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Day 1: Leather & Latex

Today is Latex Day, and here at Filthyfur Studios, Lapis the cat recorded a special video to show off the best part about wearing such garments.

“Hey, Filthyfur! It's me, Lapis!" she turned the camera on in such a hurry that she knocked it over, and had to right it while shuffling uncomfortably from paw to paw. She introduced herself rapidly, without her normal sensual dramatic timing. “You know me from other videos, I'll edit them on the screen later because right now I'm about to pee myself!" she mewed. “It's 8 in the morning right now, I held in my morning pee and drank a whole water bottle on the bus. Just let me get dressed and I'll explain why."

Without further explanation the white cat changed into a tight black catsuit. Now clad head to toe in shining latex, she didn't seem much more comfortable. The prominent bulge in the lower belly gave a clue as to why. Nevertheless, now safely dressed, she held on and prolonged her discomfort, explaining to the camera: “It's Latex day, and I'm going to be showing you why I love wearing latex so much by wearing this all day long. No showers, and no lavatory breaks. I'm bursting for a pee, and I've been holding my shit in since Thursday Morning, so I think I can really make a mess in this. To make it extra fun, I'm going to be giving myself some help."

Lapis's 'help' came in the form of a tall glass full of an unappetizing milkshake-like sludge normally used to prepare for colonoscopies. It tasted awful, but the feline bravely chugged it: being an accomplished scat porn star she was used to having much nastier substances in her mouth. She belched, and chugged an actual milkshake to wash it down and get the taste out of her mouth. She wiped her mouth on her latex sleeve. “Ahh... and now... time to start filling these."

The slender kitty knelt before the camera and spread her legs wide. There was no need for her sake, as even the slightest relaxation made her tired bladder muscles give way, but it looked better on camera. SSSS... the dam burst with a loud hiss, and her morning pee flooded into her catsuit. Lapis gasped in pleasure, not only from the wonderful relief but from the feeling of warm liquid running down her legs, soaking her fur and slowly making its way down the watertight leggings to her paw. It was a huge wetting, and she was soon soaked.

The laxatives took effect quickly and violently. Lapis was already desperate, and the feline was lactose intolerant, so the milkshake on its own would probably have made her shit her pants well before lunchtime. With the combination coursing through her gut, she barely made it 45 minutes from when she'd chugged the thick beverages.

“Fuck..." the latex-clad cat groaned as she staggered back to the camera. She knelt on all fours, and rubbed her cramping stomach. “This is going to be messy."

Lapis often liked to soil clear plastic panties, but they would have been hopelessly overwhelmed by the explosion from her rear end. Even a thick, absorbent diaper probably wouldn't have lasted long, especially if it was already soaked in her pee. Only a full latex bodysuit could contain this kind of mess. She gratefully gave in to her bodily needs and evacuated her bowels right there in front of the camera. The seat of her suit bulged out as it was filled with a seething mass of hot mush. Lapis sighed in pleasure and started rubbing her poopy pants with her hand, squishing the lovely mess and making it ooze down her legs. But it wasn't long before the next wave struck. This time it was a foul, gassy excretion of noxious, greasy liquid shit that ran down her legs, pooling in the folds and crevices of the suit: around her knees, her angles, and eventually even between her toes.

Not content to merely soil herself, the shitty kitty rolled and writhed on the floor, further staining her fur. And she was going to be stuck in here all day, after all. She had to keep herself entertained. She brought a big vibrating massager out of the supply closet and began to pleasure herself, all in full view of the camera. This, of course, stimulated her bowels still further.

It was a long, grueling test of endurance. Lapis still felt bloated, helped by the massive lunch she'd stuffed her belly with, along with massive amounts of fluids to prevent dehydration, laced with epsom salts just for the hell of it. Her bladder couldn't seem to last more than an hour at best, and her butt was running like a faucet.

“Wow," she commented after lifting her leg and unleashing a particularly runny wave: “If I wasn't wearing this I'd either be stuck on the toilet all day, or go through a whole pack of diapers. But in these I feel just fiiiiine..." She'd probably have a rash in the morning, but it was worth it. By mid-afternoon, she'd lost count of how many times she'd pissed and shit herself. It was filling up the suit too: the legs and crotch didn't have room for the volume she was putting out, and the material itself as well as the leak guards on her tail and wrists held firm. Slimy liquid was leaking up her back and stomach, and getting smeared everywhere when she rolled and writhed in her own waste.

7:30. Just half an hour left. Lapis was filthy, her fur damp up to her shoulders. And the diarrhea just wouldn't stop. She lay there on the black leather couch, her stomach cramping and gurgling. Maybe having another milkshake at dinner was taking things a little too far. Everything was going right through her and filling up her catsuit. With a groan she shimmed her rump up onto the armrest elevating it just a little. By now some of her co-stars had visited to admire her progress (there was only so much to be seen through the latex, but god it could be smelled, and the wet squelches whenever she moved gave it away too.

SQQLRLLRPP. Lapis let go. Fuck, it was just pouring out of her. Liquid was running down her body, pooling around her neck, and then:

“Uh oh!" Charlotte the poodle said in a sing-song voice. “Somebody's leaking!"

Lapis got up abruptly, and surveyed the damage in a mirror, Liquid poop had leaked out the neck of the suit and now clung to the cat's blonde hair. Perfect. She waited out the rest of the time feeling like her suit would explode at any moment. In the meantime she ran a bath, filling the tub with nice, warm water, and pausing every so often to let out a little more mess while she bent over the tub with Charlotte filming her ass.

At last, 8:00 hit, and so did another wave of stomach cramps. Lapis clambered gingerly into the tall tub. “This has been a lot of fun," she said. “But I'm really, really dirty in here. I think I need a bath."

Not that she had any intention of getting clean. Carefully, Lapis undid the zippers and snaps keeping her waste sealed in, peeling the flooded suit off her bit by bit as she stood there in the tub while its contents dripped and splashed into the water., until for the last bit she had to sit down to work the leggings off her sopping fur. Where once the cat's fur had been white and sleek, it was now a nauseating shade of brown, matted into spikes and plastered to her skin. Ohh, it felt so good to be out of that tight suit after so long. She massaged herself, running her hands gratefully over her shitty body. With a satisfied purr, she sank into the brown, polluted bathwater that was now nothing more than raw sewage, contaminated with well over a gallon of feline urine and diarrhea. Perfect for a relaxing soak after a long day.

She slid down into the bath, lying down on her back and letting the brown water soak her hair. She raised her dripping footpaws and giggled. But her stomach acted up again.

“Oh, shit." Lapis got up in a hurry. There was no toilet in this bathroom, of course. Except the one she was bathing in. She knelt and squirted a gout of liquid into the tub. That felt so good, she rubbed at her filthy folds, then teased her tired butthole with a finger until the urge struck her again. Then she stuck her hand back even further and relieved herself. Gross, soupy liquid sprayed against her pads and ran through her fingers into the bathwater, but after a few gouts there was enough thicker slurry to fill her hand. She raised it up, showed it to the camera, and began to coat her face in the hot slime.

She was so filthy, so wonderfully filthy. Lapis couldn't control herself a moment longer. She was thirsty. She began to lap at the tub, face down and tail high, rooting around with her muzzle for the floating chunks of solid waste and filling her stomach with her dirty bathwater.

She soaked in there for a little while, but soon her bladder and bowels were bursting again. She got up on all fours a second time, and put her face all the way down until she could kiss her latex suit, which was still down there beneath the filthy water. Her rear spluttered and blorped, mud pouring down her thighs and splattering the tub and a golden waterfall gushing into the filthy water. But just as she was about to really let loose, something cold and hard was pressed against her nethers. She sat up, her face coated and dripping, to find her friend Tracie the ferret smiling and holding a large drinking glass.

Lapis gladly accepted it. She held it to her asshole and let fly. With astoundingly muddy glorping sounds, she filled it to the brim with putrid brown slurry. But she still had to pee. She saw another glass in the ferret's hands. “Give it to me, quick!" she mewed, snatching it and holding it to her crotch just in time. A gushing waterfall of pee burst from her, filling the second glass to the brim with golden liquid.

“Aww... I was going to fill that one!" Tracie pouted. Lapis noticed for the first time that the ferret was wearing a massive, sagging, black latex diaper.

“How? You're wearing that thing."

In response, Tracie turned around and lifted her tail, revealing something at the back of her diaper that looked like a... a tap.

“I've been filling this up all afternoon in the other room," she explained. “They didn't tell me you were doing Latex Day too!"

She waddled across the room, her diaper sloshing worryingly, and game back with four big straws.

“Is there room in that tub for one more?" she asked. “We can share these!"

The two dirty furs sat in the bath together, slowly sipping on the brimming glasses of 'lemonade' and 'milkshake.' Lapis would have been happy to drain them herself, but she knew Tracie had something of her own in store for her. She was ready to fill her glass again from the tap on the ferret's bloated diaper, but instead Tracie produced a length of rubber tubing.

“Ohhh..." Lapis grinned. “You've got a straw on it? That's hot."

They took turns drinking from Tracie's diaper until their stomachs were bursting, and splashed around and cuddled in the bathtub that was really only big enough for one. Only when the 'water' got cold did they finish.

The tub could be dealt with in the morning. It was bedtime. Not that Lapis had any intention of getting cleaned up properly. Instead, without even toweling off, the cat and ferret crawled into the studio bed and snuggled up together.

“Remember," said Lapis. “Don't get out of bed to go to the bathroom, you'll wake me up!"

“Don't worry!" Tracie giggled, and pointed to an empty glass on the nightstand. “We can fill this for when either of us gets thirsty!"

Of course, Lapis didn't wake up in time to fill the glass. She woke up with diarrhea pouring out of her, soaking the latex sheets in a lake of sewage that pooled around their bodies.

They had a long night ahead of them.

Day 2: Titfucking

Today, Kimberley the Husky greeted her boyfriend David topless when he came home from work. And he'd been with her long enough that he could take a hint.

The male wolfdog laid out the plastic sheets on the bed, and Kimberley practically tore his clothes off before lying down on her back. David squatted over her, and immediately giggled as her cold nose and warm tongue wet his asshole. She seized his tail. “Come on, boy, you know what to do."

“You really want it bad today, don't you babe?" he asked, rubbing her pussy and making her yip with pleasure."

“Yeah."

“Good. Because I had three coffees today, and they've gone right through me." He grunted and pushed. A thick, firm but slippery log of shit squelched out of him with soft hisses and crackles, plopping down between the husky's ample breasts. He kept going, depositing soft, sticky lumps and coils on her chest until he felt almost two pounds lighter. Then, without missing a beat, he turned around and mounted her, thrusting his hard sausage right into the middle of his massive dump. She stroked his shaft with her hand, thoroughly slathering his manhood with dark brown filth, then squeezed her tits together. David humped between them, and soon was panting, lost in the rhythm of the wet squelches and the creaking of the bed frame. Everything was slick with greasy, churned up fecal matter, and the stench was appalling. It must have been worse for Kimberley, as close as she was to the mess.

But despite that, she just couldn't help herself. The slutty husky snuck in a lick, or two, or three. When he realized what she'd done, David came at once, spurting hot, sticky ropes all over her breasts and muzzle.

Kimberley looked up at him and grinned. “Hey, David. Your cock's all messy now. Want me to lick it clean for you?"

Day 3: Hate Sex

Today, tensions between Mitzi the cat and Bruno the German Shepherd reached a breaking point. The two pets had never gotten along: they were at best distant roommates, at worst roommates who couldn't stand each other's presence but were stuck in a permanent lease together. Mitzi, a slender brown tabby, considered Bruno a boorish, noisy, clumsy, and unhygienic waste of space, and Bruno, a stocky, short-coated shep, thought Mitzi was a spoiled, uptight hypocrite who couldn't take a joke. They treated each other with disdain and hostility: Mitzi lurked on top of furniture, glaring and making snide remarks, and hissed when Bruno got too close. Bruno sometimes barked at her or chased her, but mostly he preferred to make his lack of respect for the fussy feline known by ignoring her ridiculous, entitled demands.

But today the two were in an especially bad mood. Mitzi started it, as far as Bruno was concerned. First she got mad at him for sleeping on 'her' bed, then for barking at passing cars and waking her up, then for chewing on 'her' toys that she wasn't even playing with at the time. And now, as he was quenching his thirst from the running water bowl, the tabby stalked into the room with her tail rigid and her eyes narrowed.

“Hey!" Mitzi snapped. “I thought I told you to stop drinking out of my cat fountain!" Bruno ignored her, and kept gulping down water. He moved his head a little so the tag on his collar clanked loudly against the metal dish. “Did you hear me, you stupid bonehead? Stop it, that's my water!"

Bruno looked up with an annoyed snort, his muzzle dripping. “Your water? It's water. Why do you need exclusive dominion over this particular dish? There's more than one water bowl in this house."

“That's the good water dish! It's aerated! And it's mine because our owner bought it for me, specifically, so I wouldn't have to share a bowl with you!"

“Oh, so the regular water bowl isn't good enough for your majesty, and I have to drink the inferior water because you can't even share with an inferior animal like me? How is that fair?"

Mitzi's ears folded back, and her eye twitched. “First of all, you said the aerated water bowl was a waste of money when we got it, and now you won't stop drinking out of it even though you can't appreciate it. Second of all, you make the water all gross! You drool everywhere when you drink, you blow bubbles with your nose, and you splash it everywhere so I can't drink without getting my paws wet. It's not fair to me to have to drink your nasty backwash!"

“How do you know I can't appreciate your fancy water? Maybe my palette's become more refined. You assume I have no standards just because I'm a dog."

“I literally caught you drinking out of the toilet this morning!" Mitzi yowled. “Oh, and that's another reason you can't drink out of my water bowl!"

“Suit yourself, I'm not forcing you to drink from it." Bruno started lapping again, as loudly and sloppily as he could.

“You're such a prick! I know you don't care about the water, you're just doing this because you hate the idea of me having anything that's mine and you can't ruin! I can't sleep in a bed that's not stinky and full of dog hair, I can't have any toys that aren't chewed up and slobbered on, I can't have clean drinking water... goddamnit, the only thing I have to myself in this fucking house is my litterbox!"

She stormed off, leaving Bruno to continue draining the water.

Suddenly, he had an idea. The shepherd loved a good prank, and boy was this going to wind that obnoxious cat up.

A while later, Bruno was enjoying a nap on Mitsy's cat bed, with his head and rump spilling off the sides, when he was woken by a shriek of fury. A tinkling bell came charging through the house. The dog sat up at attention, wagging his tail. Man, he couldn't wait to see the look on her face.

“I can't believe you!" the cat was actually shaking, she was so mad. “I can't believe it! You son of a bitch!"

“Now that's uncalled for, bringing species into it."

“Shut Up!" Mitzi hissed. “You... I said the one thing you don't ruin is my litterbox, and you... you pissed in it, just to spite me! You don't even use them, you just go outside and go wherever you want. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

“It was an emergency," said Bruno. “I had to go, and our owner isn't home. Boy, that aerated water really goes straight to your bladder, doesn't it?"

“That hasn't stopped you from peeing on the floor before! Stop pretending you didn't do it on purpose just to ruin it! You didn't just use it, you marked it. There's piss everywhere! The litter's soaked, the sides are soaked, and you peed all over the floor too – which I stepped in, by the way! I hope you're happy, you disgusting piece of -"

The insults continued, to the point where Bruno stopped being entertained and started being annoyed. “You know, maybe the reason I antagonize you is all you ever do is criticize me," he said. “Bruno, you're too noisy, Bruno, you're too clumsy, Bruno, you smell bad, Bruno, you stepped in something and tracked it in the house! I have to put up with it all day, but the worst part of it's you acting like I'm supposed to care about your opinion, like I should want to impress you. You nag me like I'm your mate or something, and I'm sick of it. Either shut up or put out!"

This, for once, silenced the cat, at least until she got over her shock. “Or put out?" she hissed. “Are you joking? What the fuck? Did you seriously just ask me to mate with you?"

“I'm saying I only let bitches talk to me like that if they let me knot them," Bruno blurted out without thinking about what he was saying. Then he realized what he'd just said. Shit. Act casual, just act casual. It wasn't like he was serious anyway.

“That's disgusting," Mitzi hissed. “Your attitude, and what you're suggesting. Even if I ever wanted to fuck a dog, which I don't, you're the last dog I'd ever fuck!"

“Oh yeah? And what's wrong with screwing a dog, anyway?" retorted Bruno. “What, are we not refined and elegant enough for a prissy kitty like you?"

“Where do I start? The smell, your personality – oh, and you're probably horrible in the sack!" Mitzi jumped onto the back of the sofa and sneered down at him.

“You don't know shit. I am God's gift to bitches."

“You probably disappoint everyone at the dog park. They probably all make fun of you behind your back! The only thing you've gotten a second date with is the couch cushion!"

“How do you know?" barked Bruno. She wasn't far off the mark, despite his egotistical denial, which made him defensive. “Don't knock it 'til you try it, pussycat." His mind recoiled at what he was suggesting. A cat? His asshole roommate of a cat? If his buddies found out he'd never live it down. His reputation would be ruined. And it would be really awkward between them, which he thought would be worse than their bitter rivalry. But his ego couldn't back down from a challenge like this. “If you're so sure I can't please a lady, why don't you prove it? Maybe you'll find out you've been missing out!" Shit. Why had he said that? It was okay, though, she was going to tell him to go fuck himself, she'd leave, and they'd pretend this conversation never happened.

Mitzi's green eyes became venomous slits. “I can't believe you're so full of yourself and yet so insecure!" she said. “You don't care about my opinion, but you want to mate with me because you can't handle anyone thinking you're a bad lay. God. Pathetic. Typical dog." She swished her tail in aggravation. “And what do I get out of it when you act like your usual klutzy self?"

Oh shit. What had just happened? Had she... had she said yes? “Uhh... I dunno. Your pathological need to feel superior to me gets fulfilled?"

“That's not good enough." She hopped down onto the couch cushion. “You know what? I'm sick and tired of having to fight with you over every little boundary, and you've ruined my day enough already. If you're so sure you're God's gift to females, let's make a bet. You can try to mate with me once, and if it turns out I'm right, cats rule, dogs drool, and so on, what's mine is mine from now on. You leave my water bowl alone, you leave my food alone, you leave my toys alone, you leave my bed alone. And you leave my litterbox the fuck alone too!"

The tabby and the shepherd stared at each other. Both their faces flushed bright red through their fur. Bruno's manhood could never refuse such a challenge, not even from a hated cat. “One quickie isn't fair to me. I need a couple rounds to warm up."

“Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. That's your excuse?"

“I want all day with you," he said. “Our owner's coming home late tonight, I saw him pack a sports jersey when he left for work. All day, and we do it my way. Doggy style. Anything I say, you don't say no, you gotta try it, otherwise you'll just veto the fun stuff to win. And if I make you drool, or you give up without seeing every trick this dog knows, from now on we share everything. Beds, water dishes, toys... Well, maybe not the litterbox... unless it's an emergency. Or I feel like it. Oh, and you can't get mad at me for breathing too close to you or sniffing your butt anymore."

Mitzi should have known better, and she knew she should have known better. But the cat had a competitive streak of her own. Besides, she only had to endure whatever gross, pathetic excuse for sex that idiot dog could come up with, and she'd have a peaceful life. That and she'd been sexually frustrated for a long time, being cooped up in the house with no other cats and an obnoxious dog who wouldn't shut up about his humping exploits at the dog park. She wasn't attracted to him, but hearing him always set off fantasies about meeting a dashing tom.

“Fine," she said. “You're on."

The cat shivered with trepidation as she approached Brutus, but something in her instincts took over as she sidled around the much larger dog, rubbing up against his legs. He stepped her over, kicking her in the face as he did so like the dumbass he was. Mitzi's face burned as she stared at his sheath, much closer than she'd ever gotten before. She sniffed.

“Ugh! Yuck! Do you ever clean your dick?"

“What, are you getting cold feet already?" Bruno asked. “Besides, if we're doing this doggy style, that's your job. It's tradition."

“No it is not!"

“Who's fucked more dogs, you are me?"

Mitzi groaned. She sniffed again. It was so big, and intimidating, but his greasy fur stank. “God damnit. Why did I let you talk me into this?"

She reluctantly sniffed some more, and nuzzled, making Bruno feel a thrill of arousal. The touch of her sandpapery tongue against his sheath was pleasant (for him. Mitzi gagged, although he thought she was exaggerating), but once his cock poked out: “Ow! Hey! Stop biting!"

“I'm not biting you dumbass, I'm licking! Besides, this was your idea!"

“No it wasn't!" growled Bruno. “Fuck it, just turn around, I'm already hard."

“Stupid dog." Mitzi crawled out from under him, glaring. She gingerly raised her tail vertical. Bruno appraised the view.

“Now I know what our owner sees when he tries to work at his computer."

“Shut up!"

“Okay." Bruno gave her butt a generous sniff, making the kitty shudder with discomfort. It gave him a sadistic thrill. He knew damn well she was just going to say that he sucked and refuse to admit defeat on the bet no matter what he did, so he was going to prank her by making the whole afternoon miserable, and then keep using her bed and water bowl anyway. It wasn't like she could make him not drink out of it when she wasn't looking. He gave her a long, sloppy lick, dragging his tongue along her hindquarters and the underside of her tail so forcefully her butt almost got lifted in the air. Then he waddled forward, and humped with gusto.

“Yeeoowww! Fuck! Not so hard!" Mitzi shrieked, and darted away. “That hurt, you idiot! It doesn't even fit!"

“I thought cats were supposed to be flexible."

“You're three times my size and you tried to go in dry, you dumbass!"

“Don't your dick have barbs on them too? I thought you'd like it rough."

Mitzi gulped. Her face was burning so bad. She came down off the windowsill. Fuck, that sounded... “Just don't split me in half!"

“Stop whining. There was this chihuahua at the dog park one week, she was smaller than you and she didn't bleed."

“Ugh. Just be careful. And have you heard of something called 'foreplay' at the dog park?"

“Sure, it's when four dogs play together all at once."

“You're a moron. I knew it: cats rule, dogs drool." Mittzi flopped onto her side. But Bruno knew more than he was letting on. He pinned her down under one forepaw, and snuffled at her face.

“You know it, bitch."

“Yuck! Your breath is horrible! Don't lick my face – hey! What did I just say?"

“Doesn't matter, you agreed that you don't get to refuse to do anything."

“I hate you so much," Mitzi growled, but submitted to being licked all over with the loudest, sloppiest dog kisses Bruno could deliver. He made sure her fur was completely wet with his saliva, slicked and spiked and glistening with slimy drool, and he gave special attention to her face, and between her legs. When the complaints stopped, it was time to try putting it in again. Mitzi gritted her teeth, and held her breath as he pushed harder and harder, until with a wet squelch, her resistance gave way. Fuck, it was tight. It felt a little uncomfortable for him, even. Mitzi was lucky he didn't last long, and he slipped out before his knot could expand. He pulled out, leaving the cat shuddering and dripping with cum.

“God... damn... you!" she gasped. “I won't be able to sit down for a week!"

“Yes you will," he said. “C'mere and sit on my knot until it goes down, then clean me off. Don't worry, you can use your tongue instead next round."

Maybe, Bruno thought, he'd gone a little too far when he saw tears in the cat's eyes. But when he suggested that she might've had enough she nearly scratched his eyes out.

The cat grumpily obeyed his commands, dancing and wiggling while she straddled his knot, then doing her best to lick him clean.

“Fuck, this tastes horrible!" she complained. “I'm gonna barf!"

“You do that five times a day anyway! Typical cat!"

Soon Bruno was having almost as uncomfortable a time as Mitzi went down on him. He could swear she was biting. Nevertheless, soon he was at his limit. Oh, she was going to love this part, he thought ironically. “Hah... hah... does the kitty want some milk?" he barked.

The kitty did not want some milk, but she got plenty of it anyway. Bruno's ballsack detonated, in her mouth, out her nose, then all over her face when she pulled out and gagged, as well as all over her forepaw when she tried to shield herself. But Mitzi soon had to get used to the musty smell, and the feeling of her fur being clotted with drying jizz. Four more rounds, one in the expected location, two on her face, and one all over her stomach as she lay on her back and held his member with her hind legs as he mounted her, left Mitzi a very sticky kitty.

But things were about to get much grosser for her. Mitzi had already needed to pee badly when she discovered the fate of her litterbox, and it had been hours since then. That plus their current activities were working up a thirst. They returned to the inferior water bowl over and over. Each time Bruno drank his fill and then made her lap up his backwash, or drank at the same time as her so she was subjected to his splashing. It was disgusting. It made her feel pathetic and dirty. But not nearly as much so as she would feel soon if she couldn't relieve herself, because all that water had left her feline bladder in agony. She was too ashamed to admit she had to go until it was almost too late.

“Shit!" she mewed. “Fuck, I need to pee! Seriously, just lemme go to the litterbox, and..." she stopped halfway across the living room.

“Well?" Bruno said with a contemptuous smirk. “Go on."

“Never mind. You destroyed it," said Mitzi. If she had to use that at all, let alone with him watching and making fun of her, the shame would kill her. What were her options? She could pee in the bathtub drain. Her owner would probably understand when he found out what had happened to the litterbox. Man, Bruno was going to be in trouble for that, unless he acted innocent and pretended he had no other choice. He probably would. Damn him.

Then Mitzi had an idea that disgusted her to the core. She could get him back for what he'd done, and maybe even make him bow out early and free her from this nightmare of a bet. She could spray him. She could mark him. No. No, that was too nasty, not even Bruno deserved that.

Then Bruno ordered her to sniff his butt, and even worse, lick it. Never mind, Mitzi thought. He did deserve it.

The cat waited until she was straddling him, nuzzling and slurping at his member. She raised her tail high, and rolled her eyes at his comment on the view. It reminded her that he was going to be watching her relieve herself, and worse. She felt so dirty, so bad, for even thinking of doing this. Her natural inhibitions and impeccable house training resist her attempts to release her bladder at first. But she was so desperate, her bladder throbbed with pain every minute she kept holding on. The sheer pressure inside her was too much.

Mitzi was shocked at herself when she felt the first spurt shoot out. Her heart pounded in her throat, as did several inches of dog cock. This was gross. This was nasty. This was undignified. Why was she doing this? It felt good. Ohhhhh, fuck, it felt good!

“Mitzi what the fuck? Eww!" Bruno yelped. The cat felt a thrill of triumph. Victory! As her confidence grew, her stream spritzed out with greater force.

“That's for destroying my litterbox, you prick!" she caterwauled. She pushed, spraying him with spurt after spurt, even as her nostrils burned with ammonia.

Then, suddenly, a powerful paw swept her legs out from under her. Another pinned her down. Bruno stood over her, dripping. “Is this supposed to gross me out?" he asked. “Don't get me wrong, your pee smells really bad. You're such a hypocrite complaining about my smell. But I'm not a prissy clean-freak like you.

Mitzi stared up at him in shock and horror. The only sound was the pounding of their hearts, the rush of their breath, and the soft, pattering hiss of her pee. It wouldn't stop! She couldn't make it stop! She was having a real accident now, soaking her own tail in her acrid urine. And Bruno was watching. Fuck, she'd never live this down. She tried to hide the accident with her paws, but now they were getting sprayed with the pulsing jet of warm liquid.

“Simon says stand up," he ordered. Mitzi reluctantly stood, still trickling down her legs. “You really had to go, didn't you?"

“Because you soaked my litterbox, asshole!"

“And now because you didn't want to get your paws a little damp, you're all wet anyway. Maybe cats aren't that smart after all."

“I hate you."

“Then do something about it. You were trying to mark me earlier, weren't you? Did you lose your nerve? Pussy."

“That does it," Mitzi growled. A long forgotten instinct surfaced in the pampered housecat: she wanted to mark him, to drench him in her scent, to make her enemy reek of her dominance. She lifted her posterior high and sprayed, waggling her rump back and forth. His face, she thought. That'll teach him to disrespect me. She did, but then: “What the fuck? Did you just lick my pussy?"

“Yeah. And now you know where this tongue's been."

“Oh my god, you dogs are so gross. Wait. Bruno. Cut it out, not my face! Fuck!"

By the time her bladder emptied, Mitzi knew she'd lost the upper hand. She was lying in a puddle of piss. She'd been called a bad kitty, made to rub her nose in it and roll in her puddle, and gotten tackled and licked by a dripping wet dog. She reeked of cat urine. And of course an animal with such a nose as a dog's would notice.

“Hey, pisskitten. You smell just like your litterbox did before I peed in it. It's really bad."

“I don't care. This is all your fault."

“I think I really improved its smell."

“Fuck off."

“Now... I have to go, too. I'm going to improve your smell."

“Stop rubbing it in and get it over with," Mitzi said through gritted teeth. She'd had a feeling he'd do that as soon as she realized he was getting a thrill out of getting peed on and making her wet herself.

“Oh, you're eager for it, are you?" The german shepherd wasted no time in lifting his leg. His aim, she had to admit, wasn't bad. She stood there with her tail raised and her head bowed in shame, shuddering, blushing, tearing up, and throbbing with arousal all at the same time.

Why... why was this turning her on? He was treating her like an inanimate object, like a lamppost, a fire hydrant, or a tree. It was an awful, cruel, degrading act: an insult to feline dignity. Warm liquid drenched her back and flanks, pouring down her body and soaking her already damp fur. This was so disgusting. The sickly sweet scent of dog urine burned her nostrils. At least he wasn't cruel enough to pee on...

“You might wanna shut your eyes for this part."

...Her face. Poor Mitzi could only brace herself as he pinched off the flow and repositioned himself. She stared down the barrel of his sheath, inches from her face, dripping yellow liquid, and shut her eyes just in time.

“Good kitty. Now open your mouth."

“You piece of – ULKGBLGLGLK!"

Mitzi's mind shut down, her senses overwhelmed by the foul taste. He was peeing. Peeing on her. Peeing in her mouth. She tasted pee. Horrible. Gross. Bad dog. Naughty boy. She was... she was drinking it. Bad, bad kitty. She was dirty. Cats were supposed to be clean. She was soaked. Marked. She reeked of dog. Her fur was all wet to the skin with dog. She wanted to die. She wanted to drown in his piss so she didn't have to taste it anymore. She let her mouth flood with his stream, then began to lap, and gulp, until her tongue brushed against the skin of his cock.

What was she doing? Why was she drinking it? He hadn't even told her too. But she knew that was what he wanted. She hated herself for letting him win. He'd won. He'd defeated her. She knew she was “drooling" badly at her rear end. She had to hide it. She clamped her tail down over her sex and collapsed into the puddle, making mewling sobs of embarrassment to try to disguise the involuntary purr.

But he heard anyway.

“Uh oh," he said. “I think you liked it after all! What did I tell you?"

“Shut the fuck up!" Mitzi hissed. “It's a stress purr! We do this when we're sick or dying to comfort ourselves! I hate this so much I'm going to have a heart attack!"

“I think you're lying."

“Oh yeah? Well there's no way you're telling the truth about dogs letting you do this at the dog park all the time!"

“Okay fine, yeah, even most dogs don't enjoy this. But you enjoyed it. How does it feel to be grosser and dirtier than the average dog, Miss Cat Superiority Complex?"

“Shut up. Shut up... oh god, stop licking. I'm all gross. Wait... not there. Stop making me feel like... like this. It's not supposed to feel... fuck I hate you so much."

When the most shameful orgasm of her life was over, Mitzi's sense of hygiene came back, and she almost puked. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that this dumbass, stupid, asshole dog could be so gentle.

She gagged. “Fuck! I need a drink, I need water!"

“This way." Bruno seized her collar in his teeth, and dragged her into the bathroom. The shower? The sink? No.

“Dude, what the fuck? I'm not drinking out of the toilet!"

“You ready to give up and admit I'm the best lover in all dogdom?"

“Never."

“Then drink."

Mitzi still had some remaining dregs of pride left. But her dignity was soon flushed away.

“Don't think this means anything," she said. “I still could've cum without you peeing on me. Maybe your tongue's more dextrous than I thought, but you still ruined it by being a disgusting bastard."

“Are you saying it was a fluke?"

“Yeah."

“Then if we try again in a couple hours, you won't enjoy it?"

“I'll hate it. I'll despise every second of it."

Two hours later, Mitzi's bladder was aching and spasming, and the sopping cat was crying in shame as Bruno marked her again. She splashed to her feet in the puddle. “Just fuck me!" she gulped. “Get it over with and fuck me!"

Bruno, still peeing, mounted her and thrust hard. Mitzi's claws shot out, and her fur would have all stood on end if it wasn't so wet. She gave a strangled yowl. “That's the wrong hole! Fuck! It hurts! You moron!"

He was still peeing. Hot liquid rushed into a hole that should have been an exit, warming her from the inside. This was the most profound violation of all, and it only got worse. No sooner had he pulled back out than her tailhole clenched with agonizing force, and her gut churned. What was happening. “Oh, shit," she mewed. He'd peed in her, flooded her internally with saline liquid. She'd had a similar, and awful, experience one vet visit after she'd swallowed something she shouldn't have and been blocked up. The emptying that followed had been involuntary and very, very messy. That liquid was trying to come out.

“Stop peeing," she ordered. “I need to get to a litterbox, fast!"

“What's the hurry?" Bruno asked. “Just pee on the floor like you already did."

“It's not pee this time!" Mitzi's bowels cramped violently. Her hole had been stretched. Could she even make it to the litterbox? Maybe she'd better just use the shower after all. At least it would be easier to clean up than anywhere else. “Well, I guess it is."

“I'm not good at riddles."

“You peed up my butt, you stupid fucking dog!"

BLUP.

Something had come out. Mitzi clenched her legs together as hard as she could.

“Too late now. Just let it out."

She tried not too, but his words made her relax a tiny bit, and that was all the pressure inside her needed. PLBIP, PBLRLLBURP!

“That looks too brown for pee. You're such a gross cat! There. Head down. Lift your butt up. Now let it out."

“I swear I will gouge your eyes out when this is over!" Mitzi hissed. Fuck, it hurt. Something was spilling out of her. She gave in and let it flow. The stench of dog piss mixed with catshit was truly unbearable, as was the wet, sticky mess dripping and oozing down her hind legs, and squirting and splattering the floor. Out of morbid curiosity and to try to keep them clean, she spread her legs apart a little and looked back between them under her body. Another cramp hit her.

“Fuck, it's like our owner's wet coffee grounds in the sink," she mewed. Foul brown sludge rained down between her legs. She gave a little push, wanting to just get it over with, and a thin ribbon of mushy brown feces descended rapidly from her.

“Yeah. Wow, who knew the nice clean kitty could make a mess like this? Now roll over."

Mitzi was too mortified to disobey. “Don't tell me you're getting off on this, you sick fuck." She curled her toes in distress, then let go and sharted all over her own tail. She pushed a little, sending a fountain of pee into the air. Her only response was the dog lapping at her stream.

It took forever for her bladder to empty. By the time she was done, the poor cat was sitting in a puddle of her own liquid shit. It was amazing how much had come out of her. But Bruno's sadism and desire to humiliate her had no end. First she was ordered to put her paws in it, then to roll in the mess, and finally, worst of all, to lick herself clean.

“I'm gonna kill you. You piece of crap, I swear."

“You can always tap out."

“Fuck you." Mitzy made the fateful decision. “I'm not letting this be for nothing. You are not beating me."

It tasted horrible. So horrible that she hacked up a major hairball. God, licking her own anus after what had just happened was the worst part, feeling the slimy, gritty texture of the puckered flesh and matted fur with her tongue. And she wasn't even close to clean. Bruno tried to “help" dispose of the evidence, which only grossed her out further, but then horked up a tsunami of foul vomit. All over Mitzy.

“I don't care anymore!" she sobbed. “I know what you're going to do. You're going to shit on me, aren't you?"

“That's right." The german shepherd pushed her to the ground and squatted over her. Mitzy lay on her side and watched in numb horror as the nasty dog's repulsive pucker flexed and clenched, until with one heft push and a satisfied grunt, he shat a huge, soft log onto her chest. Before she could ask him if he was happy now, he pushed again, oozing abominable, rotten smelling ribbons and coils of crackling, reeking canine soft-serve that buried her chest in muck. He immediately stepped in his load, smearing it over her body. It was a vile yellowish color, and horribly wet and mushy.

“Fuck!" she gagged as the mess was squelched and mashed into her fur, defiling her tabby coat. “What have you even been eating?"

“You don't wanna know," he said. “And I got into the box of biscuits this morning. So don't think I'm done yet. But for now, you can lick my asshole clean."

“You knew you were going to do this and you tricked me into agreeing to it," she mewled hopelessly.

Bruno was as horny as ever, and soon his feline companion was covered from nose to tail in filth. He made her lick his cock clean after humping her in the mess. This time, Mitzi bit him for real out of spite, and because she couldn't stop gagging. As soon as she'd recovered from that ordeal, he dumped a pile the size of the cat's head on the floor and ordered her to rub her face in it and eat it. He hadn't meant to make her get this filthy, but seeing her like this, seeing her put in her place after calling him dirty so many times, turned him on so much.

“Good kitty. Do you want to be fed now?"

“No!" Mitzi hiccuped.

“Too bad. Roll over. On your back."

The substance Bruno had eaten that Mitzi didn't want to know about... was poop. Dog waste, goose droppings, and even rabbit pellets on yesterday's walk. It contributed to his horrible breath, and it was also about to cause a huge mess. Most of a 10 lb box of milk bones didn't help either. Bruno had never had a chance of making it until their owner got home. He didn't mind having “accidents" on the floor, and he'd thought about further annihilating Mitzi's litterbox before deciding to subject the cat to his digestive problems. The german shepherd's bowels churned. “Fuck, I've really gotta go," he said. “I almost feel sorry for you, but you deserve this. Who's the dirty animal now?"

“M-me..." Mitzi blubbered, with tears in her eyes. She heard the rumble too, and she'd witnessed the destruction Bruno could wreak upon one or more rooms of the house if his stomach acted up. Fuck him. What had she done? What had she gotten herself into? What had she been turned into that she would let him do such an unspeakable thing to her? She wasn't fit to be called a cat anymore. She loathed him so much, but the filthy, bedraggled thing she'd become was no better. Her heart thudded in her slender chest. She gazed into the rancid pucker beneath his tail like it was the light of a laser pointer. Why was she anticipating this with a thrill? Was it because she'd never done anything nearly this naughty before? Or had her mind just been broken by the sheer assault on her senses. The smell was so bad, there was muck in her ears, her fur was matted and sticky, her whiskers weighed down, and the taste was beyond description.

PBPLRORP! Bruno pushed out a massive wet, rotten egg dog fart. Then shit began to flow out of him like a mudslide. Mitzi lay there, flat on her back under that mudslide, her body completely relaxed. She didn't feel the urge to scramble away. She just watched, her arousal growing and growing with the pile of muck on her stomach. Vile, creamy yellow mush. Turd after wet, sloppy turd. PBLBLRLRLT! A spurt of extra runny crap splatted onto her chest. Mitzi's heart was beating so hard, and so fast. She reached out a forepaw into the warm, steaming pile. That son of a bitch. He'd done this. It was all his fault. He was shitting on her. He was actually shitting on her. Bad dog. Very bad dog. But she was dirty. Dirty cat. She was just letting him do it, because she felt that this was right. She'd been overpowered, tricked, and she knew damn well she'd been beaten. Tomorrow that fucking dog would be disrespecting her as usual: sleeping in her bed, chewing her toys, drinking from her water fountain, and she would have no right to complain, but no desire to either. Now she understood how ridiculous her haughtiness was. They were both animals. Gross, messy animals. They licked their own genitals and anuses, they both peed and pooped in unsanitary locations that others had to clean up after, they both vomited and made messes in the house frequently.

Mitzi brought her shitty paw to her face. She sniffed, dabbed the vile sludge on her muzzle and whiskers, then licked. She shuddered and gagged in revulsion, but it somehow didn't feel bad anymore.

She understood with perfect clarity why dogs rolled in shit, and ate it, and drank from toilets. It was fun. It felt good, to free yourself of all the restrictions and anxiety about not being messy, and embrace that part of her nature.

Bruno must have had to poop so badly. It was all coming out on her. Making her filthy. She was being marked by him, so covered in his scent that she could never lick herself clean without help. He was making a mess. He was making cat food. Stinky cat food for stinky kitties. He was giving her a bath.

The shitty shepherd shuffled back, until his sphincter yawned over Mitzi's face. She teased eagerly at his hole with her nose and tongue, and without even being ordered to, opened her mouth wide. With a noise like an empty ketchup bottle being squeezed, he let loose with a spectacular eruption of appallingly runny and rotten smelling and tasting doggie diarrhea. Out of him, and onto her, and into her mouth. Such a bad taste. His stomach must have hurt having all this mess inside it. It must feel so good letting it out. It was in her fucking mouth. She retched, choked, then swallowed. Her stomach clenched. Still flat on her back, she erupted like a volcano of nasty cat puke.

Bruno groaned, and sharted in her face again. Gross. Dogs were so gross. But she was a dog's toilet. Lumps of filth rolled off her face and fell into her mouth. It was a long, long dump. Mush and sludge buried her ears and coated her eyes and whiskers. She swallowed the hot, goopy mess, and opened wide again. It was liquid. Fuck, it was liquid. He had diarrhea. She was probably going to get sick from this. Stupid dog. Stupid cat. She gurgled, and began to purr.

The dog stepped off her. No more pooping. She was filthy. She had to lick herself clean like any dirty cat should. Lick up all this horrible shitty tasting dog waste. Mitzi's bladder was bursting too, and her bowels suddenly cramped as she sat up. She couldn't hold this in. She couldn't make it to the litterbox. She knew where she should lick. She curled up and started tongue bathing her own soiled vagina and anus, waiting while the call of nature got stronger and stronger, then answered it. Hot, salty liquid gushed into her face and mouth, briefly cleansing her palate before her stomach rumbled and dregs of nasty diarrhea squirted all over her and in her maw.

Fuck... fuck... fuck. She'd cum again, hadn't she? It was okay. She was so filthy, maybe he wouldn't notice if she just acted casual.

“You're purring again."

“It's just my stomach," Mitzi lied, blushing profusely under her not-mud mask. “You've made me sick, you know that, right? If I shit myself in bed tonight it'll be your fault."

Bruno licked her face with his sloppy dog tongue. “I won our bet and you know it. Own up to it."

“Fine. You win. You were right. I... I enjoyed it." The cat started to cry. “What the hell is wrong with me?"

“The stick up your ass finally came out. And look at what came out with it!"

“God, fuck you." Mitzi stood up, resisting the urge to shake herself. She started rubbing her shitty body all over her canine rival. “Okay, fine, you can drink out of my water fountain. And you can drool all over my toys as much as you want, as long as you don't break them. And you can lie on my bed as much as you want, as long as you leave room for me. Starting right now." She padded over to her beloved cat bed and lay down on it, rolling and writhing and getting it all filthy.

“What about your litterbox?"

“Well..." Mitzi's stomach gurgled. Her bladder was still full too. That flood had barely taken the edge off it. Man, all that liquid was going right through her. “I don't think I'll be using it as much anymore, so I guess we can share it when you need to."

“Oh? Are you finally going to try using the toilet? Not afraid of falling in anymore?"

“I have a better idea. Roll over and I'll show you."

The dog's tail started to wag. “Man, you're so much more fun now. I really am God's gift to ladies."

“Shut up, dumbass. I'm getting you back for what you did to me." The now completely brown cat straddled Bruno's muzzle. “Ahh..." She started to purr again as she relieved herself into his mouth, with a hissing flood of acrid cat urine and spurts of sloppy diarrhea that should have been embarrassingly noisy, but she no longer cared.

It was hard for Mitzi and Bruno's owner to say what surprised him more when he came home late that night. The state of the house, and the fact that his cat and dog were completely covered in shit, or that he found them happily curled up together like they'd been best friends all their lives.

Day 4: Prostitution

Today, you're turning 21, which in the strange land of America that you hail from is a big deal. You're the last in your friend group to reach this milestone, and your buddies have told you that they've planned a present for you that will make the night truly unforgettable.

You start out with a bar crawl. You're trying to be responsible and pace yourself, and just order a beer or two at each place (you've experienced getting totally blasted at college parties before, naturally), but then they lead you to a place that looks like it's a bit more than a bar. And then, to your horror, the gift is revealed.

“You booked what?" you shout, going ballistic when you hear the news. They can't be serious. This has to be some sort of prank. They explain again. No, you didn't mishear. “You booked me a hooker? Are you shitting me?"

“I think the preferred term is 'escort,' or 'lady of the night.'"

“Escort, whatever! Guys, what the fuck?"

“I know what you're going to say: you didn't have to do all this for me, how can I ever repay you. Don't worry about it, we're doing this because we love you man. And I'll totally pay you back the forty bucks I owe you, it's cool."

“That's not the point! This is a total violation of my boundaries! Fuck... please tell me there's not a cancellation fee..."

“There isn't."

“Oh thank god."

“It's no refunds, paid in advance."

“Oh, god damnit. Look, guys, I... appreciate the thought and all, but I'm not interested in having sex with someone I don't even know! Especially not for money!"

Your best friend lays a gentle, understanding hand on your shoulder. “Look, dude, consider this an intervention."

“Intervention for what?"

“You being a virgin at 21."

“There's nothing wrong with that!"

“Well, it's less that you're a virgin, and more that we can see the onset of turbovirginity approaching," says your buddy Tanner. “You posted pictures of your 'waifu' in the Discord server. Your anime catgirl waifu. It was super cringe. Face it man, you need help."

“Oh come on, that was a fucking meme! You're taking it out of context!"

“And with the virgin discount she only charges twenty bucks a night!"

Despite your protests, you're frog-marched through the doors of the club on the outskirts of the college town: the Lifted Tail. To your horror, as you glance at the stage you realize the name is quite literal. It's... it's a furry joint. Okay, sure, anime catgirls are hot, you weren't just posting those pictures for the memez, but you have to draw the line some place and you draw it at a 1 on the Furry Scale. And either some of those are incredibly well made costumes, or... they're not. But you don't have time to get a good look before a burly bull bouncer whose horns don't look plastic escorts you past the stage, past the private rooms, and out what seems like the back door but actually opens into what looks, and smells, like a barn. He stops before... a pigsty? It's small, about ten by ten feet, a recessed concrete pit about five feet down and surrounded by a waist-high railing. If you fall in, you know there's little chance of escape. The surface looks like what you hope is mud.

At the moment, it's unoccupied. But your jaw drops in astonishment. There, trotting up to you with its hips swaying confidently, is what looks like... a pig in lipstick? And you're not thinking that because you're body-shaming: she's literally a pig in lipstick. Not even an anthropomorphic pig either. A regular, four-hooved, curly-tailed sow of some size: pink, wrinkly, and dirty. To be fair, aside from the lipstick she's wearing a large amount of mascara, four fishnet stockings that go from thighs to trotters, and a very short purple skirt.

You groan and facepalm. “Ha ha ha, very funny guys! I should've known. You're so hilarious! Come on, let's get out of here, it smells like -"

“Hello, boys," says the pig in a rich, syrupy voice. “Hello, handsome. The name's Portia. You must be the lucky fellow whose generous friends booked you a whole night with me?"

When you've finished screaming, swooning, and babbling incoherently that this must be some kind of prank, you stutter: “Uh, hi, miss, miss piggy! There must be some mistake, I – I didn't ask them to hire you. Please don't take this the wrong way and I'm sorry for wasting your time, but... I'll see you guys later!" You turn to run, but the bouncer blocks you with one beefy arm.

“Sorry, squirt. Portia here's got a no refunds, no backsies policy."

“Come on, man, don't wuss out!" says one of your friends. “I know we only spent twenty bucks with your virgin discount, but that's almost half a pizza!"

“After seeing him, I'm knocking another 25% off," says Portia to your friends. “You were right about him: he really is a scrawny little wimp. But don't worry: I know just how to take care of cute little unworldly boys like him! You have a good night: I know we will!"

You're in too much shock to speak as your so-called friends laugh, wish you a happy birthday, and desert you. With that, the bouncer opens the gate, seizes you by the shirt, and heaves you bodily into the sty. Miraculously you land on your feet, but sink up to your waist in the ooze. Portia clops up to the edge and grins piggily down at you. “Wait, just one thing," she said. “You don't keep Kosher or Halal, do you?"

“Uh, no?" you say, too late to realize that it might have saved you.

“Good. Because you're going to be dining on a lot of pork products tonight. Now look out below! Cannonball!"

You only have time to turn around and shield your head as the 450 lb sow belly flops into the mud just two feet away, sending a tsunami of spatter up your back. The bouncer chuckles, closes the gate, and walks back into the club, leaving you alone with the swine seductress. With a great squelch you pull your legs free of the muck enough to struggle towards a firmer spot. Fuck, your pants are ruined. Good they you gave your friends your phone, wallet, and car keys to watch, since you've lost at least one of those things during previous parties. You try to stand and make for the wall, but you immediately sink in again. Only knee deep this time, but you know that jumping to reach the rim is truly impossible. Perhaps if you piggybacked, but you doubt you'll be allowed to do that.

“Umm... hi?" you wave nervously at the pig and introduce yourself.

“Good to meet you, Anon," she says sultrily. “Now, what do you say you slip out of those uncomfortable muddy clothes and we get down to business?"

When it comes down to it, you're too weak willed to resist a command from woman in lingerie. Especially because you've heard what can happen to attractive young male farmhands who fall into a sty full of amorous sows. You disrobe with some effort. Portia wades to the shallowest part of her sty – sadly nothing but wall all the way to the ceiling, and shows you the other side of that skirt. You're a little surprised to see a pair of matching purple panties. They're too skimpy to cover anything properly. You immediately turn bright red, and cover your own... sausage.

“This can't be happening," you mutter. “Boner no, now's not the time! Don't betray me!"

“You do know that was out loud, right?" she grunts. “You see, your body knows what to do. Learn to listen to it." She shakes those ham hocks from side to side, her behemoth bubble butt splattered with unidentifiable brown substances from her swan dive. The smell is so bad your eyes are watering. You're pretty sure it isn't mud.

You whimper in distress. “Umm... Portia? Don't you think this isn't exactly consensual?"

“That's gentlemanly of you to be concerned, but don't worry: I'm a champion truffle hunter. I don't need to do this to pay the bills: this is just a side gig."

“I was talking about me!"

She rolls her piggy eyes in distaste. “I can see this'll be harder than I thought. Look, according to your friends, you've been single for your entire college career."

“I'm focusing on academics!"

“That's what they all say. Face it, Anon, your sex life consists entirely of romantic evenings with your hand."

“I own three fleshlights, actually."

“That doesn't help your case. Let me put it this way: would you rather spend your 21st Birthday alone in your sweaty dorm room with an anime catgirl on a computer screen, or here in a filthy pigsty with a real woman?"

“I'd pick the catgirl, actually."

“You can fantasize about anime catgirls any night you want. Tonight's a once in a lifetime experience. Let me show you a good time. If you don't like it, well, every sexual experience for the rest of your life will seem better by comparison. But trust me... once you go hog tramp, you'll always be pogchamp."

You have a few too many beers in you to question this impeccable logic. What's the harm in stepping a little out of your comfort zone? You wade over to the sow seductress. “Uhh... where do I start?"

“Oh, damnit you're hopeless."

Guided by Portia's commands, you caress her tender, luscious hams under her short skirt, then tug her inadequate panties side to put the rancid folds of her portly pig pussy on full display. Her “Pussy" if you will. Wait, that joke doesn't work with a pig. It's just a regular pussy, other than its size making your “hot dog" seem inadequate. You're sweating like, well, a pig. You've never been this flustered before. This is the closest you've been to a vagina in your entire postpubescent life. You give her a hesitant poke, just to be sure this is all real, then brush your hand lightly along the wrinkled, hairy skin.

But before you can do what would seem to come naturally, Portia takes charge. She turns around with numerous squelches, and suddenly her hot hog breath is breathing right on your crotch. “Not so fast," she says.

“You don't charge extra for that, do you?" you ask sheepishly.

“Of course not, honey," she grunts. “But I can see you're a timid one, and you'll just fumble around all night back there. You need to learn how to please a lady properly." She snuffles at your hard member. “But first, I'll show you how it feels. Oh, and it's more fun for me to tease you a bit, make you want me bad. So remember what I just showed you. Keep picturing it."

You don't think you could get the image out of your head if you tried. Portia's snuffling becomes more contactful, and in one fell slorp she takes your member into her mouth.

“Oh," you gasp. You lay a hand on her cheek beside her ear, but don't push her away. Fuck. Fuck, this is actually happening. You're getting lipstick stains on your dick from a pig. Portia smiles, but doesn't try to talk with her mouthful. She presses your schlong against the roof of her maw with her tongue, rolling it back and forth then dragging in and out, in and out.

The wonderful experience is over before you know it: picturing her other end is working rather too well. Your hips buck and quiver, and you squirt pulse after pulse into her mouth.

“Fuck... that was incredible," you gasp. “I can't believe you actually swallowed it. I thought that only happened in porn."

Portia lets out a cacophonous, squealing laugh. “Oh my God, you really are hopeless!" She wiggles her way out of the mud, planting a hoof against your stomach. “Lie down and I'll teach you a thing or two."

You obediently lie flat on your back, wrinkling your nose in disgust as the foul mud squishes under you. Portia turns around and seems about to straddle you. Oh, you think, she's going to be on top? At least you're lying on something soft. But she backs that dump truck of a booty farther and farther, until you realize that it's not your dick she's going to be riding. Her rear end is a much less welcome sight with its mud-caked glory inches from your face.

“Uhm... Portia?" you ask timidly. “This isn't mud, is it?"

“It used to be at some point. But not anymore. They only muck this place out twice a year," she says nonchalantly. “But here's a tip: when a girl asks you to go down on her, it's rude to ask about a little thing like hygiene. Just man up and get to work."

Your arms are pinned beneath her trotters, and you know she can only mean for you to use your tongue. You gag. At least her pussy's mostly clean. The porker pucker beneath that curly tail doesn't look that bad either, but you're definitely not eating pig ass.

You have no practice at all, and your technique is horrible, made worse by her awful, rancid taste distracting you. But the sow is soon sopping, dripping ghastly ham juices all over your face. It's like licking snot. You feel like you're down there forever, suffocating beneath her blubbery buttocks. You're pretty sure her orgasm is faked out of sheer boredom. She's enjoying herself, but there's a reason she's the professional and not you.

“Well, at least you're trying," she grunts. “Now let's spice things up a little."

“What do you mean?" you ask, but in answer, a spurt of liquid suddenly hits the roof of your mouth. Hot, salty, bitter liquid. “Ack!" you spit it out. “What the fuck?" But any further protests are silenced and drowned out by an unmistakeable hissing and pattering. She stands up in the mud, raising her rear enough for you to see the dark yellow waterfall coming from her folds. She's peeing on you. She's actually peeing on you.

“Stop!" You squeal, sounding very piglike yourself. “Help! Safe word! Tangerine! Parmesan!" you blurt out anything you can think of, but she just chuckles callously and keeps urinating, soaking your face in a gentle, pungent stream.

“Oh, stop whining. You're a college student, I'm sure you've drunk beer worse than this at keg parties."

She has a point, you think. Not quite accurate, you don't think even the cheapiest, nastiest beer is quite as acrid as this. “This is gross."

“Sex is gross, honey. Bodies are dirty things. True pleasure comes from celebrating that, not hiding it. You were all too happy to have me swallow your fluids, weren't you? And seeing me covered in -"

“Mud!" you blurt out. “Please can we just pretend it's mud."

“For now," she says. “If you admit that you're turned on by being with a dirty girl."

“I... I guess I am."

“But it would be selfish to expect your lover to be dirty without accepting that she'll make you dirty with her, don't you agree?"

“It's hard to debate philosophy while you're peeing on me."

“Than don't debate. Experiment, and I know you'll find yourself enjoying things you didn't expect." Her stream gets stronger, hissing and foaming as it showers your forehead. A shower... a golden shower. It's so warm. To your surprise you find yourself hardening again. She's so nasty. She's right. This is the price of doing the dirty deed with a dirty... animal. And it turns you on being so helpless too, pinned beneath a perverted peeing pig. You struggle in vain, but you can't budge her weight one inch. You're totally at the farm animal's mercy.

She's not stopping. How is she not stopping? Just how big is her bladder? Your mind thrills to imagine. Little do you know that a pig can pee for a looooong time even under the best of circumstances, and Portia's been holding her bladder for hours while chugging massive amounts of water and watered down beer. You're in for a long shower, so long that you have plenty of time to work up the courage to push past your inhibitions and open your mouth.

Fuck! It's nasty! You splutter in dismay. On a scale of 1 to Pabst Blue Ribbon it's only about a four, but still a truly noxious liquid to get in your mouth. It stings your taste buds, all salty, sour, and bitter at the same time.

“I swallowed. Now it's your turn. Drink or I'll sit down. It might go right up your nose."

“Glrrglrlbglugglk!" You summon all your courage and choke down a mouthful. Ugh! You feel defiled, and sullied.

“Good boy. Drink up, little piggy."

You're afraid if you don't drink, she might actually drown you in it there's so much. Your best drunken guesstimate is that when all's said and down you're forced to consume at least a pint of piss, and another couple of gallons waters down the mud you're lying in to a frothing, soupy gunge.

Before you can recover from this traumatic experience (which in fairness would take months, if not years, but she didn't even give you a five minute grace period), the depraved sow demands that you return the favor. Your bladder is much fuller than you thought after the long pub crawl, and you astound yourself with the volume you produce, showering the pig's head in golden liquid and making her mascara run. She then calls a snack break after an immense quantity of kitchen scraps slides down a chute into her feeding trough.

“Eww," you say, “Some of those are all slimy. I'm not eating that."

“Then you might as well get busy behind me," Portia grunts.

You're reluctant at first, but the sound of the hog going hog wild on that food is so repulsive that you need a distraction. You wade to her backside and give those blubbery hamhocks a good smack before mounting the scarfing sow balls deep. Her dinner is truly noxious: the worst assortment of restaurant food possible. There are cold french fries soggy with ketchup, mustard and mayo, chunks of vegetables that must have been left rotting for days before someone remembered to send them down to here, stale bread drowned in sour milk, overripe tomatoes, at least a gallon of sweet corn mixed with baked beans, lots of meatloafs with one bite missing, well done steaks that the idiot customers who ordered them realized they didn't want, a side salad soaked in rancid used deep fryer grease, various inedible-looking things you can't even identify, and for dessert, a cake that she says a stripper sat on for a client with a fetish. It completely ruins your first fuck watching her chow down on all that slop. But the worst is yet to come.

The pig's gut is rumbling dangerously as soon as she starts eating, and halfway through she starts blowing noxious hog wind against your stomach as you rawdog her, trumpeting and tuba-ing a symphony of impending tummy trouble. It's also the final death knell for your dignity, as the amorous sow abrupt backs up her ginormous spluttering dump truck of fanny, bulldozing you down into the muck until she's parked that colossal keister right over your face.

FWWOOAAARRRR-RUPPPP! She blutters, making you gag with the hideous stunch of the muggy air.

“Please don't," you blubber mournfully, knowing what horrors await you.

“Sorry, human. I got paid to break you completely. I can't disappoint your friends: I have my professional reputation to think of!"

With that, the pig prostitute's curly tail raises, and the porcine pucker beneath bulges and flexes in and out, in and out. Another half a pint of urine soaks your face, then with an atrociously wet and thunderous sound her asshole is unceremoniously shoved open by a gargantuan log: over a yard long and as big around as your fist, that poo python slithers greasily out of her and drapes its rank coils across your face. You gag and protest beating your own good hand against her buttocks, tuggng her tail, and even trying to wedgie her with her scanty panties, but to no avail. Grunting and oinking in a manner so bestial you almost forgot that she's fully capable of speech and knows exactly what evil she's subjecting you to, Portia continues to evacuate her bowels with you trapped there helpless beneath her girth. More baseball sized clods of manure roll off her face, then a steaming avalanche of mush.

SPPWWWBBBWWBBWBBBWBBBLLARNCHH!! PFFLLRKBLKBLOPP! The vile pork products ooze and splurt from her rectum, covering your face in ordure.

“Ahh..." Portia says conversationally in her sumptous voice. “I always love taking a good dump after a heavy meal... especially when I have a pathetic little client like you to be under me while I let loose."

KLAABLAAPPT!!! A thunderous dung-detonation blasts you with a burst of seething hot colon air and chunks of thick clay-like waste.

“Guys like you are just hopeless," she continues. “Think about your sad life: a virgin at 21, and you didn't even have the balls to hire me yourself. You have no drive and no ambition. The only thing you're good for is being down her with me, little piggy boy. This is where you belong, in filth and garbage. You might as well accept it."

The combination of being figuratively and literally shat on is too much for your weak will. You begin to sob and blubber, flailing your arm incoherently as another wave of sludge bears down on you.

“You rejected the perfectly good slop you were served, so enjoy yesterday's slop, fresh from my ass."

The stench is beyond comprehension, like an outhouse in the middle of august. Hot, mushy dung slathers your face, piling up around you and burying you in layer after layer

“Eat up, piggy, or you'll suffocate down there."

You can't keep your mouth closed. You have to breathe and retch, but when you do, the mound of soft, gooey slurry on your face collapses into it.

“ULGLK!" you gasp, your body spasming with the need for air. You puke, spewing a projectile torrent of beer, bar food, and pig pee against her backside. Portia laughs, and returns fire with an even nastier volley of creamy sow fudge.

“That's right, boy, empty your stomach. Make some room, you'll need it."

Your taste buds are burnt out by the reprehensible flavor clogging your mouth and throat. Grunting in rage and panic, you thrash from side to side, squishing the putrid sludge around in your mouth, but her bowels show no sign of letting up. You're being buried alive.

You swallow.

Your stomach rebels, but its struggles die down as Portia force feeds you more and more waste. Your oxygen-deprived brain begins to accept the wisdom of her words. You're coasting on “Cs Get Degrees." You don't even like your major. Your friends were so tired of you dragging you down that they threw you down here. You're scum. You're filth. She's right. This is your place. You belong here, deep in the pigshit.

You start to grunt and squeal like a pig yourself, greedily shoveling the sty queen's waste down your gullet. But more just keeps coming, and coming, and coming. Finally she lets you up for air. You scramble backward through the deep muck, choking and retching, but find yourself cornered against the wall of the sty. Portia climbs on top of you, pressing her dung-caked ass right against your face and blasting a hideously wet trumpet of triumph that ripples both your cheeks and hers.

Then her dump gets even worse. The amount of putrid substance's she's eaten is too much even for a pig's gut to handle. You're not just trapped behind the ass of a coprophilic sow: you're trapped behind the ass of a coprophilic sow who's now experiencing severe gastrointestinal distress. It starts out as a gentle, bubbling river of runny pigshit, then cacophonous shirts punctuated by muddy squirts of lumpy gravy-like pork by-product that spray your face.

“Oeer," she oinks. “Here comes a big one!"

You pull your panties over her asshole to try to contain the scatological shrapnel, but it's hopeless. A craptastrophic explosion of pressurized pigshit rips the undergarment clean in half and dirties you with the force of a burst sewer main. With a mighty roar, she evacuates her bowels in a fountain of greasy diarrhea that scours your throat and sinuses, and sprays you and the wall behind you with such inconcievable force that slurry rains down on her back. You're in the shittiest circle of hog hell, trapped by her bulk as she mercilessly inundates you both in liquid excrement, but she's exactly 100% as happy as a pig in shit with this situation, which as it turns out is pretty happy.

BLUGGP! BGLUNK! The torrent finally slows to the force of a household faucet. You moan and slurp corn-infested mud off her ample behind and rancid folds of hot meat. Your hips buck and thrust against her bloated, gurgling stomach. You're going to cum. You let her fill your mouth with her endless streams of repugnant gruel. Creamy semisolids rise around your head.

You're only interrupted by your own bowels clamoring for release. “Miss Portia?" you ask feebly. “Where's the bathroom in here?"

The pig smiles. “Anywhere and everywhere, sweetie. But you know, in ancient china they used to have toilets that emptied straight into a pigsty, and I think I've just made a little room in my stomach."

You don't question your actions at all. You just get on all fours, wait until you can feel her snorfling at your exit, and push. You are content to live like a pig for as long as this night lasts. You've been pigging out at the pubs, and you turn out to have a horrific, toilet-destroying case of the beer shits. Right in her face and mouth.

“Not bad, honey," she says, her face dripping with your diarrhea. “I told you I'd make a pig out of you." She lets you climb on her back for a piggyback ride while you foul her repeatedly. Man, there was something wrong with that bar food. Either that or your system is reacting violently to your more recent meal. But there's more to come. The feeding trough is refilled again, with what's unmistakably excrement. Portia squeals excitedly and splashes over to it, pausing only to explain that it comes from some of her coworkers upstairs who happen to be horses, cows, and sheep. Shen then digs in, rooting around in the steaming dung with reckless abandon. When in a pigsty, do as the pigs do, you think, and join her, but she orders you back behind her to rim her filthy anus, periodically ballooning your cheeks with bursts of swampy air or swampier liquid.

No sooner has she emptied the trough than she refills it again, backing her butt right up to it and unloading a horrendous avalanche of slurry that fills it to the brim. It's absolutely disgusting, ridden with poorly digested corn kernels and chunks of carrots or celery, like an unholy butt stew. In your current state, though, you shove your head right into the putrescent slurry with just as much enthusiasm and gluttony as her, feasting, contributing your own massive load to the slop, and feasting again. You puke most of it up while french kissing her, but that's okay because there's no limit to what you can pig out on. Ingesting at least forty pounds of slop plus the thirty or so from her coworkers makes her intestinal irritation even worse, and she just keeps gulping down the slurry she's wading in and pumping it back out of her rectum. The pig is nearly incontinent, with liquid shit running from her butt almost constantly. She can't hold it in for more than a few minutes. Sometimes she sits down in the sludge and turns it into a mud jacuzzi with cacophonous bursts of gas, sometimes she raises her rump high and spraypaints the walls of the sty with filth. Pigsty doesn't even begin to cover the state of it now: it's more of an open septic tank, or a manure lagoon.

And that's where you spend the night of your 21st Birthday: losing your virginity to a whoriffically nasty pig, and gleefully wallowing with her in her own excrement all night long. You should have known better than to wrestle with a pig in shit, because she's pushed you down to her level: half-submerged in slurry, pinned beneath her vagina and anus, hopelessly addicted to being bathed by her floods of salty pee and fetid diarrhoea.

“By the way," Portia says the next morning when the ladder is finally lowered for you to climb out of that horrific place, “I offer subscription packages. Tuesday nights can be all yours for just $44.99 per month for the whole academic year."

Naturally, as soon as you get your wallet back from your friends you sign up.

Day 5: Sweat

Today, it was business as usual at the Broom And Shovel Ranch. Being a ranch hand was hard, dirty work, but Alex, the new stable hand, was finding he enjoyed it. Especially because the job had some... special perks, like working with Sandy and Cinnamon, the two nastiest mares on the ranch, and possibly the whole county. Mucking out their stall and washing them took half the morning (it would've been faster with the ranch's bobcat loader, but he'd lost heavy equipment privileges for a while due to an incident where he accidentally tipped the bucket the wrong way while trying to empty it into the manure pile. His coworkers claimed the seat still stank. Alex didn't have much of a sense of smell left. He didn't mind mucking by hand, though, especially because he after that, he'd been told to take the pair on a long ride and work off their high spirits.

Even though it was October, the Texas heat and humidity remained oppressive as ever. Ten miles on the trail, sometimes walking, sometimes galloping through the dust, and Alex, the mares, and his coworker Jason were all drenched in sweat. They'd been drinking water copiously all day, so he didn't feel dehydrated, but god was he hot and sticky.

They returned to the ranch, and Jason slid easily out of Cinnamon's saddle. The Bay thoroughbred whinnied and tossed her head. “Well, it's been a pleasure riding with you boys," she said.

Alex dismounted Sandy much less gracefully, making the palomino quarter horse laugh as he stumbled and faceplanted into Cinnamon's flank.

“Meant to do that!" he said, then blushed when he remembered Jason standing right there. He was objectively a good looking young man, with a well trimmed beard and a chiseled jaw. If this were a gay cowboy romance he'd be a shoe-in for the lead. But this wasn't. The real reason for Alex's embarrassment was that he didn't mind having his face pressed against Cinnamon's hot, sweaty skin one bit. It was a total accident, pure clumsiness, but if Jason hadn't been around he wouldn't have been so hasty in getting up, and all of them knew it.

Jason ignored this, though. The novelty of teasing Alex after the horses had gone the extra mile in hazing him and he'd turned out to like their dirty prank had mostly worn off. “Welp. Might as well get the saddles off these two."

Alex handled Sandy's saddle, while Jason removed Cinnamon's. Both were hung over a post to dry in the sun and be washed later. There was more work to be done first. Meanwhile, the horses drank greedily, neigh, gluttonously even from a water trough. They must have consumed ten gallons each.

“Now let's get these horses cleaned up," said Jason with a grimace. The mares were nasty. Their short fur and manes was soaked with rank equine sweat that dripped down their muscular flanks. Their tails and manes were matted and sticky, and the dust in the air had mixed with it. Both horses had white or blonde parts: Sandy's main and tail, and Cinnamon's stockings and other markings. They showed the dirt very clearly, but it was obvious everywhere. They'd ridden through muddy creeks as well, leaving them spattered with caked dirt that was moistened by their copious perspiration. “You two be on your best behavior. None of your usual horseplay, or you won't get no sugar cubes with dinner."

Cinnamon smirked. “Actually, I think Alex can take care of bathing us," she said, giving the younger ranch hand a saucy wink. “I'm in a frisky mood today, and I haven't gotten it all out of my system yet. It might take a while to get us clean." This was a not so subtle reference to the fact that Cinnamon had only pooped four times during the ride, and Sandy three, along with soaking the trail in urine three times each. It was pretty typical output for an average mare, but they were far, far above average, and they'd convinced Alex to give them each a “special" sugar cube around lunchtime. Alex knew they were restraining themselves, and they had no qualms about leaving a minefield for hikers and bikers using the trail to avoid. That could only mean they had plans.

Jason shook his head in disgust. “All right, fine." He was all too eager to avoid having to deal with the pair. “You sure you can handle them?"

“I know I can't, but if you'll take on my chores for the afternoon I'll do my best." He'd barely finished speaking before his coworker was hurrying away.

“Good luck!" he hollered, and vanished into a toolshed, abandoning Alex to his fate.

“Thanks, dude!" Alex said, and turned around to find a golden palomino backside right in his face. Sandy giggled as she got her rump up close and personal with him, and smacked him in the face with her ratty, sweat-soaked tail. He took a deep whiff of her equine body odor, and patted her rump. Sandy giggled and pranced around in a circle. She licked his forehead, where his bangs were plastered to him with perspiration.

“Mmm, you taste like a salt lick!" the excitable palomino slurped her tongue all over his face. Alex laughed and pushed her away, only for her to nibble the crotch of his Levi's.

“You're shameless," commented Cinnamon." She planted a hoof on Alex's shoulder and sent him stumbling forward into the palomino's glistening, steaming flank.

“Oof!" He stayed there for longer than he had too, sniffing her and feeling the heat of her muggy, dirty hide soaking into his bare skin. There was an ominous gurgle like a crocodile's growl from her gut. He patted Sandy affectionately and backed off, only for Cinnamon to hypocritically bury her nose in his armpit and take a deep huff. “Cut it out, that tickles!"

Further horseplay ensued. Alex stroked the two mares and rubbed their heads, running his fingers through their dirty manes, slicked down to their hides with perspiration. They really were frisky today, tossing their heads and body-checking him and each other around the paddock. It was gentle frolicking, but in the sweltering heat it caused even more perspiration. Alex peeled his drenched t-shirt off his body and wrung it out over Cinnamon's face, then tried to use it to towel off the thoroughbred's body. He attempted to move on to Sandy, but the quarterhorse shied away with a giggle.

“Eww, I don't want you getting her sweat all over me! I want a fresh towel!"

“This is what I've got," Alex replied, but Sandy's eyes strayed knowingly downward.

“Take yer pants off."

“Fine." Alex did so, but Sandy then complained that the denim was too rough. He sighed: “Lemme guess: you want me to take my boxers off."

Sandy turned around, flashing her winking vulva and pucker at him. “You see ours all the time."

“You two see mine all the time too."

“All the more reason not to be shy," said Cinnamon. Alex grinned, having no real objection but just wanting to tease the mares a little in return for all the teasing they did to him.

“I've gotta warn you, it's pretty humid down there, there was darn near a puddle on your saddle." His undies were so drenched in nasty ball sweat that they were useless to dry Sandy off, but he rubbed her down thoroughly with them anyway. This was probably the freshest any of them would smell for a while anyway, if he knew Sandy and Cinnamon.

Soon Alex found himself in quite close proximity to the two mares' business ends. It was normally dangerous to be so close behind a horse since they could get spooked and kick, but the pair of mares enjoyed having farm workers right behind them – which made it dangerous for different, more unhygienic reasons. The mares had truly despicable cases of swamp ass, their rank sweat mixed with flatulence and the flakes of not-so-dried manure that clung to their glistening, sweaty sphincters mixing to form a stench that could knock out a skunk from forty yards. Alex had to withstand being pressed against one mare's flank while the other ground her dirty horse ass against him, over and over.

PFFORRRRPPP! Sandy's bowels trumpeted, her soggy tail fur rippling with her own wind in the otherwise stagnant air.

PPBBPBPWWWIPPPPTT! Cinnamon returned fire with her own chemical weaponry. “Whew! I feel a bit bloated." FFWWWOOORRRRRROORRRRRPPP!

“Did that help?" Alex asked, fanning himself: not from the smell, which he was used to, but because the noxious gas was directed right at him and was even more unbearably swelteringly humid than the surrounding air. He was glad they were outdoors: the mare's stall would have become a sauna.

She shook her head with a smirk. “Of course not, sweetie. Not after what we've been eating."

“Yeah, the 'special' sugar cubes. How could I forget?" He'd put a full dose of Mare-A-Lax Extra-Strength in those treats. One horse-sized pill was advertised as bringing rapid relief to even the most clogged up clydesdale, and Sandy and Cinnamon were only mid-sized horses, not to mention they tended to produce rather overripe horseapples even at the best of times.

“Not just those, silly boy. You didn't see what was in our feed bags, did you?"

“Oats? Alfalfa?"

Sandy whinnied in amusement. “Nah! Oats, with prunes mixed in! I think I ate about four pounds!" The quarterhorse's stomach made a noise like pouring oatmeal down a running garbage disposal. She shuddered. “Ooh, I think I might've overdone it a little!"

With his boxers already used as a towel, there was no hiding Alex's raging boner at the thought of what that would do to the mares' digestion. “Maybe you'd better let it out."

“It's not hitting the exit quite yet," Sandy said, but pawed at the ground in discomfort. “I've really gotta pee, though! I think I overdid it on the water too!"

“Better than being dehydrated," said Alex. He was in severe need of a urinal himself. “Especially with the prunes."

“My thoughts exactly." Cinnamon licked her friend's face. “If you want to see who can hold it in longer, I'm game. Naturally we'll need an unbiased judge to watch very closely in case of any sneaky leaking, since we're already on the damp side."

“Neehhh! Too late!" Sandy whinnied. She trotted in place, clenching her legs together. “It's all that water we just drank!" A gout of liquid suddenly poured down her legs and got her tail even wetter. “Uh oh! Here it comes!" She hiked her tail aside, slapping the sodden locks wetly against her rump and spreading her legs, shamelessly relieving herself right there on the ground. Just like a horse. Her stream pulsed and spurted, pattering noisily onto the packed earth and forming a foaming puddle.

“Stop it!" Cinnamon moaned. “Watching you's making me have to go!"

“Then don't watch, I ain't stoppin'!"

“I can still hear," complained the bay, pressing her athletic thighs tight together as she walked alongside her. “Oh, well." With somewhat more elegance than her friend, the thoroughbred lifted her tail aside and began to urinate. She looked back at Alex with a sultry wink. “You're sweating like a pig, stableboy. Wouldn't you like to cool off under a nice shower?"

The stable hand's cheeks burned and his cock throbbed. He walked closer to the pissing mares, hypnotized by the sight of them emptying their bladders. A cold shower, he thought, would be refreshing in this sweltering heat. What was coming out of the horses right now would be warm, hot even. Very, very hot in the metaphorical sense. Cinnamon's stream waxed and waned, pulsing with her breath from a dribble between her legs to a spray. He walked into her stream and gave her tail a few tugs in rhythm with it, pulling it down into her own stream so she soaked it too. She was like one of those old hand pumped water spigots. The ranch had a few of them. Up close like this, the sour aroma of their streams was heavenly, as was the not-exactly-cool but not burning touch of the piss-soaked earth against his bare feet. He'd taken his boots off when he removed his jeans, and the ground was baking.

“Careful," warned Cinnamon. “I might kick. I could knock you down right under this waterfall if I wanted."

“I wouldn't mind if you did." Alex sank to his knees, prostrate before his mare mistress. Warm, pungent horse urine gushed over his head, plastering his hair to his scalp. Oh, God... it didn't matter that it was warm, this was so refreshing. He ran his hands through his drenched hair, opened his mouth and splutter as her salty fluids dripped into it. He tipped his head back, letting her pee right into his mouth.

“Hey, stop hogging him all to yourself!" Sandy whined.

“Sorry." Cinnamon took a step forward, leaving her stream, which still showed no signs of stopping, pattering on the ground. She lifted her leg back, delicately putting one iron-shod hoof against Alex's chest. Sheets of liquid poured down her legs as she walked away. Alex turned to Sandy, but the desperate Palomino hurriedly shuffled to take her place, splashing through what was by now a single huge, muddy puddle. Her stream was messy, drenching her own legs as well as cascading down on the man. He stood up and patted her rump affectionately. “Good girl. You're really peeing like a you-know-what. You really held it in on the hike, didn't you!"

“Well, I didn't wanna turn the trial into a mud bog an' have someone get stuck!" she quipped. “I mean, I did, but I'd rather let it out on you."

Alex rubbed her rump, then put his finger to the source of the stream. He leaned forward, bringing his face to the filly faucet, took a deep breath, and brought his mouth right to the source. That tasted so good! Heedless of her piss spraying up his nose, he slurped at her folds, gulping down her fresh trail-brewed lemonade.

“Mmm. You taste like a salt lick too!" he said, pulling back and letting her shower his body.

“How is it?" asked Cinnamon from behind him.

“Nothing better on a day like this. Must replenish the electrolytes or somethin'."

“Good." The mare muscled her way in, pushing her head under Sandy's stream and showering herself. She raised her head and lapped at the source of the yellow flood.

“Wow," remarked Sandy, “You've really gotten better at eatin' a mare out, Alex! Have you been practicin' without us?" Alex winced, his ego bruised by the mistaken identity. Sandy looked back. “Hey, Cinn! You could've offered me a drink, I'm parched!"

“You'll get your turn." Cinnamon sidled forward, turning her rump towards her friend. “I've been saving most of it for you: you stink and you need a shower!"

“Aww, come on, who said I wanted to be clean!" Sandy made no attempt to move, just sighed in relief as Cinnamon started to hose her down. Alex's jaw dropped, not only at the breathtakingly erotic sight, but because he hadn't realized how dirty Sandy really was: with her flank being pressure-washed the difference was clear. The torrent of urine swept away the dust and dirt caking her fur, leaving a horse clean enough to lick clean.

“It doesn't matter, we'll be dirty again soon enough, Miss four pounds of prunes!"

“Hey!" Sandy tackled Cinnamon, and soon the two mares were wrestling and rolling in the puddle of fresh mud, showering each other in warm pee but getting dirty all over again. Alex recklessly attempted to break up the fight, but was kicked in the glutes and sent sprawling into the mud, then sat on by one of the mares while she violently pissed and cacophonously ripped unsanitary horse ass. Worth it.

“I was supposed to clean you up." Alex inspected the state of the horses a couple minutes later. Their bladders were finally empty, but they were no cleaner even aside from being drenched in piss. All three of them were spattered with fresh mud that reeked of ammonia. But a gurgle from Cinnamon's bowels told him far worse was to come.

“You know damn well you'll be lucky to get us clean before suppertime." Cinnamon rubbed her sopping head against his body. “But you're welcome to try giving me a shower." She knelt down and sniffed his cock.

Alex was bursting by then. He gratefully relieved himself all over the two horses' faces, but made no progress on cleaning them, especially since the thirsty girls drank most of it.

Then, the pair finally lost their battle with the combined forces of special sugar cubes and prunes. Cinnamon called dibs on getting to go first even though she didn't need to that badly, the better to torture poor Sandy for overdoing it on the prunes. Alex supplicated his hands beneath her winking, pulsing asshole. She blew a toxic cloud in his face, then unloaded a generous shovelful of hot, squishy roadapples into his hands. Alex squeezed one of the tennis ball sized turds into pulp, then mashed it against her rump, smearing the mare's toned thighs with her putrid, mushy dung. It was wet, but still fibrous, full of bits of digested grass, and a truly nauseating yellowish greenish brown. He bent down to pig up more from the large pile, but Cinnamon's bowels moved again, dumping an enormous amount of horse crap onto his head and shoulders! This hardly came as a surprise, of course: most horses were indiscriminate poopers, but Cinnamon took great pleasure in defecating on human and animal alike.

Poor Sandy waited and squirmed in distress while Alex fingerpainted Cinnamon's body in her own waste. He generously anointed himself as well: there was plenty to go around. A third round filled his hands with a pair of baseball-sized lumps. He brought them to Cinnamon's other end for her to choose between. The nasty mare sniffed them both, then selected the firmer dung ball to eat from his hands while he smeared her face with the other, erasing the white marking on her forehead. She leaned in and gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on his lips. Alex spat and wiped his mouth.

“Ugh! It tastes extra bad today! And you got a piece of hay in my teeth!"

“Hurry up!" cried Sandy. “I'm about to shit myself!"

She was right: the palomino's poop chute was already being stretched two inches wide when Alex took his position behind her, her horsey hole straining and quivering as she fought to hold back her pent-up load. With seemingly no effort her ass opened to softball proportions and a firm, lumpy ball of dense, grassy fecal matter plopped into his hands. It must have been the only reason she made it that long at all, because it was immediately followed by a steaming avalanche. She must have lost at least ten pounds just from the first load of soft manure, and the globs of dung were so loose that they splatted between her legs, not to mention staining a slimy brown stripe all down Alex's torso.

“Aww, man! Dang, that's a lot!" she panted. Alex couldn't resist her. He pressed his face between her stained cheeks, sniffing and licking. He traced the veiny contours of her donut with his tongue. She laughed and pushed out a horrific wet fart into his mouth, followed by a revolting mess that was more like horseapplesauce than whole horseapples. Alex kind of preferred applesauce, though: he didn't even have to chew.

“Mmm. Fuck, I think I can taste the prunes a little." Alex wiped his mouth, not that it did any good. There was shit everywhere now. “Want to try some?"

“Not yet!" huffed Sandy. Her hips bucked up and down a little. Her dirty asshole clenched shut, but a trickle of greenish liquid leaked out, elegantly parting around the folds of her soiled vulva. There was an unpleasant gurgle from her colon, and wet sharts started to bubble out of her. Behind this horse was a very dangerous place to be right now, Alex thought. “Hey, Cinn! If you want another shower, c'mere quick! I can't hold it in!"

“I'm a length behind you," said Cinnamon. “Knowing how you react to prunes, I doubt I'll be safe here."

“You sure won't!" whinnied Sandy. But on an impulsive whim, or possibly self-preservation, right as she let fly, Alex yanked her tail down and covered her hole.

FLPBQRBRPPBLBLLBT. FPRRLRPPRRPBLBBL, KURR-BLAPP! Sandy's ass exploded, sending a pressurized stream of liquid manure spraying against her tail with devastating force. Hot, greasy mare mud went everywhere. Even with her tail in the way Alex's face was spattered, and Sandy's hindquarters were truly a sight for sewer eyes.

“Hey! What was that for?" Sandy complained. “Eww, my butt's all messy now!" she whined with no conviction.

“You'd have sprayed half the paddock," said Cinnamon. She clopped up to put her head over Alex's shoulder. She licked Sandy's dripping cheek. “Holy shit, you're right, there is a little prune flavor. Very oaty as well."

Alex pulled Sandy's tail aside and wiped her sodden hair against her backside, further coating it in liquid horseshit. Another sloppy burst of projectile dung showered both him and Cinnamon, with gloopy spluttering sounds. Sandy panted with the exertion. Up front, she was drenched in sweat and piss. Alex and Cinnamon lapped and slurped at her butt, pressing their mouths and noses right up to the incontinent mare's chocolate-spouting donut. She blorped up another generous helping of half-pureed roadapples, then ambled forward, diarrhea dribbling down her legs.

Of course, the prunes and laxatives had the same effect on Cinnamon. Soon the befouled bay soiled herself, staining her own hindquarters with a river of shit, and when Sandy made the mistake of walking behind her she took a cacophonous muddy broadside, several pounds of soft dung mixed with over a gallon of fetid slurry splattering violently across her flank.

“Hey, Cinn, ya missed a spot! Whatever happened to the show dumping champ – aaurk!" The missed spot was of course her face, but Cinnamon suddenly wheeled around and splashed her, also catching Alex in the colonic crossfire. “I don't taste any prunes in yours, you must not've eaten enough."

“Perhaps it builds up slowly. Maybe you're the one who hasn't eaten enough – or drunk enough!" Cinnamon reared up on her front legs and donkey kicked the air, violently shitting herself at the same time. Manure rained down on the paddock.

Both mares had a severe case of the Horsie's Squirts now: their rectums were constantly pooting, bubbling, and dribbling noxious greenish diarrhea. Before long they were both filthy from forelocks to fetlocks, completely caked and matted in slimy muck.

“God, you two are disgusting." Alex put his face to Cinnamon's neck and took a deep breath. “I need you so bad right now."

“Good." The bay eyeballed his throbbing cock. “Because I was thinking: you've ridden us both today... so now it's our turn to ride you, isn't it, Sandy?"

“You betcha!" The poopy palomino trotted up behind Alex, violently hip-checking him and sending him sprawling into a muddy puddle of horse piss and manure. The wind was knocked out of him. He lay flat on his back, staring up into the sunny sky, before it was blotted out by two massive, disgusting horse asses. Sandy plopped her shitty rump down right on his crotch, while Cinnamon sat on his face.

“Fuck, I'm gonna be sore tomorrow," he groaned through a mouthful of messy mare muff. “Sandy - fuck! You're too heavy, my hips! Oh, god, you're smothering me! Please tell me you're done pooping for now."

“Oh, you know we're not." Cinnamon said smugly, and noisily demonstrated by lifting her butt up just enough for Alex to see her hole open before she buried his face in a fresh pile of sludge, then plopped back down in it. Sandy noisily sharted a putrescent manure slick across his chest.

Alex knew he'd be bruised up by the time they were done with him, not to mention the smell. But he was content to spend this hot, muggy afternoon beneath the two mudbutted mares. Being a ranch hand was a strenuous and dirty job, but it had its perks.

Day 6: Chastity

Today, Denise discovered she'd made a critical oversight when ordering her new chastity belt. The opossum blamed her husband, Felipe. He'd watched her order it three weeks ago, and put it on her, and he hadn't caught the mistake either. The ocelot was dashing, he was a loving husband, but he wasn't the brightest bulb, she thought. She also blamed the online order form, as well as herself.

“Honey," she texted frantically from the cubicle in her office, “How do you go to the bathroom in this thing?" She looked down at the metal panties and jiggled them again, hoping in vain that they'd spring open. Naturally she was doing this in the bathroom cubicle, not exposing herself the one where she worked: that would have made her the laughingstock of the whole department if she wasn't fired for violating the sexual harassment policy. Casual Friday had its limits.

Maybe she shouldn't have worn it to work her first time trying it out, or at least she shouldn't have given her husband the only key. She'd been eager to spice up their sex life, but this was a bad plan, and she hadn't seen the flaw until she was one meeting, two coffees, and three donuts into the work day. She had to admit it was well fitted, so comfortable she almost forgot she had it on.

“What do you mean?" came the reply.

“What do you think I mean? I can't get this thing off and I have to pee," she texted, then followed it up with appropriate emojis.

Felipe started typing, stopped, then started again. “Uh oh. I didn't think about that."

“How did you not? WTF?"

“Don't blame me for this, I said we could wait until the weekend. Hang on, Googling."

“Not on the company wifi please?"

“You just saved my ass. Gonna pretend I'm on a coffee break, just a min."

It took two minutes for the reply to come. “Apparently models you can wear all day have holes."

Denise felt the belt from top to bottom, just in case. “Duck duck duck. It doesn't have any. WTF? Duck you auto corrugated."

The possum started to panic. This was bad. She couldn't make it all day! What would she do? “K. Come bring me the key at lunchtime."

“OK." And a heart emoji.

But lunchtime came, and Denise received even more bad news. Felipe's meeting had run late, and he'd gotten a huge new assignment dumped on him. He'd have to work straight through lunch. It wasn't uncommon for that to happen at his office.

She could hold it until after lunch, at least. Then she'd figure out what to do. Denise went to the break room, only to realize too late that she'd packed the wrong lunch. This was her husband's food. He liked mayonaise and tuna pasta salad, she hated it. But she was starving! She had to eat when she was stressed!

The opossum scanned the fridge surreptitiously. A ha! A tupperware container with a note on it saying “Greg," and another saying “Is your name Greg? If not, hands off," and another saying “STOP EATING MY F****** LUNCH!!!" Denise shrugged. If he didn't want people helping themselves, he shouldn't have bragged to the entire office about his meal prep skills. She was just an instrument of karma.

The hours ticked by. Denise considered several solutions to her problem. Try to slip out of the belt? Some species could do that, but this one fit perfectly around her thick tail. It was snug, comfortable, and utterly immovable. Try to pry it aside? Impossible too. Call a locksmith? Too embarrassing, not to mention she couldn't do it at work! Pick the lock herself with a paper clip? She tried, but it wasn't as easy as YouTube made it look, especially from this ange. Just piss through the thing anyway? No, urine would pool in the shape of it and get her pants all wet. Buy a pack of adult diapers at the drugstore? Eww, no way!

Maybe if she stuffed it with toilet paper, it would prevent the drips at least. But not long after lunch, her stomach started to feel uncomfortable. She felt a great weight shift precipitously downward. Then the unpleasant gurgling noises started. She was about to complain to Felipe, whose turn it was to pack the couple's lunches this week, but when she opened her phone she saw his text apologizing for packing the wrong lunch and offering to order takeout to her office. Then she remembered. She'd eaten Greg's. The dreadful truth slowly dawned on her. He must have listened to Reddit's advice. He'd decided to entrap a serial lunch thief within the bathroom all afternoon by spiking it with laxatives!

Thinking quickly, Denise made a beeline for her boss's office. She gave Greg the evil eye as she passed his cube. He waved back. That motherfucker. Did he know she'd fallen victim to his bait tupperware?

“I'm feeling a little... under the weather," Denise said nervously to her boss. “I'm calling in sick for the afternoon. I'll stay late on Monday, I promise, but I have to leave now!"

“You don't look that bad?" her boss replied skeptically. “What's wrong?"

“I'd rather not say!" Denises's gut cramped, and she clutched her stomach. “Let's just say I'd rather destroy my bathroom than the ladies' room here!"

Her boss went bright red, even through his fur. Denise grabbed her things and fled the office for dear life. She sped down the freeway like a maniac, and pulled into the driveway, clipping the mailbox, just in time. It felt like an army of elephants was tapdancing in her colon!

What should she do? Sit down on the toilet? Squat in the bathtub? No, she could make it a little longer. She still had time to think.

“Ok," she texted: “I made it home. Now what?"

“Unlock it?"

“You have the key you idiot!"

“Isn't there a spare?"

Denise tore through the packaging in vain. She could barely uncross her legs now she had to go so badly. There was no spare key. She looked up the order confirmation e-mail just in case. She hadn't paid extra for the spare key option... holes? Front hole: None. Rear hole: None. The conversation came back to her. She'd thought those options were for people who wanted to be able to do anal with it on. Felipe said he read on Reddit that a lot of the medieval chastity belts had holes cut in that area because doing it in the butt wouldn't take a maiden's virginity, or knock her up.

He was an idiot. She'd married a stupid fucking idiot. And now she was completely helpless to that idiot, trapped in the oppressive metallic embrace of this chastity belt. All she could do was wait for her love to return from his quest fighting the demons of corporate whatever.

Ironically, this was exactly the powerless feeling she'd envisioned when she ordered the thing in the first place. She hadn't envisioned being locked in it and about to piss and shit herself, with the bathroom so close and yet unusable, but it didn't totally ruin it. Not like she was about to ruin this chastity belt.

This was all Felipe's fault. It was his fault for not catching her mistake on the order form, and if he hadn't packed the wrong lunch she'd never been in this bad a situation! She was going to have to spend her Friday afternoon trapped in the bathroom, wetting and soiling herself and showering off as best she could, but she couldn't wash inside the belt. He'd come home to unlock her and see it, and smell it!

Denise had an evil thought. She guessed he could just give her the key and she could shut herself in the bathroom, take off the belt, and clean herself up, but why should he get to avoid the disgusting part while she had to suffer through hours of laxative horror because of his mistake? If he caused her to shit herself, why shouldn't he have to wipe her ass? The thought of her husband seeing her in such a state was utterly humiliating, but it would teach him a lesson. Maybe she wouldn't clean herself up at all: that was his responsibility!

The opossum stripped down to just her bra and the chastity belt, and took a selfie in front of the bathroom mirror. She sent it to him. “Before picture. You're going to come home to the after."

“You can probably wash most of it off in the shower."

“Fat chance. You made the mess, you clean it up."

“How is this my fault? I didn't tell you to steal Greg's lunch. You could've gotten takeout."

Shit. She could have. “Sorry. You know how I stress eat, I didn't wanna wait for it to get there. Anyway, you still didn't notice the lack of holes when you put this on me."

“You didn't either."

“Fine, it's both of our fault, are you happy? But it's not fair if I'm the only one who suffers the consequences. If I have to wear a dirty chastity belt for hours the least you can do is clean it up."

He didn't respond for a while. Denise regretted the hasty text. Maybe she was being too rash in her anger. He started typing and stopped repeatedly. Her stomach rumbled even more ominously than before. She didn't have much time left.

“That's fair," he said. Then typed again. “I guess in sickness and in health includes explosive diarrhea?" and then a poop emoji.

“Yes."

“Ok. If u want to get back at me I get it. But you should know"

A long pause. “Know what?" Denise sent impatiently. “Hurry up or I'll explode."

“I feel really embarrassed saying this, and I want you to know I never planned any part of this. I'd never do that to you. But, pls don't laugh, I've always had a fantasy about watching a girl pee or poop in her panties. I never told you bc I know you're not into gross shit like that and I thought you'd laugh."

That son of a bitch. Denise swore as she furiously typed, clenching her legs together with all her strength. “K." She thought about leaving him on Read, letting him stew just like she'd imminently be stewing in her own filth. Ugh, was he turned on by imagining that? “1, Im insulted u thought I'd judge you for a kink. U were right, that's ducking disgusting, but still insulted. 2, really bad time to bring it up."

“I'm not asking u to do anything. I'm just warning u that making me clean up might not be much of a punishment."

“Might? Haven't you tried it before?"

“What? No! I was too scared to ask anyone!"

“Ok whatever." Denise imagined him squirming and sweating in his office, thinking about her shitting herself. The same humiliating fear of being found out she'd planned to experience by going to work in a chastity belt. “Ill make u suffer with me either way. Gonna tease you all afternoon with a play by play, and then when u get home wiping my ass'll be so gross it cures your nasty fetish right now. Or maybe if you don't get home quick I'll clean up anyway and you'll miss out." The possum found herself blushing and wishing she wasn't stuck in this chastity belt as she typed. No! No, she was not getting turned on by that! What the fuck?

Another stomach rumble. Denise knew it would be her final warning. She could feel the hot mass inside her pounding against her sphincter, threatening to burst through and unleash a bathroom destroying disaster at any moment. Her bladder throbbed with sharp, burning pain.

Not a moment too soon, she was in the bathroom with her phone, a six pack of Sprite to make sure she didn't get dehydrated, and a towel to sit on. She was going to be stuck here for hours after all. What should she do? Toilet, or shower? If she did this on the toilet it might drip on the floor later when she went to the tub, and she'd be a mess anyway. She could clean the floor. No, she could make Felipe clean the floor. But she might be stuck there for hours, and she knew scrolling social media on the can for too long made her legs fall asleep so badly she'd almost fallen once. What should she do?

Her body decided for her. There was a stabbing pain in her bowels, and her muscles contracted involuntarily. It sounded like a wet fart, but she felt something hot and squishy against her ass. Denise staggered into the shower. Instinct took over, and she wrestled with the chastity belt, but it was just as immovable as ever. Fuck! Fuck! They wouldn't budge! She didn't have a choice. She squatted there in the tub, and BWLRCH!!! A heaving mass of warm mush filled the metallic undergarment. Yuck! It was squishing all over her butt and the base of her tail. So wet and gooey. She pushed a little, and not only did a massive volume of waste exit her tailhole, but a stream of piss sprayed loudly against the stainless steel crotch. She didn't know what was dripping all over her paws. Probably both at once.

Fuck, this was nasty. Denise reached for her phone. “Oh god I just shit myself."

“On the toilet or did you not make it?"

“Shower"

“Gross. Didn't u argue with me after I admitted I pee in there sometimes?"

“Duck you," she tapped, but stood up and took a selfie anyway. Better yet, she thought, she'd record it. That asshole had better cream his pants at work, she thought. So at least some good could come of this. The smell made her gag. No, she wouldn't send this yet. She'd leave him to sweat, imagining the mess his wife had made of herself.

Whatever Greg had spiked his lunch with, it was strong stuff. Denise couldn't hold it at all. She stood up, legs clenched together, and a river of mud flooded her chastity belt and flowed down her legs.

“Holy shit," she gasped when the cramp subsided. If she hadn't called out for the afternoon she'd have been in trouble, chastity belt or no chastity belt. She examined the damage. Ugh, it was everywhere! There were muddy brown stripes all the way down her inner thighs, and her shins were just as messy, in a less organized way. She snapped a photo of the full extent of the carnage, and changed her mind about not sending it yet. “I think a little might have come out, but I can't tell," she texted, followed by a winking emoji.

“Jesus warn me first so I can get off company wifi."

“Shit sorry." Denise's face burned with embarrassment. She looked down a her defiled legs again. Small lumps of semisolid muck were slowly leaking down her thighs. It felt uncomfortably slimy, like warm mud between her toes, slicking down her fur. Her stomach felt a little better, though. God, it was such a relief getting that out of her system. It was also oddly liberating not having to worry about whether she'd make a disgusting mess of the toilet, or how much toilet paper she'd use, or, god forbid, what if her fingers broke through. Usually it was so stressful when she had the runs. It stank, though. Denise realized too late that she hadn't turned on the bathroom fan, and she couldn't reach the button without stepping out of the tub. Maybe she should just wash it off. Her finger strayed towards the faucet knob.

Her phone buzzed. “Ok Im on data and in the bathroom." Then: “OMG. Yeah I don't think that was just a fart." Another pause. “U ok? How do you feel?"

“Gross," she replied. “Glad I called out sick. This would be everywhere if I tried going at work. Tummy hurts less now though."

“Thats good."

“Like what you see?"

“Yes I do. This is gonna be a long afternoon."

“I'll keep u posted."

“Please do. Going to put my phone on Do Not Disturb for a bit. I have a few mins b4 this bathroom break gets suspiciously long though."

Denise's stomach felt better, but she still had to pee pretty badly. She guessed there was no point holding it in now. She hit record on her phone, spread her legs a little, and relaxed. It was hard to make herself pee with something on her crotch on purpose, but once the flow started, it wouldn't stop. This time there was no doubt about what has happening: the powerful flow was washing the “solid" contents of the chastity belt and sending a foul mixture of piss and shit pouring down her legs. It pattered against the anti slip mat in the tub so noisily. A filthy puddle ran down towards the drain.

“Fuck!" she said, realizing too late that she hadn't checked if the fur catcher was in the drain. Not only that, but neither of them had remembered to clean it after their morning showers, and this time of year it was clogged with grey and white possum fur. She couldn't take it out without reaching into, and touching, the foul liquid that was running into it. There went rinsing herself off. She was still peeing. She focused the camera on her legs again, hoping it was capturing the waterfall raining down from the belt.

She went Felipe, the video, and shortly after had to explain the fur catcher situation.

“Sorry," he said. “Forgot to clean it. Back to work now, thx for the vid."

Denise smiled a little as she set down her phone. She gingerly sat down on the towel, spreading it out to cover more of the tub floor. Spreading her legs revealed more of the mess on them. She took another selfie. At least one of them might enjoy this... shitty situation. She had several more hours of this before he got home. Yuck, her tail was lying on the dirty tub floor too now.

Her stomach wasn't even close to done with her. The opossum tried to hold it when she first felt the urge again, but the pressure built up fast, and when her tailhole started to burn she gave up and soiled herself again. Urgh... nasty. It came out fast and not-so-thick, with a nauseating bubbling and spluttering sound. The putrid, soupy mess flowed easily out of the ruined chastity belt, spreading out on the towel as a greasy slick of yellow-brown sludge. This was vile. She couldn't understand what Felipe could possibly like about this. She was getting uncomfortable sitting her like this, too. She stretched, putting her paws against the wall of the tub and leaving muddy footprints. Yuck.

But as she tried to imagine what could possibly be sexy about this, Denise felt an odd sensation in her stomach, like being on a roller coaster, that she was sure the laxatives didn't cause. Taking another picture of herself, and sending it, made her feel it even stronger.

It took another hour, and several more involuntary squirts into her chastity panties, before he signed back in. By then, she had the courage to ask him.

“I don't know," he texted back. “Part of it's losing control or seeing someone else lose control I guess. Its hot feeling helpless sometimes right?"

Denise guessed she could relate. She knew about that, of course: that's why she'd gotten the chastity belt. And she sure did feel helpless right now: marinating in her own filth, with nothing she could do but wait for her husband to come home and rescue her. Her heart beat faster.

“I also had fantasies about a girl having an accident and dropping her pants in front of me, and me seeing her naked private parts. And maybe asking me to help her clean herself up. If u think about it, we're only naked in the bedroom, the shower, or goin 2 the bathroom."

“So a guilt free excuse to see and touch a girl's junk?"

“Sorta."

“But we're married. You don't need an excuse w me."

“I know. I cant explain it totally. But like, lets say we were at the mall or something, and you suddenly had to go and didn't make it to the bathroom."

“So its an exhibitionism thing? Like u want to see me naked in public?"

“Not quite."

“Besides, my junk can't look that good right now. And it fucking stinks in here."

“That's kinda the point. Like, part of it is loving your partner even in her worst moment, and still finding her irresistibly sexy even soaked in pee or covered in shit."

Denise blushed so hard her ears turned red. Felipe really could make anything sound romantic. Even this. That was one of the things she loved about him. She looked at the dirty chastity belt again, and felt an urge to touch herself. “Ok I see your point. I guess that feels good. But I'm not wiping your ass if you shit your pants on purpose."

“I didn't expect you to. I know it's a weird kink that's prob a total turnoff for you and most people. And no pressure to do anything. If you want to just shower off then do it."

Denise thought about it. But part of this was giving her a kind of thrill. Oh, it was absolutely disgusting. But he was right. The idea of him looking forward to coming home to her, even if it meant walking in on her like this, made her feel desirable.

“Wait," she texted. “Is this anything like the mud kink?" She smiled, remembering the date where they'd gone to the riverbank, and she'd tried to hike across to an island and “accidentally" tripped and fell, and then he'd come to help her... and they'd made out and made love right there in the clammy ooze. She'd been unsure about it at first, but after he waded out to her she'd been the one egging him on. She'd almost forgotten. Being stuck and needing rescue, and her lover helping her out of her dirty clothes, but being so turned on by her that he couldn't control himself even though she was such a mess... and how she'd loved the way he'd called her a dirty girl.

“Kinda," he replied.

Denise whimpered as the roiling pressure built up in her again. Not yet, not yet... She curled her toes, trying to hold it in. She put her paws into the puddle again, wiggling her toes back and forth. It kind of felt like mud, if she ignored the smell. But that she was getting acclimated to. But this was much warmer, especially when it freshly came out and squished into her panties.

Was she really considering this? The opossum relaxed, and let fresh diarrhea bubble noisily out, overflowing the chastity belt yet again. Fuck, she needed to paw off so badly, but it wouldn't work, only make an even worse mess of her.

She made a fateful decision. “Honey?" she typed. “How messy would I have to be before it turned you off?"

“WDYM?"

“I can't take being stuck in this chastity belt much longer, and the tub's a mess. If I tried to touch myself, or lay down in it, and made the mess worse, would u be mad?"

“Sweetie I'll get home as soon as I can. I think my boss should be chill if it's a family emergency."

“Thank you. But if I can't wait"

“Are you saying if you smear it on yourself?"

“Yes"

“By 'accident.'"

“Fuck you. This is your fetish dude."

“I know. And if you want to try it I'd be nothing but thrilled."

“I mean like... if I slid my butt down rn it might go on my back. Above the waist? Is that even a thing? Are people into that?"

“Yes. But as a warning it takes a few showers to get the smell all the way out of ur fur."

“Ok wtf. You said your fetish was accidents."

“Yeah but you know how it is with diarrhea. It can get everywhere."

“How would it get above the waist?"

“Let's just say if you slipped and fell in the tub. Or if you accidentally touched it and then touched yourself somewhere else and forgot ur hands were dirty. BTW if you do try it you should only use one hand so u have a clean one to touch the phone."

“Okay. If I hypothetically slipped, you wouldn't be made that you had to clean up more than if I just sat here and tried to stay clean?"

“Denise, you are the love of my life. If I came home and found you covered head to toe I would love you just as much. Even if I found you licking it out of your hands I would gladly kiss you on the lips in greeting."

Denise gagged a little. “Jesus." She had that mental image now. Fuck, her cheeks were burning. “Calm down Romeo, I'm not going THAT far."

He replied with a heart emoji. She rolled her eyes.

“See you soon, honey," she said. “Text when you leave the office. If I don't reply I probably forgot the warning and can't touch my phone." She uncapped a bottle of soda. Drinking more liquid while her legs were soaked in her accident felt wrong, but this really seemed like a recipe for dehydration, and she'd need both hands to open these. She waited until she'd chugged half the bottle before she got brave. She reached down and pressed her fingers against the metal chastity belt, begging it to magically come unlocked. She needed this. She needed it. She rubbed back and forth, and tried to force her fingers in the waistband.

Yuck. It was all over her fingers. She wiped them off on her leg. Fuck, she was so horny! He was going to walk in on this, finding her in this disgusting state! Denise slid her butt forward until she lay on her back in the tub. She could feel muck squishing into her fur, and a burning pressure in her rectum. She groaned and pushed. SPBBLBLLRLRLK. Oh, shit. So much mess. She lifted her soiled hindpaws into the air, hoping they wouldn't drip, and tried in vain to pleasure herself through the messy chastity belt again. She pushed her feet against the wall, lifting her rump. Higher... higher... she let it splat down, until the next wave of cramps came, then lifted again. SBPBLRECKKKSFSHPLTTT. Oh, no. Oh, yes. It was running down her back, dripping, all hot and slimy.

She needed release so badly! Denise pawed at the belt, whining. Fuck, here came some more... she let it out with her hand right there under her tail, feeling hot, runny sludge overflow out between her fingers. Gross, so gross... she dragged them upward, smearing nasty brown across her belly.

The poopy possum reached for her drink and chugged the rest of it. She could open another with her dirty hand on the bottle and the clean one on the lid, she guessed. If it weren't for this belt she'd have shoved the empty bottle up either hole. Fuck, she was so horny. She writhed in the filthy tub, smearing more and more of her body with shit.

The closest she could come to touching herself with this fucking chastity belt stuck on her was playing with her nipples. Should she use her clean hand? She thought, or the dirty one? Ugh, that would be such a mess. But she wasn't the one cleaning it: her pervert of a husband was. He'd probably get off to it too. She closed her eyes and imagined him standing there, whacking off to the sight of her covered in her own shit. The next thing she knew, her left breast was smeared brown. God, when would he get here and save her from this?

Minutes passed, nearly an hour. Denise was on her third bottle of soda now. Opening them with one hand a slippery mess was a challenge, but she needed the liquid. It was going right through her. She'd peed at least three times, and she'd lost count of how often she'd shit herself. Her abs were going to be sore from all this cramping and squirting. There wasn't any comfortable position. She'd tried standing, squatting, kneeling, sitting up, lying down on her back, and finally she knelt on all fours, lifted her tail, and let it all run down her thighs. She'd definitely have sprayed the whole tub without this belt on. “Ugh..." she groaned. “They weren't kidding when they called it explosive diarrhea."

She'd kept Felipe updated on her condition. Finally, the long awaited text came. “I got out of work early! Had to finish a few things, and Bob cornered me and tried to talk my ear off, but I'm in the car now. Do you want me to get you anything?"

“No. Come straight home," Denise replied. “Wait. You have the key, right?"

“Yes."

“I want a photo. If its missing you need to buy bolt cutters or something."

There was an agonizing wait before the picture came, then a message. “Panicked for a sec, it wasn't on my key ring. Forgot I put it around my neck. Leaving now, see you soon honey."

Denise sighed in relief. His commute sometimes took almost an hour, but traffic might not be as bad this time of day. She just had half an hour to endure this, maybe 45 minutes. The opossum's fur was smeared and caked with her own waste. The tub was a total disaster, and there were shit-stained empty soda bottles lying on the bathmat. Strangely, she'd kind of come to terms with that. All that mattered was being freed from the damned chastity belt so she could cum.

“K. I'm about to be unable to use my phone too," she texted. Why not? He'd be home soon, and she'd wash it all off. In the meantime... maybe she could get a little more messy, as a surprise for him. She'd taken the opportunity to look up a few things. Getting it in your mouth, nose, or eyes was the only real disease risk, according to the internet. That and getting shit in your vagina could give you a UTI or a rash, but she didn't have any control over that. But it had to get in them.

She sat up and stared at the lake of liquid horror in the bottom of the tub. The fur catcher was completely clogged now, with the lumps of more solid stuff preventing any liquid from draining away. She guessed she could have unclogged it since she'd sacrificed one hand anyway, but what was the point? She dipped her other hand into the mess, scooping up a bit of the thicker bits of the slimy filth. Where was she still clean? Her shoulders, she guessed. Yuck, it wasn't as warm now. And her neck... and her head... Denise lay down on her back the other way around, letting her neck sink into the puddle of raw sewage. It was almost an inch deep. She turned her head back and forth and let it sink into her scalp fur. Ugh, her ears were soaked! She rubbed her nipples furiously. When would he get home? This was unbearable! She sat up again, sliding around in the mess. Slurry dripped down her back.

Denise stood up, with great caution, and looked at herself in the mirror. God... only her face was truly clean.

Fuck, this was nasty. She peed in the chastity belt, hoping it would wash out the worst of the old muck, then cupped her hand under it and pooped, catching the fetid dribblings. With great caution, she started to dab it on her scalp and face like paint. She couldn't get it too thick, or it might drip places she didn't want it too, but she could still get a little dirtier.

This was it. This was as messy as she was willing to get. Denise realized to her amusement how strange that sounded. Just a few hours ago she'd been freaking out about the possibility of being stuck in a shitty chastity belt at all. Now she was so much worse. She'd just relax now, and wait for Felipe to get home.

Wait. It wasn't dripping yet, but how could he rinse her without it running everywhere? Maybe wet wipes or a damp washcloth would work, but they couldn't get it all off, and at some point she'd have to shower. Fuck!! She'd have to just close her eyes and hope for the best, and wash her mouth out and brush her teeth. Maybe Felipe would know what to do.

She'd read so many posts from furs saying they regularly ate their own, or their partners', though. They got sick sometimes, the runs and maybe puking, but if it was just a tiny little bit of germs, maybe she'd be okay. And if not, it was too late now.

So what was the harm in going a tiny bit further? She wasn't going to actually get it in her mouth of course, but maybe she didn't have to be quite so careful. She waited, holding it in as best as she could, until she heard the garage door opener. It was loud, since it was right next to the bathroom. Now in a hurry, she turned on her side and put her hand between her legs. She grunted and pushed. Hot, molten diarrhea spilled out of the chastity belt into her quivering hand. She reached up and splatted the foul muck onto the bridge of her muzzle, hurriedly rubbing it back and forth.

“I'm home!" Felipe's voice echoed through the house.

“Okay!" Denise replied without thinking. “I'm in the bathroom!" Fuck, it was all over her lips. She didn't taste it yet, but she felt it get inside her lips as she closed her mouth. The opossum shuddered and gagged. Fuck, fuck, this was a bad idea!

The door burst open. Felipe stared into the bathroom in shock, holding the chastity belt key. “Denise?" he said. “Oh, holy shit! I didn't think you were going to -"

“It got in my mouth fuck fuck fuck! Mouthwash!" she cried, spitting frantically. He handed her a bottle, and she poured it into her mouth, gargled, and spit. “Fuck..."

“You... tasted it?"

“No! I didn't mean to, I just... got it on my face, and I didn't think it would get in my mouth!" Her throat felt dry. She spat again, fighting the urge to swallow or lick her lips. He brought her a damp washcloth, and wiped the worst of it from around her mouth and nose, and gave her another round of mouthwash.

“So..." the ocelot said awkwardly.

“So..." Denise blushed. She spread her arms wide. “How do I look?"

“You're a mess," he gasped. “You're beautiful." Denise noticed the crotch of his work pants was bulging outward. “Do you want the key?"

“I said you're cleaning up the mess you caused, and that includes taking these off me," she said.

“Okay. Let me change out of my work clothes." He disappeared into the bedroom, then came back stark naked and definitely hard. “Shit. I left the key on the nightstand. Hang on!"

He took a few tries to find the keyhole in the quagmire of mess between her legs. But finally, the steel panties fell with a clank to the tub floor. “Oh, thank God!" she said. Her hand immediately went to her crotch. SCHLUCK!

“Sorry I took so long to get out of work," he said. “I'll get this mess off you, don't worry!" He reached for the faucet, but Denise clasped her filthy hand on top of his.

“Not yet," she said. “I've been desperate all day! Finish me off first!"

The ocelot was still so smitten he was nearly speechless. “Are you... enjoying this?" he asked.

“It's gross, but it's not as bad as I expected," she admitted. “If you want to have a little fun before you help me shower, I'd be okay with that. Unless this is too messy for you after all!" she wiped her tail across the wall, smearing it with dirty brown streaks.

“Oh, trust, me, it's not!" Felipe caressed her shitty shoulder, and slid his hand slowly down to her breast. He stepped carefully into the tub, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the lips, then rubbed his face against hers. When he pulled back, there was a brown smear on his nose, and clinging to his whiskers.

“Eww," Denise laughed. “You've got something on your..."

“Oh, shit." He tried to wipe it off, but his hands were dirty now. “Sorry, I forgot it was all over your face. Here. Sit down, and I'll take care of you."

After being desperately horny all day, Denise's release came quickly. Too soon, she thought. “Let's not clean up just yet," she said. “I don't think Greg's lunch is done with me yet. I'd only make a mess again."

“Do you want to wait, or... make a bigger mess?"

“A bigger mess. Is there anything you've always wanted to try? That doesn't mean getting clothes dirty, or it getting in my mouth," she added.

“I guess so," he said. “I had a fantasy about you sitting in my lap and having an accident. I always imagined we'd have clothes on, but this is fine."

“Okay. I'm about to explode anyway. Here, hold my tail so I don't put it in your face by accident." Denise got up, and started to squat down, her stomach cramping. “Shit, shit -" GGLLOAARRRRTTT. “Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!" She hadn't even made it long enough to sit down. While she was still hovering there, bent over, it just... came out. A huge dollop of wet mud splatted down on his crotch, followed by a faucet of watery muck that spewed out of her ass all over her husband. She froze, in too much shock at what was happening, and by the time she had the presence of mind to plop her rump down before releasing the rest of the latest wave of diarrhea, his chest was covered in it. She wiggled back and forth in discomfort. “God - fuck, I covered you in it, didn't I?"

“Don't worry, sweetie," he said soothingly, massaging her back. “You didn't get my face... much."

“Much?" When she felt like she could hold it in long enough to turn around, Denise did, settling back down in his lap the other way around, to find that his chin and cheek were splattered. Heavy droplets of liquid shit clung to his whiskers on one side, and more speckled his fur. Her heart skipped a beat. What a mess. She wrapped her arms around her husband and nuzzled his face. Then suddenly, with a squeak, they slid down, leaving her on top of him. Ahh, that felt good.

“Ow! Let me up, let me up! That stupid chastity belt's digging in... my thigh!"

Soon the soiled chastity belt lay on the bathmat, while the opossum and ocelot couple made passionate, filthy love in the bath. After a few more hours, the laxatives Denise's coworker had spiked his lunch with finally ran their course, and they showered off together, using copious amounts of scented shampoo to try to get the smell out of their fur. Without fully drying off, they staggered to bed and collapsed onto the sheets.

“Let's order pizza tonight," Denise said. “That was... fun, by the way. I don't think I'd have tried it if you'd told me before, but it was a better surprise."

“Do you want to try it again some time?" Felipe asked. “I can always add a... special ingredient when I pack your lunch for work."

“Maybe a late afternoon snack. So I can make it home without calling out sick."

“Oh, yeah. That'd be smart."

“And no more chastity belts. Not unless you're in the room and have the key."

Day 7: Stuck In Wall

Today, a very hungry raccoon found her way into a house through the cat door. She raided the kitchen, and found a huge box of dog biscuits in the cupboard. She ate all of them, then moved onto the counter, where she found a whole cantaloupe. She ate all of that too, and washed it down by turning on the faucet and gulping down a huge amount of water.

The much rounder raccoon waddled back to the cat door. She felt so bloated! She had to find somewhere to sleep off the huge meal. She stuck her head through the door, then her front paws and shoulders. Now it was hard to fit. She sucked in her stomach as much as she could, and wriggled forward a little more. But now she couldn't go any farther. Uh oh! She was stuck! The silly raccoon pushed as hard as she could, then pulled as hard as she could, but it was no good. She couldn't go forward, and she couldn't go back. Her bloated stomach was completely wedged in the door.

Soon the front door opened. The house's owner and his dog and cat came to the back door and saw the rotund raccoon's bottom hanging forlornly out of the cat door. The owner was angry because the raccoon had eaten all his cantaloupe. The dog was angry because the raccoon had eaten all his dog biscuits. The cat was angry because the raccoon had blocked the cat door. But they also laughed at the ridiculous situation the stupid raccoon's gluttony had gotten her into. The raccoon was just sad, embarrassed, and frightened. She had a tummyache that got worse by the minute.

The owner tried pushing the raccoon's backside with a broom, but the bristles just smushed aside, and the raccoon stayed stuck. So he tried pushing with the other end of the broom. The raccoon shrieked in pain, making exactly the kind of guttural scream you'd expect to make a raccoon to make when violated with a broom handle, but didn't budge.

The poor raccoon started to cry. She chittered pitifully, begging the owner not to do that again. The man felt a little sorry for her. He tried to grease her fur with butter and push her out again, then pull her out by her feet, but she was still stuck. The homeowner thought about calling a wildlife rescue, but they would probably cut his door apart, and raise his homeowner's insurance premiums. He looked around his kitchen for a better way. Then he realized just how much the raccoon had eaten. A whole large, ripe cantaloupe, and most of a box of milkbones. He laughed, and patted the raccoon's bottom. He told her the problem would solve itself soon enough: all that melon and dog food would soon be coming back out. The raccoon would just have to wait until her gut deflated on its own.

Sure enough, soon the raccoon's tummy started to gurgle wetly. The ache got worse, and moved farther south. Her bladder was filling fast as well. The man put down a plastic tub on the floor behind the raccoon, and a painter's tarp under it to protect the floor, but instead of giving the raccoon privacy for what was sure to be a very uncomfortable and humiliating few hours, he set up one camera outside filming her face and another inside filming her rear.

Faced with the prospect of her accident being filmed and posted to social media, the poor raccoon held it in as long as she could, and clamped her tail down until her overloaded bladder began to leak. She chittered in distress as warm liquid dripped down her hind legs, then began to gush and spurt, pouring down her legs and soaking her tail. Then her bowels cramped. She groaned in pain, and a huge, sloppy log slide out of her bottom, messing her tail fur and slithering down her thighs to plop down between her paws. She gave up, lifted her tail, and let it all out.

Fwsshhhh! A torrent of pale yellow pee gushed from the desperate raccoon, making a big puddle in the plastic tub. Borp! Plop! Pffplbrpt! She was pooping noisily and messily, excreting big, sludgey logs that splatted into the puddle of piss, mixed with horrible wet farts and sharts. Her upset tummy gurgled again, and a river of nasty yellowish mush flowed from her raised tail. Plubbup! Blup! Bursts of gas speckkled the backside of the container with it, and another wet dollop slid down her legs, painting the fur brown. The raccoon's face burned with embarrassment. Her butthole burned too, but it would have burned even if she had privacy.

After a few minutes of peace, with nothing to do but feel her own waste dripping down her fur and drying in it, the raccoon's gut cramped again, and with an abhorrent ketchup bottle noise she shat herself violently. Her ill-advised binge scoured her intestines, rendering her totally incontinent. A fountain of projectile diarrhea squirted from her befouled butt, splattering all over the plastic tub and even the tarp beyond.

Soon the raccoon was completely filthy. It was too tiring to hold her tail up all the time, but sometimes her ass erupted like a volcano with no warning at all and she didn't have time to raise it. Her fuzzy butt, hind legs, and tail were all caked and splattered with her own excrement. But she was still stuck.

“This is taking too long!" complained the man. He got out a turkey baster, and basted the raccoon's ass with a large amount of warm saline to help empty her colon faster. The raccoon chittered in distress, and soon the enema sprayed out of her in a muddy geyser, with big soft chunks getting forced out by the flood of dirty water.

Still the raccoon couldn't go forward. But after several hours of violently shitting herself, her bloated belly finally deflated enough that the homeowner was able to shove her backwards. She stumbled into the house, tripped over the edge of the plastic tub, and landed flat on her back in the pool of sewage. Splash!

With the pressure suddenly taken off her stomach, some of the mess that was still trapped in her gut was able to escape. The raccoon suddenly felt another strong urge to defecate. She got up and squatted, her whole back painted brown and dripping filth, and sprayed liquid mud into the tub like a faucet, just as the homeowner opened the door and caught her in the act.

The raccoon had to sit in the plastic tub for hours until she was all empty. Then the homeowner made her go out into the yard, and emptied the whole tub over her head just to make sure she learned her lesson, and made her sit there dripping with feces for hours before he hosed her off.

The raccoon has sworn never to binge on milkbones and cantaloupe again.