My name is Rita, and I am a scat slut. I'm not ashamed to say that, and certainly not embarrassed to be telling
you
that, it's just who I am. I have recognized for all my adult life a craving, an overwhelming desire to indulge in the scat fetish. I lust for the filth and nastiness of these acts and how they bring me to a level of sexual satisfaction beyond my wildest dreams. When I'm alone I love rubbing shit all over my body, pissing on myself, especially on my face just before I cover it in my shit while sitting in the bathtub. Nothing is too extreme for my tastes, all of it like an aphrodisiac.
I relish fingering or dildoing my asshole until I begin to shit, praying the amount I produce will be enormous as it piles up at my feet because I haven't gone in three days anticipating this moment. The tub area quickly fills with the odor it creates, so intoxicating to me, and I sniff it in deeply. It gets stronger while I smear the brown gold all over my tits and belly and pussy. The sensations on my skin as my fingers slide over my body, touching myself everywhere, transforming my body into a glistening radiant shit-enveloped queen literally takes my breath away. I save the best for last, and only after covering my arms and legs and all of my ass in creamy waste do I take a log or create one in my hands and put it in my mouth to suck on. I love sucking on the turd, my tongue turning black, the taste bitter and invigorating like the nastiest liqueur in the world ripping your taste buds out, but making you drunk, roaring fucking drunk in two seconds. You know exactly what I'm talking about.
Over time I have found others who also engage in this fetish and have participated in it with me. It is some of those adventures I plan to share in this chronicle.
I'm in my very late-twenties, have honey-blonde hair and light-brown eyes, and a slim figure. I look very nice in a bikini, the more micro the better. (My own mother has told me that, at least the first part, so I don't think it's bragging, though she had a bit of a worried look on her face at the time. Mothers.) I am the head nurse at a medium-small medical center in a town in a mostly rural area, though an hour to the east is a small-sized city, while to the south the same distance is a larger one; to the west and north it is all rural for many miles. For many people my being a head nurse would be hard to believe considering what I revealed about myself in the opening paragraphs, but you know better. They think somebody who engages in scat sex must be a sicko pervert with few brains or common sense even, a detriment to society. But you know how ridiculous that is. You yourselves know people who love wallowing in shit while making passionate love to someone who is also covered in shit, people who are doctors and teachers and business executives and model parents, and that's because all you have to do is look in the mirror.
It was when I was first enrolled in the nursing program at Cee Nova College several years ago that I met Dr. Cramer. Doc Tollinson, who had been a general practitioner in this town for almost fifty years, finally hung up his stethoscope and retired to Florida. He sold his practice and office building, which once had been a Victorian home, to Dr. Cramer lock, stock, and barrel. The doctor's office occupied the ground floor, but above it were two converted apartments. One of them was vacated the same time as Doc Tollinson left, and I went to Dr. Cramer to see about renting it for myself. I had been living with my parents and decided when I reached 21 it would be time to strike out on my own. I got to talking with him, a good-looking man in his mid-thirties, and although he had a registered nurse working with him, asked if I wanted to help out with some of the clerical work as well as assist with patients in a non-medical capacity (for the time being). I readily took his offer.
The first thing that drew my attention to the apartment above the doctor's office, indeed, just about the only thing, was the size of the bathtub. It was free-standing and on four lion's paws, and seemed larger than what I'd been used to. I immediately envisioned myself comfortably sprawled out in it on my back ensconced in a solo scat session, spreading my shit, dark-brown and creamy as it often is, all over my tits and midsection and onto my pussy. In my mind's eye there was a large pile of it between my legs that I would dip into with my hands, grabbing gobs of it to smear over myself. I saw myself wiping it all over my face and into my hair, putting my fingers in my mouth and tasting it, and then touching my pussy, rubbing it hard and persistently until I came. I had to brace myself against the bathroom wall for a few seconds to regain my composure after that. In the corner opposite the tub was a shower stall, not very big, but adequate. I also checked out the kitchen and bedroom, but left hardly remembering what they looked like, my brain flashing only one image, that bathtub.
Dr. Cramer and I worked out a schedule for me that fit in with my classes at Cee Nova. I would make appointments for the patients, check insurance information, confirm what medications they were on, weigh them usually, take their blood pressure sometimes, and other minor tasks. I already mentioned that Dr. Cramer, Philip is his first name, was good-looking, and as I got to work with him closely, began to upgrade that evaluation to very good-looking, and then gorgeous. I was just as infatuated with him in other ways, too. I loved talking with him about medical topics, and he always seemed to have the time to answer my questions and give me pointers. He began to pop up in my dreams at night where we would be dancing on a moonlit patio somewhere and then kissing and then making passionate love on my bed. I started to fantasize about him during my solo scatting sessions in that bathtub I mentioned, where I imagined he loved to scat like I did, and begged me to shit in his mouth and rub my dirty ass all over his face, and then he'd shit in mine and spread it all over my face and on my tits before covering his cock in shit and making me suck it before fucking me with it.
One day I was sitting on the office toilet, really just a toilet and sink in a small cubbyhole behind an old wooden door. I had just shit in the bowl, three hefty logs that made me wish I had waited until I had gone upstairs to my apartment and done it in the bathtub so I could have spread it on me. There weren't any patients around then, so I wasn't pressed for time. The smell filled the confined space and was intoxicating, and I breathed it in deeply, which made me feel horny. I decided to pick up one of my turds and hold it, smell it, think of what I'd love to be doing with it, when something, perhaps a gust of wind when the outside door to the waiting room suddenly opened, caused the bathroom door to pop open, and standing right there was Dr. Cramer. He saw I was sitting on the toilet holding my shit right in front of my face; I might have even been thinking about licking it, I can't remember. My instinct, of course, was to immediately grab for the doorknob and pull the door closed, but in my flustered state I reached and missed and ended up back on the toilet seat, the door still open. He looked at me some more, but instead of gasping or turning away in disgust, stepped into the tiny bathroom with me!
I'm usually not one to blush over anything, but I felt my face getting hot and guessed that's what I was doing then. I went to deposit the shit in my hand back into the toilet between my legs, but Dr. Cramer took my arm, preventing me from doing that. He squatted down in front of me and asked what I was doing. It seemed obvious what I was doing, and I didn't know how to respond to that. All I could think was that the next words out of his mouth were going to be, "You're fired!" so there wasn't much point in saying anything.
