Excretion. Whether indoors or outdoors, as long as it’s not in your own home, the matter becomes tantalizingly close.
I’ve been interested in smelly things since junior high school, and my precocious maturity has led me to this area of sexual desire. Although I didn’t dare to touch feces until I was in college, I had been peeing and defecating outside in secret for years. At first, I was beaten a few times because I was discovered, but gradually I learned how to do these things safely, and I didn’t hear any more reprimands such as “You’re a girl ……”. Even after I got out of the society, this sexual desire is still with me.
I’d take a long, smelly dump on the toilet lid in the women’s restroom stall at the station, and only consider flushing it down the toilet if there were too many people there. Or I’d sneak into the underground parking lot at night when I was working late at the office, where I could take off my underwear and squat down in a corner where the surveillance cameras couldn’t see me. Sometimes I would choose a stairwell in a department store where fewer people passed by, and of course I had to pick the dead center of the surveillance camera for a more exciting liberation. Or, the top floor of a dozen or so floors would be a good choice. But given that it’s too obvious to leave evidence in many places, I try to clean up after my poop on the spot, or pack it up and throw it in a nearby trash can. Deodorant and perfume ensure a short-term cover-up, and by the time the fecal odor overflows, I’m long gone.
Indulge in a day of otherworldly sexuality and feel a sense of spiritual fulfillment each and every day. The taste of sexual desire incorporated into the everyday is far more pleasurable than mere masturbation.
But this is not enough. Even when I secretly defecate outside, think back to the time of liberation and finish masturbating, I still occasionally feel an incomplete pleasure from the afterglow. What was this feeling all about? It’s no use prodding my already dysfunctional brain to agonize over it, nor is it soothing to try to defecate in more places. Just when I thought I’d never find out, a dream filled the gap without warning.
My 25th birthday ended with a lot of fun and hustle and bustle, followed by the closure of my company due to financial difficulties. Suddenly unemployed, I started to look for another job, just like my other ex-colleagues who were in the same predicament. However, perhaps due to my eagerness to find a job, I did not sleep well for a whole month after the closure of the company, and my uncertain mood affected my sex drive. Masturbation, which used to be once a week, became a daily practice. Invisible pressure needs to vent, masturbation is a good means. Strangely, my body’s desire for sexual pleasure increased rather than decreased. Even if you are comfortably liberated before bed, you are still exhausted by aphrodisiacal dreams in your sleep. Often wake up early in the morning is shut in the room to masturbate, and only after the end of the hit some breakfast or go out for a job interview. And the dreamy, lustful scenes that remain in your head always look the same, no matter what day of the week the date is labeled.
In the dreams that haunted my inner desire, I was always naked when I stepped out of my house late at night. The alley monitors had been damaged for many years, and the streetlights were only half-lit in two or three places, so whether I walked to a park built around a small pond, a silent residential parking lot, or a silent intersection between alleys, I would not be photographed. At least in this dream world where no one else is on the scene, no one will bump into my lust. So I did what was most comfortable for me in the gazebo, in the vacant lot in the middle of the parking lot, and on the intersection pole – I defecated. The well-defined poop, mixed with sand and dirt, coated my body in smears, and in no time at all, I was left with a beautiful and inviting brown skin. I masturbated in the stillness of the night, the air filled with the stench of feces being pushed and pushed, and the sound of waves of churning water and fecal juices broke the only order in my dreams as my body gradually sensed an orgasm. Suddenly the street scene disappeared, and I began to fall, until my feces-stained body passed through the night into the day, and the blurred line of the realm scrubbed my body clean, and I finally woke up.
Naked …… No matter how hard I try not to think about it, my thoughts get confused because of old dreams repeating themselves. What also bothers me is the orgasm that always fails to complete the dream. Somehow, I just cared so much.
Then came a night when I couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I tossed and turned, and my unsleeping mind was filled with dreams. I lay on the bed until 2:30 in the morning with my spirit tormented and feverish, when a sudden impulse kicked all those worries out of the sky, leaving me with a whisper that made my heart beat faster, asking me to fulfill the orgasm that even the obscene dream could not end successfully.
So I climbed up and started by putting a third of a pool of hot water in the tub. More water might be needed to wash away the dirt that was about to spread all over my body in the middle of the summer night, but I couldn’t press on. As if able to sense the pleasures to come, my bowels gurgled and rolled as I turned the faucet tight. A day and a half’s worth just doesn’t feel the same. After draining the water, I cleaned the glass that came with the fast food store, which had been in the house for more than half a year but was always used to put toothpaste and toothbrushes in, something I didn’t feel sorry for even when it got dirty. I set aside my indoor slippers and turned off the bathroom light, leaving only a small teal-colored lamp in the living room. Walking to the living room on empty feet, I placed the glass with the house key and stood in front of the sandy door facing the dimly lit night view to undress.
The heaviness of the breasts popping out of the bra signaled that the body was ready. Then when I took off my cotton pajama pants and panties, it was as if I could smell the sweet scent permeating my private parts as well. I stared at the quiet balcony of the resident across the street in front of the sandy door and swallowed in anticipation.
Naked. Instead of using the usual obscenities of pornography, those four words in the stillness of the night were more likely to stir the ripples within. I reveled in fondling my large, somewhat sagging breasts and my pussy lips waiting to be enveloped in warmth and goo, when unexpectedly the moon suddenly peeked out. The dimly lit tiles of the balcony reflected a third of the brightness, a light that was soft yet able to reveal the sexual desires that lurked in the darkness, causing me to back away just a little and hope for the dark clouds to close over the moon. But my body and mind were ready, and even shrinking back into the darkness couldn’t hide the tremors of arousal. So I took advantage of the noise of the air conditioner running, carefully pulled open the sandy door, grabbed a cup and the key and stepped out onto the balcony, urged on by my stirring carnal desires.
I was obviously on the fifth floor, but because of the moonlight, looking down whether it was an alleyway or an apartment parking lot, it looked very clear. Listening to the faint murmur of voices coming from the distance, my surroundings seemed extraordinarily quiet. Ah, the sound of the air conditioner is getting weaker. Anyway, since I could clearly see the view below, if someone couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, they would be able to catch me standing naked on the balcony. With that in mind, I opened both the wooden and iron doors in a hurry, and kept the sound so low that it was barely audible. Gently pushing the iron door outward to the wall, I put the key into the second pair of rainboots lined up on the steps, gripped the handrail with one hand and the glass in the other, and made my way to the stairwell. The soles of my feet were cold and a little itchy on the dusty concrete floor.
As if a faint electric current ran through his body, his naked flesh looked particularly excited in the not-so-complete darkness. Ahhh, goosebumps are rising.
When I was a child, I used to get this feeling, but when I grew up, I hardly ever had it. I remember the first time I felt it was in the first or second grade of elementary school, when I visited a haunted house in town with my neighbor’s playmates. When I entered junior high school, I don’t know what went wrong, but I was no longer so prone to anticipate and feel uneasy about the unknown, except for sex. The first time I masturbated, the first time I was raped by my stepfather, and the first time I had sex with my schoolmates all happened within a week of starting junior high school, and from then on, I was only interested in sexual desire. But the domestic violence couldn’t make me find pleasure from men, and after my school sister graduated there were no more women to hold my body, so my self like this could only seek more excitement in masturbation.
Depleted libido, depleted darkness, and then the unknown pleasure that was about to happen to a quivering body.
The electric lights on the fourth floor downstairs, however, made the darkness seem ruptured and less mesmerizing. Considering that each stairwell has a half-open window nailed shut as a vent, and that several tenants in the apartment across the street can see into the stairwells through this area, the lights absolutely must be turned off. But of course the light switch wouldn’t be considerate enough to allow me to turn off the lights on the fourth floor while standing on the fifth floor. So I stepped out onto the steps leading down, my steps slowing down as my body was gradually reflected in the yellow light, my eyes nervously gripping the view from the fourth-floor window. When I reached the fourth-floor stairwell, I hurriedly turned and pressed myself into the dead center below the window opening, my heart pounding. Warm sweat seeped out ahead of me as I glanced at the red iron door on my right that shut out snoring, then at the green iron door on my left that protected my family.
I can still see them. Even though I’m pressed against the wall, my rapid breathing is still making my sagging breasts jiggle, so I might even be able to see my erect nipples clearly. If I knew someone was watching, I’d be so embarrassed that I wouldn’t even dare to go home. But, with my breath and heartbeat speaking of my body’s desire, I can’t just throw up my hands and surrender here.
I followed the wall to this side of the green door, and after a mental count of three, I reached up to turn off the stairway light. The yellow light lingered inside my eyelids, which had closed along with the switch, and turned into a brilliant greenish-blue light that shifted in and out, while my breath caught in the cracks between the blackness and the light. When I reopened my eyes, the staircase returned to the expected pitch blackness, except for a small patch of clean moonlight. Relieved to be where I was, I stroked my hands over my tits and thighs, slightly teasing the lust that burned in the darkness, and continued down the stairs.
From the fourth to the second floor, I paused for a few minutes to fondle my flesh at each silent stairwell. By the time I reached the steps leading up to the first floor door, my breasts, belly, privates, hips and limbs, and even my trance-inducing face yearned for the sludge. But when I arrived at the door with only a pump motor and a large garbage bag, and faced the door that had been opened and closed more than a hundred times, I couldn’t just open it as if I were stepping out of the house. Even though I was just one step away from enjoying the joys of my dream, my body stiffened in front of the gate and I couldn’t open it. I was staring at the dull doorway in front of the gate, my body fluctuating between hot and cold, and my thoughts began to waver.
In order not to be trapped here, I turned around and went back to the second floor, and my stiff movements became flexible and obscene again. When the urge to poop came, I squatted with my legs spread wide in front of the doorway of the elderly gentleman on the second floor, relaxing in a position that would definitely be considered too indecent by the elders. Urine splashed out before the feces opened my sphincter, and I froze for a few seconds before moving the glass in front of my privates so as not to make the floor smell like urine. As the warm urine shot into the bottom of the glass and splattered on the fingers of my bent right hand, the feel of my sphincter opening up from the inside sent a sensation of lustful relief through me. I buried my left hand between my legs and pressed my opposite palm against the anal opening, while the not-so-hard turd slid out of my asshole with a little pressure from me to hold it open.
The first thing that came out of my palm was a soft touch, and then the feeling spread outward like it was pouring out, and in a few seconds it piled up on my hand along with the sound of farts and peeing. I was expecting a line of feces, and I had controlled my water intake a little bit, but what came out was still a soft, rotting turd that rotted when I pressed it. It’s a shame, but this kind of rotten poop is perfect for smearing. After contracting my anus a few times, and squeezing the small pile of fecal matter left inside my asshole into my hand, I stopped my desire to defecate one after another, and withdrew my left hand, which was holding the soft, warm, and sticky feces, and with a tilt of my neck, I put my nose close enough to touch the foul-smelling, warm fecal matter. Even though I had already smelled the odor when I defecated, I enjoyed the moment of inhaling the fecal odor up close and deep, and was immediately intoxicated, as I always am.
The tip of his tongue stabbed into the soft pile of poop and licked it slowly from side to side, and his poop-sticky nostrils continued to sniff the deep stench. The glass that was almost full was placed on the floor, and the urine-stained right hand could no longer resist stroking the right breast. The nostrils that were stuck to the pile of feces inhaled the warm stench into my body with each deep breath, and the strong odor of feces ran straight through my nostrils and invaded my body without a hint of hesitation. The bitter taste from my tongue mixed with the irritation of a spicy tongue as the filthy filth gradually filled my mouth, led by fecal juice and saliva. My erect nipples enjoyed the rubbing between my fingers, but greedily looked forward to another hand full of feces. I just squatted in the stairwell with my legs open, savoring the first turd of the day.
After only a minute of this, the senses of smell, taste and touch could not hold back any longer. After a deep inhalation, I resolutely removed my left hand, and while the stench of feces was still strong, I pressed my entire palm against the heavy, soft stool and pressed it directly onto my chest. The moment the poop made contact with my chest, I couldn’t help but exhale a sigh of pleasure mixed with the stench towards the dimly lit steps. Ignoring a few hair roots hanging down in front of my chest, which were crushed by the poop, my sticky left hand slowly began to slide between my breasts, spreading them out and painting their insides with a beautiful yet smelly color. My left hand finally stopped at my navel, and then both hands worked together to spread the soft poop that had adhered so tightly to my skin in all directions. From the navel to the belly, then climbing up the sides of my body to under my breasts. The dry, rough sludge was guided by my hands onto my areolas, and finished with a gentle pinch on the tips of my breasts. By this time, the feces that had accumulated near the navel had been used up.
In order to keep the shit from drying out so quickly that it would lose its appealing feel, I reached into the glass with my index and middle fingers, dipped it in urine and then gently wiped it on the shit, adding to the unpleasant odor and wetting it at the same time. The soft mass of shit descending from my chest was also smeared, but not nearly as well as I would have liked, since it was only enough to make my tits smell half as bad as they did. In any case, after dabbing around with urine, my body became even more stinky. Through the dark curtain, a large part of the front of my body was filled with a dull color that my eyes, accustomed to darkness, could barely catch. I rubbed my navel, which was still thick, and with my other hand, I was ready to pick up a second load of shit, but I slowed down because I was rubbing against my labia, and started rubbing the back of my dirty hand up and down my private parts.
The constant squeezing and smearing, along with the thick urine, made the odor of feces on my body even more sinister. Despite that, my body was much hotter than earlier, to the point where I couldn’t stand it without some caressing. The middle fingers of both hands were bent at the same time, rubbing up my clitoris and smearing shit juice around it, while at the same time picking at my left nipple. The stench of feces surrounding my body warmly surrounded my body, and although it wasn’t as strong as when I smelled it directly through my nose against the poop, it still had the power to excite me. My fingers moved faster.
The stench of poop is the only pleasant smell in this darkness. Whether it was the neighbor’s smelly shoes that had been sitting there for years, or the big garbage bags on the first floor that always accumulated a stench of bugs, their stench was never as bad as the stench of feces. I could almost use the smell to reach my orgasm. However, doing so would be a waste of this rare night. So when I felt ready to stroke, I stopped caressing my hands and instead stroked the dry, sticky skin coated in feces and urine. The rough, rustling touch, along with the soft sound produced by the skin rubbing together, made my private parts want to be teased again. The urge to poop was renewed, and my hand was already waiting at the anal opening.
The second turd was just as watery and soft, and only about a third smaller than the first. The asshole kissed the protruding soft poop tenderly and began to contract with excitement. Only when the small strip of poop remaining in my sphincter was pushed into my palm did I withdraw my poop-laden hand. This time, without smelling or tasting it first, I pressed the poop directly into my chest and pushed half of it into my large, sagging breasts with each hand. Once again, my fingers were covered with a sticky feeling, and I gently stroked my smelly breasts against the warm, soft shit.
So stinky, so warm.
Obviously it stinks to the point that people will retreat from the disgusting and dramatic stench, why is it so attractive to me …… I can’t stop caressing it anymore.
My fingers encircled my feces-covered areolas, and from time to time I pushed the tips of my stinking breasts, the odor and the warm sticky feeling that spread over my breasts caused me to let out a small moan. The sound of my moans mixed with the sound of the fecal sludge being pushed between my fingers, though faint, echoed clearly in the stairwell. The cold of the night and the hot consistency of my poop caress my body, bringing a slight urge to poop. But having pooped here twice, I’ve splashed urine on the floor more times than I care to remember, and there’s probably poop rolling off the floor. I looked at my dark brown body in the dimness, then strolled up to the third floor. As soon as I reached the doorway of another house, I squatted down and made a mmmm sound while taking a dump. I was startled by the sound of a sharp, loud fart before the poop slowly poked its way out of the shrinking asshole. Even if I knew that no one was watching, I couldn’t help but feel shy when I was pooping with a red face.
The soft poop that ended up on my palm was just a small strip, about the size of my pinky finger. As I extended my poop-catching hand back, I smoothly smeared it on my privates. The soft, crushed poop moisturized my dry, sticky palm, and my private parts were smeared again and again with the sticky poop. Luckily, my palm was already full of fecal slime, or else such a small strip of poop wouldn’t have been quite enough. The palm was pressed right where the vaginal opening was, and small pushes and rubs were applied to the surrounding area. The heat spread out and the heartbeat followed. My privates, which had already been stained with odor from the first action, were now a beautiful dark brown throughout like my breasts, both sticky and stinking to my core. Just as I couldn’t hold back the overflowing stench of feces, the palm of the hand that had wiped away the soft poop came before me and covered my face without a second thought. My tongue danced like a lively little girl, but the poop-covered palm ignored it, repeating the circular motion.
It stinks, it really stinks …… The sticky poop smeared across my face, and the stench from the thick fecal juice and dry sticky fecal sludge made me want to.
I stood up and leaned against the wall. After my fingers were all moistened with urine, my left fingertip took a turn in my mouth and sucked on it, while my right hand began rubbing my erect clit. The stench of feces was even heavier than when I first shit it out, and now my body, along with this stairwell, was filled with a putrid odor that made me want to vomit. Yet, it made my caresses all the more pleasant. It’s just like normal. No, even when I massage my clit with equal force, the pleasure climbs much faster than usual. The stench and the orgasm fought violently against each inch of skin, trying to keep me comfortable while trying to make me completely pour out.
It didn’t take long for the putrid odor to gain a small victory. I slowed down the frequency of my finger wiggles a little before my orgasm, and the emotions that had been so high just seconds before gave the stench a slap in the face. Now I’m gripping the stair railing, gasping for air with my mouth open, my cheeks so hot they feel like they’re on fire, and my forehead feels like it’s sweating. After resting in this position for less than half a minute, I moved my right hand towards my private parts again, and my fingers quickly and deftly rubbed my feces-covered clitoris like an activated machine. The first contact caused waves of pleasure, and for a moment I forgot that I was in the middle of the night in the quiet stairwell of the apartment, and let out a scream of lust.
Whether it was mumbling about how good it felt, or just mumbling and whimpering, the pleasure increased in intensity. But I knew I didn’t want to come in this place, at least not with my emotions so high. So I braced myself against the wall with my left hand, caressing and pausing with my right, and just masturbated as I walked down the steps. So I braced myself against the wall with my left hand, caressing and pausing with my right, and just masturbated as I walked down the steps. I stopped to caress for a few seconds every step or two, and only braked when my clitoris was close to orgasm, but I couldn’t go more than three steps without masturbating again. Although each time I felt so good that I almost fainted, the comfort of masturbation didn’t seem to be lowered because of the frequent increase in pleasure, as if each time I stroked my clitoris, it was a new sexual desire, a new kind of pleasure all around. Because it was so comfortable, it took me a while to get to the first floor, and without thinking, I opened the door with a knock. The loud sound of the door opening mixed with my lustful screams must have been very harsh.
The cool air, illuminated by the light from the parking lot, hit my body, and the already-dried poop didn’t feel invitingly wet to the touch. The only constant was the putrid odor that permeated my body, so I was able to stand on the inside of the gate and masturbate on the dimly lit asphalt. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. I knew I wanted more contact, more exposure. I tried to take a step outward, standing about half a foot away from the gate, looking left and right while my heart rate skyrocketed and a plopping sound hit me in the head. Unlike the slightly cooler touch of being inside the door, standing outside, my whole body was surrounded by cold air, making it clear to my body that I was outdoors and completely naked.
So excited. My heart is beating so fast. If I masturbate now, I’m sure I’ll come right away. But thinking about the other odor I smelled when I was inside the door, I had to resist the urge to come straight away. Turning around and stepping through the door with a bit of regret, my nose picked up a faint odor from the smell of poop. It was the putrid odor of a large garbage bag that was just as filthy as mine. I stood in the doorway and thought about it, and while my thoughts were disturbed by the movement of my right hand touching the core of my pubic area, my left hand lifted the large transparent garbage bag from its hook. It was quite heavy, but I was barely able to pick it up with one hand, so I carried the large trash bag out the front door and left it outside. My heart was beating just as fast and loud as it did when I came out, and the smell of rotting garbage as the mouth of the bag was loosened made me so excited that I couldn’t help myself. With only a slight handful of garbage, about a quarter full, I stepped into the trash bag without doing a thorough check, fueled by my sexual desire. Then came the other foot.
The last thing I stepped on through the thin layer of bottles, cans, and cartons was a puddle of rotten, soft, and cold stuff, with small, fast-crawling bugs climbing up the back of my feet. Just as I was feeling nauseous while resisting the urge to let my butt sit on the garbage, something much larger than the swarm of tiny bugs at the bottom of the bag crawled up my buttocks. Though the touch was a bit revolting, the mingling of the two putrid smells became a fascinating incentive to keep me sitting down.
I ended up in a squatting position, with my privates right against the cold glass bottle and what looked like the bottom of a mop pressed against my ass. The same creature that had just crawled up my body quickly crawled up my chest as my right hand disappeared into the garbage and touched my clit. The cockroaches that would normally make me squeal and scream became less scary when prompted by sexual desire. One cockroach was sticking to my right poop nipple wondering what it was doing, while another was crawling around on my abdomen. With an impulse that came up inside me, I quickly slapped my left hand on my right tit, and the big cockroach was also smashed by the pain that came from my breasts. The other cockroach, which was still crawling around on its abdomen, also died under my hand. Craving for more odor, I smeared the smashed cockroach and its pungent juices on my breasts. I rubbed my poop-colored nipples against the stinking remains on my fingertips, and my clitoris got messed up too.
I’m so close to an orgasm, I can’t stop it this time no matter what. It stinks. My body stinks …… It really stinks My body is full of the putrid smell of poop, and the juices of disgusting bugs and the stench of food waste all mixed together …… But the more it stinks, the more it feels good to be touched… …The gurgling sound of fingers rubbing the clitoris mixed in with the cacophony of bottles and cans being pushed and shoved would it attract the attention of the nearby tenants …… Ahhhh the clitoris is dying I’ll orgasm here …… Orgasm in a bug infested garbage heap …… there …… is no one watching it …… someone peeping in the middle of the night to see me masturbate as a slut then …… I’ll be no longer have the face to see people ah …… oooh but the clitoris is so good, so good ah …… nipples are also smeared by the stinky juice so comfortable …… can not… …I can’t …… I’m going to have a full, full body poop orgasm like this …… Poop girl is going to die of pleasure …… Give it to me! …… Give it to me, give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me give it to me. ……
The worst part of playing with poop is cleaning up afterward. No matter how carefully you plan your play, you’ll always end up messing up in unexpected places, or facing a myriad of unexpected situations. For example, there’s always a patch of fecal matter left on a dark staircase wall or handrail, or a big garbage bag that drips foul-smelling juices along the way as you haul it back to its original location. Not to mention the random footprints on the steps as you climb five flights of stairs while bracing your post-orgasmic exhaustion. Fortunately, it was the middle of summer, and most of the fecal matter, urine, and food waste would have evaporated or left only a stinky trail by morning. As for the footprints that might be left on the steps leading from the fourth floor to the fifth floor, I would not hesitate to scrub them in the dark while I was washing my body. However, when I went out in the daytime, I didn’t find any dirty footprints above the second floor, so it looked like I had wasted my time.
Since this was the first time I had run outside and played like this, I took extra care to keep the volume down in the shower, lest I might make the downstairs tenants think more about the sound of a mid-night shower and a night of fumigating stairwells.
The bright bathroom light shone on large swaths of dark brown and teal-stained body, making herself look both ugly and glamorous in the mirror. A little warm water sliding over the skin of her breasts washed away the dirt like concentrated fecal juice falling to the floor. After rinsing several times with barely audible movements, the floor was covered in putrid fecal water, but my breasts were still stuck with most of the feces. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it on over and over again, the aroma of milk mixing with the stench of feces to create a bitter taste. After rinsing off the lather, there were still a few traces, so I applied the soap again, which was stained with a teal color on the surface. I ended up soaping my chest three times just to get it completely clean, but I couldn’t smell the soap in the bathroom. When I finally got my body fresh and smelling like shit, I realized that I had spent about an hour cleaning up. And that’s not even a shower.
I was able to sleep less than usual that day, but I slept better than usual. Perhaps it was the effortless masturbation that lulled the accumulated fatigue of the body into a deep sleep. There may have been dreams of some kind, but the alarm clock pushed them out of my head, only to let the fresh morning greet the awakened spirit.
And I haven’t dreamed the same dream since that time. I don’t need spring dreams anyway.
Since it’s a thrill and pleasure available every late night, I guess there’s no need to deliberately pursue it in your dreams.