Please note that this story contains scat (shit) play that, I appreciate, is not to everyone's taste! For those who are open to this fetish, please enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think.
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Now I sit down to write my tale I hit that 'Where do I start?' problem. I'd like to start with some wonderful, engaging and entertaining opening paragraph that drops you, my dear reader, into the thrill and excitement of my life... but who am I kidding: my life is extremely short of thrill and excitement. Apart from that afternoon three months ago and as that is the story I want to tell I can hardly begin in the middle of
that
- it wouldn't make any sense for a start! So: it looks like I shall have to start with the good old and ever popular 'brief biography' opening...
My name is Emma-Jane, Em or Emmy to my friends. I am 25, I have red hair, pale blue eyes and the pale, freckled complexion that inevitably seems to accompany such colouring. Needless to say, tanning is something that happens to other people. My figure is 36C - 28 - 38 and 5 foot 3 tall, which makes me quite curvy. I was a very chubby child and teen - okay, I was fat, alright? - and remained overweight until a few years ago. Being overweight I was often teased and called names, which made me shy. I realised that I was gay when I was around 15: it was girls that caught my eye and my fantasies. However, coming out was never going to happen at school or college - why give the bullies yet more ammunition? And anyway, who'd have wanted to be with a wobble bottom like me?
This changed when a diet club was set up at work; something just clicked and I really went for it, losing lost 4 stones (nearly 60 lbs) in 18 months. I started to exercise and began running regularly and have kept the running going and the weight off. I try to run three times a week; and at that time one of my regular runs was to bring my running kit into work on a Friday and to run home afterwards. I also have quite a thing for Lycra (that's Spandex for those of an American persuasion), not only the look of it but also the feel of wearing it. I love the way it hugs the body, making you feel almost naked whilst still clothed! I guess I also have an exhibitionist streak in me.
I lived then (as I still do now) in a two bed mid-terrace house with Helen, a very attractive girl a year or so older than me. She is a very happy, bubbly girl with dark hair, hazel eyes and a Mediterranean complexion the opposite of mine. We are of a similar height but she is a little slimmer than me. I thought she was stunningly attractive, something regularly brought to my attention by her laissez-faire attitude to clothing such as her habit of wandering around in just her panties first thing in the morning. Alas, she was also, as far as I could tell, completely straight. Not that I was going to make a move on her or even admit my orientation - I did not want to risk our friendship nor the house that we had been lucky to find and could only just afford together.
And now, dear reader, we can begin the story proper: Once upon a Friday 13th...
I've never been one for superstition but on this particular Friday 13th it seemed that various other Emma-Janes in past lives or parallel universes were going around breaking mirrors, walking under ladders and kicking black cats while all the accumulated misfortune was being visited on me! The kettle broke so Helen and I both had to go without tea that morning. The bus broke down on the way to work so I had to walk - in the rain! My boss was in a foul mood from the start and my being late didn't help. Neither did the printer breakdown that meant I couldn't print off the report he was so desperate for. At lunchtime, a colleague managed to empty his coffee half over my lunch and half over me. Fortunately, being Friday, I had my running kit with me so at least I could change out of the wet, stained clothes. However, having to keep explaining why I was wearing Lycra leggings, a running vest and running shoes did nothing to improve my day.
Out of sheer frustration and the need to let of steam I sent Helen a text:
HAVING A TOTALLY SHITTY DAY - FRI 13TH IS OUT TO GET ME! HOPE YOUR DAY IS GOING BETTER AND HAVE A GOOD EVENING. EM X
I knew Helen was going out right after work to some kind of retirement or leaving celebration at a pub near her office, so she wouldn't be home till late. I pressed SEND and was just putting my phone in my pocked when it gave three sharp beeps. I looked at it in time to see the battery flat symbol as the phone shut down. Damn, no phone. Needless to say, no one in the office that day had a phone charger I could use.
By the time 5 o'clock came around I was desperate to get the hell out of there, hoping that the run would help dispel some of the stresses of the day, particularly as the weather had cleared up and the sun was shining. I vaguely needed the toilet but decided it could wait for the 40 minutes it would take to get home and headed out the door.
As so often, the first five minutes were an effort as I started to breathe heavily. However, press on and you find your rhythm, and so my breathing settled. It's not the most scenic of runs but in the early evening sun the trees and occasional flowers glowed prettily and I began to feel the stresses of the day fall away. Another five minutes passed happily but then I felt a rumble in my gut and my need to poop returned. I ran on, trying not to think about it.
I was now just over halfway home and things were getting uncomfortable. My arse had that full feeling and I was regretting not going before I set off. Another rumble a few minutes later and the full feeling increased: there was definitely a feeling of pressure in there. I tried to think of what I could do but nothing suggested itself. I was now running along residential streets which, despite the sun, were deserted.
By the time there were only three or four hundred metres to go, the need to poop was becoming unbearable. I tried to increase my pace, more than a little keen to get home quickly, but found it hard to do while still holding on. I was aware that I was running with an odd gait and looked around to check that no one was around to see me. There wasn't but the good fortune was short lived and I tripped on a tree root that had split the pavement. I desperately tried to regain my balance and avoid falling but as I did so I felt, with horror, a sticky warmth filling the arse of my leggings.
I had shit myself! Worse, it seemed that now the flow had started, I struggled to stop it. I felt the fabric bulge and I couldn't help pressing my hand over the lump and pushing it back, trying to conceal it. The filthy mess of my shit now filled my bum crack and squelched and oozed as I kept running. I was hugely embarrassed but at the same time the feeling of the hot, gooey mess against my skin was an intensely sensual experience. I recognised the tingle in my pussy: my God! This was actually turning me on! I tried to tell myself that I must be sick but I couldn't deny that I was also aroused.
I finally arrived home, fumbling with the key to open the door before stumbling though and quickly pushing it shut behind me. Safe at last!
I kicked off my shoes in the small hallway and went straight up the stairs, pulling off my running vest as I went. My sports bra followed and I threw both vaguely in the direction of my bedroom door as I entered the bathroom where I sat on the edge of the bath to remove my socks. I could smell the stink from my befouled arse but this merely seemed to add to my excitement. As I sat and leant forward I felt the sticky mass of poop squeeze forward over my pussy. Without thinking my hand went between my legs, cupping and massaging my now shit covered mound. I was feeling as horny as hell.
Still in my leggings and lay down on the floor my hand groping my pussy through the fabric. I was no longer thinking: I was possessed by my arousal as the filthiness of what I was doing inflamed me. My hand slipped inside my leggings and I felt the shit as it smeared my hairless pussy. I pushed my leggings down for better access. My hand travelled further down, caressing my arse and fingering my anal bud.
I still needed to finish pooping, so I bore down. My finger felt my ring pout and open. More of the wonderful, hot and sticky shit flowed out, filling my hand. Now my hand came back up and rubbed the shit over my tits and tummy. My other hand slid down catching a last turd, which I lathered over my pussy, coating my swollen labia and massaging the shit against my hard clit. I was panting hard, moaning and gasping as my lust and depravity drove me onwards.
I revelled in the stink and mess, thrusting three brown and shit coated fingers deep into my gaping cunt. I began to finger fuck myself, hard and fast, the shit and my wetness making sloppy squelching sounds. I could feel my orgasm building and, much as I wanted these feelings of intense pleasure to last, my arousal would brook no slowing down.
My climax hit me like a train; it's intensity like nothing I'd ever experienced before. My pussy exploded as my cum jetted out - another first for me. I was racked with pleasure, when...
