GRAPHIC SCAT WARNING
I examine the back of the packet of Dulcolax, checking the recommended dose. I decide to double it, smirking down at your mug of coffee. I grind up four capsules and stir them into the hot cup, then take a quick sip; I can’t tell the difference, that gourmet shit you drink tastes like dirt anyway.
Putting the steaming cup down in front of you, I kiss your forehead and smile at you; my bitter feelings smothered by the warm promise of revenge. Ever since I found your sex tape with my best friend I’ve been keeping cool, plotting, dreaming up ways to humiliate you. I finally settled on a plan, at once personal and public, embarrassing enough to hit you where it hurts but not enough to completely destroy you.
We’re going to visit your parents in another state, a solid five hour drive away. My car ‘mysteriously’ broke down yesterday morning; a few ideas flew about, but I suggested we get a Greyhound. You grudgingly conceded that it was the cheapest way, so we booked the tickets and organised a cab to take us to the bus station.
“Drink up sweetie, we gotta go!” I say, as the cab sounds its horn outside. You greedily chug down the rest of the brew, and pull your shoes on by the front door. I admire your slender figure, the gentle curves of your long legs. Your blonde hair is pulled up in a sensible bob, and pale blue jeans hug your cute ass. You turn around to chivvy me along, and I catch an eyeful down your low-cut top; your pale C-cup breasts hang weightily in your bra as you bend down to tie your laces. I shoot a smile at you, and you smile back from behind your designer glasses; you haven’t a clue.
The cab ride is uneventful, as are the queues in the bus station. We shuffle along the aisle of the bus to our seats near the back and shove our luggage into the overhead racking, I graciously let you take the window seat, then flop down into the aisle seat, closing the trap.
The first few miles pass quietly; I stare out of the window with a faint smile on my face, occasionally glancing at you as you try to get some sleep. I’ve really stepped up my home cooking in the past few days, and you’ve got a bit of a food baby; a cute little belly stuffed full of spaghetti, burritos, steak and curry. As I’m looking I hear the first gurgle, an unhappy little squeal. It’s soon followed by another, deeper grumble; I glance up at your face and see you’re still sound asleep. This goes on for a few minutes until a particularly deep groan makes you blearily open your eyes and run a hand over your belly.
“You OK?” I ask innocently.
“…yeah…” you murmur uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably as another groan racks your insides.
I hide a smirk, then you start to get up.
“I gotta go to the ba-” I stop your words with a kiss, and gently push you back into your seat. Reaching over you, I fasten your lap belt and pull it tight over your churning guts. You grunt and whimper with confusion.
“I know about you and Dave…” I whisper into your ear, compressing your stomach with my hand. You shake your head and tears come to your eyes, and I fix you with a grin. You start to say something but get distracted by another gout of gas trying to escape from your tortured insides. You clamp your pink asshole as tight as you can, desperately trying to contain the onslaught. You succeed for the moment, and collapse back into your seat with your eyes closed, gently running your hands over your bloated belly.
Another wave comes, and this time there’s no stopping it; foul gas forces through your quivering sphincter in a long, loud fart. You groan in almost orgasmic relief, drawing disgusted looks from the passengers around us. We stew in your vile gas cloud, and you shoot me an evil look.
“Fuck you…” you mutter as your eyes drill into mine. I just smile and prop my knee on the seat in front, emphasising your captivity.
I watch you buck and squirm as you frantically fight back wave after wave of shit-smelling gas. Your perfectly shaved asshole gyrates and clenches, and your kegel muscles are working overtime. You’re flushed pink now, and a film of sweat covers your face from the effort of trying to hold back the contents of your spasming guts.
Your eyes screw up and your mouth opens in a noiseless groan, your body tensing and rising upward out of your seat. Your desperate sphincter is fully clenched, quivering with effort and soaked with sweat. Your hips buck as you squeeze your ass-cheeks together and I know you can’t hold out much longer. Finally, you whimper as your exhausted anus starts to loosen against your will, quivering then slowly going slack, unleashing the stinking gas inside you. A long, squealing fart escapes you, becoming sloppier and sloppier as you relax your tender sphincter and give in to the satisfaction.
“Oh fuuuu-” your sigh of relief is cut off as the fart comes to a sudden end, a thick turd plugging the end of your shit pipe. You reach over and clamp my arm with your hand.
“Please, I’ll do anything, don’t make me shit myself…” you whisper desperately. I glance over at your sweaty body, then turn back to the front with a smirk.
You groan and brace yourself, your knuckles turning white on the armrests. Your smooth butt-crack is full of sweat and ass-juice, and your pale cheeks rub past each other without friction as your shuffle and twitch in your seat. You feel the pressure start to build in your guts again, and brace your exhausted hole against it. The pressure comes in waves, and you feel the fat turd pushing insistently at the inside of your anus, getting a little further each time.
“Nonononono!” you squeal as you make your last stand, your whole body tense and twitching, fighting back the inevitable. The shit starts to crown, spreading your lubricated asshole wide open with ease. You shudder with relief and embarrassment as your guts pump a long, thick log out into your once-white panties. The sensation makes your bladder relax, and a hot wave of piss starts to fill your seat.
“Ooooh fuuuck yeeaaaaah…” you moan as you empty yourself into your jeans, wallowing in your own warm filth. Passengers start to retch and move away, and you look up at me, defeated.
I snap a photo and send it through to Dave, then hop off at the next stop.