me and moved his cock to my mouth, offering it to me to suck if I wished. I gulped him in, and the creamy shit felt exquisite on his cock. Off the map of reality our bodies began to soar, not being able to get enough pleasure. He left my mouth, pushed me back on the bed, and crawled between my legs again. He spread them wide and rammed his cock into my cunt. More rocket fire erupted in my loins as his cock filled my cunt, fucking me hard. I held him close and we kissed, tongues drowning in shit. My climax built and so did his until we both burst in orgasmic seizures, his cock emptying in spurts into me.

After a short respite, very short, in fact, since both of us were eager and desperate to continue our lovemaking, as if making up for lost time, we opened up all the floodgates and totally let loose. We both needed to piss and did so simultaneously on each other while in a 69 position. While I was flat on my stomach on the bed he fucked me in the ass, emptying his cock into me; I immediately took his filthy cock in my mouth and sucked him, adding more shit as I proceeded, until he was hard again and came in my mouth. I produced a container with three turds saved in it (this concept, though not new in theory to Greg was nevertheless new in practice, and he loved it) and did what I thought was an incredibly sexy thing with them. We decided to use at least two of the turds, all three if we had to, to cover each other. I mean totally cover each other.

We began by sitting in front of each other, our legs entangled, and fingerpainted one another from the top of our heads all the way down to our feet. He made sure my tits and pussy were heavily coated as I did his cock. We got into a 69 so I could suck his cock as I lathered it up and he could lick my pussy. I broke a log in half and shared it with him in our mouths. Then we just stayed that way, completely shit-covered. I got a plastic drop cloth and an old quilt and draped them over the couch, and we sat in each other's arms watching a favorite porno flick. It was so fucking sexy just sitting there like that watching the movie, probably just like a million other people, though I doubt any other couple was doing it shit-covered like we were. We kissed constantly, I sucked his cock a few times when the mood struck, and we even fucked right after an incredible fuck scene in the movie. We didn't shower and Greg spent the night in bed in my arms, both of us still covered in shit.

"I told Gordon about us and how I might be reconciling with you," I said to Greg, lying in bed with him. "He said if we did get back together that we would both be welcomed into Club Venery, that's what they call themselves, if we wanted. From what I've seen so far, they're really fantastic, as filthy and dirty as we ever were. Are." Greg said he couldn't think of anything else he'd rather do than be a part of that with me... except maybe fuck me again. And he did!