Adventures Of A Scat Slut Pt 14

Dr. Owens, the head administrator and cardiologist at the medical center, invited all the doctors and nurses, about 30 of us, to an outdoor party at his spacious home to welcome a new lab director as well as a new internist joining the fold. He and his wife had a beautiful home on several acres and enjoyed hosting shindigs like this. They were nothing like the parties Dr. Cramer held, which I was still invited to and never missed; I mean there was never anything resembling an orgy going on and just the mention of scatting would no doubt see Dr. Owens with his hands full caring for all the guests who would be suffering shock-induced heart attacks from one end of his property to the other. But I usually attended so as not to be thought of as stuck up and aloof, enjoyed the free liquor and well-prepared food, and, of course, shared in the juicy gossip that often circulated at events like this. And sometimes, who knows, something unusual just might occur.

I was sitting on the patio outside talking with some of the other nurses when I suddenly felt the urge to defecate. I ignored it at first, though the urge grew stronger. I began to wish this was a party at Philip's where such an urge would be attended to in minutes by Ches or Alexa or Philip himself insisting I relieve myself on them, preferably in their mouths, followed by sensuous spreading over my tits and pussy. Everyone would get involved and we would all be a lovely mess before long. But here I was, right time, wrong place. Then I began farting and thought I probably shouldn't have eaten that second kielbasa. I excused myself and went in the house to the bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom I stood in front of the mirror above the sink and wondered what to do. From the feel of things gurgling in my bowels, I could tell this was going to be a massive deposit, probably perfect in consistency, not too hard or too soft, just right for spreading. I therefore made up my mind I would not shit in the toilet and flush it all away; that would be a sinful waste of good waste, something a scat slut like me could not abide doing. Maybe I should go ask Mildred, Dr. Owens's wife, if I could borrow a Tupperware container, but that might be hard to explain.

"Sure, Rita," I could hear her say. "What exactly do you need it for?"

"Oh, I just need to take a shit and want to do it in the container so I can take it home and smear it all over myself, savor it in my mouth a little, that's all. Me and my damned scat fetish," and I would chuckle innocently. I could see her mouth gape open, her eyes bulge wide, and then I would have to catch her before she fainted onto the floor. The next day I would no doubt be signing my resignation papers at the medical center. No, I suppose asking Mildred for help would not be the smart thing to do.

As I continued standing there I farted forcefully (and quite loudly), relieving the pressure, and put my anal muscles through their paces keeping my shit deep inside of me. The smell was strong and sniffing it deeply calmed me; I love that aroma and can never get enough. To further distract myself I grabbed an item off a shelf next to the sink to look at, which happened to be a spray can of air freshener. The sight of it vexed me, as usual; why anyone would use this sickeningly sweet rubbish in the bathroom to disguise the pungent, deeply satisfying odor of shit was beyond me. I sprayed a tiny bit of it to see if perhaps they had improved on it, but, no, it was as awful as ever. I put it back on the shelf and farted several more times to get rid of that nauseous flowery smell.

But after a few more minutes it looked as if my crisis would pass: the urge to shit had dissipated, at least for now. But the scat genie had shown its face and I knew it wouldn't be long before the need to shit would return, perhaps with a vengeance, and I ought to prepare for that inevitability. I thought for a minute and remembered I had to drive past a rest area on the Interstate on my way home; I could stop there and surrender myself to my fetish master and shit myself to my heart's content in the car. I had protection for my seat, I was wearing a skirt I could just take off if I wanted, maybe just keep it on and shit all over it ruining it but adding immeasurably to the vileness and nastiness of the deed, not caring how messy and disgusting I got covering myself in shit. People would be walking right past me on their way to the food court and rest rooms, which would just add to the thrill of it all. Yeah, I liked this, that's exactly what I would do. I would have to hang out at the party for another half-hour or so, but then I could discretely excuse myself and make my get-away.

I flushed the empty toilet and checked my lipstick and hair in the mirror before opening the bathroom door. Standing off to the side was Jerry, a physical therapist at the medical center. I thought about warning him, maybe even apologizing, about the smell he was about to encounter, and half-wished I had sprayed more of that stinky air freshener around, but ended up just smiling and saying it was all his now.

"I don't need to use the bathroom," he smiled. "I was waiting for you."

"Really?" I replied, surprised. "Do you usually stalk women when they're in the bathroom?" That was a bit harsh, I know, and usually not like me. It was probably because my thoughts were consumed with what I planned doing at the rest area, and it seemed he was interrupting them.

Fortunately, he smiled, taking my rudeness as a joke, which gave me a chance to smile back and apologize. "Sorry, Jerry, don't mind me. How do you like the party?"

"It's okay," he replied. "I thought spending a little time with you might make it better." Jerry was in his early forties, twice divorced, a little rough around the edges but decent enough looking. He often arrived at the medical center on a motorcycle wearing a leather jacket and exuded the tough-guy persona, but I always thought it was just an act. He had a very pleasant smile and was charming with his patients; he also knew what he was doing regarding physical therapy. I'd never worked closely with him, but thought he was an asset for the center.

Jerry turned out to be even more charming than I imagined. We took a walk outside around the property and before we took a hundred paces, he had his arm around my shoulder. He began to maneuver me to a section of the property that was hidden, and once he felt we were out of sight, he kissed me. It was a very nice kiss, but for some reason it made my bowels awaken from their slumber. As we continued to kiss, a crazy sort of conversation formed in my head between Jerry and me that was inspired by the rumblings in my gut:

Me: Did you ever scat with anyone, Jerry?

Jerry: Yes, Rita, lots of times. I love it so much!

Me: What do you love most, Jerry. Tell me.

Jerry: I love having a beautiful woman squatting over my face and taking a huge gigantic shit right in my mouth that I swallow down whole.

Me: Oh, that sounds so wonderful. I'd love to be that woman, Jerry. Would you let me?

Jerry: Of course I would, Rita. Anytime, anywhere.

Me: Would you do the same to me, Jerry? Would you crouch over my tits and shit all over them until they were buried and then smear your shit all over my body and feed it to me, too?

Jerry: Definitely, Rita. Just say the word and I'd be happy to do it.

Me (as people at the party gathered around us): Rip my clothes off now, Jerry. Right here, right now in front of everybody and shit on my tits, please, you must, and then spread it all over me and clean me up with your tongue.

Then I heard Jerry's voice for real, interrupting the imaginary conversation I was having with him. "I noticed a place in the house, a utility room that was deserted and will probably stay that way. How about we go there."

"Utility room?" I said dreamily. "You mean bathroom?" Surely he meant bathroom and was going to scat with me there, but said utility room by mistake. Wasn't that what he was saying?

"No, utility room," he insisted. "It's near the bathroom. Let's go to the utility room and make love; we can fuck there undisturbed."

"You want to fuck me, Jerry? Just fuck me?"

He suddenly looked a bit confused, probably trying to figure out what I meant by "just." But presumably not wanting to over-think things and spoil them, he said simply, "Yes, sure, of course, I'd love to. It would be fun."

Okay, so he wasn't going to scat with me, and that was disappointing. But fucking with him appealed to me, and I told him to lead the way. We went to the utility room, which was just off the bathroom like he said and down a few steps. There was an old-fashioned sink there and a washing machine and dryer and a few other things. He pushed me against the washing machine and kissed me, grabbing my tits. He was pretty frantic and to try to slow the pace down a bit, I crouched down in front of him and stroked and kissed his cock through his pants. This worked for a little bit, but not for long.

I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, yanking them down to his knees. He was wearing boxers and when I pulled them down a perfectly presentable medium sized, very erect cock leaped out at me. I stroked it several times and then put it in my mouth. He tasted of pre-cum and I thought he would erupt in my mouth any second. I squeezed his shaft hard to prevent that, wanting to feel his cock inside of me. Then I stood and hopped up onto the washer on my ass.

This, unfortunately, put my cunt a tad higher than would be comfortable for him to reach, so he looked around until he found a pallet leaning against the wall and put it on the floor in from of the washer and stood on it. Perfect. He reached under my skirt and slid my panties down my legs and off. I was hoping he would lick my pussy but he was too eager, perhaps fearful that somebody would discover us, and pushed his cock into me. I was very wet and he went right in to the hilt. I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled my bra up off my tits; he touched them briefly, but almost immediately I could feel his cock spurting inside of me. It wasn't the worst fuck of my life, but it wouldn't make it onto my Top 10 list, either, not by a longshot.

I stopped in the bathroom to check myself out and wipe some of his cum off that was leaking out of my pussy. The best thing about that fuck was it got me really excited to go about doing my shit dump at the rest area; my juices were flowing now, and I could hardly wait. I went outside to say goodbye to the other nurses and Dr. Owens and his wife, and saw that Jerry was talking to Sylvia, a dental hygienist. I smiled to myself and hoped she had a better experience with him than I did.

I think by the time I pulled out of Dr. Owens's driveway, Jerry was a distant memory. I was totally focused on that rest area, was beginning to imagine sitting right where I was, only with the seat pushed all the way back, my shit flowing out of me into my panties that were still damp from Jerry's cum. I wondered if I would taste his cum in my shit when I licked it. (Maybe he wasn't as distant a memory as I thought.) For a while I thought I might move over to the passenger seat so the steering wheel wouldn't be a hindrance, but then thought after I got myself all covered in shit I'd make a mess getting back in the driver's seat again, so nixed that idea. I had a piece of plastic to cover my seat with and a sunscreen to block anyone looking in the windshield. (It was still late in the afternoon.) I wondered how crowded it would be and wanted to be totally on display to everyone there while at the same time being invisible. All of you who like having sex in public, whether scatting or otherwise, know what I'm talking about.

I got to the rest area and pulled in. I drove around a little and found a spot to park that wasn't smack in the middle of things, but still would have people walking past. I got out, arranged the plastic on my seat, and took a walk to buy a coffee, my friendly persuader scat-wise. I had been suspending my bowel movement for so long I thought it might need some help exiting the premises; the coffee would help release the floodgates in no time. I went back to my car, stood next to it for a while drinking my coffee, and then got in. I looked around, pushed the seat all the way back, arranged my skirt up around my hips, and relaxed.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes and conjured up the filthiest images I could, my body completely covered in shit, men carrying me out of the car and laying me out over the hood, each one taking turns shitting on me and then fucking me. Thoughts like that were often an impetus to get the action going inside me at the beginning of solo scat sessions.

Nothing.

Ches and Alexa and Philip driving up and hopping in my car having a scat orgy all around me and then on me, shit filling up my car until it overflowed out the windows.

Nothing still.

Not even when I stuck my finger up my ass did it wake the sleeping poop within (though my finger was stained and tasted delicious when I sucked it clean). Why wasn't that coffee working? Don't tell me this was going to be all for naught! No way! I'll sit here all night if I have to!

Then I heard a knock on my side window, almost making me jump out of my skin. I quickly yanked my skirt down over my upper thighs, and then glanced out the window. A guy was standing there, arms resting on the roof's edge, looking in at me. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that had what looked like a big chocolate soft ice cream cone on it.

I hit the electric window button and lowered the glass about three inches. "Yes?" I said. "What do you want?"

"I can help you with that," he said and just gazed at me. I looked at him again, sizing him up, wondering what he was up to and if I should just drive away.

I liked his face, though, there was something appealing about his countenance I found hard to ignore. "Help with what?" I asked.

He put his mouth close to the opening in the window and said softly, "With that shit you're trying to take. Don't get mad at me, it's obvious to a scat fiend like me."

I stared into his face; it really was a nice face, rugged but soft-looking in the right places. "I should slap your face for suggesting such a disgusting thing," I said, but knew I said it much too pleasantly and with a slight smile on my face to convey any outrage.

"That would be a bit hard to do through all this glass," he countered. "How about you let me in next to you, that might make it easier."

He waited a few seconds for an answer and when I didn't say anything straightened up and walked around the front of the car to the passenger side. Should I let him in? Would they be hearing about me on the news in a few days: "Nurse still missing/Police suspect foul play." Or was he really a scat fiend like he said and willing to share and add to the delights two such fiends were capable of producing with each other? Of course he could be both, scat fiend and murderer. Except for that face. I unlocked the door.

He got in and we looked at each other. "My name is Nick," he said. "In case you'd like to know before you slap me."

"I'm Rita," I replied. His voice was soft and gentle, his eyes light blue. He looked to be in his late-twenties. "Maybe I'll just hold off on that slap for the time being."

He smiled and turned his head to gaze straight ahead. "It was your windshield sunscreen that gave you away, you know, at least to me."

"Really!"

"Yes, not too many people sit in their cars behind a windshield sunscreen when the sun is at their back, for one thing. And then I walked past you a few times looking in and the way you were sitting with the seat pushed all the way back, kind of trying to relax while at the same time concentrating hard on something, it just seemed taking a dump was what you were doing. I admit I have scat on the brain, so maybe I just saw what I wanted to see. I thought you might get spooked by my walking back and forth past you and you'd decide to leave. But you never noticed."

"I was probably too fixated on my task at hand to notice."

"That's what I figured, which is why I decided to knock and take a chance."

"You scared the hell out me!" I cried.

"Sorry," he said. "But I had to do something." He paused for a few seconds and then continued talking. "Another thing that tipped me off was a girl I was crazy about used to love doing what you're doing, and I loved being with her when she did. Seeing you was like an old memory coming into focus again. It was like a dark cloud would overtake her and the desire to shit herself became all-consuming, and wherever we were, on the couch, in the car, at the movies, anywhere actually, it didn't matter, she would just shit and revel in it. We loved scatting together, we could get so messy."

"You keep using past tense," I said. "What happened to her?"

"She died in a severe thunderstorm, which is kind of unbelievable. She was driving home one stormy night and a tree blew down across the road and she couldn't stop in time. It might have been a tornado, though the debris signature was inconclusive."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"That was quite a few years ago. I still miss her, but I was fortunate, really lucky to meet some other women into scat and we all hang out together whenever we can. You have friends like that too, I hope?"

"Yes," I answered. "Definitely. Are you from around here?"

He laughed. "Nah, I live about a thousand miles from here; I'm visiting my brother. I hate driving on Interstates and was on a small state road up yonder and only came down here to get something to eat. You know, Rita, I passed a pretty little lake not too far from here that seemed like a perfect spot for scatting. Interested?"

That, of course, sounded terrific, but there was some unfinished business I needed to take care of first. "In a little bit," I said. "I got myself psyched for doing this dump here and I'm not going to be denied."

He laughed again and said, "That a girl, stick to your convictions. I like that." Then he leaned over and kissed me and put his hand on my thigh, sliding it under my skirt. Instantly I started to shit, like magic. Nick must have smelled it right away because he held his arm up and told me to grab it and raise my ass up off the seat.

"That's it," he said. "Beautiful. Give yourself room for that shit to spread out and make itself at home." It felt wonderful as it filled my panties, hot and mushy and smelling to high heaven. I sat down on the seat and felt my shit squish all over my ass and I sighed with delight. It slid across my ass and onto my pussy, and leaked out of the top of my panties when I pushed my lower back into the seat. Nick made me feel so comfortable doing what I was, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

"Fuck, that feels so good," I crooned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Do your hands always work such magic?"

He smiled. "I wish," he said. "I'd travel to the largest and busiest ladies' restrooms in the country offering my services."

"Your fee to be paid in what's produced, no doubt."

"Of course. But I'm not greedy; I'd be willing to share." It was easy to converse with Nick like this. And the shit in my panties kept spreading around. That feeling, those euphoric sensations, they were making me crazy already.

"Let me put my hands in it, Rita," he implored me. "You keep yours clean so you can drive us to the lake and I'll deal with the shit, okay? Should I spread it on you? Would you like that?"

"Yes," I bellowed. "Everywhere you can, I want it all over me. I don't care about my clothes, but get it all over me."

"Of course," he responded and then looked around outside. "I don't want to cause a panic with the people out there, so I'll just smear it on your ass and pussy, your thighs for now, okay? Fuck, I want to bury my face in your shit, Rita, I'm dying to taste you."