Weekend At Becky’s
Part One: Brown Eyed Bears
Okay, remember how my first scene ended with me throwing up on the camera? Not good, I hear you say. Not so fast, say I. Turns out this was not a career ending move, rather it’s the scat equivalent of the money shot.
Becky is on the phone and enthusing over the ‘up and chuck’ scene.
“Sales of that clip are going great, they all love that POV moment when you introduced them to your lunch. You’re a star, hun!”
Yay me, dad will be so proud. Thing is I am pleased. I’m not rushing to add this achievement to my social media profile, but I’m not knocking it either.
I met up with Becky for lunch. Good news is we like each other. We’re both smart, but we appeal to different tastes. Becky is the Goddess doing unspeakable filth. I’m the girl you take out for a drink and hope to stick your hand down her knickers after a few glasses of cheap plonk. Only this time be careful what you find down there or hope to find.
Anyway, it’s Friday lunch, and both of us are tucking into slices of pizza at the local Mall. It was Becky’s idea that we get together, hang for a couple of days, and shoot some scenes.
“You can stay at mine if you want or book a room when we’re not working.”
I opt for staying at hers, this is the ‘get to know each other’ phase, and I hate cheap hotel chains.
Becky takes another bite of pizza. “You okay discussing this while we’re eating?”
I have a half a pepperoni slice in my mouth, so I just give her a look and continue stuffing my face.
She gets the message. “Okay, some basic pointers. Filling stuff is good. Knickers, pantyhose, bras, leggings, jeans.”
I nod as she runs through it, diet, roughage, different consistency, what’s more popular. Seriously? I’m thinking. There’s like a poop chart of most popular poop? Top of the fucking Poops?
“What do you reckon then?” She finishes.
“Yeah, sounds great.” I mean it’s fifty different ways to crap yourself. “You’ve got this sussed.”
“Yeah. Don’t handle me, Judes.” Her voice dropped a few degrees.
I pause the face stuffing. It was great pizza. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to-” I stopped. I might as well have said ‘you’ve got this sussed, you sicko’. “Sorry.”
Becky shrugged, I could see she was upset. She said: “Look, I know it’s a bit weird, I’m a bit weird, and yes I am into this because you can’t fake this shit, well you can, but I don’t. And yes I am a bit excited about you because I think you’re great and you’ll be good at it and it will be fun to share. So I got a bit carried away. That’s on me.”
I gave a little sigh, abandoned the pizza, and tried to explain.
“I’m just a bit wary, I guess. It’s all new to me, and I haven’t wrapped my head around it. Also, I don’t want to come across as weird either, so I’m like ‘ooh, look at me, I’m Miss Cool’.”
This made Becky laugh. “Fair enough. Why would I think you’re weird?”
This time I felt uncomfortable. “Because I kind of got caught ‘practising’ and it embarrassed me.”
Becky did the right thing with her serious face. “Do you want to share?”
“As long as you don’t laugh or just basically say the wrong thing.”
“Girl Guides honour. Now that would make an awesome clip,” Becky replied solemnly.
“Filthy bitch!” Smiling, I took another bite of pizza and told her.
Rewind to the Friday just after the shoot, Becky and Ken were pleased and said so. I collected £600, and I’m feeling good about life. I’ve had my tea, some wine and was watching the telly. Becky messages to say a promo is now online and can I tell her what I think.
I wasn’t going to look, nope not at all. I lasted five minutes. I clicked the link and see stills of me with the blurb, ‘High Powered Exec is home to the wife and boy does she need to Go!’
The promo is only 30 seconds, but it’s kind of fun as it shows me ‘arriving home’, then this arse hoves into view, like a blimp coming into land. Luckily, I like my arse so no problem and then the weirdest thing, have you ever seen your arse when you shit? It sort of blooms out and bulges and then, well the clip faded out. Now I’m intrigued, I want to see the ‘follow-through’. I could ask Becky for more footage but I’d only just met her, besides where is the fun in that?
The idea of taking a shit in the living room pops into my head. I should video it. Purely to practise, you understand. One large towel, a glass bowl and a propped up phone later, I have my jeans around my ankles, and I’m squatting over the bowl. It’s bizarre almost surreal doing ‘it’ where you shouldn’t. I’m excited, nervous and yeah I found it sexual. Weird huh? And all because of where I’m about to shit. In my front room. Location, location, location.
Anyway, I’m waiting for things to happen, I know they want to happen, but they aren’t so a bit of an anti-climax. Then inspiration hits me. I have some herbal tea which is also a mild laxative, so I brew me a cup, mooch about a bit and wait.
I’m kind of on edge, and half an hour drags by, so I try again, and oh, I’m peeing first. That went straight over the towel, but that’s cool.
The pressure in my gut is building, and I know I’m ready. I hover with my bare arse over the bowl, shuffle some sounds on my tablet, check the phone is recording and give a gentle squeeze.
That rumbling sound? Yeah, that’s an avalanche heading to a bowl near you. If I had a cat, it would have run for the hills.
But it was glorious! I had a silly smile on my face as I pooped, spluttered and voided a never-ending stream of mess. Finally, with an apologetic final ‘splurt’ it stopped. The silence was almost reverential. I raised myself and looked behind.
“You’re going to need a bigger bowl, Judes,” I say to myself.
My initial offering lay in a mountain of mess with a glistening peak. The towel had taken some splashback as had the back of my jeans, arse and thighs. I had also forgotten about toilet paper.
Reaching behind, I was wet and messy to the touch. I studied my shit smeared hand while pondering my next move, the phrase ’dirty girl” reverberating in my head. I liked it. It felt right. I had never been a girly girl. I mean, I liked being a girl, but I wasn’t delicate or fragrant, well not right now anyway.
I came to a sudden decision, pulled up my panties and jeans and wiped my shitty hand on the front of my t-shirt. I was going to stew in my own mess for a bit.
Grabbing another towel and bin liner, I put them on the couch and sat down. It felt a bit damp, a bit slick, it was like sitting in slippery oil. I could get used to this I thought as I pressed play on my phone. Not bad, just got the right angle – oh, my God! My arsehole peeled open, bulged, then out poured a torrent of poop! My heart was racing.
”This is crazy, ” I said aloud, nervous energy fizzing inside me. I’m finding the whole thing funny and hot. Fuck it. I undo my jeans and stick my shitty hand down into my panties and began rubbing myself.
It felt good, I’m fingering shit over my pussy, and loving it. I’m a lost soul. It wasn’t long before I breathed a heartfelt ’fuck’ as I came. Yeah, that definitely hit the spot. I lay sprawled on the couch thinking I’m probably going to hell for this. My phone rang, it’s my mum, and that’s when it hit me. The reality of what I was doing. I honestly couldn’t answer the phone in this condition. I was mortified, I was ‘shit shamed’.
”Wow,” said Becky. “What did you do next?”
“Cleaned up quickly, then rang mum, and that made me feel worse. Think that’s why I’m a little off. I’m not a prude or anything, I don’t care what people are into as long as it’s not hurting anyone and my mum kind of knows I get my boobs out for money, but this is a big step.” It all came out of me in a rush.
“You’ve done it once though.”
“Yeah, but that was a one-off in my head, and the money was good. It was a job, but now,” I shrugged.
“Now you are worried you may like it.”
I nodded.
“So really it’s about what you think of yourself,” said Becky gently.
Again I nodded, pleased she understood. I’m not big on introspection, but this weighed on me. “How did you handle it?” I ask her.
Becky considered this. ”I didn’t handle it. I just enjoyed it. Still do. It’s fun. I like wet sex and scat sex. You’re okay with wet sex, pissing, right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine with that.”
“You do it for fun, not just porn shoots?”
“A few times, one guy I knew was into it big time. It was fun.”
“So what’s the big deal? Least that’s how I see it. If you can‘t get your head around it, then okay. It’s a shame because people who are into it I usually don’t like and people I like usually aren’t into it. Apart from Ken and a few dear friends. He’s a good guy. Oh, and you,” she smiled at me.
I felt the same about Becky.
“Okay,” I said. “I like you too, so how about you sort of ease me in. Maybe we shoot some stuff maybe we don’t. Just do what you normally do, and I’ll see how I feel and go from there.
Becky took a huge bite of pizza and gave me a wide smile. “Deal!”
I relaxed after that. We finished lunch, mooched around the shops a bit and had fun. Gets to just gone three and she pulls me aside.
“Okay. We’re doing what I normally do right?”
I nod, and I swear I have a little knot of excitement in my tummy.
“Cool. We have to go for a drive because I need to shit and I know the perfect spot.”
We pile into her car, and she heads away from the Mall. “It’s about five minutes from here.”
I nod, I can sense her excitement. She’s giving me little looks like we’re on a date. Yet I know like me she’s into guys.
“You luring me into the woods?” I smile as she pulls up into a small parking area, with a nature trail signposted.
“Definitely luring, come on.”
We scramble out, Becky grabs a little rucksack out of the boot and heads down the trail which quickly starts climbing and then she darts off the trail holding my hand.
“It’s my little spot. Always very peaceful.”
We reach the tree line and look out onto the Mall to the left with the main town on the right. It was a lovely view.
“Ken is always on about shooting here, but I refuse. This is my little place.” She sank onto her haunches and patted the ground next to me. “You still in?”
I appreciated her asking. “Yeah. Just do what you have to do.”
“Okay.”
Becky was still for a few minutes. Then she pulled up her skirt, hitched her knickers to one side and let out an arc of piss. I look on as she leans back on one hand and then spreads herself.
“Nice,” I said appreciatively, thinking it would be rude not to join in. Besides, outdoor pissing was fun. I hitched up my skirt, and we were soon both laughing as we waved our streams of piss around while doing light sabre sound effects.
Finished we sat back on the grass. She held my eye for a few moments.
“What you thinking?” I ask.
“Honestly? How I am going to shit. Knickers on or off? What mood am I in? What takes my fancy. I enjoy the anticipation,” she smiles. “Yeah, I’m a weirdo.” I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
“Tell you what. Whatever you decide I will do the opposite,” I say impulsively.
“Ooh, that adds a whole new dimension to my decision!” There is a wicked glint in her eye, and as usual, I’ve allowed bravado to overtake my common sense because I know this is going to bite me in the arse.
Becky gets to her feet and looks down at me as I lay there resting on my elbows. “Sorry, babe,” and with that pulls down her knickers and half squats giving me a perfect view of her exquisite arse. I must learn to keep my mouth shut. This is especially true if you are lying next to someone who is about to poop.
I watch fascinated as she starts to push, her cheeks held open, so I get a perfect view. Her arsehole starts to pulse then bloom as a brown monster peers out. Then, this divine creature with a soft, satisfied grunt, births a long shit that is dangling almost to her knees before it breaks and lands with a soft thud next to me. It gasps faint steam and lies there, smouldering with attitude.
Another section falls across the first as if trying to pin it down. Brown smudges mar Becky’s perfect arse as more of her shit pushes through and past her cheeks.
“Oh, that felt good!” she finally exclaimed in satisfaction.
“Yeah, it was kind of fun watching you,” I say as she drops to the grass next to me, her mess between us.
“Really? That’s great!” She smiles and looks at me as if I just passed a test.
Sighing, I get to my feet and adopt the same stance as Becky a sort of half-squat, except I’m keeping my white cotton knickers on.
Thankfully I am ready, and I have no qualms about doing this in front of her. First, we piss, then we shit. No big deal. Not at all. No problemo. Shit! Or rather not to shit, that is the unfortunate question. This isn’t going to happen – oh!
“Lovely,” I heard Becky say, and I feel my knickers suddenly getting heavy as something wet and warm caresses my arse. Again I enjoyed that sense of wellbeing. It was like cumming but not. A weirdly emotional but satisfying release.
Becky sat up, staring at my poop heavy knickers. So far, they were retaining my mess. I look round at her.
“Like what you see?” I ask.
She nodded her eyes fixed on my poop laden rear. I couldn’t resist. Reaching behind, I grabbed her head and pushed her face into my messy mound.
My knickers crack open, and hot streams of poop ran down my legs as I wiped my dirty arse with her pretty face. Little gurgling pleasure sounds escaped Becky as she spluttered in my filth.
“That feel nice, babe?” I ask in a nasty tone.
She gave a little tremor amidst the snuffling.
“Can’t hear you, Becks, what was that again?”
“Yes, it feels gorgeous,” she gasped, coming up for air.
I released her and turned. She was a state. Hair messed up and shit streaked across her face, little lumps of poop starting to run down one cheek.
“Someone is shit faced,” I said, still with that nasty edge to my voice. I’ve gone into Dom mode. It was natural for me as being submissive was for her.
I pull my knickers down and step out of them. They still retained a lot of my shit.
“Take your knickers off, you dirty little shit pig!”
Becky is gone, tipped over the edge by me calling her a ‘shit pig’. Whimpering and shaking she stands and takes off her knickers. They’re clean aside from a smudge.
“And your skirt,” I demand, resisting the urge to slap her.
“Please, no,” she moaned piteously. If it wasn’t for the fact she was fingering herself, I may have eased off.
Turning her skirt inside out, I wiped down the back of my legs then tossed it back to her. Slipping on her knickers, I give myself a check over. Not great, but it will do.
“Wipe your face, then put your skirt back on.”
Sniffing Becky wiped her face. In a few minutes, the dynamic between us had flipped, and we were both running with it.
“See my shit filled knickers?”
She nods.
“Scoop up your shit and put it into my knickers.”
Becky bends, scoops up her long turd and places it into my knickers from front to back. I can see she has guessed what is coming next.
“Good, now put them on.”
With a small moan of pleasure, she carefully slips on my knickers, careful not to dislodge any of the mess. A gasp as the foulness hits her pussy.
Grinning, I grip the top of the knickers. “Ready, shit pig?”
“No! You wouldn’t!
Becky braces herself, and with one swift pull, I wedgie the shit filled knickers up her arse and pussy crack. She lets out a pretty and delighted ‘oh’ then clings onto me, shaking.
I hold her for a moment. Becky is tall and slim, and she is quivering like an aspen propped up by a sturdy fence. A fence with great boobs mind.
“Think we need to get back to the car and get you home,” I say softly.
“Yes,” she holds me tightly. “Thanks, Judes.”
I hug her back. “You okay to drive?”
“Yeah, just need to get to the car without being spotted.”
We start to walk back. Becky adopted a tentative, wide stance shuffle, so she didn’t trigger a poop cascade. I giggle at her, “God, you really stink you smell like a sewer.”
Becky flushed. “Do I? Is it really bad?”
“Yeah. You stink like a walking cesspit.”
Her flush deepens, and I can see she is enjoying the humiliation.
“I honestly don’t see how I can share a car with you, I feel like I’m going to be sick from your stench.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help stinking, oh!”
A lump of shit travelled down her leg and wedged on her shoe. She stooped, rescued it and was about to pop it back into her knickers.
“Hand it over!” I demanded.
Wordlessly she put the wet lump into my palm. I reach out and pull up her t-shirt to reveal her bra.
“Left tit or right tit?” I ask sweetly.
Becky is paralysed with indecision. She looks at me in mute appeal.
“Shit for brains too,” I sigh, putting the fetid lump into her left cup and squeezing. “Nice bra.” It was lilac, with lace trim and matched the panties I was wearing. It now had brown sludge oozing out. Wiping my hand on her right tit, I pulled down her t-shirt. “Don’t drop any more.”
She nodded, her eyes had that glassy look, and we trooped back to the car.
“There are more tarps in the boot,” she said. Her car seats already had a detachable covering, so the tarp was extra insurance. I dug out two sheets cut to size. Becky had taken her Girl Guide training seriously.
The tarps installed, Becky carefully climbed in with a heartfelt, ‘oh God,’ as she squished the mess.
She started the car. “It’s about half an hour to my place.”
“Well, you had better get moving because I’m not sure how long I can stand your fucking stink!” I held a cloth I found in the car door well to my face.
“I’m very sorry,” she murmured her voice thick with humiliation, as her trembling legs kangaroo hopped the car back onto the road.
“Whoa girl, get your shit together!” I berate her.
“Sorry, so sorry,” mumbled Becky before settling down.
“Better,” I grumble. “Fuck! I think I’m going to throw up, you filthy fucking pig!” I gleefully kept up a running commentary on her nauseating foulness and Becky oinked her abject apologies all the way home.
Part Two: Stink
Right, everyone back? Fixed a brew? Okay, so where were we? Oh, that’s right, we all went down to the woods today, and we sure got a big surprise, which ended with me travelling back to Becky’s who is absolutely ponging it.
I’m giving her a hard time, and the harder it gets, the more she is loving it because I have tapped into one of her big turn-ons. Smelling. Did you know there is a whole sub-culture devoted to this? Nope, me neither.
Becky lives in a nice three-bed detached house in a very nice road in a very nice area. She parks the car around the back, leaves the windows open and scoots in quick as you like. Trust me, no one is stealing her car in a hurry. You wouldn’t get halfway down the street before passing out.
She shows me my room, then the bathroom for me to clean up because while she is stinking like an open sewer, I’m more of a bad drain. Everything is relative, I guess.
I dump my overnight bag, jump in the shower and reflect that it’s been a good start. My unease over this shit thing has lessened because I’m having fun and there are worse things in life right?
I wrap a robe around me and head for the kitchen. First off, this is a lovely house. Bathroom and kitchen are super modern, all soft closing doors and hidden openings that spring open at a touch. My kitchen, I can barely get the cupboard doors to close. I barely have actual cupboards. The lounge is minimalist with wooden flooring and easy wipe chairs and sofa. There is also a large, ornate chamber pot on a rubber matting. I mean it’s not in the centre of the room, but you can’t miss the fucking thing. It was white, marine blue and shiny.
Becky’s house, Becky’s rules. I’m cool.
“Oh, you found the kitchen?” Becky smiled towering her hair.
“Yeah, you said help yourself.”
“It’s fine Judes, no worries, so how do I smell now?” She twirls in her short yellow robe.
“Very nice.”
“I know, terribly dull, but it can only get better from here.”
Becky shows me the rest of the house. I want to mention the huge chamber pot in the lounge, but I wait. There was a lovely, spacious en suite wetroom off her bedroom, and then we hit a closed door. She pauses and looks at me.
“Okay, this is my privy,” she says and opens the door.
I bug-eyed a little. It was the smallest bedroom but turned into a communal toilet. There were four oval holes in a wooden bench against the wall running the length of the room. The back was wooden with obscene carvings of fat women on toilets and men guffing in their faces. The holes opened onto white porcelain bowls. I peered into one.
“Where’s the plumbing?” I ask.
“There isn’t any. It’s a 17th century privy. You use it and empty the bowls by carrying them to the toilet.” She undid a latch and lifted the wooden bench to reveal the bowls nestling in a support structure that ran the full length.
“Lowering the seat lid seals the bowls. One concession is the silicone seals, otherwise, the wood below would get splattered and become fouled. This is the second wooden lid though. I have a fan who made this to measure for me and did the carvings. Neat huh?” Her pride shone through.
“It’s astonishing,” I reply with a straight face.
“You’re a sarky cow, Judy Bellingham,” she said good humouredly.
“Estate Agents going to have a hell of a job selling this feature when you move.”
“Fuck off,” she smiled sweetly.
“The family that shits together stays together – oww!” I rubbed my arm.
That evening we had take out, Chinese, watched TV, Becky was into soccer, and there was a Friday match on, and we touched on her habits and lifestyle.
“I have stink out weekends, I use the chamber pots in my bedroom, the big one down here and I don’t empty them until Monday. I don’t wipe myself or bathe, but use paper towels to get any excess mess off. Brush my teeth in my urine, which is how ladies used to do it back in the day.
The privy I use with guests as it’s communal. There is a group of us, women of all ages who have communal stink outs, tired of the beauty regime we are obliged to follow. We all have different ways to show our rejection of the norms we feel pressured to live by, like no longer shaving, but the one common theme is, frankly, we do what men are allowed to do, and that is live, shit, and wallow like pigs.”
“Are the women lesbian, kind of a communal sex thing?”
“No, I mean some are, but no one is getting off with each other, well not much. We shit and piss together, in front of each other and if anyone requests it on each other.”
“What about guys?” I bit into a sweet and sour ball. I talk about food a lot on this blog. I like my food.
Becky pulled a face. “Haven’t met the right one. I date and stuff but not really happening, plus what I do is problematic. Now and then I hook up with the guy who made the privy for scat or piss sex and one other guy I get on with, but he’s married so not super keen on that, but sometimes well a girl has needs.”
“Ken?”
“Mainly business plus his wife is now a firm member of our stink group. Lovely lady. Sometimes me and Ken fool around with shit or piss. No sex though, just messing around.”
“So are we having a stink weekend?” I kind of fancy the idea. I told you I’m not a girly girl, so a stink out sounded cool. To be honest just a slob weekend but ‘slobbier’, and if there is one thing I know how to do and that is ‘slob’.
“I hadn’t planned to, but after the afternoon in the woods, I’m really up for it, but only if you are.”
“What are the toilet rules again?” I ask.
“As from now, chamber pots only. You have two in your room. One for pissing and one for shitting, I don’t like to mix. Big one in the lounge is shit only. We can only use the privy together, even if only one of us goes.”
“Fancy using the privy with me?” I ask.
Becky jumps up. “Cool.”
We troop upstairs, I was dying to use it, and I needed a piss. Hitching up my robe, I plonk myself down. Becky sits next to me, and we piss and chat away. Suddenly she gets up and sits on the other pot next to me and gives a little toot.
“Have you?” I ask Becky.
“Just a little, hun. Kind of slipped out.”
I make her raise herself and sure enough, lying there is a small, almost apologetic looking turd.
“Stink weekend starts here, no bathing, no washing?” I ask.
Becky nods. “Yes.”
Picking up her poop, I mush it into her arse crack and smear it.
“Well, that is going to stink tomorrow.” I grin looking at her cute ass.
“So is your hand, hun.”
I sigh. Think things through, Judes, for fuck’s sake.
Saturday
I stumble down to the kitchen the next morning. I forgo brushing my teeth in urine. I’m not brushing anything in piss without a morning cup of tea.
“Morning,” says Becky cheerfully.
I grunted something. I’m not a morning person. Give me a cup of tea, some leftover Chinese and talk to me after that. Looking at my still shitty, if dry, hand, I grunt again.
Becky grins and fetches a box of latex gloves out of the cupboard. “I may be a shit loving stinker, but I’m not an animal.”
One glove, one cup of tea and one heated up bowl of something Chinese, I am ready to chat. I look at Becky closely and sniff. Either the Chinese food had gone off, or something was up.
“You really pong, can’t be just your shitty arse,” I said.
Becky, flushing a deep red of intense pleasure, said: “Thanks, appreciate you saying so, and no it’s not just my arse, I have 32-day knickers, 45-day bra and a 52-day t-shirt on.”
It’s way too early in the morning for riddles, so Becky explains.
“This will be the 33rd day of wearing these knickers without washing.”
“Oh,” I was wearing what I had on yesterday in the woods, including Becky’s underwear. My attempt at a honking head start had been trumped.
“Let me show you,” she was dying to show me, I could tell.
Standing in front of me, she raised her long t-shirt to reveal a greyish, yellowish blotchy pair of what were once, I assume, white cotton knickers. Lifting the t-shirt wafted her aroma toward me. It was a pungent cocktail of pussy, pee and poo. I was repelled, fascinated and, god help me I leaned in to get a better whiff.
Delighted Becky waved her crotch in front of my face. “One of my favourite pair of knickers, don’t they smell great!” No. They smelt bad. We are going to hell.
“You should see the back.”
Turning, she bent over to reveal a brown, grey and yellow Rorschach blot test which probably revealed I’m a perv. She pulled them down to show her smeared arse and the shit-stained interior of her panties. Again I smelt her. I was definitely going to hell.
“So you keep filling them?” I ask. An everyday topic of conversation over breakfast.
“Many times. I just wait for it to dry and scrape the shit out or pee on them and wash them that way”
If there was a test for practical application for scat girls, Becky would ace it.
“That’s unfair,” I grumble as my ambition to out stink Becky faded.
“Well, you have your knickers I wore home yesterday. I got most of the shit out.”
“Maybe,” I’m almost sulking. Told you I am rubbish in the morning.
Becky leans into me. “Is Judy all upset like a big baby?” She coos.
I try not to smile. “Fuck you and your cheating knickers.”
We both start laughing at my grumpy petulance.
“I’ll go get your knickers,” she said.
Scraping the last bit of rice out of the bowl, I recoiled as she tossed them at my head.
“I’ll get you back if you carry on like this,” I warn her. Yeah, we were having fun.
Slipping off her knickers, I chucked them at her head, and they landed over the spice rack. I examined the pair I had pooed in and had to admit she had done a good job of getting the shit out. They were badly stained, and stank of Becky’s pee, but they would do the trick. I put them on and did a catwalk number around the kitchen.
“Modelling the latest in shit-stained, pee washed knickers is Judy. Judy is 21, a bit of a slut, and her interests are boys, food and shit.” I stopped in front of Becky. “So the race to honk the most is now on, are we working today or just vegging on the sofa watching bad movies?”
Bad movies won.
In between, we talked. Non-stop. About growing up, family, friends, hopes, dreams, disappointments and failures. We laughed a lot, got a bit maudlin and even dozed off.
It was getting toward five when Becky winced from sitting too long and said: “Privy pee?”
Stretching, I scratched my groin. The knickers may smell glorious, but they were itchy.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Becky.
We went up to the privy, and I opted for the seat Becky had used last time. It was still about a third full as neither of us had emptied anything, anywhere.
“You know the rules, no emptying until Monday,” she said.
“Okay,” I wasn’t fussed. There may be a no toilet rule, but no one had said anything about the sink or a bowl out of the kitchen.
We pissed together happily, discussed what we were having for tea, frozen pizza and wine won, and then Becky broached the big one.
“If you need to shit then let me know. We really should be shooting content, but we can do that tomorrow or do some webcam instead.”
“Let’s just have fun today, do what we want, shit when we want, stink as much as we want,” I said contentedly.
We finished peeing, no wiping and pulled up our knickers. Time for pizza and moulding ourselves to the sofa. Life is made up of little pleasures.
So now we are approaching the moment, it’s just before ten and I do want to go. I could hold until morning but what’s the protocol here? I had drifted off during the latest movie, but Becky was engrossed. Do I mention it? I mention it.
“Becks.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s kind of time.”
“Uh-huh.”
Becky is still fixed on the movie.
“Becks,” now I’m getting grumpy.
“Shush!”
Shush? Seriously?
“I need to shit, not shush, just looking for a bit of guidance.”
Becky tapped the sofa. “So shit,” she replies absently.
Oh, the crafty cow. I turn on my side, facing away from her and pull down my knickers. With a bit of luck, I’ll pebble dash her. I give a discreet push or two, and with a fanfare of wind instruments and then one long emphatic note on the tuba, I coil a long one between us. A symphony in shit and heavy on the bass.
Becky giggles, pausing the movie. “I didn’t think you would actually do it!”
“Hold on, wait for it,” Christ I’m a shit making machine!
“Finished?” She asks sarcastically.
I look over my shoulder. That was a serious dump. Large, light brown, and faintly menacing. “Wipe my arse, babe?” I ask her.
“Why sure,” she slips off her panties and sticks them in my shitty crack and promptly rubs poo all over my arse cheeks. She puts the smeared panties back on and sits down, indulging in a little squirm.
“That do?” She smirked.
Cow.
“Did you enjoy your shitty squirm?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“You fancy a squirm in that dung deposit on your sofa?” I can see she does, once you light the fire with Becky there is no stopping her.
“I guess.”
Oooh, she’s playing the cool card.
“Park your arse on it, babe, scrunch down, squeeze it through your thighs, slip and slide in that lovely mess I made.” I stick my finger in my pile and then trail it down her arm “Be my shitty little oink, oink.”
“Fuck!” She stands up, whips her smudged panties down and pulls off her t-shirt and bra. Becky has lost it.
She sits in my shit with a squishy sigh, squirming her bum, and opening her legs to see it squeeze over her pussy. “I smell so bad,” she breathes in her odour, massaging her breasts with handfuls of poo.
I move onto the sofa arm, giving her room to get down and dirty, her fingers are shovelling shit into her smelly snatch and I’m aiming my pussy at her. Steady, aim, fire!
“Think you need washing down, babe,” and with that, I hose her down, scuddy brown trails moving over her body, her head turning toward me to catch my piss in her mouth.
The sofa is one shitty, pissy mess. It’s difficult to tell where the sofa starts and Becky ends as she wallows full length in this stink pit, finger fucking herself to orgasm as I happily slop my shit all over her.
Finally, with that tell take squeak of hers, she cums and slides gently off the sofa and onto the floor with a small ‘Oof’ of contented pleasure.
Smiling, I looked down at Becky, who is going to have a hell of a job getting clean using paper towels.
“You okay down there, babe?” I ask.
“Mmmhmm,” she airly waves a shitty hand.
“Cup of post orgasm tea?”
“Hmmmhmm.”
“One cup of post orgasm tea coming up,” still smiling, I step over my shit loving new bestie and head for the kitchen. Never let it be said that Judy Bellingham doesn’t know how to show a girl a good time.
Sunday
It’s late. I peer blearily at my phone. Just gone ten in the morning and the house is quiet. I had left Becky on the floor, used paper towels to get rid of the excess shit off myself and climbed into bed. Oh, and I brushed my teeth using my own piss.
I lay there thinking I have to reassess my life goals because, being unwashed, unkempt and brushing my teeth in urine was never part of my life plan.
I peel the sheets off, yeah, they stuck to me. Laugh it up, go on, happy now? Once unpeeled, I stagger to the bathroom and end up pissing in the tub because I can’t be arsed to go back and use the chamberpot. It’s amazing how quickly you accept standards of behaviour that would have revolted you a day or so earlier. I didn’t even check my appearance. I now measured myself in how bad or unkempt I looked and smelt, and I didn’t need a mirror for that. It’s very liberating.
Not even bothering to dress, I make my way to the kitchen, stopping by the sofa to see how it fared. Surprising well. Becky had cleaned up after I went to bed. Odd fact, Becky was a bit of a clean freak when it came to her house. It made sense. It was like preparing a fresh canvas every day.
I had coffee, a slice of what may have been shit flavoured toast, and after thirty minutes, Becky still hadn’t shown her face. Concerned, I knocked on her door to find her lying face down on a vinyl covering over her bed, and bad as I smelt, she was worse.
“Yes?” A depressed voice emanated from the pit.
“You okay, babe?” I wander over to the bed “Want me to open the blinds?”
“No.”
I try and find a clean patch. I sit down next to her anyway.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
”Okay, babe.” I wait for her to talk about it.
“I’m not blaming you,”
Well, that’s charming I thought, waiting for her to blame me.
“You’re like a bad influence.”
I struggled to digest that one, but okay, I’m here to listen.
“I guess that’s unfair,” she eventually said.
You fucking think?
“You just do things. The sofa and then you press my buttons.”
I had no idea either, well, okay, maybe a little. I’m kind of impulsive, it gets me into trouble.
“I mean, look at me!” She raised her head and turned toward me with her panda eyes. I didn’t smile. God knows how I didn’t smile. “Do you know what I have been planning all night? How to build my very own sty! A pigsty! In my home!”
En-suite? I didn’t say this out loud.
“Do you want to know why?” She was shaking with emotion. “You with your oink oinks this and shit pig that and then just casually shitting on my sofa. No one has shat on my sofa! Occasional ‘accidents’ yes, but not just dump one out on it! And the worse thing? I was crazy for it! Now I’m wondering if it’s possible to have my own sty and be kept as a human pig!”
Becky slumped back down onto the bed.
I was a bit miffed. I was also finding it funny. Most of all, I recognised it for what it was. A crisis of confidence and doubts as to the sanity of it all. Just as I felt ‘shit shamed’ the other week. Becky too was feeling ‘shit shamed’.
“I hear you, Becks and I’m sorry. Last thing I want to do is upset you.”
“Oh, stop being so bloody nice!” She flings her arms around me and hugs me tight.
God, she does stink.
“A farm is what you need,” I said.
“A farm?”
“Yes, Becky’s pig farm where she wallows in her filth, and kind gentlemen crap on her and rut with her for a weekend in the countryside. Maybe they can bring their wives and be the boar or the bore.”
“Yes, a farm.”
“There has to be one gentleman farmer who is into this and wouldn’t mind giving you some space and building a nice sty for Becky the human shit pig. He’ll be all, ‘I be slopping out moi fine yun’ piggies’.”
“Don’t do that, Judes.”
“Do what? The accent?”
”Yeah, the accent, the voice, please stop. You sound like a pirate.”
“Not good?”
“Terrible, really bad. But you see you have great ideas!” Becky continued, climbing off the bed. We padded back down to the kitchen, trailing a fine brown dust haze. Venture outside, and we would be classed as a health hazard. “A farm would be great, and that domestic scene we did, that was your idea, loved it!”
“On the other hand, you are an actual pig yourself,” Becky swept some brown flakes I had left on the kitchen top earlier, into the bin. “You had toast. White or brown and did you use a glove?”
“Well, no, and it started off white, but hang on you’ve had slob weekends with other women,” I protested. (Oh, and guys, get your mind out of the gutter, when you toast white bread it goes brown.)
“Yes but they treat the house with some respect, use gloves when touching utensils, don’t deliberately shit on my sofa, they use the chamber pots or the privy!”
I did get the huff at this point. “Well, I guess I won’t share my other ideas then!” With that, I diva flounced into the lounge and plonked myself on the sofa. And yes, I regretted it before I had even left the kitchen. I also wished I had picked a different chair.
Becky brought me a cup of tea. I accepted. I wanted to make up.
“Thanks. Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault. I drag you into this, you embrace it better than I dreamt, and I act like a spoilt bitch. Thing is,” she hesitated, “you intimidate me.”
“No way! You’re gorgeous, bright, drop dead sexy, with legs I would kill for, in fact, one day I might.”
She laughed. “And you’re a force of nature. You overwhelm people without realising it.”
“Well, I can be a bossy cow.”
“You have no idea, Judy, it’s like riding a whirlwind. I admire you.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage. For once in my life, I was speechless. I then started laughing, full on hysterical snorting.
Grinning, Becky looked at me. “What’s got into you now?”
“Honestly, look at us, filthy, messy, stinking, you look like you’ve had a bad fake tan job and you have panda eyes. Us bitches be crazy.”
“Yeah, we do look a state,” then, after a thoughtful pause, she asked: “Fancy earning some money?”
“Sure. How?”
“Webcamming. Punters will pay a lot to see two filthy shit covered girls getting it on.”
“Sounds fun, you have a home studio?”
“Yep, in the garage.”
Becky had a great set up. Top cameras, lighting, all hooked up to a voice-activated system on a laptop. We’re sitting on a plastic covered sofa, coffee table in front of us, chamber pots by the side. A cosy and domestic feel to it. Becky had warmed up her followers by advertising a start time and that we were on day 2 of ‘Stink Weekend’, no bathing, just us in dirty underwear, honking and looking a state.
I had asked Becky not to use my name on her site and after mulling over a few new names, I finally went for ‘Sandie’. If I was going to do this I needed a separate persona. Intuitively I put on the glasses I used in the ‘power exec’ scene, I think I felt it disguised me somehow a bit like Superman. Weird huh? Thing is it became my ‘look’ and a practical asset.
The viewing figures and signups are clocking up, Becky spreads her arms and says: “Hi, guys and gals, hopefully, we have a few gals looking in, and yes, we look a sight, but first a big welcome from me ‘Bathroom’ Becky and this is my friend ‘Sandie’!” Becky looks at me, I’m grinning like an idiot.
“Yeah, welcome to ‘Around The Cistern’ with Becky and Sandie!” I announce, saying the first thing that popped into my head. Becky is giving me the side-eye, but she runs with it like the trooper she is, and we go to ***********ed questions from the audience. These are scrolling rapidly on the big screen to our right, and the first and most popular is ‘Is that real shit, and how bad do you stink?”
“Yes, guys, it’s real shit, I mean come on most of you know me and know I’m the real deal and as for ‘Sandie’ here you saw her in action up close and personal.”
“Yep, I upped and chucked in my first scat scene,” I admit ruefully, “to be honest, I’m new to this so bear with me guys as we learn together. I may be a ‘brown eye virgin’, but I’m super excited to get nice and shitty for you.”
Becky likes this, and the comments of appreciation are burning up the screen. I’ll say this for scat fans they are a nice, friendly bunch.
“We are going to look after Sandie, aren’t we guys?” Becky is whipping them up. “Look after her with a kiss, you say? You guys wanna see us make out?”
I start fanning myself, swooning at the thought.
“Some Becky special kisses? That’s what you want? Shall we see if Sandie wants some special kisses?
I’m now acting coy as if blushing at the idea, I also have a strong suspicion what Becky means by, ‘special kisses’.
“What do you say, babe, you fancy a smooch, a scat smooch?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, honey bun,” I’ve gone Southern Belle, “can you show a poor brown eye virgin?”
“Sure, just cup your hands and hold them out.”
“Like this?” I ask, obediently holding out my hands.
“That’s it, my little shit wannabe,” she says standing up, and then turning to park her bum just over my hands. She pulls open her sweet cheeks and with practised ease, squirts out a dollop of poop.
I tease off a dangler with my finger, and after flashing her arse at the camera, Becky pulls up her scuddy panties and sits next to me. Stirring her soft poop in my hands, she coats her finger and proceeds to paint her lips with it.
“Why, Becky, that colour really suits you,” I say in my best wide-eyed wonder voice.
Mainly to shut me up, Becky mixes a fresh amount and her shit caked finger starts heading in my direction. Instinctively I flinch back, but Becky builds it into the scene we are acting out.
“Do you not want to please your Mistress?” She purrs.
“Yes, Mistress,” my head dropping submissively taking my cue on how she wants to play this.
“And what does Mistress like more than anything else?”
“Shit games. Poop play, faecal fun-“
Becky rubs her finger across my lips, and I shut up. It’s soft and heavy like having chocolate fudge smeared on me. I can see Becky is enjoying this as she leans in, I hold my breath and nervously await contact.
Touch down. The lips have landed. I repeat the lips have landed.
I shiver at that first contact, her lips warm and thick with fresh poop. I feel Becky’s tongue pressing against me, gently probing for access. My heart is racing, why is my heart racing? It brings me back to the awkwardness of my first proper kiss, what angle to hold your head, noses getting in the way, then I melt into her, my tongue finds hers, the first bitter taste and then we are full on snogging. I hold this gorgeous stinkpot and we neck, oblivious to the cameras.
Shit flavoured saliva swirls between us, absorbed into us, lips wiped clean until we have consumed each other and her poop.
“More,” she whispers, it’s a request, a demand and a hint of a question. It’s my choice.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
Becky takes my hand and scoops the poop into her mouth with her tongue. Mashing it, her mouth open, she smiles and this time with another deep breath I lean toward her and we kiss. Hot, mushy poop squirts into my mouth, the taste is not an issue after the first kiss but I do a small retch at the texture. Composing myself I kiss her back and we scudball the poop back and forth, tongue to tongue so that the viewers can catch some of the action.
Becky took most of it, but I was oddly proud of my efforts, and my tummy fluttered at the thought that I had Becky’s shit inside me, but fluttered in a good way.
We finally broke with a loud smacking sound, turning back to the cameras, we display the brown ring smudged around our mouths. We look like obscene clowns.
I grinned. “Fuck! That was hot!”
Becky clapped her hands in delight. “Very hot! What do you think, guys? Is Sandie a scat convert yet?”
Talk about a leading question. The guys were going nuts for it, more because I seemed to be genuinely into it which mattered more than the act itself. They were right, I did enjoy it. I wasn’t faking and everyone knew Becky didn’t.
But guys being guys, weren’t ‘convinced’ I was a scat convert yet. This was starting to feel like an initiation ceremony, and for the next part, they wanted to see my boobs dumped on and maybe even a bit more.
I knew I was being egged on and I am a showoff, so yeah, I’ll take the challenge and let’s be honest I had just eaten Becky’s poop so this wasn’t a step into the unknown.
To the unheard roar of the audience, I stood, stripping off my mucky undies and flaunting my unwashed body at the cameras. Positioning myself on the floor, I lean back with my arms outstretched behind me as Becky straddles my head. My face is inches below her beautiful bum, her arsehole glaring balefully at me like the eye of Sauron.
Strangely, I’m calm this time. I knew it was coming, it had been titillating the back of my mind and my glasses felt reassuring, like a shield. Becky bobbed down, and I obediently stuck my poop glazed tongue in her poo hole. I had long adjusted to Becky’s smell, so barely registered the fetid odour that acted as a prelude to the main act.
Sauron’s eye began to bulge, winking in and out as Becky put the strain on. It came slowly, then with a rush, smacking across my face and leaving a moist brown imprint on my glasses. My first reaction was that it was surprisingly heavy and warm as her shit slithered down over my boobs before coming to rest in my lap.
I inadvertently looked down at her poop resting on my pussy, so Becky’s follow up effort ended up sprawled across the top of my glasses, then with a final flourish, she popped one into my mouth, which I closed with a startled ‘ummph’!
Stepping away, Becky knelt beside me.
“Open,” she said.
I promptly did so, allowing her and the cameras to see the poop resting in my mouth.
Reaching between my legs she started mashing her shit into my pussy, it felt wrong enjoying that warm, velvety feel between my legs.
“Like that, babe?” She breathed.
I nod, moving my hips in tune with her hand, her fingers pushing poop inside me. I half turn and rest against the sofa, my legs splayed, as Becky fingered my pussy into a messy mush. Brown ribbons of drool start to escape past my lips.
”You going to keep my shit in your mouth, babe,” she tells me, her heavy turd astride my glasses wobbling as I nod. “Finger yourself, shit fuck your pussy until you cum,”.
”Yesh, Mwstress,” I mumble obediently, my hand replacing her absent fingers.
I lay in an open leg obscene sprawl, masturbating in front of a watching audience. My exhibitionism has kicked in with a vengeance and I want this to be as filthy and foul as possible.
Becky starts working her poop from my glasses up into my hair, smoothing it in like it’s styling gel. Then she smears her shit down the side of my face and then onto my boobs, caressing them and tweaking my shit lubricated nipples.
Gurgling my pleasure, I dribble more muddy salvia down my chin and over my smeared tits, my body responding to my frantic fingering as my climax builds. Draping my free hand round her I pull Becky to me, planting a big wet brown kiss on her mouth, her tongue snaking into the fast dissolving poop and pushing it down my throat.
Coughing, my eyes start watering as I suppress my gag reflex and try to swallow what is left, it feels stuck in my throat, my hand is furiously working my pussy, I’m oblivious to everything except the need to cum. Trembling I consume the last of her shit and with a strangled, ‘Ooh, fuck!’, cum hard while holding onto Becky and spluttering brown rain down myself. Becky leans in to suck up my muddy drool and then spits it out over my tits.
“Fuck!” I exclaim again, my body shaking.
”That was great, babe,” Becky whispers as she hugs me. “We’re getting crazy sign-ups. Give the guys a wave, don’t just lie there,” she adds giving me a nudge.
I tried lifting a hand, but I was floating on a pleasure high, a cloud of contentment. It had been an emotional experience, and I felt, what was it that I felt? My mind idly sifted through my feelings, trying to pin down exactly what I felt. Yeah, that was it. I felt happy. Happy as a pig in shit.
I even shed a little tear or two.
Although, that may have been because I just swallowed Becky’s poop and was about to barf.
Again.