A Full Butt and Nowhere to Go

                The recent cold spell froze my pipes. I hadn’t had water in my apartment for six days, and it was starting to put a horrible strain on my bowels. The first few days weren’t that bad, honestly. You’d be surprised how rarely you need to go when you know that you can’t. It’s almost a subconscious thing.

                But, today, the weight and pressure in my guts was becoming unbearable.

                I paced around my apartment, trying to think of a plan.

                The toilet bowl was dry as bone and wouldn’t flush. I could empty my trash can and use it to bring in snow from outside, which I could then melt and pour down the toilet to force it to flush, but that would take too long. Emptying the trashcan and taking a dump in it would also take too long and be too awkward to clean later. Shitting outside, though a little tempting in a perverse sort of way, was absolutely out of the question. The apartment complex layout didn’t provide any sort of cover. Besides, it was the middle of the day in winter, and it was freezing cold outside.

                A horrible, twisted idea filled my mind and I smirked to myself.

                In my fridge sat a dirty plastic cake cover from my birthday a few weeks ago. I had never gotten around to throwing it out.

                Setting the cake cover upside down on the bathroom floor, I resolved to shit in it, put the cover in a garbage bag, and throw it in the dumpster. I was filled with a perverted, impish thrill. It had been forever since I had done something like this, not since I was still in college and would secretly pee in my parent’s backyard, among other things.

                I pulled down my shorts and tossed them away. I pulled my panties (practical cotton briefs) down to my ankles. The cake cover was a little higher off the ground than I realized, and I didn’t want to sit directly in it, so I positioned myself into an awkward hover squat with my ass about eight inches away from the ground. I looked down through my unshaven legs with a frown and resolved that the first thing I’d do when I got water was shave them. Shifting my butt, I made sure it was right over the cover.

                Breathing out, I tried to push… and nothing happened. My asshole tightened up.

                Some instinctual urge was stopping me from shitting on my floor like an animal. A muscle in my leg wobbled, my endurance already tested. I am very thin but also very out of shape.

                I sighed and tried to force myself to relax.

                A jet of pee spurted out of my pussy splattering my panties and my bathroom floor.

                I should have probably peed before this.

                Shitting in a cake cover was revealing itself to be much less thrilling than I assumed it would be.

                I winched, feeling shit suddenly moving inside me, my full bowels winning over my nervous asshole.

                Very slowly, a thick crackling turd pried open my asshole and started to descend into the cake cover. It smelled horrible, the absolute worse shit I’d ever smelled, barely even human. It had the pungent, rotten smell of dog droppings. I gagged and bent my neck to look at what I was releasing into my bathroom. The turd was a series of dense, rocky, slimy lumps fused together like a corncob from hell. The turd hit the bottom of the cake cover and I felt the impact subtly through my rectum.

                Then the doorbell rang.

                I panicked and tightened and cut the turd off.

                Oh god please go away.

                Silence.

                Then it rang again.

                And then, after another polite pause, it rang again.

                Oh fuck they’re not going to go away, are they?

                The immediate pressure in my bowels was gone but I still felt very full. My guts were taut, but there wasn’t an urgent need. I decided I could hold it long enough to get this person away from my doorbell. I shoved the cake cover and my panties into the cupboard under the sink, quickly mopped up the pee with a washcloth, sprayed some air freshener.

                The doorbell rang a fourth time.

                “I’m coming!” I practically screamed.

                Not bothering to wipe (it was a pretty dry turd anyway) I yanked my shorts back on.

                I opened the door and smiled, immediately feeling my voice raise several octaves over its usual near-monotone sound. “Oh, hello. Can I help you?”

                Standing at the door was a tall black man in khakis and a tight, and I mean very tight, white button-down shirt that hugged his pecs and gave the suggestion of his sculpted, bulky abs. He carried a silver canister and a black bag. His beard was trimmed beyond perfection and his eyes looked so clear and gentle. He looked like the beautiful models from the underwear packaging I used to gawk at as a little girl in the Wal-Mart when I would pass by the men’s underwear aisle. It always felt like I was doing something dirty, staring into a world I didn’t belong to but so wanted to observe.

                I was very, very horny for this man.

                “Ma’am?” he said. “I’m here about the roaches?”

                “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t expect you to be here so soon. I wish the city was as fast with the water as you are with your calls. You’d have the water fixed in no time! Come right in, we can’t have you catching cold!” I said, my voice bouncing.

                I was talking way too fast, I realized as I led him into my kitchenette. I ran through my appearance in my head: formless sweater, loose basketball shorts, hair hacked short, ohgod I look like a lesbian. Should I try to flirt extra hard so that he knows for sure I want him?

                My panicked line of thought was interrupted as I felt a massive twisting in my guts. I involuntarily squirmed, my legs buckling. Thankfully, the exterminator was occupied spraying the edges of my ceiling near the cabinets.

                “I’m surprised you get roaches; the place looks really clean.” he said with his back to me.

                Was he flirting? My pathetic, horny brain asked. Or was it just a compliment?  I couldn’t think clearly. I hunched over in pain, the pressure spreading, everything in my guts was screaming to EVACUATE.

                “Uh-yeah. Thanks. There were just a few of them. I thought I’d call just to make sure…” My voice trailed off as I leaned against the counter.

                He turned around and I pushed my hair away from my face, trying to look calm. He smiled a bright, cheerful, effortless beam, and I wanted to fucking die.

                “That should take care of the kitchen. Is that the bathroom down the hall?”

                I felt my eyebrows shoot up. My eyes grew wide with terror and because of a sharp, ringing cramp stabbing into my large intestine.

                “Th-the bathroom?”

                “The report said there were roaches in the restroom? We need to make sure to be absolutely thorough and kill this generation or they’ll just come back.”

                I was in too much pain to think up a lie, and led him to the bathroom, walking very slowly, almost a limp. I prayed it wasn’t noticeable and the pressure in my guts would subside.

                The smell of the air freshener and the smell of shit from my turd hiding in the cabinet had mixed together into a sour, rank, putrid cloud.

                His face twisted briefly in disgust. He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t make eye contact either. I felt my soul shrinking. A burning feeling radiated through my asshole, and I released a silent fart of shame.

                He reached for the cabinet under the sink, and I flung my body against it in a panic, my face growing hot and flushed. “YOU DON’T NEED TO CHECK IN THERE!”

                He recoiled in shock. “But that’s one of the most common places for roaches —”

                “It’s sealed! Don’t worry, it’s sealed! It doesn’t open!” My heart was beating so fucking fast and my stomach had that hollow feeling of dread and my ass wanted to explode and I just wanted to just scream and cry and take a shit, finally after almost a week, but there was this stupid sexy man in my house and there was the delusional pathetic thought in the back of my mind that I could still get his number even though I’ve been acting like a stupid fucking insane person this whole time.

                “Oh, okay,” he said.

                His eyes knew I was lying but he didn’t want to embarrass me further. He calmly backed away and starting to spray along the edges of the walls.

                I did not fucking move from the front of the cabinets. I held my hand to my chest and tried to calm down. He was almost done soon this would —

                The doorbell rang, and rang again and again, an obnoxious buzzing from someone mashing on the button. I hobbled to the door and opened it, leaning against the frame for support, my body teetering forward in pain. My voice dropped several octaves into a growl of hate as I opened the door. “Oh. You.”

                It was the apartment manager Mr. Campbell. A short, stubby little fucking shitstain of a man who stood there with a giant smug grin on his face.

                “Arf! Arf!” George, the stupid little cross-eyed wiener dog that followed him around, barked at me. He paced nervously around Mr. Campbell’s heels. Like always, it wasn’t on a leash.

                “Rent’s past due, C.C.”

                “No, it’s not. It’s not due till three days from now. You can check the lease.”

                Mr. Campbell frowned. “That’s the final due date. It’s common courtesy to pay the rent on the first day of that period.”

                I rolled my eyes and then shuddered as I felt my bowels swell and burn. Summoning all of my willpower I gripped the doorframe so that the shuddering looked like a subtle shiver.

                Mr. Campbell held up a clipboard. “Either way, I’m mainly here to check on the fire extinguisher. Just gotta pop in an out.”

                My face twisted in annoyance. “Now’s not a good time.”

                 He smirked. The fucker. He could tell something was wrong.

                George growled at me, and when I glared down at it, it hid behind Mr. Campbell’s legs.

                “Just one checkmark and I’ll leave you alone. Ten seconds. This has to be done by this afternoon.”

                I grit my teeth. “Fine.”

                I opened the door and stood there, clutching the frame as another wave of gut-crushing, cramping pain radiated through me. My mouth hung open. Mr. Campbell walked past me into the kitchen where the fire extinguisher was. George skulked after his heels.

                I didn’t want to move. I could just stand here, I thought, and hope I don’t shit myself before they leave. But then I remembered the bathroom cabinet. The exterminator didn’t look like he was going to open it, but what if he got curious and checked? I closed the door and waddled slowly toward the bathroom. I made it 3 steps before my guts twisted and squirmed and gurgled – only this time they didn’t stop, they kept trying to grind the shit out of me and the only thing keeping it inside me was my own slipping self-control.

                My ass jutted out, my hips wriggling, I danced from foot to foot like a child. Just hold it please just hold it. Burning fart after burning fart escaped out of my ass as my rectum melted and screamed.

                The exterminator walked out of the restroom and Mr. Campbell walked out of the kitchen at the same time. The exterminator looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

                The nub of what was growing inside me poked out of my asshole and I broke, running to the bathroom.

                “GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

                I yanked my shorts down to my ankles flashing my long skinny legs and my pale ass to both of them in my spread-legged, hopping streak. Sweat broke out all over my body. My hand protectively clamped over my pussy, I turned around and sat on my countertop, positioning my ass over the sink.

                I moaned, my mouth hanging open, as a massive fucking turd burst open my hole and jettisoned into the sink, breaking and bending it was so long. I could hear every sound of the rocky slimy turd crackling and squelching as I birthed it. My eyes watered and I leaned forward, doubled over, my forehead touching my knees, my bare feet dangling a few inches of the ground and my shorts limp on my ankles.

                The monstrous long turd coiled under my now empty ass. Deep, wet belching farts escaped out of my ruined, burning hole. Relief slowly spread through my folded body. I opened my blearily eyes to see the exterminator and Mr. Campbell standing over me. The exterminator was frozen in horror and concern, a sad expression on his face, while Mr. Campbell was recording everything on his phone with a smug expression on his face.

                I spasmed with rage, crying, hyperventilating. “GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!”

                The exterminator rushed away. Mr. Campbell just stood there, meeting my glare with his disgusting, gloating face.

                I teetered on the countertop, fuming, practically growling at him, and in my anger, I lost my balance on the edge of the sink. I almost fell forward, and instinctively leaned back, but I overcorrected. My ass slid backward, across the countertop and into the full sink.

                SPLURRCH

                My face twisted into a pathetic ugly grimace. I felt the giant, still-warm coiled log burst and squash against my cheeks, my weight pressing the scat up and into every surface of my crack again with sickening, wet, tacky noises.

                My shorts fell off my ankles and onto the floor, leaving me bottomless as I began to sob.

                George lunged forward and scooped my shorts up in its weasel-like jaws before bolting out of the apartment.

                “George!” Mr. Campbell shouted, running after his dog.

                “COME BACK HERE!” I screamed, the rage broiling up inside me. I rose out of my own shit. I could feel it cling to me, sticky muddy fingers groping my ass. Hand still on my crotch, I ran after him and George, the shit dripping down my legs, blind with anger.

                I ran out the door and into the cold air before I realized what I was doing. The cement outside my doorstep was cold and wet. My feet slipped across the surface, and I reached out, grabbing for anything. My hands found my doorknob, and my slipping body pulled it toward me. The momentum slammed the door shut and I dangled from the knob.

                Wincing, I pulled myself onto my welcome mat and tried the door.

                The knob wiggled, but it didn’t budge.

                Panicking, I wrestled the knob with both hands. A cold breeze blew through the stairwell, assaulting my bottomless body, running up my legs and up the curves of my shivering, shit-covered ass.

                I pulled my sweater down over the sensitive folds of my pussy, clutching it, and danced on the balls of my feet to desperately warm them on my welcome mat.

                As I moved, a gurgling rumbled through my intestines and a booming fart burst out of my ass

                PPHHHBBRRTTT

                The force of the fart splatted my door with the shit caked across and inside in my asscrack.

                A horrific, familiar urge spread through my body.

                Please god, no round three…  I begged, even as my knees began to crumple and bend under the command of my screaming guts.