Changing Beverly's Title to Number 3
Attention:
[The following text discusses a graphic topic. If you are not comfortable with scatophilia and related sexual fantasies, please refrain from reading. However, if you enjoy the darker aspects of love and romance, feel free to read on.]
Just after we caught our breath, we started giggling uncontrollably. The provocative conversations we had throughout the previous day's events left us with an uncontrollable outburst of laughter.
I couldn't catch a deep breath, and my stomach muscles ached from shaking so hard. Bev was suffering similarly. Our laughter was so intense it was infectious, and we both struggled to regain control.
I noticed the memory of the standing toilet seat. The metal frame stood on four legs and had a toilet seat. I imagined straps placed around my forehead and neck holding my head in place.
"Where are you now?" Bev inquired as she changed positions.
I shared my vision, including the straps.
Bev laughed, "Just like my Bunko club."
Once we regained our composure, Beth lowered herself onto her side and asked, "What did you imagine next?"
This intrigued me. She might be surprised to know what went on in my mind.
I confessed the image of a woman, not her, entering the bathroom at their Bunko club meeting. On top of the toilet seat, I pictured a big-breasted blond woman spreading her cheeks and defecating.
Bev giggled and said, "You're surprising me, aren't you?"
We giggled again.
I paused before responding, "I'll tell you something surprising. You won't believe what those ladies talk about."
This interested her.
"What did they say?" I asked.
She kissed me, her tears sharing her face, leaving streaks.
"Have you ever been to one of my Bunko meetings?" she asked.
I was amused. "No, but I know about Arlene."
Bev giggled. "What do you know?"
"The big hair and large breasts?" I teased, pointing out the door.
"Yep, that's Arlene," she confirmed.
"But there's more," she said.
Now my curiosity peaked.
"What else?" I inquired, kissing her again.
Beth laughed and said, "She wears a diaper."
I was shocked. None of our discussions or fantasies had been shared with anyone else. Yet, her Bunko group had been talking about this.
We laughed and recovered our breath.
As I lit a cigarette, she looked at me. "And that's not the only one."
She spoke cryptically, and I kissed her again.
Beth laughed. "What did you imagine I did when I told you?"
I didn't expect that response. "I saw Arlene walking to the restroom," I said.
"I know," she continued, "but here's the rest. At half-time, I went to change the diaper."
She paused to emphasize the unusual circumstances.
As I smoked, she shared that several women in her club also wore diapers.
Bev teased me, "You'd be surprised how much these women discuss them."
I followed her as she left footprints behind on the smeared sheets. Thankfully, the grime was not noticeable on her back. However, her flip-flops left a trail of shit prints. My mind wondered how to clean the mess, but the thought was soon dismissed. Bedding could be replaced.
Unfortunately, I was captivated by the carnage in the bedroom when I found the toilet seat. The seat and the surrounding area had extensive damage. The sheet and pillowcases displayed scatology clearly. There was a large pool of urine, and Beth's body was covered in feces.
I left the sheets alone, making a mental note not to change the linens for the weekend. Crying with laughter, I chased after Bev.
She was sitting in front of her laptop, resembling a skilled typist with her posture straight and hands resting on the keyboard's home row. As I observed her, her right hand wandered to the wireless mouse, causing the screen to change.
"What are you doing?" I inquired, gently placing my hands on her shoulders and peering at the screen.
My body reacted instantly, as my adrenal glands released a surge of hormones into my system.
The image on the screen stood out. It featured a luxurious toilet fixture, far more elaborate than the simple metal frame I'd initially envisioned. It was an elaborate wooden structure, about four feet across and 18 inches deep, with a white toilet seat in the middle.
The platform seemed like dark mahogany, highly polished, supported by four sturdy wooden legs. The front two legs were adorned with cuffs designed to support something heavy. Beneath the toilet seat, a box of the same material reached the floor, and its curved shape caught my attention. My brain quickly deduced that it was intended for a head.
She clicked on the magnifying glass icon and zoomed in.
"Oh damn," I gasped.
There was a rubber lining inside the curved cut, easily envisioned as a way to prevent leaks as it filled up.
"What do you think we'll need?" she inquired, gazing up at me with a smile.
"Some sort of relief valve," I replied, tearing my gaze away from the screen.
"Why is that?" she chuckled.
"We drink a lot of beer during Bunko," I explained, "and I don't want you to drown."
"Oh damn," I said again, leaning against her chair and feeling my knees weaken.
She glanced at me and her mischievous smile was more prominent against the dark discoloration on her face.
"And when your Halo friends visit, I don't want to drown either," she teased.
"I think you want to do this," I stated, nuzzling her neck and inhaling the scents and tastes that surrounded me.
"I don't know," she said, stunned, "but I know this: what we did last night took me places I never knew existed and I want to return there."
"I understand," I said, kissing her neck and relishing the feelings.
"Let's not make this a group activity yet, though," I cautioned.
"Mmm," she said, spinning the chair to face me, her eyes bright with wonder, "I've discovered something incredible, and I want to experience it again."
She pulled me toward her, her fingers caressing my ass and crotch, where my hair was covered in not-quite-dry waste.
She glanced up at me, her face mimicking that of a pious nun who's just witnessed a divine revelation.
"Yes," she whispered, "This is ours. Maybe one day we'll be ready to include others, but for now, it's just us."
I leaned down and kissed her, my hand caressing her face.
"I'm starving," I said, breaking our embrace, "Let's make something to eat."
She giggled.
"We're gonna rustle up some grub," she repeated, rubbing her leg against my thigh.
"Dirty girl," I responded, smirking, "We don't need a bull dog to feed."
She grinned, wrapping her arms around my neck, and kissed me, before seductively rubbing herself against me, spreading our messes around.
"My hard cock." she teased, "I won't let you go hungry, sexy."
I slapped her on the ass, urging her to get moving.
"What's on your menu?" she questioned in the kitchen.
"Just a sandwich or something simple." I suggested, sitting at the table and watching her.
Her movements grew more confident as she pulled out two plates, bread, and a package of thinly sliced ham. Afterward, she pulled out a plastic packet of cheese.
I couldn't help but notice the brown stains left behind by her hands.
"I'll go for a ham and Swiss on rye," I said with a smile, feeling like I was at the deli.
She turned and smiled back, her teeth shining from her dark face. She spread her legs, reached down, and dipped her finger into her wetness, keeping it from drying up.
She raised her finger to show me the chunky mixture of poop, semen, and her own sticky fluids.
"With a special sauce," she said and used her finger to apply it to the cheese.
She repeated this action for the other sandwich and then grabbed a butter knife from the drawer to spread her special sauce just like butter.
I chuckled softly as she grabbed a squeeze bottle of French's mustard and added a curved yellow line to the brown paste on each sandwich. I watched as she climbed up onto a stool and stretched, giving herself a nice shape with her legs and ass.
She grabbed two glasses.
I knew it was coming, but I was still caught off guard when she spread her legs, squatted, held a glass between them, and started filling it.
I couldn't tear my eyes away even if I had wanted to.
But I didn't want to.
She filled the glass, and little drops of piss fell to the floor when she missed and when it overflowed.
She grinned, placed one of the sandwiches and the full glass in front of me, just like she had many times before.
In my mind, I thought, "We're likely both a bit dehydrated," when I saw the dark yellow color of the liquid she offered.
She went back to the counter and picked up her sandwich and the empty glass.
When she came back, she sat, smiled, and put the empty glass in front of me.
"I'm thirsty too," she said.
I grinned, scooted forward, and filled it for her. When the glass overflowed, I dragged the rim over my balls, leaving a brown line on the rim.
I chortled as I slid it across the table to her.
"What's funny?" she asked.
"I was dreaming," I said with a grin, "of adding tequila and ice, mixing it in a blender, and calling it a 'Tequila Scatrise'."
She giggled, turned the glass so the brown line was facing her, and took a drink.
She furrowed her brow, looking thoughtful, and said, "Yeah, a bit of tequila would be nice."
I took a bite of my sandwich.
I enjoyed it.
She couldn't even taste or smell the sauce she had added, as it got lost in the ham, cheese, and mustard, but I loved the naughtiness of her secret ingredient.
I noticed that we were both eating with our mouths open and shedding the manners we had been taught our whole lives.
My mind, never able to shut down, thought this was probably us rejecting convention.
Despite bits of bread, pink ham, and yellow cheese being caught on her breasts, I found myself hard. I examined my belly and cock to find they had the same mess on them. I didn't have breasts to catch it.
I raised my glass and saw brown specks swirling around in her pee, which made me laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asked, with a bit of sandwich falling out of her mouth and onto her breasts. "I'll eat that later," I thought.
"I was just thinking," I said, swirling the liquid in my glass, "that if we got water in a restaurant with specks in it, we'd call a waiter and send it back."
I drank from my glass, enjoying the salty bitterness of her body's waste.
She giggled at my thought and raised her glass for a toast.
We finished our meal in silence, not an awkward silence, but a comfortable silence of two people who know each other well, not needing to fill the air with sound.
She leaned back, finished her sandwich, and drained her glass.
She looked at me with a sweet smile, opened her mouth, and let out a strong, deep belch that would make anyone jealous.
And then one of those sudden, uncontrollable fits of laughter hit us.
I laughed, gasped, and slapped the table.
And so did she.
And that's how our first meal in our new marriage ended.
I couldn't recall the last time we had left behind messy dishes - dirty plastic plates, two glasses, and a butter knife - in the kitchen, complete with fingerprints and hand prints in various spots.
Yet, we had done so, accompanied by trailsof urine and vomit. We then moved onto the bed, where the sheets were a mix of wet and dry, framing with bodily fluids. Despite these conditions, I didn't mind. The wet sheets smelled of sickness as we laid down, sharing one, and kissed each other tenderly.
She chuckled and said, "I don't think this is normal." I smiled.
"This," I retorted, "is the complete opposite of normal."
She kissed me, our tongues dancing, almost sparring.
"Do you want to give up?" she questioned.
I contemplated it for a few moments.
"Not unless we've reached our limit," I replied.
"Limits?" she asked, which led to a sudden shift in the mood. We were no longer engaged in foreplay but simply two people conversing. Two people covered in human waste, discussing their plans while laying in a bed soaked in it.
I lifted my head slightly to check the clock on the headboard. It read 1:24.
"Bev," I said, "I don't know." After a moment of calculation, I continued, "In the past twenty-two hours, I've consumed your feces, drank your urine, eaten a sandwich with feces and semen as condiment, and I'm considering using toilet paper to roll into a cone, aiming for your nose to produce more snot. I'm also looking forward to not bathing or showering for a week, savouring the smell of your toejam. Then, your next period approaching excites me."
I touched my fingers to my tongue before speaking further.
"And yes, I'm anticipating using that toilet. You first, but I'm not ruling out the possibility of using the Bunko Club's overflowing toilet either."
She thought about it, watching my expression.
"You're right," she said.
I could tell she was pondering.
"What?" I inquired.
"I think this disturbing habit could rapidly turn into an addiction," she divulged, maintaining eye contact.
"I believe," I said, folding my body over hers to kiss her, "that I've already become addicted."
I made my way down her body, tasting the remnants of her sandwich that had yet to be swallowed.
"Pervert," she said, her body already reacting, "Now go down on me and make me cum like a geyser."
"Please, Br'er Fox," I remarked, as I've done multiple times before, "never the briar patch."
Her pubic hair was smeared with feces. I could smell the mix of piss, semen, and her natural scent of arousal.
I enjoyed it.
I loved it.
I didn't "go down" on her. This is too delicate a term.
I savoured her pussy.
I dispersed this idea, but it was still too gentle.
I used my fingers to spread her open, exposing her wetness. Then I pressed my face between her nether lips and devoured her pussy. I licked, sucked, and swallowed loudly.
When she came, I continued sucking, drinking her pleasure along with the residual feces she expelled when her muscles contracted.
She had asked for me to make her "cum like a geyser," so I continued.
In her instructions, she wanted me to keep rubbing her clitoris, which made me roll her hood between my thumb and forefinger. I know what she likes.
She was ejaculating. The thick white liquid seeped out of her.
Therefore, I used my mouth to complete her release.
I sucked powerfully, swallowing, and licking the flowing juices.
I held her in this position for some time, drinking her orgasmic liquid and relishing the feel of her expanding inner lips.
Finally, she became limp and exhausted.
Once she was completely spent, I climbed on top of her and slid inside.
She grinned when I came.
"I think," she uttered, "we require cleanliness after all."
"Why?" I inquired, honestly curious.
"We need to buy some things," she said, laughing softly as I loosened and slid free.
"Buy?" I asked, not quite understanding, showing yet again that I'm not the brightest tool in the shed as they say.
"Yes, honey, we need some stuff," she said. "We need a portable toilet, at the very least one of the basic ones, and some diapers for grown-ups and those Depends."
"Oh," I said.
"Oh?" she said, "That's all you've got? Start scrubbing me with your tongue, Darling."
So I did.
I started at her forehead, bathing her with my tongue like a cat. I took my time. I didn't see any point in hurrying. And on top of that, I was enjoying what I was doing. I realized I was enjoying the tastes and scents that were being brought out.
At her chest, the underarm sweat added a unique salty flavor to what I was doing. Her nipples were hard as I licked them clean, using my tongue as a massager against the top of my mouth like a hungry baby, nursing.
At her navel, my tongue had to probe repeatedly to clean out the mess.
I cleaned her with my tongue, running my tongue along her pubic hair, and made my way down. At her feet, I got caked shit from between her toes with my tongue.
At her butt, I giggled again. It was evident that I couldn't really get her "clean." Even where I had licked so carefully, there was still a light coating of poop. She had stains everywhere.
She started on me then, smiling as she licked my forehead and eyelids.
She leaned over, smiling down at me, opened her mouth wide, and suddenly bent and covered my nose with her mouth.
She sucked, hard.
It felt like I was being forced, somehow, to blow my nose.
When she raised herself again, a thick string of mucus stretched from her lips and as I watched, she sucked it up like a strand of noodles.
I smiled, lifted her left nostril shut, and said, "Blow."
"Perverted," she said and exhaled a forceful breath.
"Again," I said, and this time it sounded slightly bubbly when she blew.
"Again," I said, and now a little thinner, whitish mucus appeared.
Like Pavlov's famous dog, my mouth began to water.
"Again," I said.
And there it was. A massive blob of mucus burst from her nose, across the corner of her mouth, and hung from the corner of her chin.
I wanted to taste it, but instead, I played with it. I felt it, noticing how sticky it was. When I pulled my fingers apart, delicate silvery threads connected them. Soon I had a cat's cradle going and with a grin, I laid the cradle across her face.
She giggled.
I gave in to my desire, almost a compulsion by now, and caught those thick ropes in my hand. It was warm and thick and salty and sticky with a slightly oily feel.
So I swallowed it up until I got to her nose and sucked.
Then it was her turn and I was struck again by the incredible privacy of what we were doing. This was almost as secluded as what we had done earlier. In a way, even more so. I had actually seen people eat their own mucus before and whenever they were caught, they always seemed embarrassingly ashamed.
It was almost anticlimactic when she covered my nose with her mouth and sucked.
Our mouths were kind of sliding across each other.
But it was a good kiss. [5b]
Read also:
- Acquiring Part One
- Step-Mother's Spectrum of Intimacy, Sequel 2
- The name mentioned is Hanna.
- How did she guess?
Source: www.nice-escort.de
