This is a story involving a young man's solo scat fantasies, progressing on to light and heavy scat and other sexual activities between young adult males. All characters are over the age of eighteen. If this isn't your sort of thing or it is illegal for you to view it, please leave now. This story is entirely fictitious, and any resemblance to actual individuals is coincidental.
Mark
Chapter 3
A few weeks later Mark went on tour with the football team. He always enjoyed tour: several of his best mates were from the team and they always had a good laugh. They played football hard, and drank even harder. The days were spent on the pitch, and the evenings in the bars, drinking with the hosts and other teams and chatting up the local girls. Often lads turned up to play the next day with hangovers and tales of bus-shelter blowjobs and one-night stands. Mark had only ever been that lucky once, on tour in France the year before, when he'd ended up in bed with the host team's goalkeeper. He played the wrong sport to meet a lot of gay guys, he thought wryly. Even so, tour should be fun, even if some of the lads were complaining already about how crappy the hostel was.
Mark said nothing. The hostel certainly was dismal, but he was in the room next to the hall toilet. His bed was right up against the thin wall, and he was quietly anticipating a few days of being able to hear his teammates emptying their bowels. He got lucky that very evening, listening through the wall as handsome James farted out his loose poo. Mark went in, ostensibly for a piss, once he'd gone. It stank, and a small lump was still floating in the bowl. Mark went back to the room horny. He'd have risked a quick wank, but his roommate was in. He lay in bed later, unable to sleep, replaying the sound in his mind, imagining James wiping his bum, and stroking his hard-on softly under the covers as his roommate snored. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.
A couple of afternoons later there was no football, and the lads went into town to hit the bars. Mark began to need his daily shit as they sank their second pints. Making his excuses he went to the toilet, passing James coming out as he went in. Someone had pissed on the toilet seat so he had to wipe it clean. He was just taking down his pants when the door opened and a load of footsteps sounded, and as he sat down James's face appeared over the cubicle top.
`Here he is lads! He's in the thunderbox! Mark's pushing out a tom tit!'
The lads clustered round the cubicle. Tom's face appeared over the other wall, opposite James. Someone else pointed a phone under the door, and another couple came over the top.
`Fuck off!' laughed Mark.
You avin' a shit, gay boy?' someone laughed.
`Well, I'm sitting on the shitter with my pants down ... what the fuck else would I be doing?'
`Nah, you're not having a shit. Be able to smell it if you were.'
Yeah,' said someone else. His shits always stink.'
Must be doin' summat else then. You avin' a wank Mark?'
`No! I haven't started yet! Fuck off and let me have a shit in peace!'
Actually, Mark was secretly enjoying it, sitting on the bog with two of his hottest teammates watching him. He just hoped he wouldn't get a hard-on in front of them.
`You're not having a shit Mark. Must've come in here for a crafty wank after all.' That was Tom, grinning.
`I've not started yet!'
`Go on then.'
`Take the fucking camera away!'
Nope. Staying right here. Now, you avin' a shit or not?'
No, I'm fucking not while you're here!'
But he was. He really couldn't hold the big load pressing painfully on his hole much longer
`Fuck off lads, I really need a poo ... oh fuck, it's coming now!'
`Quiet lads! Here comes his shit!'
Mark's hole was opening, his first fat log forcing its way out, crackling and squelching through his hole, growing until five or six fat inches hung stiffly from him.
`Plop!'
`Oh that does fucking stink an' all, man!' said James.
`Plop ... plop!'
`Fuck me, I can smell that too!' said someone else from behind the door.
`That's disgusting!'
`Well you don't have to fucking watch me do it, do you?' snapped Mark. He looked up, red faced. He was covering his cock with his hand – not, as James imagined, because he was shy about it, but because he had the beginnings of a hard-on. Even so, his piss splashed and hissed around the bowl, and then he felt himself starting to poo again.
`Plop-plop! Plop ... Plop!'
He farted, and some of the lads cheered. He sat there, embarrassed but also horribly aroused as the poo kept on coming.
`Fuck me, how much are you doing?'
`That smells so bad...'
Mark's flow tailed off, and a last couple of lumps plip-plopped lightly into the water. It really did smell foul. The thought of Simon eating it flashed into his mind: he pushed the thought away quickly, since if anything would give him an embarrassing hard-on it was that!
`You finished now?'
`Uh-huh, think so,' Mark grunted, straining.
`Wipe your arse then.'
`Fuck off! I'm not wiping my arse in front of you.'
`Got no choice...'
`How'd you wipe your arse Mark? You stand up like a man, or wipe sitting like a girl?'
`Fuck off!'
But they didn't and, making a show of reluctance, Mark reached for the toilet paper, folded a piece and shuffled forward a bit.
`And ... he sits to wipe, like a big girl's blouse,' laughed Tom.
Oh look I can see his shit. How lovely,' said James sarcastically. Actually that's massive. What the fuck do you eat man?'
Mark ignored him and went on wiping his bum. Without thinking, he brought the well-smeared paper round to look at it.
Oh that's gross!' shouted Tom. He's got a really dirty arse lads ... fuck me it stinks in here. Come on. I want another drink ... and stick this on YouTube! Gay boy Mark `avin' a smelly crap!'
The lads went, and Mark finished wiping his arse in peace, not sure whether to be amused or angry. He was a very easy-going young man, but he felt a bit self-conscious all the same. It wasn't as if the lads didn't make a habit of taking embarrassing pictures of each other, and one of them still had photos from the time they'd got Tom having a dump back in their first year, he recalled with a grin. But equally, some of the lads would be quite pissed off at being filmed shitting, and he too felt a bit violated. It wasn't that he minded them doing it, exactly, but it was a bit too close to home, because it risked them realising that he was turned on. He got a bit of banter anyway, as the only openly gay guy in the team, and ... oh fuck it, he thought. There was no point in being paranoid like that, and he'd gain nothing from looking all uptight either. They'd not sussed him out and it'd be someone else's turn next: it was just lads having a laugh. He pulled up his pants, flushed the toilet and went back to the bar.
`Wankers,' he said amiably, as he took his seat.
`There you are, stinky-arse; another pint for you,' laughed Tom, handing him a beer.
He got his own back the next morning. Tom walked past his door and went into the toilet. Lying on his bed, pretending to read the news on his smartphone, Mark listened intently. Tom farted sonorously, and then there came the sound of three hefty logs hitting the water. Mark banged on the wall.
`I can hear you shitting mate! That's grim!'
`Oh piss off!'
Mark lay back, chuckling, listening to the rest of Tom's poo with the beginnings of a bulge in his pants. Tom's face was bright red when he walked past the door again. `One all,' laughed Mark to himself, and started getting ready for his shower.
The rest of the tour was great. Good football, good company, and a great last night out in town. Mark had thought he was getting some kind of come-on from a mate of one of the hosts, but eventually the guy had realised what he was after, introduced his girlfriend and then vanished. Mark shrugged philosophically, re-joined his teammates and got blind drunk instead. Cute blonde Ash slept on his floor because his roommate was shagging some lass he'd picked up at the club, and he snored like a bastard so Mark, who was always a light sleeper, had a bad night's sleep. Coupled with his hangover he was half-asleep when they boarded the coach for the long drive home. He drifted off soon after they got going; leaning against the window with his head pillowed on his jacket as Ash read a lad mag and listened to his iPod in the next seat.
An hour or so later he was woken by someone talking next to him.
`What's up?' he asked, sleepily.
`Toilet's not working, and I really need a shit,' said Ash.
Mark woke up a bit more quickly.
`What, didn't you go before we left, you muppet?'
`No, I didn't need to ... it's come on really quick. It's the big hangover poo, y'know, the one that comes on suddenly.'
Mark nodded sympathetically, although he never had it himself. He'd listened to half the team having a shit this morning and the bathroom had properly stunk by the time they'd all finished, but his own rhythm didn't often change. They'd be home by the time he needed his daily shit, and he'd have the house to himself too, since Chris was on tour with the hockey team and Adam had gone to visit his parents. All of a sudden he felt a bit horny, especially knowing that Ash was having to hold his in. He'd make sure he went for a piss when they next stopped, he thought, and try and sneak a listen to Ash relieving himself. Not long now, he expected: they'd been on the go long enough.
Half an hour or so later Ash was squirming uncomfortably alongside him when they hit bad traffic a few miles from the services. There'd been an accident ahead, the police had closed two lanes of the motorway and long queues had formed behind the one line of traffic still passing the scene. They slowed to a crawl, and then stopped.
Oh shit,' said Ash softly. I really need to get to a toilet soon.'
He looked relieved as they started off again, but then the cars came to a halt around them and they stopped too, and stayed there. Ash looked horrified. Mark kept sneaking little looks at him, and then trying to think of something else. Ash desperate next to him was so horny.
Alright there Ash?' asked James cheekily from across the aisle. Still need a shit?'
`Er ... yeah.'
`Gonna shit yourself then, are you?'
`Fuck off.'
He sat, staring straight ahead for a few minutes, then suddenly he jolted and his face froze. Mark looked round.
`Okay?'
No!' hissed Ash. Mate ... I'm turtle's-heading. I'm seriously gonna shit myself in a minute. What shall I do?!'
`Er...'
Ash's eyes widened with horror and he stiffened. Even over the thrum of the engine Mark thought he could hear a little squishing noise.
`Oh Christ,' groaned Ash.
`Bloody hell. Mate, I can smell that!'
`I know. I can't stop it! I'm touching cloth ... gonna lose it completely in a minute. What shall I do?!'
`Toilet?'
`It's broken, for fuck's sake!'
`Yeah, but ... well, go shit in some bog roll or something!'
`Can't do that!'
`Well, you got to do something, haven't you, otherwise you're gonna shit yourself. We're not going anywhere.'
`Fuck's sake,' Ash grunted again.
Mark realised he was nursing a rapidly growing semi as he watched Ash struggle. It was so hot, knowing that at any moment he was likely to dirty his pants in a big way. He could smell what Ash had let out already, all thick and cloying and nasty. It was a wonder nobody else had smelled it. Ash looked back at him.
`I'm gonna have to go shit. I can't hold it. You got a plastic bag or something I can do it in?'
Er ... don't think so,' said Mark, faintly disappointed. Oh hang on, I might have one. Let's just get to my bag.'
Ash would have to stand to let Mark by. He took hold of the seat ahead and pulled himself slowly upright, his bum drawn in tight. He looked uncertain. Then his face froze and he gasped.
`Oh fuck ... it's coming now! I can't hold it!'
He gave up. His bulky hangover shit surged out of him, squishing and clicking loudly as it piled up against his skin. A bulge formed in the back of his jeans, growing quickly into a big mound.
`Oh mate, that fucking stinks!'
Ash groaned and went bright red, but he stood aside whilst Mark rummaged in his rucksack.
`Got that bag?'
`Er... yes, here...'
`Fuck me, that stinks,' said James across the aisle. Who's done ... oh look, Ash's shit himself!' He shouted that last bit. Heads popped up from behind magazines.
He has an' all,' yelled another voice. You dirty bastard!'
Oh for fuck's sake,' groaned Ash. Give me the fucking bag!'
He snatched it from Mark and walked gingerly up to the back of the coach, legs apart, trying to stop the shit from rubbing around on his bottom. His face was bright red and his eyes were fixed to the floor as he tried to ignore the uproar round him. Mark sat quiet, not joining in the piss-taking, feeling oddly sorry for Ash. Even so, he imagined him in the toilet, trying to clean himself up, and then tried to think of something else so his boner would subside. Whilst Ash was gone the traffic eased and they got going again, eventually trundling past the wrecked cars, ambulances and policemen, and then picking up speed again as they got clear. The coach stank until they got to the services, where the driver opened the emergency exits to let some fresh air through and waited on board whilst the team went off for a smoke, a cup of tea and a piss. Ash disappeared into the toilets as soon as they arrived and wasn't seen again until it was time to get back on board, and then he sat red-faced and morose, snapping `fuck off!' at anyone who mentioned what had happened.
Mark sat quiet for the rest of the journey back, his mind whirling and his dick getting hard in his jeans time and again as replayed Ash shitting himself. He imagined the sensation as the poo piled up on Ash's bottom; the humiliation of waddling to the toilet with his pants full of shit, leaving a vapour trail that had the others holding their noses and cursing him. He could still smell it now and again, little wafts that showed Ash hadn't managed to clean himself up completely. Mark could virtually feel it happening to him; sense the humiliation and hear the taunts. His bowel started to stir as the coach neared home too, and he had the house to himself... In his imagination he was already kneeling on his bed, imagining the other lads' eyes on him as he did the deed. He could think of nothing else.
As soon as they arrived back at the uni he declined a pint with some of the others, saying he was knackered and wanted to go to bed. It wasn't like him – he was normally among the first into the pub and last out – but never mind. He hurried home, heart beating fast and cock tingling and stiffening as he anticipated what was going to happen. His bowels were uncomfortably full now, and he knew from experience that his dump the day after a session like that would be huge and very smelly. He couldn't wait!
Back at home he made himself unpack his bag methodically and anticipate what he was going to do as the urge to take a dump became more and more powerful. He let go a couple of little gassy farts. They stank, and his semi stiffened a bit more. As he got more and more desperate he went and got out the pants he'd chosen for sacrifice, back on the coach as he'd played all this out in his imagination. Putting them on felt exciting, like getting ready for a major match. The need to poo subsided a bit, so he went and sorted his laundry out, padding around the house in his pants with a raging hard-on. He was about to turn on the washing machine when the thought came to him that he may as well hold on and wash the towel he was going to have to use after he cleaned himself up from this. With that thought his bowel gave a lurch, and he clenched his bottom tight and stood awkwardly until the spasm passed. His mind raced, and he felt his dick pulsing in his pants. Now was the time.
Very, very slowly he climbed the stairs, his mind racing and his dick throbbing painfully in his pants. In his room he approached the bed as if with great reluctance, pausing to savour the almost unbearable pressure in his bowels. In his imagination he was being watched, standing with a dozen pairs of eyes on him, waiting to see the naughty boy mess himself.
`I need a shit ... gotta go so bad,' he murmured, as if begging someone.
`Very well. Kneel, boy,' ordered a voice in his head.
Breathing hard, he climbed onto his bed and knelt down with his bottom sticking out. He contemplated it in the mirror he'd put on the chair opposite; admired the white cotton pants stretched tight over his peachy round cheeks. His face reddened in shame. He gave a little push ... but no, his shit didn't move. He was desperate, but his body was fighting the urge, waiting for him to bare his bottom at least. He replayed Ash's accident in his mind, imagining the sensation as he lost control and began to poo his pants, and as he did so he felt himself relaxing.
`Uh!' he grunted, giving another little push.
His bowel stirred, and the load within it started to move, slowly, sliding ecstatically down his chute like a glacier. He'd nearly lost control now, he realised, as his hole began to open. He could just about clench his bum tight and run to the toilet if he wanted ... but no, it was too late now. His anus gave way and he moaned out loud as he began to ease himself.
`Look, the dirty bastard's shitting his pants!' shouted the voice.
`Look at him, pooing his panties like a little baby.'
Hot, lumpy shit flowed out of him and filled his crack, and he whimpered again and again over the slimy little noises as his pants bulged out. It spread slimily across his bottom. Then it stopped. His pants were full, and try as his body might to expel his shit, it had nowhere to go. He reached up and pulled his pants down a little to make space, and his body took over again, giving a heave he couldn't control and filling the seat of his pants with firm, warm, lumpy shit.
`Oh ... oh fuck.'
`You dirty faggot: your shit stinks,' the voice snarled.
`I know, I know ... I'm sorry,' he whimpered as the bulge in his pants kept growing.
Then it stopped again. He hadn't finished yet, but he could wait and he knelt and took in the sensation. The relief in his bowels and the hot, lumpy warmth on his bottom felt wonderful. The smell was overpowering.
Pawing at his dick through his pants he began drifting into fantasy again. He was being watched, taunted, laughed at for pooping his pants. He was naughty, smelly, and he ought to wear a nappy: he was almost crying in humiliation. He gave another little strain to see if he could finish his poo, but instead he felt himself starting to wee, a little bit dribbling from his boner. That jolted him back to horny reality. He didn't want to wet the bed. Instead he got up gently, feeling the poop in his pants. It rubbed about delightfully on his skin as he waddled to the bathroom. He did mean to pee in the toilet as he finished his shit, but then he had another idea. He climbed into the bath and stood, knees slightly bent and bottom sticking out a little, and strained again. He wet himself copiously, and then his bowels began to move again too and he moaned out aloud with the sensation as he stood there, hot piss cascading down his legs and the last of his warm gooey shit piling up in his pants.
Oh God,' he whimpered as he finished. Fuck that's good.'
He wiggled his bottom a bit, feeling the poop pushing about. It was heavy, all warm and slimy on his bottom. He felt naughty and dirty and madly turned on. Momentarily he thought of Simon, and imagined him eating the big load he'd just done straight from his pants; licking his poopy bottom clean. He was madly horny now, thinking back over all the pictures he'd seen of lads with really messy bottoms; a video he'd watched a few days back of a young guy sitting down in his mess. The urge to do it himself was uncontrollable. Pushing aside the shower gel bottles on the end of the bath he turned around and lowered himself down until the poop pressed lightly against his bottom. He whimpered again with the sensation, bouncing up and down gently, teasing himself. Then, very slowly, he sat right down. The shit squashed everywhere and the stink hit him all over again.
`Oh fuck, oh my god...'
The sensation was overwhelming. He couldn't believe how good it felt, and he moaned and whimpered incoherently as he wriggled about and rocked to and fro, spreading the mess all over his bottom and up around his balls. He began wanking through his pants, and almost immediately felt himself starting to cum. He forced himself to stop, and instead relaxed back and lay there in his mess for a bit. He was still rock-hard, though, and as soon as he touched his cock again he found himself getting to the point of no return. This time he let it happen, cumming so hard in his filthy pants that it nearly spurted out even through the fabric.
`Jesus,' he sighed, suddenly feeling drained.
Clearing up was horrible and he had to leave the windows open for hours to get rid of the smell, but he was happy all the same. The next time he pooped in his pants, he decided, he wanted someone to watch.
Enjoyed this? More of Mark's adventures coming soon.
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