Sloptober 2023, Days 8-14

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Day 8: Master & Slave

Today, Princess Azara, now disgraced and enslaved, was to be sold at auction. The young fennec vixen was the adventurous sort, not content with palace life, and three months and a day ago she snuck out of the palace and assumed a false identity to seek her fortune out in the world. Unfortunately this hadn’t gone too well. Sure, she’d stolen a few priceless jewels from merchants and rival rulers, intercepted a secret message detailing a plot to assassinate her father’s Grand Vizier (who was the one who did all the work), and gotten in an exciting sword fight or two, but things had all gone wrong when the ship she stowed away on board was attacked by pirates. Despite her contributions to the battle the ship was captured, its silks and spices stolen, and its crew and one stowaway (her) chained up and taken to a notoriously lawless port city, where she’d been traded to a cruel merchant to await being sold to a new master, along with several other maidens.

All her daring escape plans so far had failed. Even revealing her true identity and bargaining to be ransomed back home hadn’t worked. Nobody had believed her because, as a paranoid security measure to confuse would-be assassins, her father had ordered that all her official portraits be drawn in a mirror. Everyone knew the Princess had a squiggly shaped dark marking on her right shoulder, not her left.

But possible salvation had come in the form of her retainer and bodyguard, Eyad. It turned out she hadn’t been quite as sneaky leaving the palace as she thought, and the jackal had been ordered to follow her in secret to keep her safe. Azara had noticed after a few days, but pretended she hadn’t. Truth be told she had a crush on him, but didn’t want to mention it. He’d been following the ship in a small vessel of his own, and tracked the pirates to the port, where he’d infiltrated the local underworld under an assumed name, won the trust of Azara’s current master, and gotten himself hired as an overseer. His plans to organize an escape hadn’t gone too well either, but he told her he had one last idea, that had to be done when she was to be sold. But when she’d asked what it was, he’d gone all quiet, stared at the floor, and suggested a couple of alternatives they could try instead. Until this morning, that is.

“You’re not going to like this, your highness,” he whispered while he washed her back with sweet-scented shampoo. She was so glad to be clean again. It was her first real bath since she’d been taken prisoner.

“Why not? And stop calling me that, I’m a slave now, remember?”

“Well, I think it’ll work, but at great cost. To, umm... personal dignity.”

He was right. Azara didn’t like the plan at all.

“Nobody will want to buy a slave who’s sick,” he explained. “Especially not Septus’s buyers. They’re looking for...”

“Attractive, nubile slave girls to ravish. Yes, I know.”

“His words, not mine.”

“So you want me to pretend to be sick? I don’t think he’ll fall for it. It didn’t work for Mila. He just said to try to act healthy, and threatened to beat her until nobody would want her and sell her to a salt mine.” Azara shivered.

“I know. So, my plan is to make you sick for real. In a way that’s impossible to hide from the buyers, and will definitely put them off buying you. Here.” He produced a vial of an unusually colored concoction from his sleeve.

“What is it?”

“Let’s just say I told the apothecary it was for my ailing sister, who hasn’t pooped in a week.”

“Oh, shit.” Azara swore in an unprincesslike way.

“Exactly. He called it fast acting and long lasting.”

"I am not soiling my loincloth in front of dozens of people, even if they’re filthy slavers!”

“Perfect. Keep that attitude, but drink it. You won’t have to worry about making it look like an accident if it’s a real one!”

“You still haven’t explained how this is supposed to help me escape.”

“Well, nobody’s going to want to buy a slave with poo dribbling down their legs, are they? Especially not for the nefarious purposes you’re being sold for. And there’s no hiding it: they’ll inspect every inch of your body. But I made a deal with Septus over drinks and cards the other night: any girl that doesn’t get a single bid, I can take for myself in place of this month’s pay. I’ll take you to my quarters, and we can escape out the window and skip town.”

Azara downed the little vial with great trepidation. Almost immediately, its effects became apparent. Her stomach started tying itself in knots. Out of instinct she looked for a bucket, any bucket, as she was lead into a shed and marched to the auction hose in chains. She waited there beside seven other fellow slaves, her distress becoming more and more obvious.

“What’s wrong with you?” one, a goat woman a bit older than Azara, kicked her shin with a hoof. “Stop jangling your chains, it’s driving me crazy.”

“Sorry...” The fennec whimpered, trying to hold as still as she could. “I have to go... really, really bad. I don’t know what’s wrong, it must’ve been something I ate. I don’t know if I can make it ‘til after the auction!”

“Fuck. I knew last night’s gruel smelled funny!” said an elegant, tall leopardess.

“It always smells funny,” said the goat. “But you’re right. You don’t want to know what happened to my privy pot last night. But I think I’ve got it out of my system. Luckily.”

Azara couldn’t believe her luck. The other slaves collaborated the story. But the leopardess also warned her that she’d better not shit in the holding cell. Azara whimpered her agreement, but her irritated bowels thought otherwise.

“Fucking fox!” the other slaves crowded toward the other side of the cell while Azara squatted in a corner. “God, it stinks!”

“I’m sorry!” she whined.

Just then the door flew open. Their master, Septus, a large, unattractive bull man, stomped in, with Eyad following meekly in his wake. He was furious when he saw Azara helplessly emptying her bowels on the floor.

“Stop that!” he bellowed. “Disgusting creature! Up! Stand up!”

Azara obeyed, but another wet, mushy log plopped out of her. The bull roared with anger.

“I’m sorry! Please, it was an accident!” the former princess pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me, sir! I think you’ll just have to sell me some other time!”

“I can’t keep unsold merchandise around forever!” snorted the slaver, slavering at the mouth in fury. “I have new shipments coming in! No matter, at least now you’ve got it out of your system, right?”

“I don’t know, Master!”

“Harrumph! Then keep it in until you’re good and sold, do you understand? After that it’s your new master’s problem. You! Jackal! Clean this slave up! And put a cork in her ass!”

“A what?”

To Azara’s horror, the bull left and returned with a wad of oily canvas wrapped around a wooden stick. It had a conical shape. “This will swell as it gets wet,” he said. “Like plugging a leak in a boat. I’ve dealt with this before. Once a whole batch of slaves got dysentery! If I wasn’t the resourceful man I was, ugh! Imagine the lost profits, and the smell!”

Azara’s heart sank, as did her lower intestines. Eyad couldn’t meet her eyes as he wiped her with a damp cloth. “Hold still,” he said, trying to sound intimidating. “And try to relax.”

The plug burned when it went in. Oh how it burned. It felt like her hole was bleeding and leaking still. Her face burned with shame for how he’d touched her.

Her stomach kept rumbling and bubbling, getting worse and worse as one by one the other slaves were led out. By the time it was the princess’s turn, the pressure inside her gut was unbearable. Without the plug, she knew she would have soiled herself.

The fennec was led out, shackled and manacled, into the baking sun of the auction stage. Boorish buyers oohed, aahed, and jeered. Tears ran down her face. She’d always imagined putting up a braver front, but right now she felt like she was going to literally explode. But she was ordered to strike a number of different undignified poses, which in addition to showing off her body in a way she never wanted to show it off like this again, put even more pressure on her stomach. She could hear the comments. “Looks shy. Clumsy. Stomach a bit bloated. Yes, very shy. Trying to be modest. I’d soon beat that out of here. Why? It’s more fun when they act like they have some virtue left.” The sun bore down on her as she stood there, squirming. But all other sensations, even her bruised wrists and ankled, were driven aside before the urgent need to poop. She shuffled from paw to paw, gritting her teeth in pain. She forgot even that soiling herself could mean her freedom: all her energy was focused on overcoming the agonizing pain in her bowels and standing up straight.

Then, just as she was being ordered to bend over and lift her tail... PBBPBLUP.

“Oh no!” Azara whimpered, standing up, clenching her thighs together, and tucking her tail. But it was too little, too late. Something was leaking down her legs, something warm and sticky. Even with the plug in her, it was forcing its way out.

Immediately, there was an uproar from the crowd. Someone called for Azara to present her rear again, and despite Septus’s protests that they’d already seen the goods and this was an auction, not a show, he ordered her to comply. She clutched at her cramping stomach. KLRRLRKLRRKLRTT. More leaked out past the plug: hot sticky poop dribbling down her legs, staining and tainting her fur. The stench was appalling. Azara wept.

“Eww! What the fuck! Disgusting bitch! Forget it, I’m not touching that ass with a twenty foot pole, no matter how cute she is! How dare you disgrace this auction house by selling a slave with the squirts!” the chorus only added to her humiliation.

Azara’s exhausted sphincter finally gave way entirely, stretching wider and wider. The plug was blown out by a torrent of projectile diarrhea, throwing it twenty feet across the stage.

“Ha! That cheating son of a heifer! He knew he was selling defective merchandise, and he tried to hide it by plugging her up! Boo! Take it away!”

Azara was dragged away by the swearing, fuming bull, shit still running down her legs. He yanked her into a cell and bent her over a heavy wooden table. She looked pleadingly at Eyad, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Damnit.” Septus looked scornfully at the vixen. “Well, I guess it’s the salt mines for you, if they even want you... no, wait. Didn’t you ask for any unsold slaves in place of this month’s pay?”

“Umm, I don’t know? I guess I – I was really drunk. Maybe I did. Oh, God, all my friends told me it was a bad deal!”

The slavemaster laughed, a cruel, callous guffaw. He slapped Eyad hard on the back, knocking him into the bars of the cell. “Well, this day’s got a silver lining after all! I sold every slave but this one. Didn’t get the price I wanted, but I sold ‘em. Looks like you’re getting nothing but an incontinent fennec for your harem, jackal boy! Aww, I’m just joking! A lowly overseer like you can’t afford a harem! You got ripped off so hard! I bet you’ll never be able to look at that pussy again without gagging!”

“I don’t think I will, sir.”

“Go help herd the others. I’ll send this one up to your quarters in a bit, but first... I’m gonna give her what she deserves for what she did to my reputation.” He lifted a heavy wooden paddle from a hook on the wall. “You won’t be able to sit down for a week when I’m done with you.”

The princess, bent down over the table, could only sob as the bull spanked her black and blue. She just couldn’t stop shitting, and that only made him angrier. Blow after blow rained done upon her tender ass, and dollop after spurt of muddy waste spattered the floor of the cell.

When Azara was at last sent to her trusted bodyguard’s room, she could barely walk, and she was filthy from the waist down. And the laxative potion was certainly as effective as advertised. No sooner had she staggered into the room than she had to use the bucket that served as a toilet. Violently, loudly, and liquidly, right in front of her appalled crush.

“How... how long until these wear off?” she panted.

Eyad didn’t have an answer. He looked frantically through the drawer where he’d hidden the vial, until he produced a small slip of parchment which he ready with great dismay.

“It... it says about a fortnight. By the way, that bucket’s overflowing.”

Freedom had come at a heavy price.

Day 9: Stripping

Tonight, your friends offered to treat you to an apology dinner and night out to make up for their “prank” five days ago. You are nothing if not forgiving and trusting, so you foolishly accepted. The steak dinner was nice, at least, but you have a feeling they’re hiding something. And sure enough, your buddies lead you to a seedier part of town.

“This surprise better not involve any more cheap talking farm animal hookers,” you say with some annoyance. You catch the smirk on one of their faces. “Wait a minute, it does, doesn’t it? You asshole. I thought this was supposed to be an apology! Fool me once, shame on me!”

“There aren’t any farm animals this time. Trust me bro. This is a really exclusive event. We really had to shell out to get you in.”

“Wait a minute!” you recognize the neon sign of the club. The Lifted Tail. Oh no, not again. “That’s the same place as last time. No! I’m not going in there again, let me out of this car!”

“Dude, chill. Portia’s not even working tonight. Do you really think we’d lie to you?”

“Yes,” you grumble, but you allow yourself to be led in anyway. To your relief, instead of leading you to the barn out back and throwing you in a pigsty, you’re led to what seems like a normal strip club. At least, it looks like all the movies and pornos you’ve seen with strip clubs: you’ve never really been in one before. But you suspect this is classy. The seats look like they’re made of a washable material, and they even recline!

You’re seated right in the front row next to the stage, between a balding middle aged man and what appears to be an anthropomorphic wolf. Or a husky. You honestly don’t know how to tell the difference. Either way, your friends are absent.

“Sorry dude, we tried to get in, but we only had enough for one front row seat. This place is super exclusive: I hear most of the ladies only work one night a week.”

“Are they... you know... human?”

“I dunno, I think a couple of ‘em are, but I don’t know if they’re working tonight. There’s some kind of rotating schedule. I didn’t really check it. Here’s $150 for tips. We’ll be in the back, those were the only seats left. Have fun dude!”

The back row seats aren’t that good, you think: they’re shielded by a plexiglass barrier from the stage, like at a hockey game. Only the front row is ahead of it. They really did splurge on you.

When the dancers walk on stage, they take your breath away. There are three, all anthropomorphic animals. The apparent leader, a tall, skinny gazelle wearing heels on her hooves, fishnet tights and a vest, a miniskirt, and not much else, takes a mic from the bouncer.

“Good evening, boys and girls!” she says. “Hmm, no returning faces... shame. Oh, well, I’m sure you all know who we are and what you do here, right?”

There’s some unenthusiastic cheering. You don’t know who they are or what they do here. It doesn’t look like the guys on either side of you know either, but you’re too socially awkward to ask.

“I can’t wait to get started, so I won’t waste any more time. You know the rules of this establishment, no throwing coins, no hands unless we ask for them, customers without premium memberships have to be strapped down since we can’t trust them not to keep their hands to themselves.”

“Wait, what?” you say, and start to get up, but the bouncer’s already strapping your arms into tight manacles on the arms of your sight, then binds your ankles as well. You’re starting to get a bad feeling about this.

“We do have one additional request: I know y’all signed a waiver, but just a reminder, I recommend that all guests with compromised immune systems avoid sitting up front here, in the ‘splash zone.’ It’s Messy Mondays here at the Lifted Tail, and let me tell you, I’ve been loading up on fiber all weekend, I stuffed my face with Taco Bell last night, and I’ve been chugging Powerade and epsom salts all evening, so when my tail lifts, it’s gonna get really fucking messy.”

“Tell me about it,” says one of the other two exotic dancers, a svelte doe with a bloated-looking stomach in contrast to the rest of her. “You know those sugar free gummy bears with the bad Amazon reviews? I know you girls told me to stop eating them before shows, but I just can’t get enough! It’s like I’m addicted!”

“I’m lactose intolerant.” The third, a sultry cheetah in heavy eyeliner and a leotard, overshares. “And I had almost a whole pizza for dinner.”

“You’re forgetting the super sized chocolate milkshake with lunch,” says the gazelle. “And I’m forgetting our usual promotional offer. Anyone in the front row: if you make it through the whole show without leaving, changing seats, or vomiting, you get a chance to win a free lap dance! And no, we won’t shower beforehand. Now let’s get started before I blow! Hit it, DJ!”

“Oh no,” you groan as a stereotypical heavy, bowel-shaking techno beat starts up, and the lights begin to blare and strobe. “Goddamnit, you guys... oh, you’re not even here.”

Sure enough, the show is... as advertised. The three strippers start off with what you have to admit is quite skillful poledancing, but it soon deteriorates as their gastrointestinal distress enters its final stages, and they can barely stand up straight. Before the first song is even over... KER-BLURCH!! The gazelle groans, stretches, lifting one leg high, and fouls her panties with an appalling wet noise that’s audible even over the music. Something runny and brown trickles down her leg. The doe soon shits herself as well, while the cheetah tugs her panties aside and unleashes a deluge of acrid piss all over the stage, as well as the wolf next to you. He heads for the exit. You don’t have that option.

The gazelle is now twerking right in front of your face. She’s not well endowed in the ass department, but damn can it fart. Or rather, shart, because she either can’t or won’t stop shitting herself. Her ruined panties ripple and bubble, and nauseating sludge continuously leaks out onto the stage. The cheetah lets loose in the middle of an acrobatic poledancing trick, and you know only the fact that her panties are still on saved you and the crowd from being sprayed.

But that’s the thing about strip shows: the clothes come off. Off come the gazelle’s heels, off comes her vest and her bra. It would be incredibly alluring if it wasn’t so gross. She kneels and pulls her panties down to mid-thigh, letting a huge amount of sloppy crap splat onto the stage. Then she starts peeing straight into the ruined underwear. The puddle spreads towards the edge of the stage, and overflows off the edge in a golden waterfall. She stands up then, cutting off her flow and writhing around the pole. Her panties slip lower and lower on her legs until she kicks them off, expertly making them land right on the middle-aged bald guy’s head.

That’s the end for him. The man gags, retches, and pukes all over his shirt. “Goddamnit,” he says as he stands up. “When they said messy mondays I thought it’d be Nickolodeon Slime, or maybe whipped cream. Something hot. Not this.”

He’s lucky, you think, to get out when he did. The doe is also disrobed from the waist down, and her derrier detonates across half the front row, a horrific fountain of watery doe pebbles spewing from her ass like a hose. You’re spared a direct hit, but some of the mess spatters your arms and legs.

“Eww! Oh, fuck, that’s disgusting!” you sob: sadly, right as there’s a lull in the music. Three pairs of animalistic eyes turn disapprovingly toward you.

“Wow, tough crowd tonight,” the gazelle comments. “Aww, did the widdle boy get a widdle messy? Do you want that washed off?”

You nod without thinking. “Wait nonono not like that not like that!” But the unhygienic antelope struts confidently to the edge of the stage, her elegant hoof stepping in her own sloppy pile of shit. She leans back, spreads her folds, and starts pissing like a fire hose, sweeping her stream back and forth. You kick and writhe in the straps holding you to your chair, but can’t get free. You’re soon drenched in pungent ungulate urine from the shoulders down.

The depravity only worsens. The cheetah has another accident mid-stunt, spattering noxious feline fecal matter all over the stage and her fellow performers.

“Eww!” the gazelle protests with a giggle. “You got my pole all slippery!”

Sure enough, she slips, powerbombing the stage rump-first with a muddy splash, but with a great effort climbs back up and slowly spins around with her body horizontal. Her athletic muscles quiver with the effort. You have to admire the core strench. And she’s even holding it in...

PPBLLRRLRAAAPP!!! BBLLBBLLEWWWURRCHH!

Never mind. The gazelle’s rectum goes off like a lawn sprinkler, sending a muddy fountain of projectile diarrhea high in the air, splashing everything in her path. The stage, the doe, and the front row of seats is inundated with swampy dung. You’re covered in it, even on your face. You gag a little, but your harrowing experience with Portia last week has rendered you incapable of vomiting from the smell or taste of shit, no matter how much you want to. All you can do is watch helplessly as the shitty striptease gets even nastier, with all three dirty dancers spouting explosive diarrhea in every direction. The front row is clearing out, and the few patrons that are left have mostly blown chunks all over themselves.

The cheetah kneels, rubbing her poopy pussy, and the geyserous gazelle inverts the usual predator prey relationship by bending over and hosing down her coworker’s tits with a stream of watery excrement. She, for her part, writhes on the shitty stage, and gets up and twerks on all fours while the doe straddles her and unleashes twin waterfalls of yellow and brown onto her ass and back: the gazelle herself periodically squirting her own fetid eruptions at you.

When the music winds down, all three strippers are competely naked, but covered from head to toe in shit. The second also applies to you, and... who else is left? Only two other blubbering furs.

“Well, well, well,” says the gazelle. Muck drips from her horns. “Who’s left? One, two, three, one for each of us stayed the whole show... ooh, but they both threw up on themselves. Bad luck, guess you two have to go home and take a shower.” She rounds on you with an oddly predatory grin for a herbivorous animal. “But it looks like our heckler held it in! And you know what that means!” she clambers off the stage, coming closer and closer, leaning over you with her filthy, dripping body. “You win a free lapdance... from all of us, right girls?”

She clambers onto you, putting her dirty hands on your shoulders and straddling you, lowering her naked ass onto your lap. She massages her shoulders, then unstraps your right hand from the straps. “You can put your hands wherever you want now. Except on your leg cuffs. If you try to leave early, our bouncer’s very good at his job, and I heard there’s a vacant spot in the men’s room urinal troth for unruly patrons.”

You whimper, but to your surprise you find yourself fondling the gazelle’s filthy body. The music starts up again, with a slower, more tender beat. She leans forward, pressing her feces-smeared breasts right into your face.

Disgusted as you are, you can’t control yourself with her any more than with Portia. The touch of her filthy body, and the fetid stench, awakens something primal in you. You’re pitching a massive pants tent in your piss-soaked jeans.

“Oh, God...” you groan. She pulls back, but wipes her fingers across your forehead, then your lips. Without thinking you relax and let her poke them into your mouth. Yuck! You gag at the taste of shit.

“That’ll teach you to heckle from the front row,” she says. With a hideously swampy PBLAPLAPLABLURRWURRRPP! She shits herself mid-lap-dance, her cheeks rippling from the seething expulsions of gas and watery slurry.

“Come one, give us a turn!” the doe whines, hopping from hoof to hoof with her hand pressed to her nude crotch. “I’m not done yet!”

“Neither am I – oh, fuck!” The cheetah clutches her stomach and another wave of mud splats onto the seat next to you.

“Oh, all right. But there’s plenty of room to share.” The gazelle hits the Recline button on your seat. To your horror, you’re tipped further and further back, until you’re lying almost completely prone, and the other two dancers take their positions: the doe straddling your chest and the cheetah sitting (and immediately shitting) on your lap. As for the gazelle? She climbs onto the armrests and squats over you. The sight of her sexy yet disgusting ass hovering right over you, shit dripping down her cheeks and from her soiled, furry labia, fills you with such arousal and dread that you finally puke when a drop lands right under your nose. But it’s too late now: your unwanted prize is already won. She lowers that unclothed and unhygienic dump truck right down onto your face, wiggling and wedging your nose firmly underneath her tail. “Ahh,” she says. “By the way, after disrupting our show with that rude comment, you’re not getting out of this until closing time at 3 AM. So if you have to go to the bathroom, just do it in your pants. Then you’ll be like us, dirty boy.”

You can’t protest, because the next thing you know you’re gargling chunky colon smoothie as an obscene assplosion bubbles messily from the antelope’s anus. Her companions laugh sadistically and release their bowels in similarly revolting fashion. You’re in for a long night.

Day 10: Fucking Machine

Today, Mallory’s new Orgasmotron 3000 XXX-69 Model Sex Machine was finally delivered. The serval had been home from work for half an hour when the knock came at her door: her shift started at the crack of dawn, but that meant having most of the afternoon off. It came in a massive box, and had a thick, intimidating... instruction manual. A lesser fur might have had to resort to pleasuring themselves manually with the machine’s numerous included attachments for weeks, but Mallory was a machinist by profession, and well accustomed to interpreting user-unfriendly drawings and manuals. Within just a few hours, she had it fully assembled and bolted to the basement floor, and boy was she ready to take that baby for a spin. She flung her shirt, bra, pants, and panties to all corners of the exercise room, filled up the machine’s onboard lube reservoir up to its full gallon capacity, screwed in the secondary bottle of artificial semen substitute she’d ordered as an extra, and lay on her back in the seat with her legs velcroed down in the stirrups.

“Let’s see, how do I turn this on?” She held the manual up over her head, but skimmed over it, impatient now after weeks of anticipation. She hit the power button on the handheld controller, and skipped through several menus on the little screen overhead. “Ugh. Calibration, schmalibration.” She said hubristically and threw the manual aside. “Jeez, I already have to deal with that shit 8 hours a day. I’m off the clock now, damnit! Goodbye G Code, hello G Spot! Select Program... candlelit evening? Ugh, sappy. Love me tender? No. Boring. I want to put this thing through its paces.”

Finally she found a program that looked promising. “One Way Trip to Poundtown: Brutal Pussy Destroyer? Oh, now we’re talking!” She clicked through a few more settings. “Intensity... 10... no, 8. Lubrication: Heavy. Depth: 8 inches... no, I’ll make it 8.2. And... start!”

There was a mechanical whirr as the Orgasmotron came to life. A large pink silicone cock, bulbous and veiny, was selected from the tool holder. Mallory held her breath as the multi-axis arm crept towards her. She brought it closer and closer with the remote, until it just brushed her flesh, and pressed the button to confirm the zero point, then start the session.

To her surprise, the cuffs on the leg stirrups and arm rests suddenly snapped closed. A computerized voice said: “For your safety, do not move until the program is completed and the machine has come to a complete stop. You will now be restrained to prevent misalignment which could result in injury. For your safety, remember to use the included wrist strap on the controller, or have a spotter in the room supervising. Enjoy your fucking!”

Then whoom! The machine suddenly thrust. Mallory let out a shriek of surprise and pain. “Yowww! What the fuck? That’s the wrong hole!” Her hands flew open. The remote clattered to the floor. The serval felt the machine probing directly under her tail. Cool, slimy lube oozed from the tip, and was rubbed all over her backside. It pulled back, then rammed home with a ghastly SSCHKLORP! “OOOWWWW! FUCK!”

It dawned upon Mallory with growing dread that she’d miscalibrated the machine. She’d also neglected to use the wrist strap. Now she was firmly fixtured in the metallic embrace of the machine, unable to reach the off switch, and it was putting it in the wrong hole. The robo-dildo worked itself in and out of her ass with unpleasantly sloppy noises. It was definitely oversized for that hole. She’d never put anything larger than a 0.705” rod in there before. She was glad she’d picked the heavy lubrication option, butt fuck this hurt.

Luckily, her phone was lying nearby, and Mallory remembered the Orgasmotron Tech Support number. With Siri’s help she called in, only to find herself on hold. This was her last resort. She wouldn’t trust friends, family or coworkers for help, nor was 911 an option. She’d become the laughing stock of the ER, and if she ever dropped a tool on her foot again, they’d know her.

After several excruciating minutes, she finally got a hold of a customer service rep and explained her situation.

“Please!” she whimpered, now getting pounded with greater vigor. “You have to – ooh! Be able to disable it remotely somehow, right?”

“Do you know the serial number of your machine? It should be written on the back.”

“No! I can’t see the back because I’m locked in the stirrups!”

“There should be an emergency stop button on the remote. Or failing that, under the seat on the right side.”

“I can’t reach that, and I dropped the remote!”

“Well, Ma’am, without the serial number there’s nothing I can do to disable the machine. We pride ourselves on our commitment to cybersecurity here at Orgasmotron, LLC: imagine if a hacker were to gain access to your account or order information.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Let me see... what program and settings are you using?”

Mallory answered in a breathless gasp.

“One Way Trip to Poundtown: Brutal Pussy Destroyer? You said it was in your... butt?”

“Yes! I calibrated it wrong or something!”

“Let me check my script... anal... here we go. Heavy lube... oh, boy. Did you clean out your bowels as described in Chapter 4, Section 5 of your instruction manual?”

“What? No! Why would I do that when I didn’t want it in my ass?”

“Then I think you’re going to find yourself in a... shitty situation. All I can do is recommend you thoroughly sanitize your machine using an ammonia-based cleaner before using it again.”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s no need to swear, Ma’am.”

"Siri, hang up.”

Sure enough, soon a horrible odor malingered in the basement. Slimy liquid that must not have been entirely lubricant anymore was pooling on the seat under her. The serval writhed and wept as her anus was ravaged by the colon-tenderizing action of the Orgasmotron. The machine, not a gentle lover, whirred like a chorus of power tools and squelched in rapid rhythm. SchluppSchluppSchlupp SchluppSchluppSchluppPPMMBLPLORRPPP! The smell got much, much worse. She’d shit herself. The contents of her rectum, churned up and mixed with the generous amounts of lubricant provided by the sex machine, suddenly burst out around the dildo with a humiliating splattering sound. But the mindless machine, unable to smell the horrific consequences of its taking the backdoor without adequate preparation, continued to pound her pucker with robotic precision. Finally it withdrew, leaving the serval sobbing and straining against the stirrups. She could only watch as it lifted the dildo up and returned it to the tool holder. It glistened with slimy, dark brown liquid. An even more girthsome tool was selected, this one ribbed in a spiral pattern like a stick of licorice.

Mallory threw up in her mouth a little. Worse, she was hit by a sudden and overwhelming urge to poop. Her bowels gave way and a river of volcanic sludge poured out of her ruined asshole, the result of being filled with a massive enema of lube. It spewed out all over her tail and dripped off the seat onto the floor, before being painfully dammed by the enormous dildo being thrust into her. It would have been a real cervix buster if it had gone in her pussy, but its effect on the serval’s rectum was no less unpleasant. It felt like the worst constipation of her life, only in reverse, and those spiral ribs made it impossible for her o-ring to seal it off. Muck continued to leak out of her as the machine ass-blasted her. The arm moved from side to side, pressing against the walls of her rectum. Painful, and when it squeezed her bladder from behind the serval let out yowl of anguish, as well as a yellow fountain that leapt from her pussy. “Aaargh! Stop it! Isn’t making me shit myself bad enough?” she berated the erotic aid as her stream soaked it. “Fuck... oh my god...”

Then, to her horror, the rubber dong started spinning around like a drill, and those screw-like ribs only worsened her incontinence, pulling the lube right back out of her as fast as it was pumped in, roto-rootering her rectum like a blocked drain. The feeling of them sliding so fast and vigorously against the circumference of her asshole made the poor serval writhe and buck in her seat, her rump splashing gooily in the lake of excrement she was now lying in.

But the worst was yet to cum with the third and final tool: a cybernetic shlong of truly intimidating proportions, and the dark purple of bruised flesh. It was softer than the others, and flopped against her butt with the first gentle thrusts, smearing her buttock fur with foul slurry. But once it was centered, it stretched her to a grotesque extent, filling her like a cucumber. It was so tight in her hole she wasn’t leaking much past it anymore, but the true danger of selecting “Heavy” Lube now became apparent. More and more warm liquid was pumped into her colon. Mallory felt bloated, and she could see her stomach bulging out. “Fuck!” she groaned. “If this keeps up it’ll come out my mouth!”

What she hadn’t counted on was the Piledriver setting. With an ominous whir of hydraulics, the stirrups began to move back towards her head, then the entire table began to curve and tilt, bringing the arm with it. The blood rushed to Mallory’s head. She was turned upside-down, her ravaged rump high in the air as the machine continued its remorseless pounding.

“No...” she groaned. “Oh, fuck, no!”

FLLRPPP! A muddy bubble of air escaped past the dildo. It sped up, then suddenly the length of its strokes decreased while the speed went up and up until it was practically vibrating in her ass. Her whole lower half tingled. Liquid rushed into her. The serval screamed and creamed in unison, another fountain of piss drenching her body and even splashing her face, with foul, musky liquid. Then the evil Robo-Cock withdrew with a horrific squelch, and its rubbery length, dripping with brown slime, flopped onto her bloated stomach. It twisted back and forth like a tentacle, the whole in the end spurting putrid torrents of fake cum, spattering it all over her. Her face was plastered with the glycerine-like goo. Mallory choked and wretched. Fuck. Her ass hurt so much... she had to wait for the table to go down, but with so much liquid forcibly pumped into her, and her hole so badly stretched, there was no hope of holding it in.

BLRLGLRLPP! Her butt started to erupt with wave after wave of horrific lumpy ooze the consistency of cottage cheese. A river of liquefied shit cascaded over the soiled serval’s crotch and poured down her torso to her breasts, punctuated by loud, gassy splurts that showered her from head to toe in mechanically-induced bowel movements. To add insult to injury, the machine gave her one more heavy thrust before lowering its helpless victim back to level.

“We hope you have enjoyed: One Way Trip to Poundtown: Brutal Pussy Destroyer,” said the computerized voice. The cuffs snapped open with a click, leaving the serval in a state of shock, totally covered in her own waste, but face flushed with arousal. To her surprise, she found that being so brutally violated by an inanimate object that she’d wet and soiled herself actually made her pretty horny. But god was her butt sore. Groaning, the serval unstrapped her legs, staggered to her feet, and limped to the nearest bathroom with her paws unusually far apart. Cleaning the machine and her exercise room could wait. She needed the toilet, but she needed a shower more: she heaved herself into the tub and turned on the water, only waiting for it to be lukewarm before putting her dirtied face under the showerhead. Her stomach rumbled. She squatted, one hand pressed to her belly, and unloaded a gloopy torrent into the tub. Fuck, her ass hurt. Without thinking she put her hand down there and massaged her ravaged hole and strained perineum, only for another wave of warm enema sludge to surge into her palm. She looked at it with a look of shock, then shrugged and splatted it onto her chest. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Day 11: Humiliation

Today, you decided to take a Wednesday off and go to the beach. You’re just minding your own business, lying in a deck chair working on your tan, when there’s a malicious sounding squawk. Suddenly – WHAP! Something hits you, and snatches your sunglasses off your face! You sit up in alarm, swearing loudly, but something swears right back. Squinting in the sunlight, you see that a flock of seagulls has gathered around. One holds your shades in its beak.

“Hey!” you shout. “Give those back!” The gull looks at you contemptuously. You remember the sign you passed when you got to the beach. “CAUTION: Aggressive seagulls. Do not approach, do not negotiate, do not respond to insults,” it read. “If this is some kind of hostage situation, forget it! I’m not giving you anything from my cooler! Those are dollar store sunglasses!” you lie. They were pretty expensive actually.

One of the gulls gives a raucous, squawking laugh. “Oh my god. We’ve already totally emptied your cooler, you dumbass. And if you want these back, come take ‘em!” it says in an irritating, screechy, but distinctly feminine voice.

You know better than to fall for that. They’ll just fly away and throw them in the ocean. Stupid birds, thinking you’d fall for a trick like that. Wait. Talking seagulls?

“And by the way, your spread sucked!” says another. “If you’re, like, on a diet or something, it’s not working, bro.”

“Yeah, check out that pudge!” One flaps onto your stomach. You try to swat her away, but she just flaps into the air. “Boing!”

“Check out those swim trunks! Did your mom pick those out for you?”

“She must be color blind if she did!”

“God, imagine wearing swim trunks on a clothing-optional beach!”

“Lame-O.”

“What a prude.”

“Loser!”

“What’s wrong? You got something under those you don’t want people to see?”

“I bet his dick’s tiny. It’s probably a funny shape too!”

“Wish he covered his belly too, it’s blinding me.”

“So pale. This must be his first time out of his mom’s basement all year!”

They’ve struck a nerve. “There’s nothing wrong with my dick! And for your information, clothing optional means I can wear clothing if I want!” you protest.

“Yeah, but who does that?”

“Totally uncool.”

“There’s plenty of people here wearing swimsuits.”

“They’re uncool too. Do you see any of us wearing clothes? We’re all totally naked!”

“You’re wild animals, it doesn’t count! Besides, you’re birds! You don’t have boobs, or dicks, or...” Do birds have assholes? You don’t know. They must, judging by the state of anywhere underneath a power line, but you’ve never seen a bird’s butthole before.

Sadly, one of the gulls decides to remedy this. She lands on your stomach and bends over, raising her tail feathers high. “No, it’s totally the same. Look at me, my cloaca’s free in the sea breeze! See? That’s because we’re confident in our bodies!”

“Why’d a guy like him be confident in his body?” another asks. “Just look at him.”

“Eww, I don’t want to.”

“I can’t believe you’re brave enough to go out in public!”

“Shut up! Stop body shaming me!”

“Cope harder. You wouldn’t have packed celery to go to the beach if you didn’t know we were right.”

“No six pack, no biceps. 3/10 beach body.”

“Pathetic.”

“That’s an unrealistic expectation!” you protest.

“Wow. Skill issue.”

“Do you even lift bro?”

You can’t believe this. Shamed by a bunch of heckling seabirds. Your self esteem is already suffering under this assault. You can hear other beachgoers laughing.

“Take your trunks off!” jeers a gull. “Let’s see that shrimp dick!”

“Take them off! Take them off!” chant several more, and another lands on your thigh. She pecks at the drawstring, and undoes it.

“Hey! Back off!” you aim another swat at the bird, but she just flies off. Another takes her place, and tugs the waistband down before being driven away. She squawks with laughter as she joins the circling flock.

“Oh my god, he’s even paler under there!”

“Give up on that tan dude, you look like you live in a cave!”

“Ha ha! Did you see those lines?”

“His pale ass is burning up! You’re gonna look like a lobster!”

“I think his ass is the only thing not burning!”

“Have you ever heard of sunscreen?”

“I put it on this morning!” you protest. “Mind your own business!”

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to reapply every two hours? Or every five minutes looking at you. You’re turning red already.”

“You’re gonna, like, get skin cancer or something!”

You left your sunscreen in the car. “Fine, I’ll go put on some more! Let me up!” More and more gulls are landing on you. One, seemingly one of the ringleaders of the cruel gull gang, stands on your chest and looks you right in the eye.

“Why walk all the way back? Besides, you didn’t even apply it properly. Look at all these blotches. So uneven!”

“We’ve got plenty of sunscreen for you right here!” another waggles her feathery backside. “And we’ll make sure you’re nice and covered!”

It’s beach weather, but an icy chill runs down your spine. Sunscreen... white goo. Unless they mean they stole some from someone else, the only white goo a bird would have on hand is... Oh, no. With the way she’s shaking her ass, they can’t mean anything else.

Splutt. A squirt of white paste suddenly adorns your belly.

“Get off!” you scream, flailing wildly at the birds. They take off in a panic, and you actually make contact with one, knocking her aside.

“Ow!” she gets up, spits out sand, and takes off. “This asshole just, like, assaulted me!”

“It was self defense!”

“I saw him, he totally smacked you!”

“What a dick!”

“You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us! Come on, girls, let’s get him! Bombing formation!”

You stare down the beach in a panic. The exit’s so far away, and they can fly. You’ll never make it to your car.

“Let’s paint this dweeb white!”

“White leader standing by!”

“White five, standing by!”

“Stop making Star Wars jokes, I gotta shit real bad!”

Maybe an umbrella. There’s one a ways down the beach. If you can just make it to that, you’ll have some shelter against their aerial attack. But you overthink it, and freeze in terror. Before you can make your move, the first of the birds swoops and poops. She misses, only striking the sand next to you, but with raucous cries the rest of the flock starts dive bombing you, with devastating aim. One glob of nasty white birdshit after another splatters down on you. Splat, a white spot on your chest! Splat, white on your swim trunks, with some foul greenish-brown swirled in there too. Splat, something sticky in your hair! You reach for it on instinct. Eww! Goddamnit!

With an unmanly squeal of fear, you leap from your deck chair and make a run for it. But alas, a loose thread on your swim trunks catches on the chair, and with the drawstring undone by the gulls, they’re barely hanging on. The next thing you know, they’re around your knees. You trip and faceplant in the sand.

“Oh god my eyes!” squawks a gull. “Look at that ass! It’ll burn so bad he can’t sit on a toilet if we don’t sunscreen it quick!”

“It’s for your own good, loser!”

“Bombs away!”

Weeping in humiliation, you stumble to your feet, leaving your swim trunks behind and streaking across the beach, buck naked. People see you. They’re pointing, laughing, even filming.

“Hey look, we’ve got an audience!” laughs a gull. “We’re doing you a favor! You’re totally gonna go viral on TikTok!”

You flee, headlong, as the mean gulls continue to spatter you with their loathsome projectile droppings. Your breath is whistling in your nose, but you don’t dare open your mouth. Then Splat! One of them drops a massive load right in your eyes! You stumble blindly, blundering straight into the moat of a giant sand castle some guys are building. You trip again, more forcefully than before. Argh! Your ankle! You bellow in pain.

“Dude, what the fuck?” says one of your fellow beachgoers.

“Major buzzkill, man.”

You stagger to your feet. You’ve sprained it, badly. “Sorry! Sorry!” you weep. Fuck, you can’t walk.

“Shit dude, learn to put on sunscreen. You don’t have to use the whole tube.”

“What’s that smell?”

“Run! Save yourselves!” you limp on in a futile attempt to escape the squadrons of dive bombing seagulls. They’re swooping and diving in chaos, and despite the horrific circumstances you’ve found yourself in this afternoon you can’t help but marvel at the coordination of their attack. How do they avoid crashing into each other? Or hitting each other with their unholy projectiles?

Just as you think that, one gull gives a squawk of dismay. It’s just such a case of friendly fire! She’s made the mistake of flying right underneath one of her friends, and a huge glob of droppings spatters across her face! Blinded, the bird wheels straight into your chest at high speed. Thump! You both fall, you from surprise and her from being knocked from the sky.

“Skwaawwkaahhh! Owwww! Fuck, fuck, fuck, my wing!” The gull flaps awkwardly on the ground, holding it at a funny angle.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” you ask, feeling a little sympathy for the bird. “Is it broken?”

“Just sprained.” She looks up at the sky, still shaking shit out of her head feathers. “Watch where you’re aiming, bitch!”

“Watch where you’re flying!”

“Fuck you! Give him hell for me, girls!”

You then remember your emnity with the malicious seabirds. Thinking quickly, you seize the grounded one. She squawks indignantly and tries to bite you with her beak, but you hold on like your remaining shreds of dignity depend on it. A hostage! “Hold your fire!” you say.

“What are you gonna do,” jeers a ringleader, but the rain of excrement has stopped. “Crush her? Stomp her? That’s illegal you know! Migratory birds are protected under bird law!”

“You can’t shit on me without hitting your friend too!” you challenge the flock. “Your aim’s good, but it’s not that good!” You hold her up like an avian shield, making sure to point her backside away from yourself. The bird trembles as she realizes her predicament.

“He’s right!” she shrieks. “Come on, girls, we’ve had our fun! Wait! Don’t! You’ll hit me, you’ll hit me!”

Sqwwrrrt. A stream of white past splatters a stripe across both the bird and your arm.

“Looks like my aim’s pretty good after all!”

“Ack! Fuck! Stop it!”

“Quit complaining, loser!” says the ringleader. “You know the rules. Gull Code, sis! Anyone and anything on the ground is a valid target!”

“It’s your own fault for getting captured by a dumb mammal that can’t even fly!”

“Yeah! Skill issue!”

“Should’ve watched where you’re going, dork!”

Another load of hot, creamy birdshit hits her face. Seeing the true savagery these seabirds are capable of, you know all hope is lost. You fall to your knees in despair, but keep a tight grip on your hostage. At least one of them will suffer with you.

Another downpour of uric acid ran defiles your naked body. Liquid droppings run down your forehead, cheeks and nose. You look like a statue someone carelessly built under a light pole right next to a french fry truck where flocks of pigeons congregate to feed on crumbs, then perch nearby to relieve themselves. You choke and retch. “Fuck, it smells so bad! What’ve you been eating?”

“Rotting fish, garbage, tourists’ food, so much! Oh, we totally just visited the dumpster behind that one seafood place by the beach, didn’t we girls?”

“Clammy Clark’s Crab Shack? The one with a 1.5 Star average on Yelp?”

“Yep. And that’s with us all leaving five star reviews on tourists’ phones if they don’t lock them!”

“Noooooo!” you wail in despair. You’ve never eaten there, but you’ve seen the reviews. So many harrowing tales of the apocalyptic devastation wreaked upon bathrooms and even pants by the aftermath of eating Clammy Clark’s infamous crab legs, fish sticks, clam chowder, or any of the numerous other hideous microwaved seafood affronts to all cuisine found within that most reviled by locals of restaurants. And that’s what they don’t throw away. Birds always have foul liquid bowel movements, but after pigging out on such abhorrent fare, you pity whatever poor soul is unlucky enough to be under any of them when they let fly.

That poor soul just so happens to be yourself. Boy do those gulls have to go. The prodigious quantities of watery crap they’re spewing out over you must be weighing them down so much they can barely fly. In minutes, you’re covered in SPF 5417 (that spells ‘shit’ on a calculator. You being enough of a nerd to know this makes you all the more deserving of the seabirds’ wrath), and they don’t even care that their fallen comrade has become co-splatteral damage. She looks like the photo negative of bird that’s been caught in an oil slick, her feathers matted with filth from the cloacal cannonade.

“Let me go!” she squawks, pecking at your hands again. “Ow! Stop squeezing, I’ll shit all over you!”

“Do your worst! You can’t do anything to me that you haven’t already -”

SPLUTT. Right in your mouth.

“Squaaaahahaha! Gotcha! You stupid human!” she taunts as you choke and retch. “Hey! What are you doing! Don’t hold me like that! Stop squeezing! I still have to go!”

You glare into the beady eyes of the seagull as you hold her helpless upside-down. You squeeze harder, making her gasp for air, then massage your fingers on her abdomen, squeezing the shit out of her like a tube of toothpaste.

Pbllpp! Her cloaca gives way, and a spurt of runny mess fouls her feathers. It runs down all over your hand, but you squeeze harder. A sloppy coil of poorly digested seafood and french fries mixed with the ever-present and fetid uric acid pasty bird waste splorts out of her vent and splashes down right in her face! She splutters in distress.

“Get it in your beak,” you snarl. “See how it feels? See how it tastes? Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it? Argh, fuck, not in my mouth again!”

Your revenge is complete, and with that your motivation to resist melts away. Now you collapse, flat on your back on the beach, in despair, watching the flock circle above you raining down their white projectiles. A few pelicans even join in, egged on by the bullying gulls.

Your hostage climbs onto your chest, her webbed feet slipping in the muck. She spreads her filthy wings wide. Her beak drips with fresh white paste.

“By the way,” she says. “I was right. You do have a tiny dick.”

You can only sob in humiliation as she bends over and fires a gout of waste all over said organ, then struts sloppily down to your crotch and starts wiping it back and forth with her webbed toes. No... it can’t be. You’re getting hard.

“Ouch, and I guess you’re not a grower or a shower. Pathetic.”

You are completely humbled and humiliated by the fearsome bombardment the flock has subjected you too. But it’s taking its toll on them too. Bird after bird is brought down by friendly fire or the power of Clammy Clark’s. Some are blinded and crash, some are shit on over and over until their wings are too fouled to fly, and others are grounded by the intensity of their gastrointestinal distress. But they all perch on you, heedless of the waning rain of shit, relieving themselves all over you and each other. They take turns stroking your cock with their wings and feet, but won’t even allow you the mercy of cumming. You beg for release, but your former captive only struts up your body and sits down on your face.

“Fuck you. Eat my feathery ass.”

You’re so mentally broken by now that you obey without question, mournfully going down on the gull’s nasty, fecally-ridden cloaca and even holding her down on your face.

“Ahhh,” she sighs, and unleashes fetid hell, squirting rancid, rotten-fish diarrhoea right into your mouth. “God, you actually thought we’d let a loser like you cum? You’re so gull-ible.” She silences your protest at the pun, almost as bad as their shit, with another nauseating spurt of foaming excrement.

By the time the flock is finally done with you and allows you to wash yourself in the sea, the sun is going down. You stagger to your car, sans swimsuit, and drive home, but the windshield is pelted by white spatters.

Tomorrow, you’ll decide to skip the beach, and tan on your balcony instead, only to find that several of those mean gulls have tracked your marked vehicle home and found out where you live.

Day 12: Somnophilia

Today, Tyler got a seemingly unassuming text from his friend Julie.

“Hey.”

“Hey”

“U have tomorrow off, right?”

“Yeah”

“Plans for the morning or tonight?”

“Not really.”

“Cool. Think u can help me out with something?”

“Uhh that depends. If it involves helping assemble Ikea furniture then no.”

“Don’t worry it’s nothing like that.”

“What is it then?”

There was a long pause before the leopardess replied. “I want to try the Laxatives and Sleeping Pills challenge and I need someone to film.”

Tyler dropped his phone he was so surprised. Luckily it landed between the couch cushions. The mongoose felt his face flush as he fished it out. He stared at the message again. “...typo?”

“No.”

All he could think of to say was: “I didn’t think Tiktok even allowed that kind of stuff.”

“This isn’t for Tiktok its for Yifftok. Which does allow it.”

Ah, thought Tyler, that explains everything. Then he thought no, it fucking didn’t! “Just to be clear,” he typed, “Your saying u want to take laxatives. And sleeping pills”

“Yes”

“And see if you wake up in time to make it to the bathroom.”

“No”

“And FILM it?” Julie was still typing, but Tyler didn’t wait for the full answer. It showed up on his screen a few seconds later.

“Waking up in time isn’t the plan. And I doubt its happening. Not with the amount of lax Im taking.”

“You know that makes it worse, right? You’re going to shit yourself in your sleep on purpose and you want to film yourself doing it and put it on the internet?”

“Dude no. Filming’s where you come in, I just said.”

“WTF.” She was typing, but again, he didn’t wait for an answer. “Is this a joke?”

“Totally serious.”

“Ok well why the fuck did u ask me to help you with this?”

“Come on dude you know why.”

"No I don’t. Explain.”

“Remember that night at the bar 2 years ago? When we played that truth game and the card was what everyone’s weirdest fetish was? And you said you were into poop?”

Tyler’s muzzle burned. Yes, he did remember now. Fuck. He’d hoped no one else would have. “Okay that was said in confidence, and I was drunk. Don’t use that against me.” Then something occurred to him. “Wait.”

“?”

“Did you answer that too? I don’t think you did. Are you even into shit or just doing it for clout?”

“I’m into it. But no, I didn’t.”

“What the fuck did you answer then? Did you let me blurt out that I had a shit fetish and then lie about yours?”

“No. I answered honestly.”

“???” Typed Tyler. “WTF did you answer then?”

“My weirdest fetish is having somebody do something to me in my sleep.”

It took Tyler a while to compose himself enough to think of a response. “Pretty sure shit’s weirder. That’s kinda creepy and unethical, but shitting yourself is way weirder.”

Her reply took even longer. “First of all yes sleep sex is weirder. Second my god you are fucking DENSE.”

“Dense how?”

“I asked you to come over and spend the night at my place while I take laxatives and sleeping pills. Im going to be so out of it I just mess myself in my sleep. You and me. All alone. Me completely zonked out and helpless. And covered in my own shit, which we both know turns you on. And I just told you what MY weirdest kink was. Why do you think I did that?”

"BC I asked you?”

“Take a fucking hint man.”

“I’m not taking hints on you asking me to fuck you while you’re unconscious, what the fuck. I thought you were asking me to do this bc u trusted me NOT to do something.”

“I do trust you. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if I woke up to find you’d taken advantage of me and made an even bigger mess.”

“Okay. NGL that sounds kinda hot. But don’t act like im an idiot for making sure ur ok with everything.”

“K.”

He couldn’t leave it on a terse reply like that. A few minutes later, he replied with: “How messy. And by messy do you mean you want me to jack off on you? Or do things with your poop?”

“Knock yourself out dude.”

“I thought that was what you were doing?”

“Lol. The only rule is don’t get it in my eyes. Or nose since I’m asleep.”

“Just eyes and nose? You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Even your mouth?”

“Oh yeah.”

Several hours later, Tyler found himself escorting a very sleepy leopardess into her apartment. Sleepy and who knew what else. They’d gone to a dinner at an all-too-appropriate establishment. Taco Bell, that is. Julie had stuffed her face like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and gulped down worrying amounts of soda, in addition to downing a couple of sleeping pills, as well as one Ex Lax, two Dulcolax, three Miralax, and some magnesium citrate. Tyler had experimented with stool softeners himself once or twice, but he wassn’t brave enough to try such a devastating combo even awake in his own bathroom. The sheer recklessness of taking all that with sleeping pills both thrilled and horrified him. He knew her colon must be a ticking time bomb by now, and he was seriously worried about a premature accident in his car, especially with Julie nodding off in the passenger seat.

He stood there with a camera, awkwardly filming as she, with some difficulty, pulled off her shirt and sweatpants, and flopped into bed wearing nothing but her panties and an old, ratty t-shirt. He zoomed in on the panties. They, in contrast with her shirt, were pristine, a lovely black color which complemented her sleek dappled fur beautifully. They weren’t the most modest of undergarments though, and seeing her sprawled out half naked on her pastel yellow sheets like that... fuck. Tyler had always had a crush on her, but he’d never been brave enough to say anything. It was kind of pathetic, really.

“Are you sure you don’t have to go potty before bed?” he asked. “That was a lot of tacos, and you said you haven’t gone since Monday.”

“Mmmmm, no...” Julie groaned. “Too tired. I’ll go in the morning...”

Soon she was out cold. Her ears and tail twitched contentedly in her sleep. Tyler gave her a gentle shake to make sure she was really asleep. His hand lingered on her shoulder a little too long. But she didn’t wake. He was alone in her bedroom, with nothing to do but admire the patterns of her spots, the lithe curves of her sleeping form, and definitely her ass. God he felt like such a pervert. It felt wrong. But this was what she’d asked for, repeatedly, both over text and in person, so the mongoose set the camera up on a tripod, zoomed in on her butt, and began his vigil.

He didn’t have to wait very long. It started out slowly and subtly: her panties began to bulge under the tail area. She lay on her side, half curled up, perfectly relaxed. The only sound in the room was her easy breathing, Tyler’s own somewhat heavier breathing, and then, to his delight, a faint, wet crackle.

She was... she was shitting herself. Right in front of him, she was slowly but surely filling up her panties. The smell was atrocious, so bad that Tyler actually gagged. Why did it have to be Taco Bell? It was hot, but god it reeked.

He noticed that not only were her panties completely taut around the crotch now, but a bit of brown was peeking out on her left side, the side she was sleeping on. That brown crescent grew bigger and bigger, and another appeared on the other, higher up side of her panties too. “Holy shit,” he gasped. He couldn’t control himself any longer. Tyler took off his own pants and started rubbing himself through his tightie whities. He’d only looked away for a few seconds, but when he returned his gaze to Julie’s bottom, it was clear that her panties weren’t going to contain that mess much longer. Thick brown sludge slowly oozed out of her panties and slithered down her buttcheek like a lava flow. Tyler was captivated by the sight. He couldn’t look away. Watching every spot in the path of the creeping mudslide get covered by it fascinated him with disgust and arousal.

It reached her sheets at last, and began to spread out in a gooey puddle at least an inch thick. She’d really done it. She’d shit her bed, and she was completely oblivious to it, lost in her slumber. Then she groaned, mumbled something, and moved a little, and started to mess herself even worse. The puddle spread faster and faster, fed by a gentle river of shit that flowed out from her ruined panties. It stopped for a bit, but the mess stayed caked on her thigh in a thick layer of opaque brown, then her panties were pushed outward and it flowed again for another minute. By now the pool of filth on the bed was well over a foot across. There was a wet squelch, and a GLOOP as Julie’s panties were bulged out even further by a huge bubble of gas. When it reached freedom it sent muck splattering out with it with a nasty PGLUKK. Too much beans and cheese for her own good, Tyler thought.

There was already so much, but the flow of waste only got faster. Her panties inflated even more, the mudslide down her left thigh only deepened, and what before was just a bit of mess peeking out the other side suddenly rose like bread dough and spilled over, oozing down her panties and joining the main stream. It started coming out at her tail too, and fetid burrito gas kept bubbling forth. SSPLORRKK! PPKLUTTT. PWRRRGLURRRRTTSCH! Runny fecal matter spattered higher up the leopardess’s thigh, and soiled her tail. Well, her tail was lying in the puddle anyway, but more of it was speckled with waste now.

“Mmm...” Julie groaned, and fidgeted in her sleep. Her tail twitched, but remained weight down in the puddle of filth. She rubbed her stomach, and released another crackling, bubbling wave, her expression turning to one of slight discomfort. Then her face relaxed into a blissful smile, and with a loud hiss she began peeing herself, washing yet more mud out of her ruined panties and further flooding the sheets. She’d put a waterproof mattress protector on her bed, so instead of being absorbed into the mattress it pooled on the sheets under her weight, spreading the puddle further and further up her back. Dark wet spots wicked their way up her shirt.

“Wow,” Tyler mumbled. “I can’t believe you had to go that much.” He felt like such a disgusting creep for doing this, but she’d given him blanket permission to do whatever he wanted to her. And he wanted to. She looked so beautiful like this, so peaceful. He reached out with questing fingers and poked at the seat of her panties, squishing the thick cushion of bulged out mess inward. The fabric was warm and damp. He sniffed his finger. Yuck.

Tyler had always wondered what her fur felt like. He brushed his hand down her thigh. It was so smooth and sleek, not fine or coarse, just short and thick. It seemed such a shame for it to be sullied with her noxious filth. Such a delightful shame. He stroked her a bit more, lifting her loose-fitting t-shirt up and caressing her side and stomach. He reached higher, towards her breasts, but withdrew his hand at the last second. Even with permission it still felt so wrong to take advantage of her like this. They were just friends. Just friends! She’d trusted him to be responsible for her while she slept. He shouldn’t abuse that trust.

He glanced down at her butt again. On the other hand, he thought, a responsible friend wouldn’t just leave her lying in her own shit all night after she had an accident. She might get a rash. Could he get her to the shower? No, there was no way. Tyler ran track in high school and college, but he wasn’t exactly strong, and Julie was several inches taller than him and heavier than her slender form would appear. Helping her inside while she was half-asleep was hard enough. The only thing he could do until she woke up, obviously, was help her out of her dirty panties.

Tyler undid the button at her tail. How the hell did women fasten that from the back? He always wore underpants with a snap, or an elastic band he could thread his tail through. He hooked his claws under the waistband and eased them down, releasing another tsunami of muck onto the bed. This time it was mixed with her pee, and turned into reeking, watery slop. Some got on his hands, but he wiped it on her shirt and tugged her panties down further. He gasped in arousal at the state of her rump. God, she was filthy! Her fur was completely matted with runny shit, not just her cheeks and the base of her tail but the folds of her labia glistening with wet brown goo. Watered down as this was from her pee, the worst of it slid down into the puddle, leaving the contours of her ass painted with a heavy coating of muck. Tyler’s own briefs were a sticky mess too: his pre had soaked through the fabric. He guessed he should take them off too.

He patted the leopardess’s rump, and pulled her cheek upward a bit, spreading her for a better view of the putrid morass between her legs. PFFFFRRK. FPWRKLRPRLURRLPBLURPP. Even that light touch caused an airy fart to escape her relaxed hole, followed by another wave of thick, creamy poop. It was a little lighter-colored than the mess that preceded it, and slid down her cheek in a muddy stripe, then piled up as more and more burst out of her. She started peeing again too, a waterfall running down her shitty thigh. Tyler couldn’t believe she still had to go after all that.

It might just have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen. So hot that the mongoose no longer had any thought of cleaning his friend up. His lust took total control of him. He began to masturbate again watching her soil herself. Almost immediately he felt his climax approaching, and gave into to a perverted impulse without question. He climbed up onto the bed and knelt next to her face, imagining her waking up to the result of what was about to happen. He came buckets, spurting hot, sticky ropes all over her. When his orgasm finished the leopard’s face was a total mess. Cum was dripping from her whiskers and stripes of it were drying in her fur all over her muzzle and forehead. One fat drop hung from her earlobe.

As his erection softened, Tyler felt a brief pang of guilt. He’d seriously just jerked off on a woman’s face while she slept? What was wrong with him? Then Julie stirred in her sleep. She pawed at her messy face and licked her lips. No, no, he was thinking about this the wrong way. Julie had asked him to help her with this because she wanted him to do more than film. He shouldn’t let her down.

After taking a picture of her face, since he wasn’t sure if the camera could see it, he dabbed his hand into the puddle of filth on the bed and wiped it on her shirt. Yeah, that was hot. He smeared more, fingerpainting nasty brown lines and splotches on it. He traced a circle around one nipple, which was very obvious through the thin, worn t-shirt with no bra. He smeared a bit on her leg as well, then slowly worked Julie’s shirt up over her head. It wasn’t a clean process. The left side of her shirt was soaked in piss up to her chest, and the bottom edge was dirty with her feces. By the time he got it off, Tyler was panting from exertion. He looked at the soiled garment, shrugged, and wrung the liquid out onto her. She wanted to wake up filthy, did she?

Tyler finished taking her panties off as well. He wasn’t sure what to do with them. The laundry hamper? He always rinsed clothes off in the shower right away after “messy” play, then threw them straight in the wash. He took them to the bathroom and tossed them into the tub with a wet splat, but not before showing them to the camera. When he returned to Julie’s bedroom, he found the leopardess shitting herself again, a river of lumpy anal gravy running from her foul pucker.

This time he didn’t just dip his fingers in a mess. He scooped up a big handful, murmuring “Holy shit, you’re so disgusting.” He didn’t know whether the comment was directed at Julie or himself. He plopped the mess down on the slumbering leopard’s flank, and started to smear it up and down her body. Soon both his hands were covered in foul leopard shit. He was touching himself with one, and her with the other. With loving attention to detail he painted her flank, connecting each spot of her dappled coat with a brown line, then smeared a muddy stripe down her leg all the way to her ankle. He lifted her footpaw and smeared that too, coating her toe beans and working the dung in between her toes and pads. It must have tickled, because she kicked out weakly, stamping a brown pawprint on Tyler’s chest.

Then the sleeping cat rolled over onto her other side, revealing that she’d done a lot of the work for him already. Her fur was soaked in a nauseatingly wet and slimy mixture of pee and poop. How could he possibly resist her? He patted her shitty rump, and continued smearing, groping, and fondling the filthy feline. He painted her back, then scooped up another handful of slurry and ran it along her tail. Then he reached under her tail, between her legs, involuntarily humping the air as he groped at her soiled pussy and anus. His paw squelched in the putrescent quagmire of runny taco aftermath. He ran his finger around the rumpled edge of her pucker, then poked into the very center, two knuckles deep. Julie still didn’t wake, but she stirred again, and started to make a deep purring sound. Or whatever big cats did instead of purring. Tyler withdrew his finger again, uncorking another river of diarrhea. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly.

He was already kneeling on the bed now, with filth puddling around his knees. He spread the leopardess’s legs and rolled her onto her back. What came next was just instinct. He waded forward in the puddle and mounted her, slithering his cock around in the fetid swamp between her legs until it found its place. “Fuck,” Tyler panted. He leaned forward, holding her arms down at the elbows. A smile twitched on her sleeping, cum-spattered face. “Do you like this?” he murmured. “Are you having sweet dreams?” As his climax approached, he released her arms, and groped the leopardess’s tits, smearing the pale fur.

It was lucky she was asleep, really, since he came embarrassingly early. He rested on the bed for a while, contemplating his choices in life. He was pretty messy now too, especially below the waist. Julie... oh, god, he’d defiled her. And yet he still wanted to do even more unspeakable things to the leopardess.

“I hope this is what you want, Julie.” Tyler coated her chest and shoulders, then fingered her asshole again and stimulated her to release another wave of melty soft-serv into his hand. With bated breath he held the handful of muck teasingly above her face, then dipped his fingers in it and smeared two war stripes below her eyes. He painted her gently, carefully, on the bridge of her nose, on her forehead, ears, and under her chin. She looked even cuter like this. He almost wanted to kiss her, but he lost his nerve. The mongoose backed off and watched her sleep for a while. What a mess. Did she really want to wake up like this? No, she wanted worse. Her mouth, she’d said. He took some more slurry from the puddle around her butt and painted her muzzle more thoroughly, smearing her scat over her lips. To his surprise, he suddenly felt her sandpapery tongue licking his fingers. Eww. Oh well. He pressed them to her lips again, and put his fingers in her mouth, scraping the shit off against her teeth. Man that was gross.

He noticed his own bladder was uncomfortably full. It had been for a while, but he’d been so engrossed in Julie’s accident that he forgot about his own need. He looked towards the bathroom door. No... no, he had a better idea. Julie hadn’t asked him for this, but she’d told him to knock himself out. He stood before the bed, hand on his shit-caked member. Should he really do this? He stared at the state of her. What did it matter? She was such a mess anyway. The mongoose relaxed and started to pee. Not on her bed, which would be bad enough, but on the leopardess herself. His stream pattered down on her butt, her flank, her shoulders. Should he? She’d said not in her eyes or nose, and he didn’t know how well he could aim, but he thought she meant solids. He adjusted his aim, letting his pee soak her face. Oh, that was so hot! Marking her in her sleep... she stirred, twitching her ears and pawing groggily at her face, but fell asleep again before his stream ended.

Julie and her pillow were both soaked in mongoose piss. Soaking wet. She looked beautiful. But her halfhearted attempt to block the stream had given him an idea. He massaged her belly until she defecated, and cupped his hand under the mudslide again. But instead of smearing it on her, he scooped the mound of soft, creamy feces into her palm, then tickled her nose with his fingers. A classic, and very effective prank with whipped cream or shaving cream. Would it work with the much heavier ass cream?

“Mmm...” Julie grunted, and slapped her hand to her face just as expected. SPLUTT. “Mmmff! Wha?” the leopardess finally woke up, wiping her face and sneezing.

“How was your nap, sleepyhead?” Tyler asked.

“Whathefugg...” Julie sat up in bed. She groggily took in the state of her body. Completely naked, and almost completely covered in her own shit. “Mmm. Oh... holy shit. Looks like I had a really bad accident.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t look like all those tacos agreed with you.”

“How’d it get all over... up here?” she yawned. “You’ve been making it worse, haven’t you?”

“I... maybe?” Tyler stammered. “You told me too. That’s what you said in the texts.”

“Good...” Julie lay back down on her shitty bed. “I knew I could trust you. Oh... wow, I still have to go really bad...”

“Do you want help getting to the bathroom?”

“Is it morning yet?”

“No. Just 12:30.”

“No... the challenge goes all night. You don’t have to stay up if you don’t want to, though.” She patted the mattress with a shitty paw. “There’s room here.”

“I don’t know. That side of the bed’s a little messy too.”

"You don’t have any jammies to get dirty, do you?”

Tyler caught her eyes straying to his dick, which was at half mast and painted brown.

“I... guess not.”

Tyler crawled into bed beside the leopardess and cuddled with her in her shitty sheets. She soon dozed off again, and he followed. But in the middle of the night, he woke to clawed fingers caressing his body and a rough tongue slurping at his cock.

“Huh?” he groaned, and remembered not to rub his eyes just in time. “Oh, fuck... Julie?”

“Hmm?” she lifted her head, leaving a trail of brown fecal drool from her jaws to his dong. “Oh, fuck. Sorry, I forgot. You never said you wanted it in your sleep.”

“It’s okay, I guess,” Tyler mumbled. “That’s a good way to wake up. But I wouldn’t wanna miss all the fun. Did your sleeping pills wear off?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna go back to sleep in a minute,” Julie slurred. “Mmmfff... neither did the laxatives. My side of the bed’s pretty messy. Mind if I use yours?”

“Sure, I guess so.” Tyler yawned. “Let me get up first. I need to get a drink anyway. Hang on...”

But Julie didn’t give him a chance. The fouled feline knelt and turned around, then to Tyler’s astonishment straddled him, pinning his thighs to the bed.

“Julie... oh, god...”

With a grateful sigh the leopardess relieved herself, right in her bed and on her friend. A torrent of straw-colored pee gushed from her pussy, drenching both the pillow and Tyler’s face. He didn’t need to get up for a drink after all, just open his mouth and chug. And she was right. The laxatives were nowhere close to wearing off. Julie still had severe diarrhea. With the slightest relaxation of her sphincter it came pouring out from beneath her fouled tail, bubbling and splatting down as her tummy gurgled incessantly. Liquid shit poured down on the pillow, and on the lucky mongoose’s face. She tensed a little, and sprayed her headboard with projectile diarrhea. “Oh, shit. Oops...” she lifted her torso further, massaged her belly, and deluged the pillow with filth, then unloaded yet another colossal mud avalanche that half buried Tyler’s head in excrement.

“Holy shit!” he spluttered. “Oh, Julie...”

“Huh?” she climbed off him and turned around with sudden speed. “Oh, shit. Sorry, did you say you wanted to get a drink?

“Don’t worry.” Tyler spat out a mouthful of liquid shit. “You took care of that.”

Julie smiled drowsily. She settled down on the bed, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, licking her mess off his muzzle. Soon she was asleep again, but she’d fallen asleep on top of him, and Tyler couldn’t move her. Not that he wanted to. He couldn’t think of a better place to spend the night than with a naked, incontinent leopardess. Even though she was drooling all over his face.

Day 13: Playing with Hair

Today, Naomi made the mistake of wearing her “Boycott Shampoo, Demand Real Poo” t-shirt in public. It was a joke, of course. The young saluki woman took great pride in her silky, flowing locks, and devoted great effort to an elaborate hair care routine. Wearing such a shirt in most places was tasteless, but Naomi was on vacation in Rio de Merda, Brazil, a city infamous for being home to the greatest concentration of scat porn studios in the world, so here, it was very foolish indeed. The naïve American dog, who didn’t know a word of Portuguese, strolled obliviously through the town, and soon attracted the attention of several locals.

“Hi there!” a cute-looking feline lady waved at her as she walked down the street. She was a margay, with a sleek, spotted coat and large amber eyes.

“Oh, hey! Marcia, right?” Naomi knew the margay well: she’d been a foreign exchange student at Naomi’s college, and they’d become good friends. They still kept in touch online. She rushed forward and hugged the shorter cat. “Oh, man, it’s crazy seeing you here! Small world, I guess.”

“I know, right? I told you I moved here about a year ago – you should’ve told me you were coming!”

“Sorry, I forgot this was the same place. How’re you doing?”

“Well, the International Relations major didn’t pan out, but I’ve been working at a, uhh... salon and spa!” the margay blushed profusely. “It’s not where I expected I’d end up, but it’s a lot of fun, and I love my coworkers! Love your shirt, by the way: I never knew you were into that!”

“Huh? Oh, this? Oh, yeah, I know the pun’s lame, but... I don’t know, I guess it’s a little embarrassing, but I just threw a bunch of t-shirts in my suitcase at the last minute.”

The two walked along, conversing happily, when Naomi noticed another fur had silently joined them. She was a jaguar, four inches taller than the Saluki and much more muscular, wearing short cutoff denim shirts and a tank top with words on it Naomi couldn’t read. The larger feline greeted Naomi in Portuguese with a sly grin, and they exchanged a few words.

Marcia beamed at them both. “Naomi, this is my friend Camila! We work together, and actually she’s kind of my boss, in a way, but she’s really nice.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Camila said in a heavy accent. She stared down at Naomi’s shirt for an uncomfortable time, then laughed and patted her shoulder. She must not have read English too well, thought the saluki. “Funny shirt, I like it!”

“Ooh! And here are my other friends, Giovanna and Beatriz!” Marcia pointed out two other anthros. Giovanna was a maned wolf. She had Naomi’s tall, slender build, but was even taller than her, Naomi guessed 5’10 or 11 at least. Beatriz was a kinkajou. She was a little shorter and stockier than Naomi, and carried two fruity drinks: one in her paw and one with her long tail, which she took turns sipping from.

“We were all hanging out together before a work thing,” continued Marcia. “Just a... picnic. You’re welcome to join us though, and... maybe you could drop by if you wanted.”

“Your salon and spa? That sounds great! I could use a little pampering. Umm... assuming it isn’t really expensive.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d need to pay anything. We could use the, uhh... practice!”

“Oh. Do you... not have your licenses yet?”

“A license? You don’t need one here for what we’re doing, as long as you’re an adult! And if you’re happy with how it turns out, you could take some... pictures, for the business.”

“You mean like, some promo shots? Sure! I can post them on my Instagram too!” Naomi said excitedly.

Unbeknownst to her, Marcia’s friends were having their own conversation.

“Wow, look at that hair!” Giovanna said in Portuguese. “That’d be so much fun to mess up.”

“Yeah!” chuckled Camila. “I was looking forward to shitting on Marcia, but if this foreign bitch wants to join our ‘picnic,’ maybe our little sub can get a break!” She grabbed the Margay and rubbed her head. Marcia whimpered a little.

“I wish I knew Naomi liked scat during college!” she told her friends. “I wanted to ask her, but I was afraid she’d be too grossed out.” In English, she said: “This is gonna be so much fun!”

Camila led the way to the park, then through a line of trees and a “private property” sign, into a secluded clearing. “Ahh...” she said in Portuguese. “Here we are! A perfect spot for a diarrhea picnic, right girls?”

“Si!” Naomi nodded enthusiastically, having no idea what she was saying but not wanting to look stupid. The others gave her odd looks, since she’d used the wrong language, but shrugged. Giovanna set down the picnic basket and laid out a large beach towel. Then she started to take off her shorts, revealing a skimpy green bikini underneath.

Naomi was naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. When she saw the other four furs start disrobing, and noticed the lack of any food being taken out of the picnic basket, she knew this was no ordinary picnic. “Wait,” she said. “This isn’t a picnic, is it? Is this some sort of sex thing?”

“Huh? Well, yeah. I thought you knew that!” said Marcia. “Sorry, are you not okay with this? Oh fuck, do you have a girlfriend or something?”

“What? No!” Naomi laughed. She couldn’t help ogling Giovanna’s ruddy-furred body. The maned wolf was hot. They all were. She’d always had a crush on Marcia, too. Was this... an orgy? “But, should we be doing this in public? We went past a sign that says “Private Property.”

“Don’t worry, this is actually part of the studio property we bought. The building’s just past those trees. We can do whatever we want here!”

Studio? Thought Naomi, but shrugged. Maybe Marcia’s English had slipped a little after a couple years back in Brazil, and she meant to say salon. “Oh. Okay. It’s that kind of spa?”

“Yeah. Most of the spas in this city are. You can have a tour after we’re done, but first... let’s have a picnic, and we’ll give you a full all natural treatment!”

The saluki looked at the three intimidatingly sexy strangers, who were all now down to their bikinis, and at her inoffensively and adorably sexy friend. Her heart was racing. This was like a scenario right out of a bad porno. She smiled. “Count me in!”

“I’m so glad you said that!” Marcia hugged Naomi. “Here, let me help you out of those clothes.”

Camila had gotten four large bottles of water out of the picnic basket. She opened one and took a big gulp, then passed the others around. “Marcia, you should share yours with Naomi, since she’s new and you’re the smallest.”

Naomi drank her half of the water without question. The tropical heat had worked up a thirst, and she gladly took turns gulping it down with Marcia. What she didn’t know was that she’d just chugged a mixture of powerful laxatives and diuretics. The brazilians were very touchy, it turned out, and had no reservations about kissing her on the mouth. Marcia had even fewer reservations. She kissed the saluki’s breasts too, and even tugged her panties aside and kissed her right where the crotch had covered.

“Oh!” she giggled. “I get it! It’s a pussy picnic, right? I guess you guys like puns too!”

It was indeed a picnic where the main course was pussy, at least as far as Naomi knew. Soon she was facedown on the picnic blanket, enjoying a massage from the other furs, when the water bottle began to take effect. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt a sudden urge to poop. “Oof,” she groaned. Maybe she shouldn’t have sampled that food truck. But the need wasn’t urgent just yet. She guessed she could wait for the massage to be over.

“Ugh,” Beatriz grunted in Portuguese. “That stuff’s really going right through us, like usual.” She, Camila, and Giovanna had all been feeling the effects of the laxatives and diuretics for a while, since they’d had twice as much.

“It sure is,” said Giovanna. “I think it’s time for me to give our client her first ‘shampoo’ and mud mask.”

“You’d better be quick,” growled Camila. “My ass is going to explode!”

The maned wolf told Naomi to lay on her back, and straddled her, kneeling with her tail raised high. The saluki obeyed, oblivious to the others’ filthy plans. She tugged the wolf's limb green bikini bottom aside, sniffed her rear, and started licking. “Mmm... you taste good.”

“You haven’t tasted anything yet,” said Giovanna. She had her fingers inside Naomi’s panties. The saluki gasped and huffed in pleasure, oblivious to the danger she was in and the persistent rumbling from all her companions’ guts. “Oh, fuck...”

Then, suddenly... PPBLBBBLRLBLRRRRTCHSQRPPPLLPRKRRPP! Giovanna’s tailhole suddenly opened up, and a crackling, mushy brown serpent slithered from her sphincter with alarming speed.

“What the fu-mmph!” Naomi yelped as her new friend’s feces surged out into her face. Before she could react, the hot muck, steaming in the tropical humidity, had coiled and draped itself all over her muzzle, and gone in her mouth as she tried to protest. She went rigid in shock at the foul taste, just in time for the maned wolf’s dump to turn to diarrhea. Revolting liquid shit gushed from her backside, erupting all over the poor saluki’s face like a volcano.

“Ha ha! Scat, scat, scat, scat!” cheered Camila and Beatriz.

“Ack! Shit! What the hell? You shit on me!”

“Well, yes,” said Beatriz. “You said you wanted the full spa treatment, didn’t you?”

“What... what kind of spa has the employees shit on the customers? Oh god, it’s in my mouth!”

“Uhh... the kind in Rio de Merda,” said Marcia. “The city’s kind of famous for it. And... you said you were into it, when I asked about your shirt.”

Naomi finally understood what she’d agreed to. She’d heard whispered rumors of the existence of this nauseating kink, but assumed they were just that. What kind of freak would be turned on by letting other furs pee and poop on them, or doing it to others? She was as mortified as she was disgusted. They had... they had shit fetishes? She stared at Marcia. Who could have known that the innocent-looking margay had gotten involved with such nasty... there were tears in Marcia’s eyes.

The saluki spat out muck. The smell was overpowering. But she now realized they must have been talking about this the whole time, and assumed she was just going along with it. She was too embarrassed to admit that she’d said yes without knowing what she was saying yes to, and that she was a clueless tourist who didn’t know a word of the local language. Nor had she researched the city: she’d just come here because she was on a budget and the hotel rooms were cheaper here than in better known Brazilian tourist destinations.

“Of course,” she laughed nervously. “Silly me. I just meant you could’ve given me a little warning before you let loose. Some of it got in my mouth!”

“Ohh... sorry, it was supposed to be a mud mask,” said Giovanna. “But we did say this was a picnic, after all. If you wanted it all in your mouth, you could just lick my, what is the word, anus instead.”

“I... that’s not what I meant!” Naomi squeaked. More runny shit dribbled from the maned wolf’s hole onto her throat and chest.

“Don’t worry about eating your fill yet, though!” said Beatriz. “There’ll be plenty more.”

The Saluki was blushing crimson under her warm mud mask. “Actually, I’m thirsty.” She was hoping for some water to wash the fetid taste out of her mouth, but instead, the maned wolf turned around and knelt before her.

“Oh, you’re thirsty? That’s okay too, I have plenty for you to drink right here.” She pulled her now somewhat messy bikini aside and with a relieved sigh started pissing like a fire hose, right in Naomi’s face. The saluki yelped and gurgled, thrashing her head from side to side. No, wait! This wasn’t water, but at least it would be better than having the taste of shit in her mouth! She opened wide and let the salty yellow stream blast against the back of her throat. She recoiled at the acrid, sour, briny taste. It was better than shit. It was better than shit. Actually, maybe this wasn’t that bad. She gargled and spat a wave of urine back against Giovanna’s crotch, but kept her mouth open and let the maned wolf continue to pressure wash her gums, teeth and tongue. Salty...

“Swallow it, you slut” Camila growled. Naomi obeyed automatically. Yuck, it was almost bitter going down her throat. But that water had only made her thirstier. She needed the liquid. Any liquid. Gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp. Giovanna was pooping too, dollops of runny scat splatting down on her tits and running off in a filthy puddle.

With a final squirt, the maned wolf finished marking her victim and stood up, leaving poor Naomi reeling and retching. She started to get up, but Camila seized her by the throat and pinned her down.

“Hey! What the fuck?” she gasped.

“You may fool the others, but you do not fool me,” said the jaguaress.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You have never eaten scat before, have you?”

“No,” Naomi admitted.

“I can tell you are submissive and meek, just like our little Marcia.”

So submissive and meek, she couldn’t bring herself to say no, Naomi thought, and nodded.

“You are nervous about trying this fetish, and embarrassed to admit what you truly desire, because society has told you it is wrong. That is why you were so brazen as to wear that t-shirt in the shittiest city in all of America, because you were hoping for someone to dominate you and take control.”

“Umm...” Naomi’s tail wagged a little. Being dominated sounded hot. Especially from an Amazonian jaguar like Camila. Being covered in fecal matter was a step too degrading though, and eating it... she nodded again, without thinking.

“Good girl.” The jaguaress pinched her ear. “Sit up.”

Naomi sat, mud dripping down her body. Camila grabbed her hair and held her muzzle beneath her crotch. “Marcia, slave. Rinse her hair.”

With that, the big cat began to piss, a powerful deep yellow stream drenching Naomi’s head. Now she could see why they called it a golden shower. It was so warm, though. She stuck her tongue out and tasted.

“Good. Abra sua boca, slut. Drink it.”

Naomi whimpered, but opened her mouth and let it fill with the jaguar’s tangy urine. She held it in her mouth, shuddering, then swallowed. Yuck! The panther continued to pee, drenching her beloved blonde hair. Marcia’s soft, gentle paws caressed her. She ran her fingers through the sodden locks, teasing each strand apart, washing the hair not only on her scalp but her ears as well. She hoped it was washing the shit off. She still couldn’t believe that had just happened to her, or that she was being peed on right now. Fuck, how big was Camila’s bladder anyway? She was still going without any sign of letting up.

“Your fur’s so soft,” Marcia crooned. “This is even better than I thought it would be.”

“How long have you wanted to do this?” Naomi asked.

“The whole time I’ve known you,” the margay admitted, fondling the saluki’s breasts. “I’ve dreamed of how beautiful you’d look covered in my shit. And how good it’d feel to be covered in yours.”

“Speaking of shit.” Camila’s stomach made an impressively rotten gurgle. Her stream was beginning to peter out. “Now it’s time to wash your hair with real poo, just like you demanded.”

“Nooooo...” Naomi moaned. The tall jaguaress straddled her head. The saluki watched nervously as her pink butthole flexed and clenched. She let out an appallingly wet fart, then an even more hideous blast that squirted drops of watery filth onto Naomi’s face. Her pucker spread wide, and a thick, sloppy log burst forth, sliding off her muzzle and splatting into her lap. Camila hiked one leg up, and with a ketchupy bubbling sound a seething mass of brown sludge spread across the saluki’s scalp. She whined and shivered. Another anal outburst splattered against her temple. In her ear. Eww. It was dripping into her eyes, so she couldn’t see, but she could feel what a disgusting mess she was.

Marcia’s paws reached into the goopy mess, massaging Naomi’s scalp, working her friend’s shit deep into her fur, ruining it and impregnating it with the abhorrent stench of cat shit. Camila continued to spew muddy gouts of diarrhea, further painting the dog brown. Then Beatriz came stumbling over, legs clenched together in a potty dance. “Shit, shit, it came out! Hold her hair out, quick!”

Liquid feces was already running down the kinkajou’s legs. Marcia held Naomi’s once beautiful hair out behind her, presenting it as a toilet to the procyonid. SPLLBBPRUURRRWRRRPSHPLP! Her shit splorted out like whipped cream from a can, but so much heavier and stinkier. Her locks were slathered and matted with filth as the margay continued her dirty work.

God damn... why did it feel so good? It really was like a spa treatment, and she was getting used to the smell by now. Her bladder twinged uncomfortably, and she felt weight moving steadily downward in her gut. She looked at Marcia. The margay was still adorable, but her arms were totally caked in filth, and bits of muck had even splattered on her shoulders and her cheek and ear.

“You’re all messy,” was all she could think to say.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. I’ve been the Junior Toilet Slave at our studio for a year now. I get shit on almost every day.”

“Every day?” Naomi felt sorry for the poor feline, though the smile on her face told her such sympathy was misplaced. “You really enjoy this?”

The margay smiled again. Naomi reached out a dirty hand and cupped out over her friend’s breast.

“Yes. They were going to do this to me, but then I stumbled across you! I’m so happy to finally get to share this with you.”

“I guess it’s not that bad,” Naomi admitted.

“You say that now.” Camila strode confidently to the shitty picnic blanket and bent over. “Getting used to it, are you? Then lick my asshole. Your tongue should be softer toilet paper than Marcia’s.”

Naomi’s stomach churned at the sight and stench. Camila’s diarrhea outburst had made a total mess of her backside: her fur was caked with wet, sticky shit all over the inside of her cheeks. She gulped. There’d be no washing this down. She’d have to live with that awful taste. She sniffed, closer and closer, until her nose was right up against the jaguar’s poopy perineum. She choked down bile and dabbed her tongue at it.

“Do you call that licking? Do it properly. I want to be clean down there.”

There was no chance of that. No sooner had Naomi overcome her revulsion enough to try than the jaguaress pushed out a massive shart. The saluki gagged and choked, but dutifully continued. Her hair was totally ruined, and her self esteem with it. She hated that the jaguaress had seen right through to parts of her she couldn’t even see herself. Filthy... dominated. That was her. She was terrified of getting some strange disease from this, and knew she’d deserve it if she did. She was too shy to object to being used as toilet paper. Mmm... she dragged her tongue over the jaguar’s filthy pucker. PLKLRLRPPTTT. A hot mass of mushy soft-serv extruded into her maw. It felt like oatmeal, almost. She pressed it against the roof of her mouth and squeezed it out the sides. She wanted to hurl. This was so nasty. No more. No. More! Her questing tongue descended to the panther’s pussy, but more mess splorted out over her muzzle.

“Hey! Abra sua boca!”

“What does that mean?” Naomi whined.

“It means open your mouth,” Marcia said helpfully.

“Oh. ULLGLK!” A stream of rotten, bitter-tasting diarrhea spewed out of the jaguar’s dirty hole. It flooded Naomi’s maw with muddy soup and overflowed out the sides. “Glglglgk.” She didn’t know what she tried to say. She just lapped at the stream of sewage as more flowed out of Camila. It was running down her legs. Gross. Marcia stroked the length of her slim back, smearing even more shit in her fur. God, if her parents could see her like this. They’d warned her going to Brazil was a bad idea.

To add insult to insanitarity, Camila spat in her face and walked away. But now Beatriz had to go again. Vile logs of almost gelatinous waste burst noisily into Naomi’s hands. The kinky kinkajou laughed, picked up one of her turds, and smeared it across Naomi’s mouth like lipstick, then shoved it in.

The poor saluki heaved, retched, and vomited all over the picnic blanket. She felt a final movement inside her, and a burning pressure at her exit. “Uh oh,” she said. “I have to poop. Really bad.”

“Marcia, you know what to do, don’t you?” purred Camila.

“Yes, ma’am.” Marcia patted Naomi’s shitty shoulder. “Just squat and let it all out. I’ll take care of it.” Naomi had no will to disobey, even when taking care of it turned out to mean the messy margay cupping her hands under Naomi’s butt. She was going to have to shit in her friend’s hands, but she was so desperate her nervousness trying to clench her butthole shut was useless. She groaned. Mess exploded out of her. Shit! Her asshole burned like she’d been pigging out on bad spicy food.

“Holy shit,” she panted.

“I know!” Marcia grinned as she held up the massive handful of sloppy dogshit and showed it to her. “Hold still.” She plopped it down on her head and started to non-sham-poo her hair with the fresh helping of waste. It was so warm... so warm and so stinky. It was hard to believe all that had come out of her. It belonged on her. Her gut cramped again. She pushed, and more foul liquid bubbled out of her asshole, puddling on the blanket. It was running down her legs too. She had to wipe. She did so with bare hands, smearing the soupy filth up her buttocks and the underside of her tail.

“Here. Your hair can’t hold much more.” Marcia shoved the rest of the mass of shit in Naomi’s face. “It’s easier to get used to eating it when it’s your own.”

Naomi tried it, but her own shit tasted even more noxious and putrid than the others’. Maybe Marcia meant that everyone else’s would taste better by comparison, or maybe it was just something she ate. Would it taste better or worse if it went through her a second time, she wondered. She licked the margay’s fingers.

“Do you have to go some more?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Naomi waited until she felt the fingers underneath her butt, then succumbed to the urge. She let Marcia stuff the next pile into her maw without hesitation, working it around her tongue, coating every inch of her gums with her own scat, then choking it down.

“You look like you’re enjoying it more now,” the margay said. “Mind if I try some?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward and licked Naomi’s dirty nose. “Mmm...”

The next thing Naomi knew, she and the margay had their arms around each other and their muzzles smushed together, pushing a mouthful of shit back and forth with their tongues. It slowly dribbled out as their spit turned it into a pulpy slurry.

“Ha ha, look at that! Two little shit slaves!” laughed Camila.

Giovanna staggered to the blanket, clutching her stomach, and flooded her bikini with sludge. Naomi and Marcia eagerly pawed at her legs and licked up the trails of diarrhea running down her inner thighs while heavy dollops of crap overflowed from the ruined swimsuit onto their heads. Marcia held the maned wolf’s bikini aside for Naomi to put her jaws straight to her unsanitary pucker. Her mouth filled with a grimy, crackling ribbon of soft-serv. Marcia was less lucky when it was her turn: she got blasted with a gout of lumpy liquid shit. Besides what had gone in their mouths there was at least another pound on the ground that the pair of scat slaves, both the new and the experienced, happily took turns tenderly feeding each other and smearing each other with. Naomi’s hair was saturated by now, so instead Marcia made sure to coat her tail completely in waste. The margay didn’t have long headfur to shampoo, but Naomi still did her best to work the mess in and get her fur soiled down to the skin.

Beatriz had more fiber in her diet, and some of her poop wasn’t quite as runny. She dumped an enormous pile on the blanket. Naomi knelt on all fours, rubbing her nose in it and eating it from the ground like the dog she was. It tasted almost sweet. But she had another massive cramp.

“Uh oh.” She clenched her legs together, but it was too late. A wave of extremely runny diarrhea hit without warning, squirting out of her ass like a faucet. It spattered her heels and paws, and sprayed against her tail when she tried to block the flow with it.

“Lift your tail up.” Marcia tugged on it. “It’s okay, I’ll help you.” Naomi felt a barbed tongue raking over her genitals. The margay’s muzzle was buried between her cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve wanted to taste your shit for years.”

Naomi smiled and pushed out a horrific, asshole-burning fountain. She could feel her friend’s tongue lapping at her anus, soothing the burning. It was going right in the margay’s mouth, pouring down her throat.

“Mmm...” she gurgled. “Wow, it’s so runny! I think even half the bottle was too much for you for your first time.”

“It’s exactly what she should get,” said Camila. She squatted over Naomi and defecated. Thick, creamy jaguar dung patted heavily down onto her back, mixed with squirts of unclean liquid. She fouled Naomi’s ass with another wave, only adding to the putrid mixture poor Marcia had to slurp up from between her thighs. “Hey, shit-slave. Her back looks clean enough to eat off of, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Naomi had to hold it in while Marcia attempted to clean her back up with her tongue. The margay belched and hiccuped. “They’re really feeding us a lot today,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here to share it with me.”

Naomi still had to go. Her bowels were giving her a reprieve, but her bladder was throbbing. But she had no breaks. “Get up on her knees,” Beatriz ordered. “You’re still thirsty, aren’t you?” She wasn’t, but she didn’t have a choice.

“I have to pee...” she whined.

“Too bad, so do I.” The kinkajou had been chugging more water, and it must have been going right through her. She peed like a fire hose. The taste wasn’t as strong as the others’, and even had a little sweetness from the kinkajou’s fruity diet. Maybe Naomi did feel thirsty after all. She could drink this all day. It was so refreshing after all the foul substances she’d had in her mouth. But her bladder was going to explode! Her thighs quivered as she struggled to hold back the tide.

“You really have to go, don’t you?” Marcia said gently. She slid her head underneath Naomi, lying on her back. “Just let it out.”

Naomi was herself too busy drinking to reply. She just relaxed. Immediately a strong stream of dog urine began to pour out of her, into the margay’s waiting maw. A frothing yellow-brown lake rose and fell as the feline swallowed gulp after gulp of the pungent liquid, but eventually Naomi’s bursting bladder won out, and it rose to the cat’s incisors and overflowed. Even as Beatriz’s stream waned, hers was still going. She started to fear she might actually drown her friend. But when she tried to step off, Camila yelled at her to stop.

“I can’t stop!”

“I mean stop moving! Just pee in her mouth, that’s what she’s here for!”

“Glgglglgblglglg!” Marcia spluttered.

“See? She loves it? Don’t you, slutty kitty?”

“Ugglglrlg!”

Naomi’s stream finally started to slow. She pushed a little, wanting to get things over with, but that sent more foul, soupy diarrhea spurting out of her asshole. The saluki’s heart panged for the cat on the receiving end of such filth. Her bladder finally seemed to be empty, the flow slowing to spurts. But after half a minute of sitting there, still dribbling dirty liquid shit, she felt the urge again: her bladder was so full it couldn’t even empty all it once. Luckily that gave poor Marcia a break, but after getting soaked in another half a liter of urine, the dog’s guts spasmed.

“Oh, shit!” she wailed, and exploded in a geyser of pure diarrhoea. Marcia was covered in fresh shit, the loathsome mud splattered over her whole torso. She gasped and gagged. “I’m sorry!” Naomi blubbered, but she couldn’t stop pooping. The truth was, she’d been so worried about having traveler’s diarrhea on her trip that she’d been taking Immodium every day, plugging herself up for nearly a week so far. Now Marcia was paying the price. The feline mewled pathetically as Naomi unloaded foot-long logs of soft, rotten mush onto her face. Another spurt of lumpy diarrhea filled her mouth to the molars, followed by another few seconds of peeing while liquid shit showered her chest. Then another river of liquid scat poured into her maw, overflowing her with raw saluki sewage.

“Holy shit,” said Beatriz.

Marcia finally sat up, her stomach heaving. “Fuck...” she groaned. “I think I ate... too much.”

Naomi hugged her friend, which turned out to be the wrong move. That bit of extra pressure on her stomach was too much. A torrent of projectile vomit spewed out of the margay. She moaned, belched, and french kissed Naomi just as she heaved again, drenching her in over a liter of puke. This made Naomi throw up too, force feeding the feline half the liquid she’d expelled.

But the others were remorseless. “Good, you two made some room,” said Beatriz. She bent over, presenting her filthy, mud-soaked asshole to be licked. “Be good girls and share so you don’t get too full again.”

This time the laxatives had taken full effect. What gushed out of the kinkajou’s colon was more like a fruit smoothie. After she finished exploding all over them, she used her long tail like a paintbrush to smear them even further.

“I don’t think they can take this all by themselves,” she said, and descended into the filthy quagmire the picnic blanket had become. She let Naomi and Marcia feed her torrents of vomit, and helped with the massive waves of sludge that Giovanna and Camila soon unleashed, then when she had to go the procyonid turned herself upside-down and erupted like a geyser. Naomi and Marcia took turns lapping at the fountains of piss and shit, but most of it ended up covering the kinkajou herself.

But Camila’s bowels were inexhaustible. The cruel jaguar made the saluki and margay lie side by side, and squatted over them. “Fuck yea,” she groaned in her thick accident, spewing thin slurry. “Drink up you sluts. Yeah... drown in my diarrhea!”

Naomi very nearly did so. Every time it seemed like she was finally done, one or the other of them would lick her butthole and unleash another torrent of liquid horror. Then when she seemed finished for real, Giovanna or Beatriz would come waddling up and squat over them, only for Camila to return after a few minutes.

“Ugh... I think I finally got all that out of my system!” Camila grunted, and wiped her butt on the grass. “What about you girls?”

Giovanna and Beatrice agreed, but Naomi was desperate. Her bladder was full to the limit again, and her bowels were bursting. And Marcia was worse. Her stomach was bloated, and she squirmed and fidgeted constantly. Naomi guessed she’d been holding it in a while. Since... wait, had she gone at all?

“Have you even pooped yet?” she asked the desperate margay.

“No! Haven’t peed either! I... I don’t usually get to go potty while I’m servicing everyone else, so I just wet and soil myself. But today, since you’re here...”

“What?”

“You didn’t spoil your appetite, did you?”

Naomi belched. She’d consumed gallons of urine, feces, and vomit, surely. “I did. But for you... there’ll always be room for dessert.”

“I don’t know, I think you’ll need a lot of room. How about you make some more first?”

On all fours again, biting the shitty picnic blanket, Naomi moaned and exploded in her friend’s mouth. Fountains of liquid shit erupted violently from her fudge faucet, arcs of projectile scat raining down on Marcia. The margay took her turn crawling in the filth, and Naomi squatted over her, pressure-washing her scalp with a jet of piss and dumping several pounds of wet fecal matter onto her back. But the margay rolled over on her back, and chugged even more liquid from the foaming torrent, then scooped big handfuls of muck from her breasts and stuffed her face as fast as Naomi could dump it. Another shower of diarrhea, and Naomi gave up and lay down on her back. She pissed a fountain up into the air and spewed out liquid mess all over her own wagging tail.

“Are you finished?” the margay asked, wiping her butt with her bare hands.

“I think so. No, wait, there’s a little more.” A final brown stream splashed into the margay’s greedy mouth. “There. Now I’m done.”

“Good. Do you still agree with your shirt? Your hair’s pretty messy.” Marcia crawled over Naomi, licking her lips. Her whiskers were dripping with raw sewage. Both furs were completely filthy, every inch of their bodies caked with excrement.

“Yeah. No more shampoo for me. I want the real stuff.”

“Great, because I’ve got plenty for you.” Marcia licked Naomi’s nose, gagged, and horked up a obscene amount of puke, which by now was entirely piss and shit. Naomi hugged her filthy feline friend to her and pushed her tongue into her mouth until the next wave of putrid vomit swamped her. Marcia’s stomach cramped so hard she started peeing a strong waterfall onto Naomi’s crotch. Her stomach, if not empty, at least with the edge taken off, the margay crawled forward. Naomi sucked her filthy nipples, gasping in pleasure as warm liquid cascaded down on her privates. Marcia stemmed the flow and sat up, scooting forward until she knelt over the dog. Her vulva looked so cute from this angle, even fouled as it was by the other furs’ mess. Urine dripped from her lower lips.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Poor Marcia could barely hold it in. Naomi hadn’t even responded before a powerful stream of pale yellow liquid gushed from her nethers. The saluki’s eyes widened in astonishment as her mouth was inundated. Oh, fuck, it was delicious! The margay’s pee had the acrid ammonia flavor she’d now learned to associated with cats, but diluted by how much she’d drank. Spurt after foaming spurt poured from her. She lapped at her friend’s pussy, pleasuring her while she released herself, and drank and drank and drank, but there was just so much!

“God, it’s like a faucet!” Naomi laughed.

“I know! Yours was like this too!” Marcia cupped her hands under her vagina and brought them to her face, rinsing it off with her pee. “Can I try a little?” She filled Naomi’s mouth again, then knelt down to kiss her. They swished the warm urine around in their mouths and spat it out on each other’s faces. Marcia straddled her again and gushed for another thirty seconds. “I still feel full! This is crazy!” She stood up and showered her friend with the endless golden fountain.

FFPRLBLORRPP!

“Oh, shit!” Marcia looked down at the mass of sludge that had just splatted down on Naomi’s stomach. “I thought I could hold it a little longer.” She hurriedly knelt on all fours over the dog with her rump facing her head this time. She was still peeing like a faucet, but there was a fresh, greasy brown smear all around her anus.

“Your butthole looks so cute!” Naomi patted her friend. “Mmm... tastes good too!” She realized she’d just tasted Marcia’s shit for the first time. “Wow, if you started out eating your own, no wonder you got used to it so easily.”

Marcia’s bladder finally drained, but only after soaking Naomi’s face so badly you could see the color of her fur in a few spots. But even that meager cleanliness didn’t last long. The margay’s bloated tummy gave a last warning rumble. Gentle squirts of gassy liquid shit leaked from her adorable pucker, then massive, soft logs, and grotesque, sputtering coils of peanutbuttery soft-serv. She couldn’t even control it: it was all forcing herself out of her slender butt now as a fetid, steaming avalanche. Putrid feline filth mounded around Naomi’s ears, and filled her mouth to the brim with stinking, cloying margay muck. It was hard to eat fast enough. Marcia was licking Naomi’s pussy, which felt so good that the saluki rewarded her by peeing a strong fountain into her face. It turned out Marcia’s bladder wasn’t quite empty either, though. She helped her wash down her load with another mouthful of pee, then leaned forward to slurp the yellow drinking fountain from the tap. Naomi raised her head, still lovingly lapping, slurping, and kissing at her dirty kitty friend’s holes.

The margay’s load was getting steadily runnier. With another cramp, smooth, creamy slurry burst out of her. Another, and it was lumpy butt stew. A third, and she was spewing a noisy, foul stream of liquid mud right in her face. But Naomi wanted it all. Her ruined her was soaked, sodden with piss and clogged and matted with excrement, and wave after wave of unsanitary diarrhoea washed over her.

She must have drunk at least a gallon from Marcia alone. Naomi’s stomach heaved. She scooted out from under her friend and cupped her hands beneath her raised tail. The cat’s spluttering bottom soon filled them with warm, slimy ooze, though most of what came out squirted all over the dog. “Hey. Here’s some to share.”

Marcia turned. “Oh wow, it’s so liquidy!” she lapped at the pool of runny shit. “Mmm..” she pushed her muzzle into it, blew a gloopy bubble, and licked her laps before licking Naomi’s lips as well. “I love having diarrhea. It comes out easy, and it goes down easy. Oh shit, here comes some more!”

“Wow, your ass is like a chocolate fountain!”

“Tastes better though, doesn’t it?” Marcia squatted and unloaded a colossal mountain of slightly firmer muck into her own hand. She fed it to Naomi and splatted it on her head, then put her hand beneath her butt and refilled it with another large helping for herself. PBBBTTTT! She sprayed her lap with explosive diarrhea as the two embraced and kissed, then stood up and let loose with a waterfall of sludge down her friend’s body while Naomi ate her out. “Ooff... ready for more shampoo?”

“There’s nothing sham about this.” Naomi knelt on all fours and let her friend squat over her. She closed her eyes, just in time for a cascade of stinky mud to splash down on her. She squirted some of her own, all over her paws. Marcia gave the saluki’s hair and tail one more thorough wash, then knelt behind her again and started licking between her legs.

“Okay...” she panted. “Whoa, holy shit, you’re still pooping! It’s so liquid... mmm...” she let Naomi fill her mouth with spurting mud, then turned her around and kissed her, pushing some of the foul gritty waste into her mouth.

“I have a question,” Naomi asked, panting. She looked down at her stomach. So bloated... fuck. “How long does whatever was in those water bottles take to wear off?”

“Umm... usually a few hours,” Marcia said meekly. “But they kind of go right through you, and still work, and you’ve eaten a lot, so it’ll probably take a while. Oh, no... you didn’t have any dinner plans, did you?”

“Not really,” Naomi groaned. Her gut just kept rumbling.

“Good. You can stay with us for dinner, but you should skip dessert if you don’t want to spend the night. In fact, you should probably stop eating or drinking anything from our butts now if you want to be able to go back to your hotel room tonight.”

“Without diapers, you mean? Do they sell adult diapers here?”

“Yes. Going back to the hotel tonight if you stop eating scat now is with diapers. By midnight you’ll have gotten it out of your system enough to make it through the night without a blowout... but you should probably set a couple alarms to change yourself. If you keep eating... it won’t matter if you wear diapers or not. Trust me, they fill up so fast, and you wouldn’t wake up in time to change yourself.”

“Would one more round hurt?” Naomi asked, tucking her tail. “For me I mean. I’m guessing you want to go home...” she was ashamed to admit that she was addicted to consuming her friend’s filth (and her mutual friends’ filth too).

“I don’t know. You might make it... but if that’s what you want, you’re better off just sleeping over. My bed isn’t going to be clean anyway, and I’d love to have you over. My apartment’s pretty close: a diaper will last long enough to get there if we go before we leave.”

The saluki’s tail started to wag. “I’d love that.” She kissed the messy margay again, and gagged a little. She gulped. “Right now I want nothing more than to drown in your diarrhea.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Marcia licked her nose. “I still really have to go. One more round, and then we’ll shower before dinner.” She pushed Naomi to the ground, and straddled her, eagerly licking between the canine’s legs. Naomi shoved her muzzle under the feline’s tail. It only took three licks before a river of muddy soup erupted into her mouth. She gulped down mouthful after mouthful and thoughtlessly pushed out her own obscene eruptions even though the cat was rimming her.

After a while, they were both finished for now. The saluki and margay walked hand in hand to the spa’s main bathhouse, both bloated, covered from head to toe in fecal matter, and followed by a small swarm of tropical flies. Marcia led Naomi into a bathroom with sinks, but no toilets. They turned the corner into a steamy communal shower, just in time to witness Giovanna, mid-wash, bend over and splatter the wall. Beatriz and Camila were kissing passionately under the hot water while brown liquid flowed down their legs.

“Oh, hello,” said the jaguaress. “I thought you two weren’t coming. Good, you can help wash under my tail.”

“I thought we were getting clean before dinner,” Naomi said, blushing. She noticed that the other three furs were, far from being clean, much messier than they had been before they left Naomi and Marcia to their own devices: their pelts were all messy with wetted-down slurry.

“We are, but we have a couple hours,” Camila said. “We’re in the shower, anyway, so what’s the harm in getting messier first? It all goes down the same drain anyway.”

“Oh... yeah, that makes sense!”

“By the way, don’t worry about peeing in the shower,” Marcia said. She spread her legs and let loose with a torrent all over Naomi’s shins and paws. BLBLRBLLRLT. “Or pooping.” There was a fresh brown puddle under her. “The only rules are: help each other wash, and save water by sharing these two showerheads until it’s time to get clean for real. Oh, and the shampoo is over there, but don’t use it up yet, just rinse and repeat. We’ve got plenty more of real poo to wash with first.”

Day 14: Cloning & Selfcest

Today, Kristie was extremely surprised to come home from work and find an exact duplicate of herself in her room. The pink cat’s jaw dropped as she opened the door. The doppleganger looked up, startled, but tried to act casual about it.

“Oh, hey. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“What the fuck?” squeaked Kristie. “Who are you and why are you in my room?”

“Uh, Kristie Williams.”

“Cut it out, this is freaky. I’m Kristie Williams! There can’t be two of me!”

The intruder shrugged. “You sure? Listen, I’d rather not fight you to the death over it, but if you want to go all ‘There can be only one!’ then...”

“No, no, no. You are not me! I know there’s other furs with my name, but you look just like me, and you are in my fucking apartment. What the fuck is going on? You’d better answer quick before I do something about it!”

The other cat looked sheepish. “Uhm, I can explain...”

“Then do it! Stop stalling! Are you an alien? Do I have an identical twin sister who was adopted at birth? Or am I the adopted one? Fuck, is my whole life a lie? Or... wait, are you a time traveler? Are you a future version of me here to warn me about something? Or is it some freaky parallel universe thing!”

The other cat was starting to seem freaked out too, as the real Kristie approached her, claws out. “Whoa, whoa! I think it’s the last one. My name’s Kristie Williams, I’m 23 years old, and I live at 7361 Wolfwood Street, Unit 332.”

“Yes, that’s my address, which you just broke into!”

“I didn’t break in, it just turns out the doors are keyed the same in your universe.”

“Okay, okay, fuck, this is freaky... I’m sorry but I can’t believe this is real. You could be a stalker or something, or an evil version of me. There’s no way we’re exactly the same. I’m gonna need some proof.”

“Sure. Whatever.” The intruder lounged in her chair.

Everything was identical. Age, appearance, height, social security number, best friend in high school... “Wait... you’re on my computer. Have you been looking all this up?”

“No.”

“How did you even get into my computer?”

“Because you used the same password. I did. SpongeB0bisGr3at Exclamation mark Hashtag Dollar Sign?”

“Fuck, maybe I need a better password.”

“I know. Or we should change it it, it’s been almost ten years. Don’t tell me you use that on your bank accounts.”

“Uhh...” Kristie scratched her chin sheepishly.

“Wow, at least I’m better than you at one thing,” laughed the doppelganger. “Just kidding, I still have it on my account too.”

“Okay, whatever. Believe it or not, financial identity theft is the least of my worries right now. I still need more proof that you’re me.”

“What?”

“Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?”

“And your pants.”

“Are you strip searching me?”

“No. There are some markings I have. I want to check that they’re in the same size and places. It’s nothing I haven’t already seen in a mirror... if you’re the real deal, that is.”

“Fine... but you have to take your clothes off too. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

The two cats disrobed. Kristie noted the mickey mouse ears mark on her doppelganger’s chest below her boobs, the slightly darker tabby stripes on her lower back, and how high her white sock markings went. One more thing... “Panties too.”

“Really?”

“There’s a little black spot right next to my pussy. I don’t post my nudes online, so there’s no way you could know that. Unless you talked to my exes, but I don’t think they’re that observant.”

Kristie watched as the other her tugged her pale blue panties down, with bated breath. “Ha! I knew it! Yours is on the wrong side! My birthmark’s on the right, see?” she yanked her panties down. “Wait - shit! I got it wrong, I’m used to seeing it in the mirror!” She laughed nervously. Her face heated up as she saw her other self staring at her crotch. They were completely naked in front of each other. It felt totally weird and narcissistic to think this, but... wow, she guessed she was kind of cute. Slender, mid-height, with sleek fur. That was her type, wasn’t it? She’d never been a fan of how she looked in the mirror, but seeing her body the right way around... she changed the subject. “Okay, so you really are me. But you still haven’t explained how you got here.”

“Well...” the other Kristie looked nervous. “I kind of got kicked out of my dimension for uploading YouTube videos with copyrighted music. The Universal Music Group mercenaries were after me, but I escaped, and I found instructions for building a dimensional portal on the Deep Web.”

“They have mercenaries?”

“Yeah. I guess our dimensions aren’t quite identical after all?”

“I fucking hope not!”

“So do I. Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the street for a couple days. I had to run in such a hurry I lost my ID, and I didn’t want to meet anyone who knew you in case they knew you were supposed to be somewhere else, but... I don’t have anywhere else to go! Do you think I can crash here for a while? And maybe shower?”

Kristie sniffed. The other Kristie did need a shower, although so did she. “How long is a while? My lease doesn’t allow guests.”

“Would I ever get caught? I mean, we’re the same person, right?”

“I guess so. But this is a studio apartment and my couch doesn’t have much space...” her eyes drifted to her bed, then back to the other her’s pleading face, and her naked body. “Oh my God, forget it. There’d be no fucking privacy. I’d either have to kick you out every time I wanted to paw off, or...” she stared at the copy. “There’s... only one bed. I guess we have the same size clothes and shoes...”

“So I can stay? I can buy my own... wait, no, I can’t get to my bank account in this universe. I have like fifty bucks in cash, but that’s it.”

“That’s okay, we’ll think of something,” Kristie said earnestly. “You can stay: on one condition. No, two conditions.”

“What?”

“You can take my Monday, Thursday, and Saturday shifts at work for now. Eventually we have to figure out a way to get you your own identity so you can get a job and pay your share of the bills. When we do... I’m the original here, so I’m not the one dyeing my fur if it comes to that. Oh, and you have to spell your name with a CH.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s fine. I can sleep on the couch, it’s okay.”

Kristie’s heart thudded in her throat. “Actually... I don’t think I’d mind. I mean, we don’t snore, we both sleep in...”

“That’s a pretty small bed.”

“I know. Actually, I was going to ask...” Kristie gulped. “Have you ever taken a social media quiz like... would you fuck an exact clone of yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you answer.”

“Yes?”

“So did I?”

The other pink cat, Christie, smiled. “Ohhh...” her tail waved behind her. “Do you want to?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s not like it’s incest, we’re not really twins. It’s more like -”

“Masturbation!” the doppelganger finished excitedly.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say! Oh, man, this is going to be so cool! We could try anything we’ve always wanted to try, but needed a partner for and were too nervous to ask somebody to do!”

“Umm... about that...” The other Kristie looked at her feet, scratching her shin with her other hindpaw. “I don’t think that’d work out how you think... at least not for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the truth is... I don’t think the universes are totally identical. There’s the whole UMG mercenaries thing, and then... there’s things only I’d be into!”

“We’re both into girls, right?”

“That’s not what I meant. I...” Christie took a deep breath. “I’m the version of you from the universe where you have a poop fetish.”

“What?” Kristie mewed. “No, that doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it sounds weird...”

“That can’t be true! I’m the version of us from the universe where I have a poop fetish!”

The two cats stared at each other with surprise, bafflement, and growing excitement. “Seriously?” said Christie. “What are the odds we’d both have one?”

“I know, right?” giggled Kristie. “Wait, maybe we have a poop fetish in all timelines!”

“Yeah, maybe.” Christie looked toward the bathroom door. “What do you wanna do? If you don’t want things to get messy, I should go to the bathroom first. I didn’t want to use yours unless you wanted me to stay, because I ate some gas station sushi and hot pockets earlier, and I don’t think they agreed with me. I really have to go.”

“Fuck, I had some bad sushi from the counter at work on my lunch break!” Kristie had briefly forgotten how urgent her need was for a bathroom when she’d walked in the door and seen a copy of herself. “I’ve been bursting all shift. I think it’s gonna be really runny.”

“Rock paper scissors for who gets the bathroom first? Or maybe if you can’t hold it in, you could sit on my lap and we could go together? Or I could sit on yours!”

“I have a better idea.” Kristie patted her bed. The waterproof mattress protector crinkled noisily. “Sometimes I like to masturbate with a full bladder and pee myself in bed,” she confessed. “Or put a vibrator in my butt until it makes me poop.”

“They sell those? Oh, man, I wish I’d thought of that! I usually just do it in the shower!”

“Well? Let’s go fuck ourselves!”

The two identical felines embraced. Kristie wrapped her arms around her alternate self, pulling her warm body close and licking her face. They kissed, sharing slightly fishy breath, and soon found their way onto the bed, fondling and kissing more and more of one another’s bodies. They purred and giggled, wrestling and hitting each other with pillows, but soon, the need for relief took over. Blankets and pillows were flung from the bed. Kristie knelt over her other self, her bladder throbbing. She placed her hand gently above her crotch, feeling the tautness. “Are you thirsty?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Christie smiled meekly. She lay there on her back, her blue eyes sparkling. “Do you have a drink for me?”

“I sure do. Oh my god I’ve never had another girl let me pee on her before! I’m so nervous! I’m having trouble getting started.”

“Just think of running water, like rivers and waterfalls. Or imagine me as a toilet.”

“I like you just the way you are,” Kristie said. She tried to relax, picturing a burbling mountain stream, and pressed on her bladder a bit. The pressure hurt a little. With a soft moan, she let go. A pale yellow stream pattered onto her doppelganger’s chest, soaking her breasts in liquid gold.

“Oh, wow.” Christie kicked her legs out, smiling. “It’s so warm!” She put her fingers into the stream, then took hold of Kristie’s hips and pulled her forward. At the same time, Kristie relaxed more completely, and her stream got stronger. Her pee hiss noisily as it sprayed the other pink cat’s throat, then her chin, then splashed over her face. That was so hot Kristie forgot to breath, and just knelt there staring down at the mirror image of her own face being soaked. Then Christie opened her mouth. A bubbly, foaming lake of piss rose quickly, submerging one molar after another, until the cat’s mouth overflowed. She swallowed, gulping down the acrid liquid without apparent difficulty or inhibition, and let herself be filled again. She spat it back out, soaking Kristie’s crotch and tummy in a powerful fountain, then opened wide and drank another few gulps of fresh pee, and let herself be showered. There was a huge puddle on the sheets now, the pastel blue stained dark with liquid.

“Did you like that?” asked Kristie.

“No, I loved it! It’s weird, it tastes even better than when I drink my own, even though our pee should taste the same.”

“Ooh, I wanna try some!” Kristie bounced up and down on the mattress.

“Okay.” Christie scooted up to the headboard and sat halfway up with her legs spread. “Here. Start licking, and you can use me as a drinking fountain.”

Kristie had always wondered what her own pussy tasted like. She knelt on all fours and leaned down, with her paws at the foot of the bed. She sniffed, then tasted. Well, it wasn’t that good. It was obvious Christie hadn’t showered recently. She wrinkled her nose a bit, but kept licking, teasing apart the other cat’s folds with her tongue, and flicking it lightly over her clit. Christie gasped. She didn’t stop, dragging her tongue through her short, fuzzy pubic fur and between her lips, until suddenly a jet of warm liquid splashed her in the face.

“Eek! Oh my God!”

Another spurt splashed her forehead, then an unsteady stream doused her muzzle in ammonia-smelling yellow liquid. Christie gasped and giggled as her bladder released itself, a lovely golden fountain drenching her alternate self. Kristie opened her mouth and tasted it. Strong, very sour to the point of bitterness, but Christie had drunk hers so she felt like she had to now too. She put her mouth to the source of the stream, and gagged as hot liquid sprayed the back of her throat, but swallowed, and immediately shuddered. That felt so good. So sexy. She pulled back and lapped at what was now a gentle fountain, but quickly grew to a powerful stream of warm urine. All she had to do was catch it in her mouth and swallow, but it was going everywhere, completely soaking her face, her shoulders, her breasts, and the sheets below, and sprinkling her back. “Stop,” She ordered. “Turn over, or you’ll spray it off the bed. Wow, you really had to go, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I’ve been holding it all day.” Christie knelt on all fours. Kristie blushed, staring enraptured at her athletic butt, at her cute raised tail, at her winking anus beneath. Then a waterfall poured from her folds, and she gladly began to sample her doppelganger’s stream, lapping and slurping greedily. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and showered her face under the stream as it waned to spurts again.

“Are you done?”

“Not quite, but if I try to push I think my poop’s gonna come out. It feels really runny!” Christie moaned.

“Okay. Stay right there, and wait ‘til I say I’m ready.”

“What are you going to do?”

Kristie answered by rolling over and laying down in the warm puddle on her sheets. They were pretty thoroughly soaked by now, and her weight depressed her head into a pool of liquid that soaked into her scalp fur. She lay on her back with her feet at the foot of the bed and her head in the middle, between her kneeling alternate self’s legs. Urine dripped down into her face. Fuck, was she really doing this? This was so unsanitary. So many germs... but they probably had the same germs, so she was sure it wouldn’t be that bad. She wasn’t sure how it would taste, though.

Christie sank her chin to the sheets, her forehead pressed to the headboard and her rump to the sky. Her stomach muscles tenses, sending out another ten-second long stream of pee onto Kristie’s chest, then several shorter spurts onto her face. Her butthole clenched and flexed. Kristie could hear the other cat take deep, almost sobbing breaths. Then SHPBLLRPTSCHT. With a noisy crackling sound, a thin ribbon of mushy poop shot out of her ass at alarming speed. Some of it splatted onto Kristie’s chest, the rest onto her face. The smell hit her instantly, making her stomach convulse. She pushed her tongue out between her lips, taking only the smallest taste of the muck. She recoiled. Ugh, it was foul! She couldn’t even describe the flavor, other than that it tasted how shit smelled, only worse. But she felt her stomach drop like a rollercoaster, and she shivered with arousal at this dirty, profane act which she was technically doing with herself.

Kristie opened her mouth full, letting some of the mush collapse into it. She gagged. No way was she swallowing this. She’d just have to spit it out. But then the other her pushed again. This time it wasn’t just mushy, it was liquid. A gentle river of runny, dark brown diarrhea bubbled softly, quietly from above her. The first squirt landed on the bridge of her muzzle, but the next went right in her mouth. She clenched her fists. Her eyes watered at the foul taste. Holy shit, she was going to puke! But it just kept coming! It was the consistency of chocolate syrup almost, but with nasty slimy lumps. It was filling her mouth up to the brim. It spilled over, flowing down her face on both sides like hot lava until it spread out and pooled on the piss-soaked sheets. Kristie didn’t know what to do. Spit? Swallow? She closed her mouth, forcing most of the muck out, then opened it again. More hershey’s squirts dribbled down from her new roommate’s butt, then another putrid, creamy waterfall of runny scat. It was almost a greenish color now.

Against her better judgement, she swallowed. She didn’t really think about it, it was just to try to get rid of the loathsome, palate-burning taste. But it went down surprisingly easy. Her stomach rumbled and clenched, and her own butthole burned with the pressure of her gut’s contents straining to escape. The stream suddenly burst forth with more force, splashing down on her throat and chest with a noisy eruption of liquid mud.

“Oooh...” Christie groaned, and rubbed her stomach. “Yuck.” She knelt upright and carefully turned around, looking down at Kristie with a sympathetic expression. “Are you okay?”

Kristie gave her a shaky thumbs up and spat out a mouthful of waste. “Fuck!” she spluttered. “You weren’t kidding about what you ate not agreeing with you!”

“Yeah. I didn’t think it would smell this bad.” Christie wiped a bit off her doppelganger’s face and sniffed. “You look so cute like that though.”

“I’m sure you will too,” Kristie said, still gargling her doppelganger’s shit. The other cat suddenly leaned in and kissed her. She pulled back, her muzzle smeared with slimy brown kitty crap, then smiled and came back for more.

“Mmm, it tastes pretty good.”

“Really?”

“Have you eaten yours before?”

“No.”

“You’ll get used to the taste eventually. You have to go too, right? Are you ready?”

“I almost shit myself while I was lying here.” Kristie got up, trying to avoid putting her hands in the mess on the bed. Ugh, she was filthy! It was all over her face, caked in the fur on the back of her head, and dripping down her chest. She switched places with her counterpart, kneeling on all fours.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Whenever she had diarrhea, Kristie liked to get home, walk right into the bathroom, and soil her panties, so shitting in this position wasn’t that hard. She didn’t have to look at her doppelganger’s face either, so there wasn’t much of a mental block to overcome. She just pushed. Immediately there was a wet crackle, and a ribbon of shit oozed out of her. Her anus was burning. Yuck, and it was all sticky too! Warm, gooey mush clung to her fur, oozing down her perineum to her labia. Another wave plopped down into Christie’s waiting mouth. Splut splut spblllt splot splat. Her maw filled almost to the brim with it. Christie was right. They did both look cute with their mouths full of fecal matter. Tears were running down the other cat’s cheeks, but she was smiling. She wanted to... to kiss her. She too leaned in, and was surprised by half the mouthful being pushed up into her mouth.

Then Christie rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around her. Kristie wanted to resist, but a primal passion overtook her. She wanted nothing more than to make out with her twin in this befouled state, swapping shit back and forth between them. Their hands quested and groped over each other’s bodies, smearing muck into their fur wherever they went.

Then Christie abruptly pulled back with a grimace. Her ears went flat. “Uh oh. Tummy hurts... shit.” She groaned, put her hand to her gut, and excreted a massive amount of abhorrent sludge onto the bed. It was a mixture of thick ropes of mushy solid that collapsed into a single mass under their weight and squirts of runny liquid feces that showered the pile, further wetting it down and making a greasy puddle on the bed.

“Oh, wow,” said Kristie. “Glad I wasn’t under that.”

“I wish you were.” Christie pushed out another wave of stinking fudge, but this time cupped her hand right under her butt. “Ahh...” she brought it up and showed it to her. “Want some?”

“I... don’t know.”

“Okay, I’ll try it first.” Christie shoved most of the handful into her mouth, and chewed, liquid scat trickling down her chin. She leaned in and kissed Kristie. The taste really did seem better. She was getting used to it. It still wasn’t appetizing, but it turned her on to be eating this foul substance. She was a dirty kitty. They were dirty kitties. She scooped up some of the fresh, sloppy pile from the bed, and stuffed half into her mouth, then began to paint herself and her counterpart with the rest. Her inhibitions slowly melted away, and she happily licked the mixture of both of their shit off her other self’s filthy feline body.

Kristie felt her insides shift violently. The pressure inside her was sudden and immense. She restrained it with a great effort. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna explode. If you wanna be under me, do it quick!” Christie lay down, facing forward on the bed, while Kristie knelt facing backwards, rubbing her aching stomach. PPPRRPRGGGLGLORLBPPTTTT! A massive amount of waste exploded out of her. There was a mew of surprise from beneath her, then a squishy sound of chewing, and sticky hands caressing her hips. God, that sushi was a bad idea! She sank deeper, almost sitting on her counterpart’s face. She felt a tongue licking her soiled fur, and succumbed to the urge to relieve herself. Now she was the one expelling pure Hershey Squirts. Her butt had become a chocolate fountain, streaming down her legs and pouring into the gargling mouth below. When she got off her, she gasped in shock at what she’d done. Christie’s face was completely brown, she was lying with her head surrounded by a massive puddle of liquid shit, and she was blowing bubbles in it. “Wow!” she giggled. “You poor thing, you’re all diarrhea-ey!” Christie got up and made out with her some more, but Kristie soon felt the urge again. She plugged her butt with her finger, waiting until the pressure became unbearable to pull out and splort melty soft-serv into her hand. She stuffed the hot fudge straight into her mouth, dribbling sewage down her chin. She let more pour out into Christie’s paw, but now it was so runny it ran right through her fingers.

“I think your tummy’s a little upset,” the other cat said.

“Look who’s talking!”

The two shitty kitties laughed, and wrestled in the “mud” covering the bed, but that only further agitated their bowels. Their attempts to get each other off were constantly interrupted by a nearly uncontrollable outburst from their burning buttholes.

“Ugh, I have to poop!” groaned Christie.

“So do I!”

“Do you think you can hold it in? I have to go now!”

“No, I don’t think so! Fuck, it’s going to come out!”

“Well, one of us has to go first!”

“No we don’t!” Christie said cheerfully. “I have an idea. Here, lie down like this, the way you’d normally sleep!”

Kristie did, and the other cat hurried climbed on top of her, straddling her head with her own head down near Kristie’s crotch.

“Okay, I know what 69 is!”

“Just checking! Now we can both let it out at once!”

Kristie pushed a little. A burst of watery stool fouled the sheets and her tail, followed by a thick ribbon of soft-serv. Christie slurped at her pussy, then leaned further forward to take a mouthful of the growing pile from the source. Meanwhile her tail raised high, and lumpy colon soup sputtered and dribbled out of her filthy pucker. Right on her face! Right in her mouth! “Mmm, your diarrhea tastes so good!” Kristie moaned. “This is the hottest thing ever!” She squeezed out another spluttery outburst into her counterpart’s hand, and the other cat scooped it up to her waiting maw.

“I know... oh my god, I love this!” Christie said. Then her stomach rumbled. “Oooh... get ready, this is gonna be...” SBRLBLBLRLLBRT. The cat on top arched her back, and Kristie’s life flashed before her eyes as a violent outburst of mud splattered against her forehead like a cannonball, followed by a thin stream of liquid feces, much more forceful than any before it. It flooded her mouth in an instant. Heavy chunks of soft dung splashed into the lake of shit, and Kristie just had time to swallow before she was overwhelmed by another blast of projectile poop.

“Fuck!” she spluttered. “There’s so much! Slow down!”

“Mwaahaha! You fell for my evil plan! There’s only room for one of us per dimension, now I’m going to drown you in my diarrhea and take your place!”

“Ha ha, very funny. You talking that much means there’s not enough poop in your mouth. I literally can’t stop shitting, so you’d better keep up.”

“Sorry. Ahh! Dammit, no more gas station sushi for me!”

“What’s the matter? Is somebody’s tummy a widdle upset! Fuck, you sprayed the headboard!” Kristie leaned forward and caught the stream of projectile diarrhea in her mouth, gulping down several mouthfuls before Christie’s bowels calmed down. “Holy shit,” she panted, and sharted into Christie’s mouth. “Maybe we should’ve done this in the tub after all.”

She suddenly realized that this was no mere case of indigestion: it must have been mild food poisoning, which meant whatever nastiness caused it was going right back through them. Eating it again would just cause an endless cycle. She shrugged, and slurped up more hot fecal soup from her clone’s anus. Tomorrow was her day off anyway. They could spend it blowing up the bathroom if they wanted. Or right here, in bed, not even bothering to get up. Mmm... serving each other meals right from their buttholes. Drinking her parallel universe self’s diarrhea from the tap was turning her on so much she didn’t ever want to stop.

“Mmm...” Christie groaned. “Wanna turn on top? I wanna turn on the bottom.”

“Okay. After that, maybe we should go in the bathroom. We can shower, and get the rest of this out of our systems.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Christie said with her mouth audibly full of excrement.

After Kristie took her turn nearly drowning her doppelganger in diarrhea, the two cats staggered to the bathroom, hand in hand, and helped each other into the shower. Christie immediately squatted and shat half a pint of mud into her hand, and started stuffing her face with it. Kristie did the same.

“We should probably turn the water on and stop eating it,” Kristie said. She was starting to feel nauseous again just from how much filth she’d ingested.

“Yeah... oh, holy shit! Is that an enema attachment on your showerhead! Oh my god we can have so much fun with that!”

“Starting right now!” laughed Kristie. “Bend over! Maybe I’m still thirsty after all!”