Date: Sun, 13 Apr 2008 21:59:15 -0700 From: "titboiSanDiego @msn.com" Subject: Not Supposed to be Doing That Here (Part 3) NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THAT HERE (Part 3) By: titboiSanDiego This story features general raunch and other nasty things hot guys enjoy doing to each other, along with - at last! - scat. (For those of you following along from Part 1, don't worry: we haven't forgotten about the piss party where they're not supposed to be doing scat, but end up doing it anyway. That's in Part 5.) This is where I warn you about how everything is fictional (which it is) and that you shouldn't try this at home alone (as if you could). (Author's Note. Okay, guys, this is a different kind of porn story: a combination of raunch and comedy. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't. But I'm sure you'll let me know either way.) ___________________________________________ [When we left our heroes, Enrique was explaining how he had become more comfortable with the kinkier side of Matt. In a cliffhanger ending, he found a scat magazine Matt had left lying around (you know: accidentally-on- purpose).] I stood in the bathroom, staring at the magazine. Matt opened the door and edged up behind me. "Want to see the other photos?" he asked. I nodded. He laid the missing magazine pages on the toilet lid. I could feel his breath on my neck and I stiffened as his hand began tracing figures on my naked buttflesh. He whispered in my ear. "You don't have to do this, Enrique." He looked at me in the mirror. "Understand? I am not asking you to do this." I nodded, not sure what to say. He reached his arms around my chest and clenched me tight. The warmth of his breath was comforting, and confusing. He pointed at the photos. "But I would like you to do this TO me." I couldn't think of what to say. After a long silence, Matt's head tipped forward onto the back of my neck. In the mirror, I could see his face, cringing with shame and humiliation. Scat is scary enough, but the risk of being rejected also brings the danger of exposure. For a moment, I thought he might cry. I heard him whisper. "Sorry, 'Rique. I didn't mean it." "No?" I said, coldly. He looked at me, frightened. "You don't know what I've eaten, but you'll still eat whatever comes out of my hole. Isn't that true? And don't lie or I'll work your tits over until they bleed!" I leaned down to whisper in his ear. "And then I'll still make you eat it anyway. (Whoa! I was spooking myself out.) "Sir, I will eat whatever comes out of your hole." "Excrement, shit, feces? A regular crappatorium, that's what you are. Open wide and take it!" There was a pause. Finally, I spoke. "What do you think? Butch enough?" "Try lowering your voice," suggested Matt. "A regular crappatorium," I said in a huskier tone. "Crappatorium, hmmm? Where did you get that from?" "I dunno. Sounded kinda filthy." "Pretty good," he said. "Oh-kay. I take it you're into this enough to try it?" "Uh. You're gonna have to walk me through it. I don't know shit about feeding shit. That's what I'm doing: feeding you, right?" "You got it. You're the feeder and I'm the eater." "I'm feeding, he's eating," I repeated, trying to get it straight. Matt looked grim. "Do you think I can pull this off?" I asked. "Don't say that! When someone is under your hole, scarfing down your shit, the last thing he wants to hear is that you don't know what you're doing. Causes indigestion. Big time. Don't think about me. I'm here to serve you - however long it takes and whatever way you want it." "Okay. I'm a top. You're an eater and I'm a feeder. What's next?" Matt rolled his eyes. "Let's just give it a try, shall we?" "Fine by me, Sir." "You're `Sir'. I'm supposed to call you that." "Oh, right. Sorry." Matt muttered something about having enough seniority by now that he shouldn't have to break in newbies. After positioning me on all fours, he knelt on the floor. "I'm gonna rim you out and relax your hole. Don't hold back. When you feel your shit sliding, let it come out." "What if I don't have anything to come out?" He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He planned the picnic in every detail except who was going to bring the food. "When was the last time you dumped?" he asked. "I dunno. Yesterday?" "Then you must have a log up there." "But I don't go every day." "Oh, jesus. fuck." He sat back on his haunches, shaking his head. "You take a shit every day?" I asked. "Like clockwork. Coffee, and ten minutes later I'm dropping logs." "Well, not everybody does." I tried not to sound defensive. He began applying KY to his fingers. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Best way to find out if you got anything baking." He placed his fingers on my hole. "Now, this won't hurt a bit." "No! You sound just like my dentist!" I sat down. Matt narrowed his eyes. "There is no point in rimming somebody if he's not gonna dump until next month. Either you have a log or you don't. There's only one way to find out." "What exactly are you going to do?" "Exactly? I'm exactly gonna finger your butt. If I find a log, we're in business. If not, we hit the sheets. That's what I'm exactly gonna do." "I've never had anyone finger my butt, looking for a log before." "Oh, don't let that scare you, son," he said cheerfully. "Most people haven't." "But... Uhmm - " "What now?" "It might smell." There. I said it. It was out there. "Might smell?" snorted Matt. "You're worried your shit might stink?" That superior laugh always made me want to crawl into a hole or punch him in the mouth. "Of course it's gonna to stink! Gonna taste even worse. But you don't have to worry about that." "Why?" "Because you don't have to eat it!" He laughed. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "I just told you. To find out if you have - " "Eating it, I mean. Why would anybody eat someone else's dump?" That seemed to catch him off guard. He stopped to think. "You know, that's not such a half-assed question." "Thank you and fuck you," I replied. "No, I'm serious," he said, oblivious to my put-down. "Why do guys eat someone else's dump?" He mulled this over and then cleared his throat. "Lots of reasons, I guess. For one thing, it's the last edge. You can't get any nastier than eating excrement. Also, it can be a submission thing. Sometimes it's fun to be a total bottom." "For me, though, it's different. Because I believe deep down inside, that each of us has a need to make a connection with another person. We express that need in different ways. Some guys tell you about the first time they were ever hurt in a relationship. Or the most shameful thing that happened in third grade. Be glad you don't meet many of them. "But I make a connection by eating a guy's bowel movement. Whatever comes out of his hole, I will eat it. I hope it's not diarrhea and I hope it doesn't stink too bad. But if it does, I'm still gonna eat it. Because I can't imagine a better way to be connected to someone. Or a more rewarding one." The room was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator in the next apartment. I was moved at how precisely he could describe what scat meant. "Okay," I said. "Let's find out what's up the old shit chute." "You've been reading that trashy porn, haven't you?" he said, as he reapplied the KY. "Is there any other kind?" "Shit chute. Pucker. My favorite is ass trench. It's that god-awful porn." "If you find any porn that is god-sanctioned, let me know." "You gotta point there. Ready?" He leaned in and rimmed me briefly. Then he played his fingers across my hole and began slipping them in. I relaxed as he pushed farther. This guy really knew what he was doing. Suddenly he smiled. "Hey, not to worry. You've got a beauty up there." He pulled his fingers out and looked at them. There was some brown. After considering whether to wipe or lick, he chose the latter. "Hmmm. Not bad." "Doesn't smell?" "Won't know that until you give birth. But at least it doesn't taste too bad." "Doesn't taste too bad," I said. (That sure didn't make me feel special.) "'Doesn't taste too bad' is more than most people ever hear about their shit. It's never going to be peppermint parfait." "What did you mean, about it being a `beauty'?" "Firm. The tip is knotted, like pebbles. I like to chew a guy's shit. Sometimes it comes out gummy, like peanut butter. I don't like the peanut butter. Ready?" "Yeah, I guess." "Look! I'm the first person ever to eat your dump. The least you can do is to sound a little enthusiastic." "Sorry." It was Matt's turn to look shy. "Uhm, we're about to go into it. You can't apologize any more, okay? You're the top. You gotta be the man." "This is the part where I make you call me `Sir'?" "You got it, pal." "What did you say?" "You got it, pal?" I slapped him sharply and then was scared by the look that crossed his face. Maybe I had gone too far. But he understood. "You got it, Sir." "That's better, pig," I said with as much attitude as I could muster as he began rimming me. Matt always said one of the best things about my hole was that I had so much hair. "Your pubes run from your navel, under your balls and clear up to the small of your back," he once said. "Your hole has a nice, musky flavor right away. I don't have to wait for shit to come up against my tongue. I'm tasting brown from the get-go. I can wrap my arms around your legs and work your hole all night." While he rimmed, I took in the indescribable weirdness. Your first blow job is strange because you've never felt that kind of warmth on your cock, but you can get used to it. But you don't ever get used to a mouth on your hole. Matt took possession of my torso like it had been entrusted to him. His hands roamed across my back and around my buns. Occasionally, he would reach under and twist one of my tits or jerk me off a little. He hummed as he worked my hole. I don't know why people don't talk about this more, because humming makes your ass vibrate. My legs went wobbly and I tossed my head from side to side, lost in the moment. Inside, I felt a vague churning, which I guessed must be my shit moving around. Suddenly, I farted, and then clenched my legs together. "Ow!" shouted Matt. "Watch it!" "Sorry. Didn't mean to fart." "Comes with the territory." He fell back on his haunches again. I turned around. He looked tired. "What's wrong?" I asked. "We went out of it. I need you to take me back." I was proud to be a top for someone who knew so clearly what he wanted. "You gotta be the man. Put me in my place real fast." I kissed him tenderly. Then I pulled back and slapped him. There was a sharp intake of breath. I turned around. "Ready to eat my shit, pig?" I said. "Yes, Sir." "You gotta eat it all, though. 'Cause I'm not doing partial dumps tonight." I thought I heard a stifled laugh, but I let it go. "It will be an honor to eat it all, Sir." I started feeling woozy again. I couldn't believe the things he was doing to my hole. Kissing. Humming. Sucking. Licking. Sometimes his tongue went in so far I was sure it must be his fingers. He helped me with direction. "Push out as hard as you can, Sir." I heard myself grunting. It hurt to take this dump. I was pushing so hard I felt dizzy. "I'll eat it all, Sir. Push it out!" I pushed so hard my ears were about to pop. There was a feeling of total bliss and I was soaring, gasping for breath. I didn't know what was what. Had I come? Did I dump? Was Matt still at my hole? What was going on? "Matt?" His hands were still rubbing my body, but he was no longer humming. I turned around. He sat back and raised his head. The tail end of my turd slipped through his lips like a worm from a Tequila bottle. "I did it!" I thought. I laughed giddily for a moment. He chewed and opened his mouth. The inside was filthy. I snorted in hard to collect snot and other stuff, and let a big loogie string down from my mouth. It was fun to watch as he positioned himself to make sure he caught it. "Thank you, Sir." I patted him on the side of his head and ruffled his hair. "Please, Sir," he said. "Will you wash it down?" Anything for a pig, I thought. I placed my cock on his tongue and waited. And waited. Sometimes it's hard to piss through a hard-on. Even though I was not supposed to worry about what my bottom thought, I was getting nervous. I tried to force my piss by pushing. It was then that I realized I had another log up my hole. I wasn't sure what would happen, but I sure couldn't tell my pig that. I decided to let him explain how he would solve this. "If I push to piss, there's gonna be more shit. You want my shit on your sheets, pig?" "I need your piss, Sir. I'll put my hand back there. If more shit comes out, I'll catch it. It won't get on the sheets." "What about the log?" "I can throw it out later. Or something. Sir." Now it was my turn to snort a laugh. "`Throw it out? Or something?' You think I'm gonna let you toss my logs down a toilet? YOU'RE the toilet." "I ate one, Sir. It was pretty big, too." "But you haven't finished the job, have you?" He hung his head. "No, Sir." "No, Sir," I mocked him. "Then what do you need to do?" "Finish the job, Sir." He spoke in a monotone, without looking up. If I weren't trying so hard to be a top, I would be concerned about anyone who spoke with such a disembodied voice. "Finish the job!," I said, as though I were talking to a dense fifth grader who finally figured out a simple math problem. "VERY good! Put your hand back there." He brought his hand around to cradle my ass. I grunted as hard as I could. A log shot out but only a few spurts of urine. I enjoyed knowing he got far less piss and more shit than he bargained for. When Matt glanced at his hand, a look of horror crossed his face. "Let's see, pig." Lying on his palm, part of it draping off one side, was a six-inch log. For some guys, this would be a complete feeding. But he already eaten a turd. He looked at it and shook his head. "Sir, I don't think I can - " I tapped him on the side of his head to remind him how hard I could slap him. "Don't say `can't' to me. Understand?" He stared at the turd in his hand. It seemed to grow bigger. "Sure would hate to be in his place," I thought. But that was his problem. My problem was to help this guy be a better toilet. I tapped the side of his head. "I asked you a question, pig." "I won't say can't, Sir." He looked at me with so much trust. His eyes were moist and he was breathing hard. It was scary to hold this much power over someone. "No partial dumps, no partial toilets," I reminded him. "You gotta finish the job." I broke off the firm part and put it at his lips. "Here's some of the knotty stuff. You like pebbles." I forced it in his mouth. Our eyes locked while he chewed "Did you swallow?" "Not yet, Sir." He chewed more quickly, swallowed and then finally opened his mouth a little to show me. His teeth were streaked. "Here comes more," I said. I broke off larger piece and pushed it up against his lips. Wearily, he opened a little. "Wider," I said, "and don't make me ask again." He opened wide and I shoved in the sludge. By now, there were tears. I watched him digest my shit. "Done?" I asked. He nodded. His breathing was heavy. "I'm gonna give you some piss to wash it down." He put his other hand up wearily to wave me off. "No, Sir. Thank you anyway." "You need something to drink. You can't go on eating this stuff without washing it down." "Please don't, Sir." I realized what the problem was: he was afraid more shit would come out. "Don't worry. If I shit more, I'll catch it and throw it away." I scratched the back of his ears affectionately. "Now show me what a full service toilet you can be." I positioned my cock in his mouth and pushed as hard as I could to get the piss flowing. It shot out and filled his mouth. A little more excrement came out. I caught it in my hand. He finished drinking and began to look around the room. "Hey, pig. There's still a piece in your hand." He stared at it, dazed. "This is the peanut butter stuff you don't like, isn't it?" I said softly. He nodded, helplessly. By now, the tears were flowing. I patted his cheek and ruffled his hair. "Think how proud you'll feel. To know you've finished a grown man's dump. To know you're a full service toilet. Hmmm?" He swallowed hard and nodded. His breathing was heavy. I took the final piece and held it up, moving it around to catch his eyes, like you would tease a dog. In spite of himself, he laughed. "Ready, toilet?" I asked. He opened wide. I shoved the last piece in and held his head while he ate it, stroking his hair. At one point, he started to choke and I thought he might hurl. I kept stroking his head and whispering in his ear. Finally, I felt him swallow. "Finish it all?" He nodded, his face streaked with tears. He opened his mouth to show me. I leaned down to kiss him. "No one has ever eaten my shit before. And you had two helpings." "You're the man, Sir," he said, weakly. "I had no choice, did I?" "No choice," I said, shaking my head. "Pigs gotta finish what they start. Especially full service pigs." He seemed disoriented when he stood up. I had broken him down to his basest behavior and, in doing so, I helped him to fulfill his deepest desires. He was eating peanut butter logs out of a grown man's asshole. It built up my own self confidence to think that the crudest and most ordinary thing my body could produce had helped this pig realize his potential. A few minutes before, he wasn't sure he had it in him to be a full toilet. Now he knew. "Want to wash up?" I asked. Without looking at me, he nodded. He was still in a daze. I walked him to the bathroom. Inside, he sat down on the toilet lid to catch his breath. "Matt, are you going to be okay?" "It was more intense than I expected, Sir." Since he was sitting on the toilet lid, I couldn't throw the turd away. I put it on the counter, washed my hands and dampened a washcloth. I wrung it out and began wiping his face. There was no hint of the Matt I cared so much about in those lifeless eyes. This burned-out man was totally spent. He probably thought he was just walking some newbie through his first feeding. No wonder it had been so intense. I took some tissues and made him blow his nose. I filled a cup with water and but he shook his head. I continued to wipe his face and stroke his hair. He put my penis in his mouth and began to nurse. The urine flowed without me forcing it. He drank greedily and seemed to revive a little. "What happened to the extra log, Sir?" "I'll throw it away later." "You can't, Sir. I have to finish the job. That's what you said." "You don't have to prove anything." He shook his head as though clearing the cobwebs. He slammed his chest with the palm of his hand. "For me," he said. "Gotta prove it to me." I tried to distract him. "Ready to wash up?" He jerked away and his eyes darted about the room. "Where is the log, Sir?" By moving to hide it, I inadvertently drew his attention to it. He pushed my arm aside and placed the final piece of my dump in his hand. After moving it up and down in front of his face, he began sniffing at it and licking. I had never seen someone so far gone still trying to please someone even more. "Matt. I don't think you should be doing that here." His eyes bulged and he burst out laughing. He began to choke and cough. I got scared. What if he became hysterical? Would I have to call 911? How would I explain to the paramedics why my boyfriend was choking on human excrement? They'd do DNA tests and find out it was my log. If he died, I'd be arrested for murder. Or maybe an accessory after the fact. (Or would it be before the fact?) His breathing became more regular. He looked at his surroundings and glanced casually at the feces still in his hand. "I'm thirsty, Sir." I gave him the cup of water, but he shook his head intensely. He needed to drink so I emptied the cup, urinated into it and handed it back. He was delighted by this maneuver, and drank greedily. His choking subsided. "What was so funny?" I asked. "You said, `I don't think you should be doing that here'." "So?" "Don't you get it?" he said. "I'm your toilet, I'm sitting ON a toilet, I'm eating your dump and we're in the bathroom. What other place could possibly be more appropriate to do scat in?" With that, he popped the last bit of turd into his mouth and wolfed it down. "All gone," he said, sounding like a little boy hoping for a special dessert for having finished everything on his plate. He took me in his arms and kissed me deeply. I tasted my shit for the second time. It was my turn to be spent. Feeding someone was scene enough, but these last few minutes had worn me out completely. I had to take myself away from this. I went into the living room to lie down. "Need a rest, Sir?" he called out cheerfully. I could hear him bustling around in the bathroom and then the sound of the shower. A few minutes later, he came in, running his fingers through his hair to dry it. He had that sly smile I loved so much. The Matt I had come to care about was back. His next words were a bombshell. "Can't wait to do that again." "You've got to be kidding." He hooked his arms around my shoulders and pulled my forehead to his. "Truly and honestly. I can't wait for the next time." "Takes all kinds," I thought as we went back into the bedroom. I climbed under the sheets and dimmed the lights. Matt crawled into my arms and kissed me. "Your mouth tastes a little like shit," he said. "Oh, jeez. Forgot to brush my teeth." I started to get up, but he held me back. He kissed me deeply. A shudder passed through us both. He pulled back and looked at me. "You took me so far, 'Rique." "Guess I went pretty far myself," I said, trying to be flippant. But he was serious. "No one has ever taken me that far." I nodded my head vaguely. His second bombshell was a thunderbolt. "I think I may love you." I wasn't quite sure what to say. "Well, I love you t- " He cut me off. "Don't say it back." "But I do," I protested. (Secretly, I wasn't so sure.) "There will be a better time," Matt assured me. "Better than what? Better than feeding you and then watching you fall apart and wondering if I was going to be sent up the river for choking you with my dump?" "Anybody ever speak to you about the dangers of over catastrophisizing?" (These kinds of sentences were not going to end in `Sir'.") He continued. "If I'm going to be a full-service toilet for a guy, I have to love him. You don't feel that way yet." "No, but - ." "Then wait until you do." For once, I was willing to let him have the last word. As he nestled into my arms, his other words came back to me. "What did you mean? That you can't wait to do it again." He pretended to yawn. "Hmmm. Morning already?" I slapped the side of his head. "What we did couldn't have been a lot of fun," I said. "Did I say it was?" "Not exactly, but - " "Well, it wasn't." I slapped at his ass. This time, he caught my hand. "Don't let playing `Sir' for a while go to your head." "If it wasn't fun, then why are you looking forward to the next time?" "Truly and honestly?" he asked. "T and H." His eyebrows shot up. "It can only get better." "Fuck you," I said, laughing. "That would be a start." He turned over, backed himself up against my body and wrapped my arms around him tightly like a blanket. I heard him giggling again. "What now?" I said. "`No partial dumps'? That's right up there next to `crappatorium'." I held him tightly so we could laugh together. The events of the evening overtook us. Matt dozed off quickly. My head fell against his broad shoulders and I nuzzled his hair and neck. In the gathering darkness, it was easy to drift. Within minutes, we were both fast asleep. End of Chapter 3.