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Day 15: Noncon

Tonight, a careless coyote picked the wrong sheep pasture to rob. She was just sneaking up on the flock, ready to ambush a succulent ewe, when she heard a low growl behind her. She looked back, and yelped in fright. A massive dog was charging right at her! She turned tail and ran for her life, but another enormous canine leapt from the tall grass near the fence and cut off her escape. She ran the other way, but a third cut her off again. They chased her around and around the pasture. The coyote was exhausted, but finally saw an opening. She ran headlong for the fence. She jumped to get over a large rock, only for it to rear up in front of her. She ran smack into what was revealed to be the not so sleeping form of a donkey. She fell hard. She tried to get away, but with a derisive bray he kicked the coyote right in the stomach, making her double over with pain. By the time she could even think of standing up, a dog seized her by the throat.

“We’ve got you now!” he growled.

“Wait! Stop!” the coyote shrieked in terror. “Please don’t kill me, please! I’ll never set foot in a sheep pasture as long as I live, I promise!”

“That’s what they all say!” the lead dog snarled. He was an enormous beast, mastiff like in build with a sleek brown brindle coat: a breed dreaded by predators the world over, a Cane Corso. The second dog, who held her by the throat, was equally large but had a fluffy coat that would have been white if it wasn’t so dirty: a Great Pyrenes. The third of the snarling, slavering curs was tall and long legged, but still bulky and muscular, with short tan fur: a Kangal. All three wore intimidating spiked collars. And then there was the donkey: a murderous looking jack who blew steam through his flaring nostrils. “The only good coyote’s a dead coyote, right boys? No carnivore trespasses in our pasture and lives!” He grabbed her leg in his jaws and pulled hard, making her yelp in pain.

“Please no, please no! I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me!”

“Oh, shut up, you’re scaring the sheep!” the Kangal growled. But the Cane Corso released her. He sniffed the air. “Anything?” He sniffed again, between the terrified coyote’s legs, and an evil grin spread over his jowly lips. “You’re lucky,” he said. “You’re in heat, aren’t you?”

“No!” the coyote yelped.

“Stop lying, or we’ll rip your ears off! Okay, coyote, we’ll let you off with a warning... after we make you our bitch for the night!”

“No! Please! Anything but that!” the coyote kicked and squirmed in the Pyrenees's grip. “I changed my mind, you can kill me after all! Don’t...”

The flock was stirring now. Over a dozen rams with big curly horns, and many big, wooly ewes, formed a circle around the unfortunate coyote, leaving no chance of escape. The pyrenees let go, but she just stood there, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. The cane corso’s dick was flopping out of his sheath. It was so big, it would probably tear her insides apart.

But her fate was sealed from the moment she stepped into that pasture. The cruel corso took a good sniff of her heat, then mounted her, pinning her down with his weight and forcing himself upon the smaller animal. She howled in pain as he thrust his huge canine cock into her. “Owwwoooooo! Stop! It hurts!” the coyote sobbed.

“Shut up, you dumb bitch!” the Kangal snarled in her face. “This is what happens to stupid preds who think they can chase our sheep while they’re in heat!”

“Don’t! Don’t!” the coyote was nearly incoherent now. “I didn’t mean to, and I was hungry!”

“Can’t you read the signs?” said the Pyrenees. “Trespassers will be violated!”

The coyote, who couldn’t read human languages, just sobbed harder as she was fucked harder. She started pissing herself from fear, making a warm waterfall of liquid shame pour down her legs. She had some faint hope that this would at least gross the dogs out as much as it grossed her out, but the males just laughed. “Piss all you want, you dumb slut! The smell of your heat only makes us hornier!”

The Corso panted and drooled on her face, pumping his pecker faster and faster until he spurted a rush of hot seed. He pulled out halfway and splashed her shaking hindquarters with spunk. The coyote was just grateful not to be split in half by his throbbing knot, until he ordered her: “Lick until it goes down.”

He tasted strongly of unwashed dog, and even more strongly of fresh fear scented coyote urine. The poor coyote gagged constantly, but he wouldn’t let her stop, and as soon as she was done the Pyrenees mounted her and violated her ravaged pussy. She rolled over on her back in submission, wetting herself even more, but the enormous fluffy beast wasn’t put off by it either. He filled her up with his seed, but he too pulled out, fountain sticky cum all over her.

“Ugh,” said the Kangal. “Sloppy seconds is one thing, but frothy thirds? Forget it. You guys don’t mind if I use her mouth, do you?”

“I mind!” the coyote whimpered, but her opinion didn’t count. The kangal made her suck him off, forcing her to joke on his repulsively musky and smegma-ridden red rocket. She threw up in her mouth a little. Luckily that taste was soon washed away by a torrent of salty spunk. It covered her face, clinging to her fur and dripping from her ears and whiskers.

“My turn again!” said the Cane Corso. “Man, that looked good, I think I’ll make her blow me next!”

“Wait,” said the donkey. “You’re forgetting someone.”

“Are you kidding?” said the Pyrnees. “You’ll kill her! Look at you, your dick’s almost as big as she is!”

“She can still suck it.”

The donkey, if anything, smelled and tasted even worse, not to mention his girth made her jaws sore and he shoved it so far down her throat it made her retch. But she was so terrified that he’d change her mind and decide to break her in half that she didn’t complain. He came like a fire hose, forcing her to gulp down the nasty donkey spunk. It bubbled out of her nose, leaving her choking and gurgling as he finished his orgasm rubbing up and down on her forehead and still spurting on her back.

“Fuck!” she gasped. “Okay, you’ve had your fun! Just let me go!”

“Oh, we’re not done with you yet.” The Cane Corso was already lined up to use her mouth. After another immense load of cum, he grunted: “Hey guys, I really gotta take a piss. Mind if I mark this slut?”

“Sure, go for it.”

“Be my guest, dude. I was gonna.”

“I mind!” whined the coyote. “Please don’t! I’ve done everything you asked! Please have mercy!”

“You pissed on me, so I can piss on you!” he growled. “Lie down and take it!” He straddled her and lifted his leg. “Ahh... man that feels good.” A strong, bubbly stream of hot, musky liquid poured down on her flank. “You’re mine now, bitch.” He moved his stream back and forth, drenching her in his foaming musk, and even showered her face, making her choke and yelp again.

“Owwwoooooo! Stop! It got in my eyes! It stings!”

“Should’a closed them, then!” he remorselessly continued his relief. After nearly a minute of pissing he stepped away, leaving the coyote soggy and forlorn, drenched in urine.

“My turn!” laughed the Pyrenees. “Open wide, bitch!”

The coyote obediently took his cock into her mouth, but was surprised with the dog lifted his leg and began urinating as well.

“Ackflfckph! What the fuck?” she choked, spitting out the foul fluid.

“Shut up, bitch. Aren’t you feeling thirsty after all this fucking?” Without waiting for an answer he continued to deluge her in warm pee, shoving his cock right in her face. “If you don’t drink it those rams would be happy to piss on you too!”

“Help!” the coyote sobbed, and reluctantly wrapped her jaws around his cock. He stared the stream again, rapidly flooding her mouth with yellow pyrenees piss. “Noogglblglgbl!” she sobbed. “Gulck!” she swallowed, then pulled away, shuddering. She didn’t even care that he continued to spurt on her face.

The Kangal was next in line. “Now it’s filthy fourths in your cunt and your mouth,” he snarled. “But there’s still one hole we haven’t ruined.”

“Oh, no. No! No! Not my tailhole! I poop from there! Yeeeeoowwwwwwww!” she wailed as he ignored her pleas. “Ow! Ow! Owwooooooo!”

“Quiet. Your ass is mine.”

At first it felt like rough rocks were being shoved up her ass and yanked back out, but it gradually got smoother. It felt horrible, like pooping constantly and having it forced back in her. She dribbled more urine onto the ground, but a much worse smell filled the air.

SSCHPPLLULTSCH! The kangal pulled out with an abominable wet squelch. The coyote felt mess dribbling down her legs out of her ruined anus. She felt an overpowering urge to answer the call of nature. She tried to hobble away, but another bubble of air forced up her ass blorped out. She squatted with a despairing sob and emptied her bowels right in front of the leering dogs.

“Holy shit, dude,” said the Pyrenees. “It’s like watching a bird take a dump.”

A foul mixture of cum and churned-up shit poured out of the poor coyote. It was horrible. Her fur was all sticky. She didn’t even think of the state of his cock until the Kangal snarled: “Look what you did, bitch. You’d better lick it clean!”

“No! Please, just kill me! I’m not licking that!”

“Then lick my butt instead.” The pyrenees lifted his tail and shoved his backside in her face. The coyote gagged in revulsion. His ass was disgusting! The fur around his pucker was completely riddled with clinging dingleberries. “I haven’t been groomed since January!”

“No! I won’t! I won’t!”

“Then I’ll take a turn with your ass next,” the donkey said. The coyote gulped. The kangal had made it hurt so much already. That would be such an unbearably agonizing way to die. Whimpering in despair, she chose to clean the kangal’s cock. She retched and vomited cum and piss all over it, but was so scared she kept licking. He was still not clean, but he got bored.

“Ha!” the cane corso laughed. “This worthless whore will really do anything! Good girl! Now lick his ass anyway!”

“I - I – filthy!” the coyote blubbered. “Heeeuurrrrrk!” she bravely tried to do it, but the feeling of the dried lumps of months-old fecal matter coming off with strands of fur still attached, and crusty turd flakes peeling away from the unhygienic dog’s flexing pucker and dissolving in her drool, was unbearable. She projectile vomited all over his ass and had to start over. To make matters worse, the Pyrenees suddenly blew a horrific rotten egg dog fart on her face. Then his hole spread open, and a massive log of shit slid out, coiling up on the ground.

“What are you waiting for?” jeered a ram. “You came here for a meal, didn’t you?”

“Eat it, you bitch.” The Cane Corso forced her head down with a paw. What did she have to lose anymore? Weeping and gagging, the wretched coyote took a mouthful of steaming dog waste. She mashed it around in her mouth letting most of it spill out, and swallowed.

“Ahh... here comes so more!” Several soft, mushy lumps of yellow-brown crap splatted down on her head. She looked up, and stared despairingly at his flexing pucker, and started licking his freshly soiled butt fur clean, only for more to splort out right into her mouth.

“You’re f-f-filthy!” she stammered. “You’re disgusting! How can you enjoy this?”

“You’re getting filthier than us,” sneered the Corso. “Now roll in it! Get it all over you! You’re just as worthless as shit anyway!”

The coyote had no choice but to do as she was told. She rolled back and forth in the muck. Her fur was caked with it.

“Man, I still gotta take a leak,” said the Kangal. “What should I do with it? Wash her off?”

“No, I’ll do that,” said the donkey.

“I know! Piss up her ass!”

“No...” whined the coyote, but bowed down and presented her ruined rump anyway. The salty liquid gushing into her tender hole was agonizing. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“My turn for a butt cleaning.” the Cane Corso shoved his backside in her face. “Good girl. Make sure you get the hole. Yeah, like that.”

“At least his is cleaner,” she whimpered to herself.

“It’s cleaner?” said the Cane Corso. “We should fix that.” He squatted, dumped a big pile on the ground, and sat in it, wagging his tail and squishing it all over his butt. “Here. Now lick it clean!”

The Kangal was still peeing. The coyote felt horribly bloated, and when he pulled out that bloating quickly became an overpowering urge to defecate. Squirts of liquid began to leak from her ravaged anus. It felt like the result of eating bad roadkill. No... not in front of them! Not again!

The Cane Corso grunted. His pucker opened up and disgorged a mass of putrescent, mushy dogshit that spread over the coyote’s muzzle and dripped on the ground. Without any shred of dignity left, she slurped at his rotten asshole and surrendered to her own needs. She tried to cover her modesty from the dogs by tucking her tail under, but foul liquid surged out of her, spewing against it and drenching her fur. The Pyrenees ignored her accident and shoved her tail aside, thrusting into her and raping her again.

So filthy was the coyote that she was almost grateful when the donkey took his turn to deluge her with a torrent of musty equine piss. He may have been just a donkey but he pissed like a racehorse, blasting her with a hoselike stream that seemed to never end. She ignored the dogs’ jeering and showered in it, even opening her mouth, desperate for anything to get rid of the taste of dog feces.

It wasn’t nearly enough to get her clean, and her suffering had only begun. The dogs made her lie down, and the Kangal squatted and dumped a massive pile of soft scat on her flank. The donkey had go too. She had to watch him deposit a steaming heap of manure on the ground, shove her face in it, roll in it and choke down mouthful after mouthful of those fibrous dung balls, then stand there while he stood over her and plopped even softer manure down on her back. The herd of sheep joined in, forcing her to lick the fouled wool around their assholes, and turning the ground into a muddy swamp with their piss and loads of manure. In that mess the helpless coyote was raped again and again. The dogs were soon covered in shit too, but they didn’t seem to care.

“We’re not some pansy housepets!” growled the Cane Corso. “Real dogs get dirty! Now shut up and suck my dick!”

As a final humiliation, the leader of the livestock guardians forced her upside down with her back resting against the sleeping donkey’s rump and her shoulders three inches deep in manure. The big dog piledrove her pussy, then switched holes after cumming and flooded her ass with piss again. He walked away, marking her face with one last spurt, and left her to her fate. The coyote was too sore and too mentally broken to move, and she couldn’t hold in the piss enema. It spouted out of her ass as a fountain that glistened deep, dirty yellow in the predawn light. Then it turned dark, to muddy water, then spurts of opaque slurry. The coyote yipped and pleaded with them to help her down, but she couldn’t stop shitting herself. Hot sewage rained down on her body, spattering the wretched animal in excrement.

“No more... please, no more...” she groaned. This time to herself. But her stomach cramped again, and a sputtering river of diarrhea exploded from her, showering her face in reeking ammonia-ey sludge.

“Drink it and maybe we’ll help you,” growled the dog.

“I hate you-clrlgrllblup! Acckclpl! Gulp! Ulrlrkk!” She choked down three big gulps.

“I can’t believe you fell for it! Enjoy your shit, you dumb whore!”

The coyote was completely broken. She could only sob in despair and drown her sorrows in her own liquid shit. Cramp after cramp dredged up more waste that poured down over her body, until even the donkey had enough and got up in disgusting, leaving her coughing and retching in a lake of sewage.

The filthy coyote was finally free. She fled the pasture, yelping in agony and stopping every few paces to vomit, and slunk away to lick her wounds, and herself. She vowed never to set foot in a sheep pasture again, but after her night of mistreatment she was so sore, and smelled so bad, that she had no hope of hunting: any prey would smell her a mile away. She’d have to venture into town for food. She could only hope that someone would mistake her for a dog in her filthy state and give her a bath.

Day 16: Gags

Today, you wake up to find yourself in a very compromising position: bound to someone else’s bed, completely naked, with a beautiful woman sitting next to you watching you sleep. This isn’t a situation you’d normally complain about being in, if not for the ring gag in your mouth. Not only does it make you suspicious that something is planned for your mouth, but it forcibly reminds you of all your dentistry-related nightmares.

“Morning sleepyhead.” Veronica caresses your cheek with her hand. You involuntarily shudder.

“Aahhla! Whuhhdafuuuggck!” you yell, barely comprehensible due to the gag in your mouth. “Whaahzguhhnunnn?”

“Don’t you remember?” she says with a scowl. “Our date? Last night? All the things we did? All the things we didn’t do?”

“I was pretty drunk, but I remember this isn’t how I fell asleep!” you say. Your sudden improvement in enunciation is not so much due to mastering the gag as for the convenience of the author and reader not having to decipher garbled strings of vowels and consonants. Yes, you remember the date well. Your third with Veronica. She invited you back to her house, and things went well from there, you think. Other than certain problems involving personal hygiene, and her dog. You hear barking and scratching outside the bedroom door. “I don’t oppose this on principle, but you should’ve asked first. And can we lose the gag?”

“No, we can’t. You’re wearing this because after last night’s disappointment I can’t trust you to be a good boy.”

“Whaaaaaa?” you say, more confused than scared now. “What did I do?”

“You don’t remember?” she scowls down at you. “Well, let me jog your memory. You came early, you took fifteen whole minutes to get it up again for Round 2, you fell asleep after Round 3, and more importantly, you acted like a complete germophobic prude all night.”

“What do you mean? I went down on you, didn’t I? And I kissed you even after I finished in your mouth.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Of course a guy like you would expect credit for the bare minimum, or even less. You went down on me, but you refused to eat ass.”

“That’s not germophobia, that’s basic hygiene! Not everybody likes butt stuff! I might’ve made an exception for you, but you didn’t even shower! You should be thankful I went down on you at all with that case of swamp ass!”

She slaps you across the face. “That’s exactly the attitude that makes you unattractive. And don’t interrupt me. You also demanded I wash my face and brush my teeth before kissing you after I let Scout in.”

You groan. That stupid dog. Veronica’s one flaw, other than the surprise wakeup bondage and lectures, is her obsession with her poorly trained husky mix. She’s cute, a mix of husky, beagle, and some sort of retriever, with tan and white fur, ice-blue eyes, half-dropped ears, and a constantly wagging tail, but that dog has no sense of personal space. You couldn’t even make out on the couch without being jumped on, and who knows what sort of rude interruptions you’d have had to endure if you hadn’t convinced Veronica to shut her pet out of the bedroom during your private time.

“So having your own cum in my mouth and face is fine with you, but you draw the line at a little dog spit? Dog mouths are cleaner than human ones, you know.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want it in my mouth! You know dogs like their own asses, right? And eat who knows what!”

“See, this is what I’m talking about: irrational germophobia. And the fact that you’re willing to lie to get into a woman’s pants. I already told you me and Scout are a package deal! You said you were fine with that, but you’ve been nothing but hostile towards her!”

This statement is so batshit insane that you can’t even respond. This might be for the best, because Veronica doesn’t seem interested in debate. “Well, I want to play a game now,” she says. “It’s clear this relationship isn’t going to work our unless you broaden your horizons.”

“You’re damn right it’s not going to work out! I’m breaking up with you right now! Let me off this bed and I’m leaving as soon as I get dressed!”

“There you go again, always demanding things! Besides, I couldn’t do that. Scout really seems to like you. She’d be so disappointed if you left. I’m going to have to open your mind for you.”

“What are you going to do to me?” you whimper. But Veronica’s already striding confidently across her bedroom to the door. “Oh, God,” you whisper in horror.

She opens the door, and Scout immediately bursts into the room and leaps onto the bed, barking excitedly. Just as you expected, the dog jumps all over you, and puts her full weight on your stomach. To make matters worse, the overexcited animal steps right on your bladder, making you wail in pain, and somehow kicks you in the balls.

“Ooohh-eerrrrr!” you groan. “Ouuchh! Stahbittt! Geddoff me! Bahhddogg! Eeeuurrchh!” The poorly trained mutt ignores you completely, and to make matters worse starts licking your face, slobbering all over you and subjecting you to her foul breath. She shoves her long, sloppy tongue in your mouth, and with the ring gag you’re helpless to stop her.

“Good girl, Scout!” Veronica laughs. “Give your new daddy some kisses!”

“Staaaahhhfffp!” you thrash from side to side, trying to remove the questing tongue, but Scout is nothing if not persistent. At last she stops, but then the mutt starts sniffing your crotch. “Hey! Geddwayfrummvaiir! That bone’s not for dogs!”

“Oh, don’t worry, she won’t bite,” says Veronica. “She just wants to get to know you a little better.”

The molesting mutt snuffles more intently, and to your horror your morning wood just won’t go away. In fact, it’s getting worse. Scout starts to lick, and happily settles down on you, totally going to town on your sausage. And Veronica’s doing nothing to stop her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whimper. “This is wrong on so many levels!”

“Don’t worry, she’s enjoying it, aren’t you puppy?” she pats her dog’s head. “You should learn to as well: Scout isn’t going to stop until she gets her treat!”

She’s not lying: the perverted pup keeps lavishing her affections on your cock until, despite the trauma you feel at being violated in this way, your body takes over and you blow. Scout keeps on slurping clumsily, but your dick slips out of her jaws midway and you spurt all over her face. She turns around, beaming, and licks your face some more. She’s drooling profusely, and her muzzle and face are adorned with thick, pearly ropes of cum. Without giving you more than a few minutes to rest, Scout licks you until you’re hard again, then mounts you. She grunts as she forces herself over your unwilling dick, then starts testing the bed springs, bouncing up and down with her tail still wagging happily. With the endurance of a husky, it’s not long before she’s not the only one panting.

“Water... huff... water...” you gasp. Your mouth and throat are dry. Scout’s gotten off the bed, and is lapping greedily from a bowl somewhere. But Veronica gives you a sadistic grin, smirks, and whistles. The dog jumps back up, her muzzle dripping.

“You’re thirsty? Don’t worry, boy, Scout’ll take care of that for you. Scout! Sit! Good dog!”

“Mmmf!” you protest, for Scout has plopped her sloppy posterior down right on your face. Your vision is blocked by fur, but the smell certainly isn’t good. Her fluffy butt fur is caked with crusty half dried spooge, and your face is wedged right between her hind legs. You don’t have to ask what abhorrent act you’re expected to perform next, you think. You have to eat out the mutt’s unwashed canine cooch. But Veronica gives you even more horrifying news.

“I want to play a game,” she says. “Since you selfishly refused to eat my ass, and were so mean to Scout last night, you’re going to eat hers instead. She’s been pent up all night waiting to serve you a special breakfast in bed, so don’t disappoint her. I’ll come to check in you in an hour.”

With that, she leaves the room and closes the door, leaving you trapped in bed with, and under, the amorous canine. She barks expectantly. With a moan of despair you reach your tongue out past the gag and give her cookie a timorous lick. Ugh, she tastes horrible! But you persevere. Your only hope now is that perhaps, if you pleasure Scout well enough, she’ll show mercy and only make you service her pussy, and her owner will never know. You lick and slurp like your life depends on it. You think you must be doing well: the canine is sopping wet, dripping cookie juice profusely into your mouth and all over your face, and huffing and grunting in pleasure. You’re sure your just moments away from earning yourself a reprieve.

But alas, you poor fool, you can’t even imagine what horror and indignity you’re in for, since as a non pet owner you missed the meaning of ‘breakfast in bed.’ Scout has indeed been pent up all night, in more ways than one. The husky hybrid’s been desperately horny, but Veronica hasn’t let her out to relieve herself all night, or this morning. And she’s had an enormous breakfast of her own.

Suddenly, Scout gets up and squats. She looks back at you with a sly, naughty grin on her feral features. Her dripping vulva hovers inches over your forcibly opened mouth.

“What are you doing?” you ask. “No. Don’t do it. Nice doggie!”

With a groan of relief, Scout begins to urinate on you. A strong, pungent stream of pee pours down on your face and in your mouth. You gag and choke, but the stream continues unabated. And it’s no mere marking: the poor pooch is truly desperate after holding it all night. And no matter how you beg, Scout knows exactly what she wants, and with typical husky mix stubborness she’s going to get it. She barks and growls expectantly. You sob in despair, knowing what you must do. Veronica did say her pet would take care of your thirst. And with the ring gag stretching your lips wide, you physically cannot resist her.

It tastes so bad! You choke and gurgle, convulsing beneath the dog. It’s salty, and so repulsively sour that you understand why this stuff kills lawns. But you have no choice but to swallow. You choke down one gulp, then another, but each time Scout fills your mouth to the brim again in seconds. God, there’s so much! She’s peeing buckets! You almost feel bad for the dog, knowing she had to hold this in all night, but it’s all too clear that getting to empty her whole bladder down your throat is worth it for her.

“Glrglglacckk!” you splutter. “Argglglgl! K-haackk!”

Scout’s stream finally abates, but only after peeing like a faucet for over a minute. She takes her time marking the rest of your body with further spurts, soaking the bed, then licks your face affectionately.

“Thank god that’s over,” you gurgle. But you spoke too soon: the mutt circles three times, then sits on your face again. It seems you’ll have to eat her ass after all. You steel yourself, but not even the taste of her urine could prepare you for the appalling experience. You soon regret not tossing Veronica’s salad when you had the chance. At least she wiped. Scout’s pupper pucker is vile and filthy, the folds of her anus crusted with flakes of dried fecal matter that melt and dissolve in your mouth, assaulting you with a musty, rotten taste that is truly beyond description.

She gets up, but you know the posture she assumes all too well. “Oh, shit,” you groan. Which she does. Her now saliva-soaked hole opens, and a fat log of yellow-brown dog waste descends into your mouth.

“Ackcgkggk!” you choke. You bite down on the gag and try to spit the foul substance out, But the gag makes that impossible. You can only push it around with your tongue, squishing it against the sides of your mouth. You’re choking on her shit, but as more hefty turds plop down on you and partially cover your nose, you realize your situation is truly dire. If it piles up and covers your nose, you could be smothered in animal filth, and Veronica’s left you alone. Cursing your stupidity for dating the woman, you summon your last reserves of courage and choke down a mouthful.

Scout considerately waits until you’ve eaten the waste in your mouth before unloading more. This time it’s a mushy yellow ribbon of shit. It tastes even worse. What has Veronica been feeding this dog? She’s licking her own pee off your belly while she force feeds you through the gag.

Despite your best efforts, the husky’s baggie-buster of a load overflows your mouth and covers your nose. Luckily, with a nasty PPFLBLUPP, she shits down and mashes the mess all over your face and her own rear. She waggles her rump from side to side, and stands up. She’s a hideous sight. Her butt is completely caked in filth, her fur matted into strings. But her tail keeps right on wagging. She settles down on your chest, beating her tail against your face and matting it with shit as well, and starts sucking your cock again.

Of course, you haven’t gone to the bathroom all morning either, and you drank a lot last night. Your bladder’s been aching for a while, and you no longer have the will to hold it in. Instead of cum, what the slutty mutt gets is a stream of piss flooding her mouth. But this, if anything, thrills her even more. She must have been thirsty too, because she happily slurps at your stream like a hose, then pulls back, lets your half-mast member shower her, and laps at the tip of your penis like it’s a drinking fountain.

Once your bladder’s empty, and she’s soaked in piss, Scout sits on your face again, and paws at your chest with her claws until you lick her putrid, shit-caked anus. But your stomach can’t take it anymore. You throw up in your mouth. The first cramp only fills it a little, but the second overflows it with a lake of vomit that spews out all over your face and coats the dog’s butt. She gets up, watches with interest while you projectile puke on your chest, and sniffs at it. She puts a paw in the fresh mess, but before she does anything else your gut cramps again. You retch and dry heave, but the power of the cramps forces something else out of your rear end... just in time for Veronica to come in to check on you.

“It stinks in here,” she says. “Scout, did you make a little poopie? Oh look, Daddy went poopie too!”

You’re ashamed and humiliated, but you really, really have to go, and you have no dignity left anymore. You keep letting it out in bed. But to your horror, you feel your exact reason for not letting the fucking dog in the bedroom during your night of passion: a sudden cold, wet nose and tongue against your ass.

“Euurggghhh!” you groan when you realize what she’s doing. “This is why I didn’t want her licking your face!”

“Oh don’t worry, I know what she eats,” the evil dogmistress says. She sets a large stainless steel bowl on the bed. “Good dog! C’mere and give Mommy some kisses!”

This abhorrent act makes you retch again. “Just stop!” you moan. “I’ll eat your ass any time you want! No more of this!”

“You can toss my salad later,” she says, smacking your shitty face. “I’ve got to give Scout a treat first. Scout! Sit! No, no, on his face, not his cock! Good dog!”

Your vision is blocked by unsanitary dog butt, but you can hear all too well from the farts and squelching noises what that dog bowl is being used for. Scout eagerly lunges forward to eat her fill: devouring her owner’s bowel movement, licking the bowl clean, then returning to your ass for dessert. She squats and dumps a steaming pile on your cock, licks that up as well, then starts licking your face again. She’s a dirty, dirty dog. Her whole muzzle is caked and smeared with excrement, and her breath is worse than ever. She still insists on shoving her tongue in your mouth, a violation you’re powerless to prevent. Just as you’re about to succumb to nausea again, and wondering how the mutt can be immune to it, Scout horks up a tsunami of raw sewage right into your mouth! Of course, being a dog, the nasty bitch does her best to clean her mess up again with her tongue, but she doesn’t do a very good job.

But the worst is yet to come. You thought surely that Scout had at least finished voiding her bowels, but the mutt’s stomach suddenly growls. She sniffs you all over, from your dick and ass all the way up to your face, clearly now in a desperate state.

“I think your dog has to go out,” you say in a faint hope that Veronica will show some mercy, but alas, she does nothing to intervene as her pet squats over your face. Scout probably wouldn’t have made it out the door, though. With a groan of gastrointestinal distress, the husky hybrid’s hindquarters clench and quiver, and she unceremoniously explodes in your face. Wet, sloppy logs of unhealthy yellow-brown mush slide out of her ass like a runaway freight train, filling your mouth to the brim and overflowing, before her rectum disgorges a rotten avalanche of creamy canine colon mud. The gag hardly matters anymore: even if you were freed from it your mouth would be hanging open from astonishment, heedless of the repugnant slurry overflowing it. You can't believe this much shit can come out of a dog that size! Scout’s not a big dog, only fifty pounds at most, and probably less now that she’s gotten that out of her.

But somehow, she still isn’t done. Her sputtering sphincter erupts with noxious gouts of runny dogshit. Forget bagging this up, you think, if she did this on a walk the city would have to close the sidewalk for a week. Yet here you are gulping it down as it pours into your mouth through the gag. It’s against your will... but she is a sweet, affectionate dog, after all. Is it really that bad to indulge your girlfriend’s pet a little? Liquid scat is running down your face and forehead in all directions. She fills your mouth with more cloying sludge, so thick and gooey that you can’t possibly choke it down without chewing. Your nose is clogged. One last spurt of foul dog diarrhea showers your head. You can’t hold your breath much longer.

“Good dog!” Veronica praises her pet a minute later as she removes the gag from your mouth and takes off your shackles. All three of you are covered in shit. You sit up, and look at the dirty dog lying on the mattress.

“Good girl,” you say, patting her awkwardly. “You really had to go, didn’t you? Is your tummy upset?” You go to rub it. Scout rolls on her back with a blissful expression, but massaging her makes her groan and spew out a vile slick of canine diarrhea all over her tail. “Wow, I guess so.”

“She has a stomach condition,” Veronica explains. “It’s not always this bad, but when something stresses her out, like a new guy having sex with me without letting her join in, it makes it worse. She goes potty in bed two or three nights a week on a good week, though.”

You shrug. All your plans to break up, run for your life, call the cops, file a restraining order, and so on are now gone. “Poor pup.” You put your hand in the fresh lake of warm shit and smear it over her belly, then let her lick your fingers. “It doesn’t seem like it affects her quality of life, though.”

“Yeah. Do you see what I mean when I say we’re a package deal, though? And understand why I can’t be with a man who gets squeamish about a basic thing like eating ass?”

“Of course,” you say. “I can’t believe I was such a prude about it last night.”

“Good. Then you can help me give Scout a bath.”

“Hang on, I still have to poop some more.” You stumble towards the bathroom. “Uh oh. Where are the spare toilet paper rolls?”

“Oh, I only put those out for guests. Just leave the bathroom door open, and Scout will clean you up with her tongue when you’re done. But you’ll just make the toilet a mess right now. If you have to go, just use her food dish.”

“Oh. Silly me.”

Hours later, you’re all cleaned up, though Veronica’s house still reeks of dogshit. It’s time to leave. But first: “Are you doing anything Saturday?” you ask.

“Not in the evening.”

“Do you want to come over to my place for the night?” you ask. “Scout can come too.”

“Oh, she’d love that!” Veronica says, and holds up the ring gag teasingly. “But she does get nervous and have accidents in new places sometimes. Get waterproof sheets, and whatever dinner plans you make, leave room for dessert.”

Day 17: Fisting

Today, you went for a walk in the woods behind your house. The forest is enchantingly beautiful in the autumn, and some local rumors claim it’s literally enchanted, but you never believed them until now. Just as you were about to start heading back, you saw a large, pale shape moving behind the trees. You tiptoed closer, thinking you might see a rare albino deer, but instead, when you pushed into the clearing you beheld a truly astonishing sight.

The creature standing before you looked like a white horse at first glance. But it was smaller than a normal horse, with a delicate build, and a longer tail with long fur only on the end half. Its coat and flowing locks were as white as fresh snow, a breathtaking color against the orange leaves. Then the beast looked up and noticed you, and you saw the single horn, a slender, spiraling cone a foot long and straight as an arrow, protruding from its elegant forehead.

“A unicorn?” you gasp. “A real unicorn?” You pinched yourself, just in case it’s a dream. But the unicorn remained. It blinked large, intelligent cerulean eyes with long lashes. You stood completely still, not even daring to breath lest you startle the magnificent creature. But the unicorn, far from being afraid, strode towards you, slowly but purposefully, then stopped about thirty feet away.

“Are you a virgin and pure of heart?” it asked in a gentle, feminine voice.

“What?”

“Just answer!” the unicorn replied more forcefully. You remembered some of the folklore about them, and began sweating bullets. You read somewhere on the internet that unicorns only revealed themselves to those with such qualities, and also, more worryingly, than anyone who doesn’t have them would be gored to death for daring to look upon the beast. The horn doesn’t look all that sharp, but it’s probably sharp enough. You hoped male virgins still counted.

“Um, y-y-yes, I’m a virgin!” you admitted. “Not counting my right hand, that is. Or a Touhou body pillow and an old sock. I’m not sure about the pure of heart part either.”

The unicorn rolled her eyes and drew closer. “That’ll have to be good enough, I guess. I can’t afford to be picky right now. I need your help with something, human!”

You took a breath. Up close, you could smell an intoxicating lavender-ish scent, and see the faintest of rainbow sheens to the unicorn’s coat. Her hooves were cloven, not like a horse’s, and had a tuft of white hair above them. She was truly the most beautiful animal you’d ever seen.

“God, this can’t be happening,” you murmured. Help with what? An epic quest? Were you a chosen one, a great hero destined to save a fairy tale kingdom? “What do you need?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing...” the unicorn looked around nervously. “You came here alone, right?”

“Yeah. I haven’t seen anyone else around here either.”

“Good.” She came closer, until you could almost reach out and touch her flank. But you could see pain in her gait now, or at least discomfort. “I’m constipated. I need help pooping!”

“What?” Your disappointment was immeasurable and your day was thoroughly ruined.

“Please! I’ll grant you a wish, any wish you want in return for your aid! I haven’t pooped in almost a week and If I get anymore backed up I think either I’ll explode or it’ll come out my mouth!”

You stared, aghast, stupefied with disillusionment. Your brief dreams of quests and kingdoms lay in pieces among the fallen fall leaves. All you could think of to say was: “Do unicorns even poop?”

She huffed through her nostrils. “Yes, you dummy, everyone poops! Look, do you think this is just for decoration?” She turned around abruptly and lifted her tail aside. You couldn’t help but stare. On the whole, it was the best looking equine behind you’d ever seen, slender and shapely, with the skin of her vulva and winking mare donut fading to a pale pink. But still a horse’s ass. And yet, you felt an unfortunate tightness in your pants. You cursed yourself for ever daring to see whether the rule 34 of that My Little Pony show was really that bad.

“That’s a good point.”

“And it’s not rainbows either!” she said, facing you again. “That’s a stupid myth! Unless we eat Everyhue Flowers, but those’ll make anyone poop rainbows.”

“That raises more questions than it answers,” you said. The unicorn drew alongside you. You reached out your hand, and to your astonishment, she sniffed it, then let you touch her. You ran your hand along the magnificent animal’s cheek, then through her mane, and felt her heartbeat through her bony ribs. Suddenly her stomach rumbled, and she shuddered in discomfort. You had to admit, she did look kind of bloated. Her request sounded gross, but what kind of fool would refuse to help a unicorn in distress? “I’m not a vet,” you said, “But I can see what I can do.”

The unicorn followed you home. Your house was advertised as a horse property when you bought it, and even has a small barn, which you’d used as an extra garage and storage shed since you didn’t have a horse. You cleared out the firewood, ATV, dirt bike, and set of extra tires from the least cluttered stall, and headed out to your local agricultural supply store. You returned shortly thereafter with several blankets, two different jars of equine laxatives, a set of rubber gloves, and a shovel to deal with the aftermath.

She looked skeptical at the first large pill you offered. “I’ve already been eating special plants to help it come out,” she said.

“Do you want my help or not? Just try this first, the other options won’t be fun for either of us.”

The unicorn downed two of the marble-sized castor oil capsules. A few hours later, you tried plan B: a gallon of water mixed with epsom salts. She drank it down with lots of grimacing and complaining about the taste, but still there were not results. She strained and clenched, but remained unrelieved.

“Time for Plan C.” You held up a much larger pill.

“I don’t think I can swallow that,” she said. “It must be for Clydesdales or something. That’s enormous!”

“You’re not supposed to swallow it,” you said.

The unicorn pawed at the ground, clearly irritated by the lack of success now, but she was desperate. She turned around and hiked her tail aside. You donned the rubber gloves, and smeared her hole with a bit of petroleum jelly.

“Ahh! That’s cold!” she trotted away a few steps. “This isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

“How should I know. Hold still and it’ll be over faster!”

You took firm hold of the unicorn’s tail and pressed the suppository against the center of her pucker. It resisted. You pressed harder and harder, until with a soft, west SCHLUPP, it slipped in. She whinnied in distress. You pushed one finger in after it, just to make sure it was all the way in. Eww. Her hole was clean, but still, eww. You were glad you bought those gloves.

You waited with her, rubbing her bloated flank while you waited for the glycerine to take effect.

“Oh! It’s coming, I think it’s working!” the unicorn gasped. She raised her tail, and a bubbly, foaming mess of clear liquid bubbled out of her butt, making a mess of her backside. But that was all. Maybe it had a slight brown tint, but nothing more. She strained and pushed, but nothing but liquid was coming out.

Well, it was a drastic measure, but it seemed you had no other option. You led her to the garden hose, and, after thoroughly lubing it up, you threaded into her anus like a toilet snake. About eight inches in, you hit a wall. You turned on the water.

“That’s so cold!” moaned the unicorn. She raised her rump skyward as her rectum began to fill. “Oooerrr!” Water started spurting out around the hose. You tugged it free, and another gout spouted from her buttocks.

“It’s not working!” she whined.

“Try to hold it in next time, so it has time to soak in and soften whatever’s clogging you up,” you suggested.

But even after holding the enema in until it leaked out, the unicorn’s sewer line remained backed up. More was going in, and must have been getting past the blockage, because you turned the hose on for longer each time before it started leaking.

“Why? Won’t? It come out!” the unicorn stamped her hoof. She sprayed a torrent of water tinted a nasty greenish brown all over the broad side of the barn. She raised her butt and pushed hard, spouting even more filthy water. Four rounds of enemas went in, all with the same results. How could such heavy irrigation fail to unclog that unicorn’s bowels? It was getting close to sundown.

“I don’t know what else to do,” you said, throwing up your hands in defeat and tossing the gloves in the trash. “I guess I’ll have to call a vet tomorrow morning.”

“No, wait,” she said imploringly as you turned to leave. “There’s, umm, one thing you haven’t tried yet.”

“What’s that?”

The unicorn blushed profusely, which was visible through the thin white fur on her face. “You could... try to dig it out. I asked the rest of my herd to do it with their horns, but they refused and abandoned me!”

“I can’t blame them,” you said, gagging at the thought. “That’s disgusting!”

A single tear ran down the lovely equine’s cheek. “You - you won’t do it?” she said with a whimper. “Please. It hurts! I don’t know what will happen to me by morning?”

Against your better judgement, your heart was moved. You guessed the vet would probably do something similar anyway. Maybe they had a special tool to unclog a horse, you thought, but when you googled how to do it, you found a bunch of pictures of people with their whole hand up a horse’s backside.

So be it, you thought. You spread out a blanket on the stall floor, and bade the stricken beast lie down for her comfort. You ran your hand over her thigh and rump. “If you kick me, the deal’s off,” you warned her, and lifted her tail aside. Eww, it was all wet and not exactly clean! The enemas had made a mess of her hindquarters, and the last round came out pretty brown. You rinsed her off with the hose, but more must have leaked out. Fuck, it was on your hands! Wait, where were your gloves? You stumbled off to find them. The trash can! You opened the bin, only to find them punctured by a discarded plastic clamshell package that had gone right through the trash bag. Why did they have to make those things so tough and sharp? Where was the other glove? Oh, shit, it had slid down to the bottom of the can, where a bag of kitchen refuse was leaking a rotten fluid right into the opening.

Fuck. Well, you could always try using a broom handle or something. But, you considered, you might injure her. No, you’d have to use your hand, for the feeling. You returned to the stall in defeat.

“What happened to your gloves?”

“Don’t ask. I haven’t come up with a wish yet, but you’d better grant it real good to make up for this!”

You smear some more petroleum jelly on your hand. Fuck, her butt’s leaked even more. There’s a dirty puddle where you’ll have to sit. Swearing, you take off all your clothes. She looks back and blushes even harder.

“I thought you were going to use your hand,” she said. “I don’t want to be rude, but are you sure that’s long enough to reach where it’s stuck?”

You looked down. Oh fuck, you had a boner. “I am using my hand!” you said. “Ignore this. It’s just high blood pressure. I’m just stripping down so I don’t ruin my clothes. You’re naked all the time anyway, so it shouldn’t bother you, right?”

“It doesn’t bother me at all,” she said.

You sat down behind her in the filthy puddle. Fuck, that was nasty. You pulled her tail out of the way again. Your stomach lurched as you stared at her winking sphincter. Was this really happening? It was like one of those twisted wish corruption forum games. You get to meet a real live unicorn, but you have to reach your bare hand up your ass and dig out a clog of shit. Just your luck. You rubbed her donut gently, feeling every wrinkle and tiny vein, then gritted your teeth and penetrated her with one finger. She gasped.

“Ohhh, my! That feels funny!”

“Easy, girl. I’m trying to be gentle.” You worked the digit in and out a few times, then added another, then a third. PBLORRRPP! A massive, wet fart rippled her cheeks, but you perservered. “Here it comes,” you said, patting her butt. “Try to relax.”

The unicorn did so. Little by little, you slid your hand into your stretched hole and felt the walls of her rectum. Slimy, yes, but no blockage.

“NNnfff! Oh, wow!”

“Stop making this awkward! This isn’t supposed to be sexual!” you complained as you probed deeper. And deeper. And deeper. Finally, you felt something different, with half your forearm inside her. You shuddered in revulsion. It was firm, a lumpy, gritty texture, and a little squishy. Very moist. You wanted to puke. “I found the clog,” you said, and felt around it. It was massive, much bigger around than the hole that was already taut against your fist. “Jeez, no wonder you’re all backed up!” you felt sorry for the poor beast.

You dug your fingers into the massive impacted log, working them from side to side until you prized a chunk free. You kept digging, and digging, and withdrew, pulling out a handful of dung. It was horrible to behold and worse to smell: a dark greenish brown, all fibrous and clumpy. “Try pushing now.”

Still it wouldn’t budge, so you had to plunge your hand into her poop chute again, and again, scooping out more and more waste. You worked on the side until with a sudden release, hot liquid flooded past your hand. SPLRPLRBLBKKGLRRKK! With a noise like a clogged toilet finally flushing, muddy water and noxious, bubbling expulsions of gas poured past thh clog and washed over your arm. You withdrew your wrist, and at least a gallon of foul liquid pours out of her asshole. But that was still only releasing a little of the pressure. You bravely kept mining her colon: you hooked your fingers into the obstruction and tugged. “Push again,” you said. The unicorn pushed and strained with all her might, and the log slid slowly forward. Several inches from the exit it stopped now, but you kept scooping out handful after handful of manure. It was truly appalling to be part of this process. A creature that had always been a symbol of purity, excreting such abominably impure refuse. But you also felt an intimate connection with the unicorn. She looked back at you with those soulful blue eyes, watching as you wiped your hand on her thigh, smearing her beautiful white fur with her own dung.

“I feel so dirty,” she said mournfully.

“I’ll hose you down when it’s over.”

“Not just like that,” she said. “It... feels kind of good.”

You glanced down at her vulva. It’s leaking a clear, milky liquid. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” you groan. “That’s TMI! I know it’s not your fault any more than it’s my fault for getting a boner, but you could’ve kept it to yourself while I have your hand up your ass!” Speak of the devil, your dick was raging stiff. But also covered in chunks of unicorn shit. As if the situation couldn’t get any more awkward.

You decided to finish off the bowel obstruction once and for all. You dug out pieces from the center, until the titanic log collapsed in on itself. Something gave way. The mass of impacted horseapples suddenly lurched forward, pushing your hand out of her and stretching her hole just as wide. You could only watch in awestruck horror as a thick, slimy shit-serpent at least four inches across slithered out of her ass into your lap, slipped out faster and faster. It was getting smoother and softer as it went, until when it was three feet long it was just a fibrous mass of dung. The unicorn moaned in distress. Not knowing what else to do, you patted her thigh comfortingly and watched helpless as she took the biggest dump of her life right in your lap.

That was when the explosion happened. The pent up result of all those laxatives put together was just waiting to be set free, and with the clog finally expelled, woe be unto anything in its path. An infernally ghastly volley of soft, fibrous road apples blasted from her backside with a thunderous, roaring outburst of filly flatulence, accompanied by a huge amount of brown colon juice. It splattered violently against your stomach and chest, but the worst was yet to come. The unicorn whinnied, writhed, and kicked at the air. She arched her back as another violent cramp hit her, loosing another explosive shart and a firehose like jet of sloppy yellow-green horseapplesauce, then an obscene, pulpy fecal soup.

It went everywhere. There was no chance the gloves would have saved you from this horrific assplosion. Globs of muck and streams of liquid shit sprayed you with such power that it splashed everywhere: fouling your face with fermented sewage and rebounding to rain down upon the poor unicorn.

“Eww! Shit, it’s all over me!” she whinnied. With the natural reaction of a panicked mare she jumped to her feet and bolted.

“No! Don’t!”

This wasn’t a healthy instinct in a stall. She crashed into the wall, wedging her horn deep into the planks with a resounding crack. “Oww! Help, I’m stuck!”

You were still too stunned by what had just transpired to realize the new danger until it was too late. The unicorn was standing up now, and you were directly behind her. Another gout of waste spewed out of her. She raised her tail too late, leaving it dripping with filth, then leaving you dripping from filth from head to toe as you were deluged in projectile unicorn shit. She was right. Not a hint of rainbows, just a foul, dirty brown.

“Ugh! What the fuck?” you yelled, retching from the stench of the abhorrent substance. You tried to wipe it off your face.

“I am so, so sorry!” the unicorn cried. She struggled to get free. The blanket slid under her hooves, tugging you closer to her dripping behind. Then with a splintering crash, the planks of the stall divider gave way. She stumbled backward with a frightened whinny, tripped over the blanket, and fell, rumpfirst, right on top of you. She landed on your chest, knocking the wind out of you. Her dirty tail was in your face, dung-matted locks getting in your nose and mouth. “Oops.”

“Get off me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea yet.”

“Get. Off!”

The unicorn started to get up, but shat herself before she could rise. A squirt of diarrhea nailed you in the face. She sat down immediately, and continued to evacuate her bowels on your chest. A river of liquid shit flowed from her hole, with a procession of waterlogged lumpy horseapples swept out of her intestines on the brown tide.

“I’m! I’m sorry!” she said with choking sobs. You couldn’t stay mad at such a woeful and forlorn unicorn. You patted her rump in forgiveness. She rolled off of you and lay there in the puddle of her own filth. You noticed that she still had a foot long piece of wall planking impaled on her horn. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh? What’s wrong? How could this possibly get any worse?”

“I think I’m clogged again.”

You spent another fifteen minutes elbow-deep in the unicorn while you tried to dig even more shit out of her ass. It released another waterfall of liquid shit, and you had to duck out of the way when muddy projectile spurts sprayed the wall. She was so disgusting, and yet, it made her feel more beautiful, more real, to see the mythical ideal of purity and perfection reveal this part of her. Especially when she started peeing from being fisted, drenching both her legs and your own in a yellow waterfall.

When it was finally over, you looked at the appalling mess she’d made of the stall. “I’ll clean that up later,” you announced. Or maybe burn the barn down. The sun was setting now, and by the time you finished hosing down the unicorn and yourself, it was night. You had to be thorough, scrubbing every inch of her with soap and water. Even very private areas.

At last, the unicorn was as pristine as when you’d first seen her, though still sopping wet. You were also sopping wet, and buck naked too.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and bowed her head in respect. “You have been truly noble. Now, about your wish...”

You were so focused on trying to clean up the horrific mess that you’d nearly forgotten. “I still don’t know what I want to wish for,” you admitted. “Unless you can clean up my barn with your magic.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” she said. “That which comes from my body is unaffected by my magic.”

“Then I don’t know. Even if today was really gross and annoying, just spending time with you, with a real unicorn, was more than I could dream of.”

Her eyes flitted away from yours. “You’ve fallen in love with me,” she said.

“What? No!”

“Yes you have. We unicorns have the power to know these things.”

“Damnit, really? Well, it would never work out. We’re different species and everything.”

“Only a virgin who is pure of heart can win that of a unicorn.” She stepped closer, nuzzled your cheek, and layed her elegant head on your shoulder. “You have proven that yours is pure, and so won mine.”

Your heart hammered faster and faster. She smelled like lavender again, although that might have been the soap you used. “Just so you know, love for a human means... different things than for a unicorn.”

“It means exactly the same thing, you dummy!” she turned around, flashing her still wet rump at you at most closer range. “Did you think this was for decoration?”

You stared at her winking equine pussy. Curse all those hours of clopping to cartoon ponies, some with rather realistically drawn genitals. You couldn’t deny, she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, even from this angle. “You’re saying if my wish was to mate with you, I could wish for that?”

She looked back at you with a seductive look in her eyes. “You are a very silly human,” she said. “I wouldn’t make you waste your wish on that.”

The image flashed in your mind of her standing there covered in her own filth while you washed her off. Your heart throbbed, and so did your lower regions of your anatomy. You remembered the warm, sticky feeling of her evacuating her bowels all over you, and the soft, squishy sensations of having your hand inside her. “I think I’ve thought of a wish. Did part of you like the messy parts too?”

The unicorn turned and faced you again. Even in the glow of your porch light, you could see her blush. “I guess so,” she said. “It felt good.”

“Then I wish we could do that again sometimes.”

“You... wish for me to explode with runny poop, all over you and myself?”

You gulped. “I do.”

“I would be happy to try it,” she said, “But I told you, my magic doesn’t work on what comes from my own body.”

“No, but those pills I got seem to,” you said, scratching the unicorn’s ear. “And there’s still a lot left in those bottles.”

“Don’t forget the hose. But perhaps you could make the water less cold next time. By the way, do you have another place for me to sleep?”

“Yes I do.” You led the way to the house, and the unicorn carefully followed you up the stairs to your bedroom. The bed frame creaked under her weight, but it held. Your crawled in beside her, and curled up between the unicorn’s legs.

“Good night,” she said, and lovingly licked your hair. Her horn twinkled with a pink glow, and the lights switched off.

Day 18: Olfactophilia

Today, Sandra the Skunk visited Filthyfur Studios, and Tracie the ferret drew the short straw on having to play with her. She whimpered as the skunk sidled up to her.

“Kneel,” Sandra ordered, and pushed Tracie’s head down with her hand. Sandra wasn’t a very tall fur, but she was bigger than Tracie (which wasn’t that hard), and had an imposing personality. She was wearing a short, ruffly skirt with fishnet leggings and a vest over her red bra. Once Tracie knelt, she saw that the skunkette was wearing black panties as well.

What could make even a bunch of scat-addicted furs quail at the prospect of being in a room with Sandra? Her oppressive musk, and her love of using it on others. But there were worse things than musk.

Sandra waved her voluminous, fluffy tail in Tracie’s face, brushing the slightly musky fur over the ferret, then shimmied her panties down her legs.

“You’re awfully quiet today, Tracie. Do you want to sniff my used panties?”

“What does me being quiet have to do with your panties?” Tracie said. God, Sandra stank. She wanted to hold her nose, but her hands were cuffed together by a leather strap, and tied to another strap that ran between her skinny legs. Her feet were bound with a short spreader bar, preventing escape.

“Nothing really.” Sandra’s panties fell to her ankles. She stepped out of them and picked them up, bending over and brushing her tail against Tracie again. “But I know you want these. I’ve been wearing these for three days. And I haven’t showered!” she said in a stage whisper. “I haven’t wiped my butt either. Don’t you wanna take a big, long whiff?” She shoved them in the unfortunate ferret’s face. Tracie looked pleadingly at the camera crew, who were filming the action in gas masks and full hazmat suits. Nobody came to her aid. The skunk pressed the fabric, damp with musk and crusty with vaginal discharge and dried skidmarks, right up against her nose. Tracie’s eyes watered from the unbearable stench. She gagged, and dripped drool onto her flat chest.

“Oh, is it making you sick already? We’ve barely started!” Sandra teased, waving the panties in Tracie’s face some more, then tossing them away. She gripped the ferret’s ear and roughly shoved her face into her crotch. “Sniff. How do I smell, bitch?”

“Terrible.”

Sandra slapped her across the face. “The answer’s with my nose. Your punishment for getting it wrong is smelling my butt.”

This would have been torture even without Sandra’s lack of personal hygiene. The residual musk the skunk produced tended to leave her plenty of personal space on the bus. With three days worth of swamp ass and skidmarked fur, it was appalling. Tracie’s head swam.

“How does that smell?” Sandra asked.

“With your nose,” Tracie groaned, her brain too addled by the abominable stench to see the trap.

“Wrong! My butt smells terrible. And now so will you!” She planted a kick in Tracie’s ribs, pushing the ferret onto her back. She stood over her, hiked up her skirt for the benefit of the cameras, and began to cruelly hose her down with her urine. This at least Tracie could stand. Being a ferret, her own urine was pretty musky too, and she regularly soaked herself in it, poured it on her face, and drank it. But she squirmed and writhed under the skunk’s golden shower anyway. Soon her fur was drenched, thoroughly marked with Sandra’s urine.

But the real torture began when Sandra bend over and raised her tail high. She spread her buttcheeks, and with a sadistic laugh, sprayed. Right in Tracie’s face. Poor Tracie immediately retched. It smelled like a burning tower of tires that had all been driven through the contents of an overturned portapotty. Bile filled the ferret’s throat. Sandra sprayed her with several more squirts of her noxious anal secretions, then forced Tracie’s head under her tail and completely emptied her glands right in her mouth and nose.

“HEEEUURRRRKKK!” Tracie couldn’t take it anymore. She puked a waterfall of regurgitated IHOP breakfast food all over the floor and herself. Sandra pushed her down into the puddle and held her under a paw.

“Had enough yet?”

“Yes!” Tracie sobbed. Her eyes were watering so hard she couldn’t see.

“Too bad. I just had five breakfast burritos drenched in tabasco sauce. You like getting shit on, don’t you?”

Some things were worse even than getting sprayed. Tracie was dragged to kneeling again, and forced to put her head between Sandra’s legs.

SSSPPBBWWAAAAADDDDTTTT. The sadistic skunk pushed out a massive wet fart, followed by a crackling ribbon of feces that draped itself over Tracie’s muzzle like chocolate garlands.

“Mmm... doesn’t that smell tasty?”

“No...” Tracie moaned. She was still drooling from nausea. She was one of the best scat eaters at the studio, but Sandra’s loads were truly appalling: polluted with her foul musk as well as the skunk’s horrific diet.

“Liar. You’re addicted to shit, you said so in your last video. What’s wrong, is my shit not good enough for you? Open your mouth, slut.”

Tracie had no choice but to obey. Sandra pushed hard, and opened fire with a volley of gassy chocolate chunk. She gagged as she was splattered with filth, and only professional dedication motivated her to put her maw right to Sandra’s sphincter just in time to receive a seething mass of spicy, skunky fudge. If the smell was bad (it was), the taste was a hundred times worse. She spat it out, choking and coughing.

“Eat it, you stupid ferret.”

“I - I c-c-can't! Heeurrrghhh!”

“Pathetic. Well, you’ll have plenty more chances. I’m not done yet.”

“Why do you have to eat spicy food right before shooting?”

“What are you, a turd connessiour now?”

Sandra squirted a stream of horribly runny, nearly watery diarrhea all over Tracie’s muzzle and forehead. The ferret fell to all fours, vomiting even harder, only to receive yet another greasy fecal slick on her back. Then Sandra began smearing her filth all over her, making sure to work her noxious stench into her victim’s fur all the way to the skin. “Ha ha, I’m making you all stinky!” she laughed. She took a big whiff of Tracie, then buried her nose in the ferret’s shit-smeared breasts. She stuffed some of her own waste into her mouth, just to make her breath extra foul when she kissed Tracie. This earned her a mouthful of vomit, but she didn’t even care.

This soon turned into mutual mud wrestling, though, because Tracie’s arousal at being dominated and degraded like this soon overpowered her sense of smell. Even bound hand and foot, she was flexible and slippery. She wanted to be drowned in stench now. She wanted to be rendered so utterly filthy and repugnant that no one could go within a hundred yards of her without vomiting for a year.

Soon both furs were covered in shit. Sandra’s skirt was off and she was missing one stocking. “Whoa, slow down there!” the skunk said as Tracie, crawling on the shitty floor like a worm, shoved her nose right under her tail and took deep, huffing whiffs. “Okay, fine, if this is how you wanna do it.”

Tracie took a load of raw skunk spray right in the nostrils, and another spurt of putrescent anal gland secretion right against her tongue. She was nearly blinded by tears, but she wanted more. She lapped and slurped at Sandra’s anus until the skunk diarrhead violently right in her mouth. Hot, spicy, spunky skunk butt soup flooded over her molars. She swallowed, and crawled up onto Sandra.

“Fuck, your breath reeks Tracie.” The skunk held her nose and fanned herself.

“Whose fault is that?” Tracie asked before kissing her on the lips.

“Okay, cut!” Charlotte the poodle shouted through her gas mask.

“Cut? We’ve barely gotten started!” whined Tracie.

“Too bad, the smell’s leaking through my gas mask and I’m going to puke in it if this goes on any longer. Anabelle, you hose them down. I’ll get the vinegar and tomato juice.”

Day 19: Feet

Today, Alex the ranch hand slept through his alarm. Nobody woke him until it was close to noon. When he saw what time it was he ran out of the dormitory in a panic, knowing he’d completely forgotten about his morning chores.

“Nice of you to join us finally, boy,” drawled the foreman, leaning on a shovel. “You completely forgot your morning chores.”

“Sorry,” Alex said. “What was on my schedule this morning?”

The foreman handed him the shovel. “Muckin out Sandy and Cinnamon’s stall.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly. They’re in deep shit, and so are you now.”

Mucking out horse stalls was never a pleasant task, and a stall the two most productive mares on the ranch had been shut in overnight was nothing short of herculean. There weren’t just errant piles of droppings on the straw: between them they pooped enough on a typical night to totally cover the floor. This morning Alex found the two mares waiting for him, still in their filthy stall. Cinnamon gave an irritated toss of her head.

“About time you got here,” the thoroughbred said haughtily. “You’ve got your work cut out for you this morning.”

“Yeah, we had a big dinner, and they fed us breakfast in here because we’re such a mess.” Sandy seemed more cheerful about the situation, though Alex knew both mares were thoroughly enjoying it.

Alex wasn’t exactly surprised to find the entire stall floor buried in dung to a depth of at least six inches. The horses had slept standing up, so they were spared the worst of the devastation, but when he led them out of the stall he saw that their hooves and ankles were utterly filthy from wading in their own muck.

“Looks like this’ll take me a while,” the stablehand sighed, and picked up his manure shovel.

“Hold your horses there!” The foreman stood silhouetted in the barn door. “You can leave that stall for later. The Farrier’s comin’ by at three to reshoe those two, so you’d better get those hooves spotless!”

“Cleaning their hooves shouldn’t take that long,” Alex said. It would only be a quick wash with the house and a scrub in the nastier bits. “Assuming they behave.”

“Not the way you’ll be doin’ it,” the foreman said gruffly. He shoved a small object in Alex’s hand. It was a toothbrush. A familiar looking toothbrush.

“Isn’t this my toothbrush?”

“You ain't gotta use it if you don’t want to,” said Sandy.

“I don’t think he deserves to use any kind of brush,” Cinnamon said syrupily. Suddenly the mare snatched it out of Alex’s hands and tossed it away into a haystack. It would probably be a little easier to find than a needle, Alex thought, but he didn’t have time. “We were standing in our own waste all morning.”

Alex resigned himself to his fate. He was going to have to use his tongue. He knew the mares too well to think they’d let him get away with anything else. The foreman knew them too. He was already making himself scarce, but called back: “Get it all outta your systems before the farrier comes, you two. He’s complained about you the last three times he had to shoe you.”

Alex got to work. He sat down on a stool, and lifted one of Cinnamon’s disgusting, manure-caked hooves into his lap. She was such a dirty horse. It was dried and crusty in places, and straw bedding clung to the loathsome mess. He wiped off as much of it as he could: the straw always got stuck in his teeth. He lifted the bay mare’s filth hoof to his face, took a deep sniff of the vile, sickly sweet odor, and began to lick her hoof and horseshoe clean. His tongue excavated putrid scoops of the sticky sludge from the inside of her hoof, but it was caked on so thick that he was barely making a dent. Flies swarmed around the mares and their attendant. Bits of straw and poorly digested grass caught in his teeth. It was a truly vile punishment, but it was just the kind of thing that he was used to, and in fact he’d creamed his pants from being made to worship the sexy mare’s disgusting hooves before he’d finished the first one.

One hoof down, seven to go... it wasn’t exactly clean, but it wasn’t quite as bad. He switched to Sandy, licking her forehoof until she gagged, then back to Cinnamon, cleaning one of her forehooves. Two down, six to go.

He heard the heavy plop of manure splatting onto the ground: a noise that continued for some time as Sandy let out a massive dump. Then he heard a muddy squelch.

“Aww, shucks, looks like I’ve trod in something. Looks like you’ll have to start this hoof over again.”

Alex sighed. Seven to go again. Of course, the moment he let Cinnamon go, the filthy thoroughbred trod in Sandy’s fresh manure pile with both of the hooves he’d just cleaned. Back to square one. It looked like he was going to be here a while.

Day 20: Foodplay

Today, FilthyFur Studios received an anonymous donation of a large amount of expired food from a fan who happened to manage a local grocery store. It had sat out in the sun all afternoon before someone noticed it, so Annabelle the vixen, Charlotte the Poodle, Erica the snow leopard, and the latest addition to the collective, Isadora the goat, knew just what to do to keep it from going to waste.

“Food fight!” Anabelle cheered, and flung a slice of cake from the bakery section at Charlotte. It missed and hit the wall.

“Hey!” the poodle scolded her friend. “Not until we get the cameras set up! And don’t knock anything over!”

“Sorry.”

The food fight began in earnest not five minutes later, with the pair squirting bottles of ketchup and mustard on each other at close range, wrestling and smearing the mess all over each other. Erica and Isadora quickly joined in with mayonaisse and ranch dressing as well as baked goods, and soon all four were covered in weaponized condiments, but the fun was only beginning. Some of the donated items had shapes that lended themselves to more nefarious uses which, being completely in the nude, the quartet were all too vulnerable to. Isadora penetrated Charlotte with a browning banana, sliding the overripe fruit in and out until it was soaked with the poodle’s juices, then ate it, peel and all.

“Don’t forget these are expired,” said Charlotte.

“Well, you know what they say about us goats,” Isadora answered with a giggle. “We can eat anything!”

“Did you even take the sticker off that first?”

“Nope.”

“Whatever. Eat at your own risk.”

“Come on,” said Annabelle: “It’s not like we don’t eat way worse things all the time.”

“Yeah!” Isadora held up a large cucumber. “Whoever wants this, bend over!”

The goat was immediately spoiled for choice, with all three of her friends’ tails raised high. She chose Annabelle’s rump, and shoved the cucumber’s whole length, over a foot of firm vegetable girth, into the vixen’s rectum. It didn’t stay there for long. The tip of the cucumber crowned and it slid out, into Isadora’s mouth. But she wasn’t interested in deepthroating the unsanitary squash: the goat bit down, chomping off a piece, chewing, and swallowing. She accepted another two inches of the cucumber as Anabelle pushed it out, then another, devouring the whole thing despite it coming out flecked with brown.

But the real stars of the show were a dozen bottles of whipped cream, two big jars of applesauce, and a big pot of instant oatmeal prepared by their co-star Lapis (who’d drawn the short straw on not participating). Charlotte laughed as she fondled Isadora’s messy rump. She shook the first bottle of whipped cream up, pressed the nozzle to her friend’s pucker, and squirted a generous helping into her. The poodle bent over, and Annabelle emptied a whole bottle into her anus. Anabelle was no less ambitious. As for Erica? The snow leopard loved nothing more than diapers, and white whipped cream didn’t show up well on white padding. Her previous diaper had long since fallen off, helped by the fact that she’d been wearing it all day and wet herself four times. Charlotte wiped most of the food off her rump, laid out a fresh diaper, and began filling her ass with an assortment of foods: first another mushy banana, then half the jar of applesauce, then almost a pint of thick, gloppy oatmeal.

The food didn’t stay in them for long. Erica lapped at Anabelle’s rear until with a wet SPPLRBLRT, a gout of whipped cream squirted into her mouth. Isadora squatted over the vixen and expelled a shower of white onto her back, painting her reddish fur, then sat on her butt and noisily produced a massive puddle of it, with gassy spurts splattering Erica’s face. The goat took her turn behind the vixen’s leaking ass, then knelt and raised her hands in supplication to Charlotte. The poodle grinned, bend over and spread her cheeks wide with her hands, and with a loud BBRAPPBBRT, sharted a gassy explosion of Redi-Whip that blasted Isadora’s muzzle with the force of pitching an entire custard pie in her face. The food fight continued with butt-cream splattering everywhere. Erica lay in her diaper, fighting to keep it clean but relishing the desperation of everything that had been forced into her fighting to escape. Finally, with a grunt, the snow leopard got up on her hands and knees, lifted her fluffy (although currently matted with ketchup and mustard) tail, and pushed.

PPBBLORRTCCHHH! A warm mass of oatmeal and applesauce burst into the feline’s diaper, bulging the seat outward as she involuntarily filled her padding. “Uh oh...” Erica moaned. It felt just like messing herself. SQRLRLRLPTT. More runny applesauce squirted out of her. It was so warm and gooey, squishing all over her privates.

Meanwhile, Annabelle was on her third helping of whipped cream. SPPLLBBTTT. PPRRRRBBBLLRLTSCH! A stream of runny melted cream sprayed Charlotte’s tits. Then, to the delight of the poodle on the receiving end, her expulsion turned into chocolate chunk. Lumps of mushy half-dissolved fecal matter splattered Charlotte’s chest, followed by a coil of melty white and brown swirled soft-serv piling up in her cleavage.

“Eww,” laughed the poodle. “Looks like you had to poop, didn’t you, mon dirty fox?”

“Mmm...” Anabelle lapped at her pussy. Suddenly a fountain of filthy, milky liquid spouted from the dog’s ass too, forming a big puddle on the floor. PLAARBRRT. SPBRURRSCHPLCKKK! Coils of soft shit oozed and spurted out of her. “Looks like you did too!”

“Wow, it’s like watching a bird shit!” Isadora dipped her hand in the puddle and splatted it down on her breasts. “Ugh, I’m gonna explode too.” The goat bent over, and her derriere detonated in a chunky mudslide that left Annabelle’s back coated in milky fluid and lumps of goat dung. She stood up, rubbed her stomach, and sharted a creamy brown-tainted waterfall down her legs.

The three of them helped give each other another round of whipped cream up the butt. Erica watched enviously. The snow leopard was still steadily filling her diaper. Her padding was soaked with urine thanks to her pushing so hard she peed herself as well, and the mush just kept coming. Waves of applesauce, oatmeal, and banana mash bulged her seat out more than three inches, just in time for the inserted food to run out. An enormous, soft log coiled up in the seat of her ruined diaper, followed by an avalanche of sludge.

Isadora lay down on her back, opened her mouth, and let Charlotte fill it with her latest whipped cream enema. It looked like normal whipped cream at first, but then a six inch long, mushy turd slipped out at high speed and plunged into the airy substance, making the goat gag. Undeterred by her friend’s distress, Charlotte pushed out a ghastly brown river of Crème de Colon Soup, then even more soft-serv. But Isadora had only been surprised by the semisolid dogshit hitting the back of her throat. She didn’t mind the taste at all. The goat slurped greedily at the bountiful chocolate fountain under her friend’s tail, smacking her lips and rubbing the muck in Charlotte’s curly pale grey fur.

“My diaper’s getting really full, guys,” Erica purred. “See? I could use a change.”

“You’ll have to wait, sweetie. We’re busy.” Charlotte was already sliding under Isadora’s butt to be subjected to a similarly violent assplosion. Airy outbursts of spluttering cream mixed with gooey fecal pellets and wet, sloppy milk mud burst from her backside. Erica’s stomach cramped. She felt the seat of her ruined diaper. Wet mush was covering every inch of skin held within the padding. It was nothing but a lake of slurry between her legs.

“Seriously, I can’t wait. I’m about to have a blowout!” Erica looked pleadingly to Annabelle, but the vixen was busy having some solo fun. The flexible fox had turned herself upside down and was squirting a can of whipped cream up her ass.

Erica squirted more mud into her diaper and crawled to Charlotte to lick her ass. Her padding was sagging dangerously. Mmm... she purred and rubbed her whiskers against the poopy poodle’s shit-caked bottom. Warm, fresh cream spurted from her pucker and spattered her face. Cream for a dirty kitty, Erica though, and lapped up more filthy whipped cream. Her gut rumbled. She pushed, and with a wet PPBRUPPP, her diaper exploded. Something runny squirted up her back. The shitty snow leopard giggled and sat down in her mess, bursting the leg guards and sending a massive wave of sludge over the floor, which all three furs proceeded to roll in. After covering herself in waste, the leopardess sat up, stuck her hand into the deep lake of oatmeal, applesauce, and shit that filled her diaper, and started rubbing herself while she watched Annabelle throw the empty can of whipped cream away.

The vixen held it in for almost a minute, but her butthole was bulging out from the pressure inside her, and she soon exploded. A geyser of whipped cream spewed three feet in the air and rained down on the filthy fox, showering her from head to toe in gooey dollops of cream. A huge pile of it squirted airily out onto her rump, then slid down onto her face with a wet splat. Just when it seemed Anabelle would paint herself white, she erupted with a gurgling fountain of foul, milky liquid of a disgusting tan color, flecked with small chunks of excrement. This soon turned to a brown geyser, and heavy dollops of a sludgy mixture of milk and stool. A vile river of liquid shit ran down the vixen’s front, and the putrid volcano filled her mouth and covered her face.

With the vixen’s bowels empty, Isadora finally gave Erica a sorely needed diaper change. The annhilated diaper was full of massive amounts of sludge. The greedy goat scooped up a big handful and stuffed it right in her mouth, then knelt down and ate right from the pile.

“Eww. It’s not just oatmeal and applesauce in there you know!” Erica said hypocritically, as she was also happily playing in and eating her own mess.

“Don’t worry, I know.” The goat slurped at Erica’s tailhole until she received another mouthful of soft serv. “Mmm. It still tastes banana-ey!”

The oatmeal was getting cold now, so the four furs warmed it up inside their rectums and shat thick, gloppy rivers of the stuff onto each other. Isadora gulped down a generous mouthful from Charlotte’s butt.

“Hey, girls. Run out of whipped cream yet?” Lapis shuffled in, clutching her stomach. “Oh shit. You’re not eating that oatmeal, are you?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Isadora asked with her mouth full.

“The milk you got tasted funny and it was really lumpy,” said the cat. "I chugged a glass and it did this to me.”

The filthy foursome gasped in horror as they saw that Lapis’s white fur and leggings were completely stained and soaked with foul yellowish-brown liquid. The cat stood at the end of a trail of wet, filthy pawprints. With a plaintive mew she clutched her stomach, bent over, and exploded in her clothes again, flooding them with a torrent of watery poop.

“You’re lactose intolerant anyway,” said Anabelle, still dumping a load of warm oatmeal onto Erica.

“Still, it’s not usually this bad just from a glass of milk.” Lapis looked down at the puddle of diarrhea she was now standing in. “I’m just warning you, this might be you in a couple hours.”

"So there’s no reason to get cleaned up early, then?” Charlotte grinned.

Lapis smiled. “I guess not. Mind if I join in?” Without waiting for an answer she groaned, bent over, and tugged her ruined leggings down just in time. An oppressively foul-smelling stream of muddy liquid spewed from under her tail, spraying the poodle with filth.

Charlotte shook her face off. “Sure. We’re out of whipped cream, though.”

“I’ve got three more cucumbers!” Isadora said excitedly. “And you look like you could use something to plug you up!”

Day 21: Bathing

Today, Lapis didn’t visit Filthyfur’s studio space: she was still recovering from the food poisoning that had afflicted her and her four co-stars yesterday thanks to some extremely sour milk. The occupational hazards of being a scat star. The white cat stumbled into the bathroom with her fur disheveled and bags under her eyes. On a whim, she decided to set her phone up on a tripod and start recording.

“Hey, guys,” she mumbled. “I thought I’d record a little behind the scenes video to show that making shit porn isn’t all fun and glamour. I gave myself a spot of food poisoning yesterday making a video. I’ve been on and off the toilet all day, and I’ve gone through two rolls of toilet paper, a box of wet wipes... three pairs of panties, one pair of pajamas, and a set of sheets and blankets. I’ve been wiping and showering after the accidents, but I still feel really gross. I think what I need is a nice, warm, relaxing bath, and I thought I’d let you internet people join me for it.”

Lapis started the bathwater running, waited until it was the right temperature, and plugged the drain. She pulled off her old t-shirt, her sweatpants, and her panties without any dramatic flair or flaunting. Maybe the video wouldn’t be worth posting, but she didn’t really care. She waited for the tub to fill. Once it was six inches deep or so she adjusted the phone to film it, and slowly sank into the warm water. “Ahh... oh my god.” Her muscles ached from spending so much time on the toilet, and hurling into a trash can a couple times. Even her tailhole was sore from having diarrhea all night. She thought she’d slept it off by now, and had a pretty big lunch. Rest and plenty of fluids, and a long, relaxing soak, that was just the cure she needed.

But just as the bathwater was starting to cool, Lapis felt the urge building up again. Her stomach ached as bubbles of gas gurgled through her, and her intestines felt like they were writhing inside her. Her body was giving her a warning, but how long would it last?

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Not again.” She looked at the toilet. How long would she be glued to that seat this time? She imagined herself leaping from the tub and sprinting, dripping, to the toilet. Then she imagined herself not making it. The cat’s heart began to beat faster. She reached between her legs and gave herself a small rub. She didn’t really feel like getting up. “I think maybe it’s not over after all.”

She waited a few minutes longer. The urge was getting stronger, and it was getting more and more uncomfortable to hold it in. She looked longingly at the toilet. But it was so comfortable in the bath. So warm...

No, it wasn’t worth getting up. The white cat just sat up a bit straighter in her bath and succumbed to the urge. All it took was a little relaxation and the slightest tensing of her abs. It just came out as a quiet squirt. “Oh, no. Oops!” she watched as a yellowish-brown cloud spread out in the bathwater. The water absorbed the smell at first, but it built up gradually. She let another pulse of liquid escape her butt, groaned, and put her hand to her crotch. “Uh oh. Looks like I wasn’t done. Now I’ve went and pooed my bathwater!”

She looked pleadingly at the camera. She’d done it on purpose, but the truth was it wasn’t too far from being an accident. She sloshed her paw around in the filthy water, spreading the cloud out more. “Oh well. I guess I’m not getting clean in this bath. There’s no point trying to make it to the toilet now, either.”

Lapis lifted her hindpaws out of the dirty water and pushed. A big bubble rose to the surface, then a bunch of small ones as foaming sewage rushed out of her. She hadn’t been in the mood to play with herself before, but actually shitting herself instantly put her in the mood. She rubbed her pussy some more while the pressure inside her built up, then put her hand against her tailhole. The cat sighed in pleasure as the hot jet of liquid hit her fingers, like a jacuzzi with no bubbles. It felt so good. Lapis always enjoyed an enema in her bath, but it was coming out of her so watery she didn’t even need one.

She splashed around a bit more, reveling in the stench and naughty feeling of bathing in her own toilet water. She ran her fingers through her fur, rinsing herself in raw sewage, and slid further and further down, until her head sank in. Deeper, deeper... warm water filled her ears. She slid her feet further up the dub wall and pushed herself down until it covered her eyes. Not quite deep enough to go all the way under, so she turned her head to the side and blew bubbles. She sat up, dripping, as her stomach rumbled again. “Ooohh... Hnnn... I still have to go!”

With that, she knelt in the tub and let runny shit dribble and squirt into the water. It was so loose and sloppy it instantly dissolved and added to the bath’s brown coloration. Lapis reached down and rubbed her dirty tailhole, probing at it with questing fingers. She penetrated herself, but before she got her finger up to the second knuckle, she was hit with another powerful urge. She pulled it out, held her hand there, and defecated, filling her paw with a stream of lumpy diarrhea. “Fuck,” she moaned. She held it up. This was really nasty. She started smearing herself with it, wiping the stinking sludge all over her sopping fur. More dollops of mushy shit plopped into the water. She fished them out and used them to cover herself even worse.

Soon both the cat and her bathwater were brown all over. But it still wasn’t stopping. She knelt on all fours, expelling pulsing spurts of diarrhea. An extra powerful outburst, blocked by a rare solid chunk until the pressure built up, splattered the entire back wall of the tub with foul yellow-brown mud.

“Holy shit.” Lapis inspected the damage. “Ugh, fuck, it got on the floor. And my towel. That’s what I get for filming this instead of using the shower curtain!” She sniffed at it. There was still a faint smell of poorly digested milk. Only the danger of another day stuck in the bathroom prevented her from licking it, but she happily rubbed her face against the spattered tile, purring contentedly.

With her bladder and bowels mostly empty, Lapis settled down in her brown bathwater for another soak, still pushing out spurts of diarrhea whenever she felt the urge. “I think I’m going to need a shower after this,” she said. “Oh, well. Baths are better for relaxation than for getting clean anyway.”