Exploring the World of Scat Play in Part 1
Hey there, my name's Rita and I'm a big fan of scat play. I'm not gonna be shy about admitting that to you, it's just my thing. Ever since I was a grown-up, I've had a strong desire to indulge in this fetish. It gives me an incredible sexual pleasure like nothing else. When I'm all by myself, I love rubbing poop all over my body, peeing on myself, especially on my face right before I plaster it with shit. I can't get enough of extreme stuff, and it feels like an aphrodisiac.
I really enjoy sticking fingers or a dildo up my ass until I feel the need to poo. I hope that the amount I produce will be huge, so it piles up at my feet because I've been waiting for this moment for three days now. The bathroom quickly fills with the odor it produces, it's so intoxicating for me, so I breathe it in deeply. It gets stronger as I smear the brown gold all over my tits, belly, and pussy. The feelings of my fingers gliding across my body, touching myself in every spot, transform me into a glowing, shit-covered goddess. I save the best for last, and only after covering my arms, legs, and everything on my ass in gooey waste do I take a log or make one in my hands and stuff it in my mouth to suck on. I find that sucking on poop, with my tongue turning black, the taste bittersweet and invigorating like the stinkiest liquor in the world - it sends me into a drunken frenzy in seconds. You know what I'm talkin' about.
Over the years, I've encountered others who share my interest in scat play, and we've done it together. This is the story of some of those experiences.
I'm in my late twenties, have blonde hair and brown eyes, and a slender build. I look great in a bikini, especially microskin ones. My mother thinks I look nice but seems a bit concerned, which I don't think is bragging. I take care of the medical center where I work as head nurse. People might be shocked to find out what I like given my profession, but then again, you know better. They'll think scat sex is messed up and all, but it's not. It's like getting together with intelligent, normal people, like doctors, teachers, and business people, who enjoy getting down and dirty in the crap. You just have to take a look in the mirror.
It was during my time at Cee Nova College when I first encountered Dr. Cramer. Dr. Tollinson, a general practitioner who'd been serving this town for half a century, had decided to retire to Florida. He sold his practice and office building, which was once a Victorian house, to Dr. Cramer. The doctor's office took up the ground floor, while the two apartments above were left vacant. When Dr. Tollinson left, I went to Dr. Cramer to ask about renting one of the apartments. Having lived with my parents, I decided I was old enough to live on my own when I turned 21. And so, we had a conversation, and since he had a registered nurse working for him, he asked if I wanted to help out with some clerical tasks as well as assist patients in a non-medical role. I happily agreed.
The first feature that grabbed my attention about the apartment situated above the doctor's office was the spaciousness of the bathtub. There was nothing much else apart from the bathtub that attracted me. This basin was freestanding, appeared to stand on four lion's claws, and seemed wider than what I was accustomed to. I quickly pictured myself lounging in it lying flat on my back, naked, intensely stimulating myself with my hands dunked in my poop, which is typically dark-brown and cream-like, while spreading it all over my breasts, abdomen, and even on my vagina. In this mental visualization, there was a robot-size pile of this poop resting in between my thighs that I'd scoop with my hands and smear over me. I could picture myself wiping it on my entire face and into my hair, putting my fingers in my mouth, tasting it, and then touching my vagina while continuously rubbing it. It takes a while to compose oneself after this sort of visualization. In a distant corner opposite the tub was a neat shower stall but not very extensive. I had a cursory look at the kitchen and the bedroom, but they barely registered in my memory, my brain being obsessed only with that bathtub.
Dr. Cramer and I found a work schedule that aligned with my school timetable at Cee Nova. My duties at this office entailed arranging appointments for patients, checking their insurance information, confirming their medications, taking their blood pressure (sometimes), and fulfilling other minor tasks. I've previously mentioned that Dr. Cramer, otherwise known as Philip, was handsome; as I continued working with him, my impression of his looks gradually improved from handsome to extremely attractive. I began to be captivated by him in more ways than appearance. I enjoyed conversing with him about medical affairs and felt he consistently made time to clarify my queries and help me. In my dreams at night, we were dancing on an illuminated patio, kissing, and enjoying a passionate sexual encounter on my bed. My fantasies during my personal scatting sessions in the bathtub, with its intriguing concept, evolved into mental images of him and I indulging in similar "dirty" habits, with him begging me to defecate into his mouth while rubbing my soiled buttocks across his face, and then I'd return the favor by pooping into his mouth and drying him off using my filthy breasts before thrusting my fecal coated hand into his penis. Somewhat inexplicably, he would then begin defecating into my mouth, transferring his excrement onto my cheeks, breasts, and genitals, after which he'd thrust his wet, fecal-coated fingers into my sexual opening.
I was seated on the toilet in the office infirmary, a small compartment at the back of the waiting room with a toilet and a washbasin. I had diarrhea and had just defecated into the bowl; it was a large dump, with three huge logs bursting forth. In contrast to the lack of patients, it wasn't urgent to leave, so I decided to relish the scent of my fresh excrement. I snatched one of my soiled pieces and raised it before my face, inhaling the aroma. The scent was intoxicating and vaguely arousing. However, as I was about to place it into the bowl, the entrance door to the waiting room suddenly blew open, probably due to a gust of wind. Dr. Cramer glanced through the opening, and to my shock, entered the rudimentary bathroom where I was.
Being a cautious individual, I instinctively fumbled around for the door knob with the intention of closing the door but missed my mark and ended up sliding back to the toilet seat. My red face alone suggested my apparent embarrassment; however, to my utter amazement Dr. Cramer continued to advance into the bathroom.
I blushed uncontrollably, and in my panic, I attempted to neatly place the poop in the toilet bowl but was stopped by Dr. Cramer. He lowered his torso and asked what I was engaged in. I felt that my exploration of my excrement was plainly obvious but didn't know how to answer his inquisition. I had the impression that his next words would undoubtedly be "You're fired!" Making any form of response would be pointless.
"Are you fond of your feces, Rita?" he asked, this question completely astounding me. "Do you enjoy holding it with your hands?"
Time ceased to pass as I pondered how to respond; if I responded in the affirmative, it would be an indicator of my oddity; if I responded negatively, explaining why I was holding it became challenging. However, I couldn't speak before Dr. Cramer summoned a nurse- Tasha Mills, a naturally attractive woman in her early thirties possessing light brown, wavy hair and a busty figure with a leg-exposing uniform. The sight of me on the toilet seat holding my turd with my face close to it might have an impact on our friendly working relationship. However, my thriving work environment was about to be disrupted, anyway.
"All good, Dr. Cramer?" the nurse asked.
"Check this out," he told her, gesturing to my hand.
"Oh my," she said casually.
"Is the waiting room empty?"
"Nope, it's deserted," she replied.
Just then, something crazy happened that almost made me tumble off the toilet, still pantless, onto the floor. Dr. Cramer took the poop from my hand and gave it to the nurse. They sniffed it deeply, then he instructed her to open her mouth. He inserted one end of my poop into her mouth, causing her to start sucking. Then he placed the other end in his own mouth as well. They were sharing my poop with their mouths back-and-forth, moaning in delight. I was in awe as I watched this, never having seen anyone do this to me before.
At that point, Tasha removed her uniform and Dr. Cramer took it off her. She was only wearing a cream-colored thong underneath. She was really attractive, with an hourglass figure and a sensual aura. Then he asked me if there were more of my poops in the toilet. I said yes, and he told me to slowly remove them one by one and hand them to him. I was in disbelief at what I was hearing, and it almost felt like I was dreaming.
I stretched my hand between my legs and reached into the bowl, grasping at a poop. I took it out and handed it to him. As soon as he held it, he smudged it on Tasha's breasts. The sight of Tasha moaning in pleasure as he covered her tits in poop really turned me on. She pulled the shit out of her mouth and wiped it on her face before putting it back in. Her tits and face were now smeared with poop, and when she wasn't sucking it, she was using it to play with her own body. It was a liberating experience for us all.
Then he inquired if I had any more poops in the toilet. I confirmed that I did, and he guided me to pluck them out and pass them to him. As he took each one, he smeared it all over Tasha's body. The more poop he smeared on her, the more she enjoyed it.
I observed Tasha's sensual act closely while I waited for my turn to squat on the toilet again and poop some more. As she knelt in front of Dr. Cramer, he undressed himself and stood there. The nurse looked at me, shortly asking, "Do you want to join us, Rita?" I was totally immersed in the moment and ready to participate more fully in this adventure. Therefore, I took one of his hands and sucked his fingers. He even rubbed those fingers on my face a few times.
Sensing my enthusiasm, he pushed his balls and cock into my sight while making a sign for me to collect his leftover poops. I grabbed another poop and handed it to him. He quickly used it to coat his entire cock and scrotum area, then he thrust it into the nurse's mouth, sighing with pleasure as she sucked him.
Before long, she whispered, "Want to poop on me, Phil? Poop in my mouth?"
"Of course, I do," he replied. "But right now's not a good time for that."
Her gaze then landed on me, and with a smile she said, "I'm glad you're okay with this, Rita. If you were screaming out of fear or shock, that would be silly." Then she gave Dr. Cramer's dick another sensual blowjob, her lips covered in poop and her wet hair sticking to her face. All I wanted in that moment was to be the one sucking him off, which I regrettably couldn't do.
While he pushed deep into her mouth, his hands gently brushed her head. It seemed like he was trying to hold her head in place, but he didn't want to get poop in her hair if he could avoid it. I was so desperate to join them more, switching from licking his fingers to wiping them on my face and even sucking on them. Then he groaned, emptying his load into the nurse's mouth, his semen mixing with the poop. She covered his rod with poop and licked it off her fingers, causing more to drip out onto her face. He leaned against the door jamb to catch his breath, while she sat on the floor, rubbing his sticky spunk on her face and running her tongue over the residual poop remainder.
The recent occurrence was astounding, almost unimaginable, yet how were we, primarily them, to tidy up this mess? Tasha's visage and bosom were enveloped in excrement, some had cascaded onto her limbs; Dr. Cramer's genitalia and thighs suffered a similar fate. They reacted as if they had partaken in these activities numerous times earlier, knowing precisely what actions were necessary. Contrarily, both of them ventured toward the sink and continued their calm handwashing. In an unanticipated discovery, I unveiled a secret within Dr. Cramer's private office - a concealed shower - hence the toilet/sink area was restricted. Dr. Cramer ordered me to wash my hands and face in the sink and mentioned that a spare toothbrush and mouthwash were stowed in the cabinet above. He advised me to prepare to greet the imminent patient while they partook in a shower.
Whilst washing and cleansing the washbasin, I overcame an ineffable sense of delight and fortuitousness, flourishing in Dr. Cramer's office with Tasha. Could these duo indulge in scat activities on a recurring basis? Were they romantically or scat- coupled outside of this office? (Of course, they had to be.) Possibly they would welcome me for a privately scat session in my residence upstairs and in my bathtub, particularly Dr. Cramer? (Philip, Phil, would I be permitted to address him as such in the presence of patients?) I cherished my lone scat sessions, always eagerly anticipated them, but the prospect of scatting with companions was my true fantasy. Could it be realised at long last?
I detected the waiting room entrance creak open and I advanced towards its source.
"Hello, Mrs. Donaldson. How are you today?"
Slightly suspicious, Mrs. Donaldson, an elderly client, regarded me and remarked, "Someone's in a rather boisterous mood. Did you just enjoy lunch with your partner?" And she smiled.
"Mrs. Donaldson," I responded jocularly. "That's my personal secret, no concern of yours. Seat yourself, Dr. Cramer will be here soon."
Read also:
- Kristin, Tasha, and I: Chapter 2
- Chapter 6: The Neighborly Role
- What occurs in Las Vegas...
- A Friend's Mom: Mrs. Singer Part 4
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