CLARISSA AND SUZY GET DIRTY

Feature Writer: Quivering Flesh
Feature Title: Clarissa and Suzy Get Dirty
Story Codes: ff, scat
Contact: quivering_flesh@yahoo.com
Author’s Notes: Hey, this is my story, so don’t steal it! Repost elsewhere if you want, but leave it intact (including the email address at the end). Enjoy! Kisses, quivering_flesh@yahoo.com
Copyright: You are free to repost this story, but only in it’s entirety, including author’s email address COPYRIGHT 2002 QUIVERING_FLESH@YAHOO.COM

Clarissa and Suzy Get Dirty

People who know me often assume I was hell to potty train. They think my parents must have had to keep me in diapers until I was ten — or older! They have it all wrong.

According to my mother, I was born potty-trained. From the earliest I can remember, I controlled my bowels. I loved the feeling of being full, and I’d hang on to it for hours. I loved deciding for myself when I was going to squeeze it out, and where. I planned every poop.

We lived pretty close to school. By the time I was six, I’d convinced my Mom to let me walk to school by myself. I’d get dressed in a plaid skirt, just like the Catholic girls wore. I didn’t go to parochial school, but I made Mom buy me the uniform anyway. She never figured it out.

I never used the bathroom in the morning before leaving for school. Mom would also say as I was heading out the door, “Don’t you have to use the potty?” and I’d always say, “I’m fine,” even though I’d be bursting inside.

As soon as I got out of sight of the house, I’d take off my panties. They were always white, and they had to be super clean. Sometimes I made Mom wash them two or three times before I’d wear them. But whoosh! off they’d come as soon as I turned the corner. I’d spent all night thinking about where I’d do it. I’d been doing this for years, even at that age. Before I started going to school, I’d do it in the backyard, digging a hole and burying it so no one would find it. But now I’d found a dozen spots between home and school. Behind bushes, in garages the neighbors left open, between parked cars. Sometimes I even dared do it right on the sidewalk, out in the open. Then coming home from school I’d lead some of the other girls past it and we’d all scream in disgust!

Anyway, I’d have my spot all picked out. I’d walk slowly toward it, feeling the poop pressing in my bottom, the breeze blowing up under my skirt, anticipating the sensation of squeezing it out onto the ground. Sometimes I’d pass a neighbor, or someone my parents knew, and wave “hi!” Maybe they were just leaving for work, pulling out their driveway, and I’d change my mind and decide it was in their garage or behind their house that I’d do it today.

Then I’d be at the spot. Looking around to make sure it was clear, I’d squat down and pull my skirt up onto my knees to get it off the ground. I’d play a game with myself, to see how high I dared raise my hem. Sometimes I’d be bold and bunch the skirt up around my waist, so my bottom and cunny would be completely exposed. I’d do this particularly if I wanted to watch myself pee. Sometimes I didn’t want to see at all, but just close my eyes and feel everything happening. That could be the most intense.

I always peed first. I’d start the stream, then stop it, then let some more go again. Or sometimes I’d just squirt as long and hard as I could, seeing how far I could make it run along the ground. I’d do that if I was squatting on concrete or asphalt. I’d always touch myself afterwards, then smell my fingers and taste the piss on them. I went through a phase — it lasted months — when I’d pee on my own fingers, watching the stream run over them. It wasn’t until high school, though, that I ever thought to drink it. What took me so long, I still can’t figure out!

And then the best part. I’d feel the poop gathering at the bottom of my hole, pushing to get out. I’d tighten up and push at the same time, to get it really compact, then slowly let my hole relax and open. The more the poop stretched me the better I liked it. Sometimes, I’d got for two or even three days just to build up enough poop so that it would hurt coming out. I’d let it out slowly, then stop, letting my hole get used to being large. That’s how I learned the secrets of getting my hole to open up big.

To check my progress, I’d reach up under my legs and feel around with my finger. I’d feel my hole start to open, then the tip of a poop would just peek out so I could touch it with the tip of my finger. I’d play hide and seek with it, letting it back inside, then pushing it out just enough to touch with my finger. Or I’d push it back in, sometimes getting the finger in past that tight ring of muscle. It wasn’t until later, when I’d put my finger in when I didn’t have to poop, that I discovered all that empty space inside.

I could spend five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes playing with myself this way. But then I couldn’t wait any longer, and I’d let it happen. The poop would squeeze out. It was best when it was long and heavy and firm, so it would pile up nicely on the ground under me.

My knees would be aching by now. I’d have paper with me, but I hated the sight of toilet paper stuck to a nice pile of poopies, so I’d go get up and walk sometimes two or three blocks until I found a hiding place or a trashcan before squatting down, wiping myself, and disposing of the nasty business.

I had friends in school, but nobody really close until Suzy. She had these strange dark eyes, sunk really deep into her face. She was shy and withdrawn, like her eyes. We were in the same group of girls that hung around together, but I didn’t start paying attention to her until one day at recess. A bunch of us were out on the playground, and Betty said she had to go back to go to the bathroom. “Number 1 or number 2?” we taunted her until she confessed she had to poop. “Betty Poop! Betty Poop!” we shouted. Suzy, usually so shy and reserved, instantly popped up with: “Let’s poop together!” All the girls got very excited. “Where?” one asked. “In the garden,” said Suzy. Somehow I instantly knew she’d been thinking about this for a long time. “Let’s go!” they shouted, but I hung back. “Come on, Clarissa, aren’t you coming?” I said I didn’t have to — naturally since I’d pooped on the way to school that morning. “You can watch,” said Suzy, “and make sure we all do our business.”

We ran off together to the “garden,” which as on the edge of the playground, far away from the school buildings. Suzy led us to a spot hidden in the bushes, and all the girls except me took their panties off and squatted down. Betty had to go so bad that her turds popped out almost before she had her panties off. Someone had to keep things from getting out of control. I scolded her. “You almost dirtied yourself!” I said. “Good girls don’t hurry. It’s not lady like.” Suzy took this as her cue. “Can I go now, Clarissa?” she asked me. “No, not yet, you have to wait!” I said harshly. I pointed at one of the other girls. “Your turn.” Suzy started to get up. “No! Stay down!” She quickly resumed her squat. The girl I’d told to go next strained and strained. Finally, she squeezed out a small turn. “I don’t have any more,” and started to cry. I knelt down and gave her a little kiss. “That’s alright. You’ll do better next time.” I picked another girl, who pooped a nice one, then another girl and another until only poor Suzy was left.

“You have to all watch Suzy,” I said to everyone. I put Suzy on her back like a turtle, her knees up so she was fully exposed to everyone’s eyes. The girls gathered around. “I have to pee,” she said. “You can’t,” I said. She took it hard. “You can pee on your poops when you’re done.” She brightened. Everyone shouted encouragement at her, and she strained hard. We could see her hole gap open and a nice poop came into view.

“Push, push!” we shouted. She cried out with the effort. “Stop!” I commanded, “hold it right there.” The turd hung steaming, half in and half out, suspended over the ground. The girls marveled. One girl got a stick to poke at it. “Does it stink, Betty?” Betty grimaced, then leaned in closer to sniff. Just then Suzy couldn’t hold it any longer and the turd shot out about a foot and plopped onto the ground. Everyone screamed and jumped back.

“Now, Suzy, piss on it.” Suzy started to stand, but I held her down. “From right there,” I said. “Do it Suzy!” one of the other girls said sternly. The pee began to flow, in a dribble at first, then a nice strong stream that arced into the air and landed on top of the steaming pile. Suddenly, another turd pushed its way out of Suzy’s hole and dropped onto the ground. “You held out on us!” one of the other girls cried out laughing.

She’d just finished when we saw Mrs. Washburn coming. Everyone ran off in a panic, but I noticed Suzy hung behind, crouched on the ground near the piles of poopies, until Mrs. Washburn was almost on top of her.

After that, Suzy started following me after school. She hung back, trying to keep me from seeing her, but I knew she was there.

One day, after about a week of this, I hid around a corner and jumped out at her when she hurried to follow me. “What do you want?” I demanded. “Nothing,” she said. “Then go away!” I turned and stalked off.

The next morning she was outside my house. “You didn’t poop with the rest of us,” she said, catching up to me. She’d apparently worked up her courage. “And you never poop at school.”

I stopped and considered the implications of this. “What will you give me if I let you see me poop?” I asked. She thought. “A silver bowl.” “OK.” I said, “bring it here tomorrow morning.”

Next morning she showed up with the silver bowl wrapped in a blue felt bag. It was about hundred years old, and she said it had belonged to her grandmother. She’d given it to Suzy in her will. I tucked the bowel into my book bag and led Suzy to the place I’d picked out for that day.

“Please let me watch it come out.” “Not today,” I said. She pleaded with her eyes. “You can watch it fall.” I squatted down, lifting the him of my skirt just off the ground. Suzy got down on her knees and peered underneath. “Don’t look too high or I won’t do it,” I warned. “I’m not,” she said.

I squeezed out a poop, and it fell to the ground. “I see it!” she happily exclaimed. I stood up. “But there’s more!” she complained. “Not for you. The rest is for me.” Disappointed but resigned, Suzy crouched down to examine my turn closely. She reached out with her finger.

“Don’t touch it, it’s mine,” I said. “I want some of it,” she pouted. “If you’re good, maybe some other time. Now go to school.” She slowly walked away. When I was sure she’d gone, I raced off across the nearby lawns, taking a round-about path to school, by bottom still full of poop. I found a nice new spot, and had one of the most pleasurable b.m.’s ever.

Every day Suzy waited for me outside my house. Most days I let her see more than the day before, although some days I punished her by refusing her completely. She learned to strictly obey me.

Eventually, I let her touch my poops, then pick them up and squeeze them in her hands – she loved to squish the turds until the mess oozed from between her fingers. But much as she pleaded, I would not let her taste them. She desperately wanted to, and in fact looked at them so hungrily that I knew should would gobble them up if I let her.

Once I let her get her face so close that her lips and nose came within half-an-inch of a wonderfully formed, perfect turd. She could easily have fallen on it and gobbled it down before I’d been able to stop her. But I knew she won’t. She begged and begged, but I refused to let her indulge herself.

Then for three days I refused Suzy, refused to even let her watch me. I refused myself as well. I let the poop build up inside of me for. I thought I would burst the second night, and stayed awake all night to make sure I didn’t let go in my sleep (this had happened more than once – a “dirt dream” I called it).

When I met Suzy the next morning, I could barely walk. “We’re not going to school this morning,” I said. Her eyes opened wide. “We’re going back to your house.” I’d discovered those three days ago that her mother would be out all that morning. Suzy knew enough not to ask any questions.

When we arrived, I had Suzy stretch out on her back in the middle of her parent’s living room. The floor was covered with wall-to-wall carpeting — deep pile carpeting, and pure white.

“You know what’ll happen if you get this carpet dirty?” I said to her sternly. She nodded her head. I stood over her, one foot on either side of her head, facing toward her feet. “Open your mouth.” She opened it. “Wider!” She opened so wide I could hear her jaw crack. “Now stick out your tongue.” Her tongue came out. I bent down and inserting my finger into her mouth touched the back of her tongue, way down into her throat. She gagged a bit. “It all has to all go right here,” I said, “or you’ll soil the carpet.” She nodded.

Her eyes were glued to the spot where my legs came together. I slowly lowered my bottom over her face. She watched as my ass came down on her, my ass cheeks opening to show her my hole. I reached under and pulled them further apart, then kept lowering myself down on her. I was three or four inches away when she impatiently jerked her head up to my ass. I stood up. “Don’t do that, or I’ll go home.” She almost started to cry. “I won’t,” she whispered.

I lowered myself again. This time she held still. I felt her nose against my butt, and shifted just a bit to get my hole right down on her mouth. Her mouth latched on to me and sucked hungrily. “You have to lick me or I won’t give it to you,” I said. The tip of her tongue touched my hole. “Like a cat washing herself,” I commanded. She applied the flat of her tongue to the hole, licking me in long, broad strokes. “If you’re really good, maybe I’ll give you a drink after you eat,” I said. She licked harder. “But before that you’ll have to clean me.” I could feel her nod eager assent under me.

“Stick you tongue inside.” Her tongue pushed into my hole. I squeezed as tightly as I could, and managed to clamp her tongue firmly in place. Then I relaxed. “Can you touch the poop with your tongue?” She strained to push her tongue in further. I pressed down on her face. I felt the pile inside of me move with her touch. I pressed down harder on her face.

Suddenly, I sat back, squatting behind her head. “Keep your tongue out!” I commanded. The tip of her tongue was black with my shit. “Don’t swallow it! You have to give it back!” She started to cry again. “Don’t cry! If you cry I’m going home.” I squatted back over her and she pushed her tongue back in my hole, wiping the poop on the inside. I examined her tongue. “Good.”

I surveyed the situation. “This isn’t going to work. I won’t be able to see anything.” I pulled a chair over and sat down in it, hanging my legs over the arms. I told Suzy to set on the floor between my legs, her back to me, and tilt her head back. She had to hold onto the chair legs, but managed to get her mouth directly under my hole. Bending my head down, I could see everything, including my hole and Suzy’s gapping mouth.

“I don’t think I have anything,” I said, teasing her. “Please, I know its in there,” she said. “What will you give me for it?” “Everything,” she whispered. Looking down between my legs, I pushed out the first inch. It hung suspended over Suzy’s open mouth. She groaned, and strained to reach higher. One hand flew to her cunny. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Touching myself, so I’ll come,” she said. I didn’t know what that meant. “Stop it!” “But…” “Either you stop what you’re doing, or I’ll stop,” I threatened. She obeyed.

I pushed a bit more, and another inch of brown turd emerged. Suzy’s tongue curled up to receive the gift, seemingly by instinct. I laughed at the sight. She strained, but I stopped pushing, and the brown she panted for hung, just out of reach. Her tongue flicked up, caught the end, and immediately dived back into her mouth. I gave another small push, bringing the excrement a bit closer. “Lick it,” I commanded, unnecessarily. Her tongue flew up, lapped the end of the turd, coating itself with brown, then retreated back into her mouth, only to emerge clean again.

“Stop.” She did. “You want it, don’t you?” “Yes,” she cried. “Tell the truth,” I said, “this isn’t you first time eating shit, is it?” “It is!” “You’ve never tasted your own?” Tears came to her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You’ve eaten a whole turd, haven’t you?” “Yes, once or twice.” “How did you like it?” “They don’t taste good, not like your’s” “And you swear I’m the first person to shit into your mouth?” “Yes, I swear, on a stack of Bibles.”

I pushed, and the shit oozed out, swelling as it emerged, widening my hole. Suzy’s breathing become labored, then stopped as the end of the turd passed her lips. “Remember what I said about where it should go,” I warned her. She opened wider. The turd, long and brown and slimy, curled as it left my hole and dove into Suzy’s mouth, smearing her lips with brown.

Suzy’s body quivered. I’d never seen anything like it. Was this what she meant by “coming?” The turd broke off from my hole and fell into her mouth, the thick tail end of it grazing her lips as it fell. Suzy gasped and cried out, gagging as her mouth filled with shit.

She closed her mouth to swallow and another turd, a short one, popped out and bounced off her chin, coming to rest on her neck. “You’re lucky that one didn’t go onto the carpet,” I said harshly. “You’d better hurry, there’s more coming.” She took a big gulp, quickly forcing down some of the excrement. Her body shook more violently. Then another gulp. Her legs flew open, and I noticed her cunny all swollen and wet.

“Watch it!” I squeezed out another turd. She took a final big swallow. Her mouth flew open just in time to receive a fresh load. She pulled the slug of waste into her mouth and began to chew it, quickly gulping it down so as not to lose any. She gripped the arms of the chair tightly, pulling herself up towards the falling shit. Her nose brushed against my hole, and some of the brown curled into her nostrils. Her tongue stretched out to hurry the poop as it fell, pulling it down into her clogged mouth.

A huge turd knocked inside me to get out, and I squeezed harder. My hole widened monstrously, and the massive load went directly from my bowels into Suzy’s gullet.

The whole chair was shaking now with Suzy’s spasms. I had a violent urge to pee, to shoot the stream out over Suzy’s face and neck and tits, but I restrained myself, for I had a greater pleasure in mind.

I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Suzy took her time swallowing, slowed down and enjoyed herself more, taking advantage of my rest. 

I swooned, and in a vision saw Suzy lift her legs, bending her knees to her chest, exposing her own hole. The shit, my shit, had pushed through her entire body, and now pressed at her own bottom. Betty suddenly appeared, and kneeling between Suzy’s legs, took into her mouth the re-fried excrement that oozed from Suzy’s hole. The shit quickly passed through Betty, to Sara, whose mouth was now glued to Betty’s bottom, and so on, my shit passing through each classmate. My bottom heaved, bringing me to my senses. A last turd rolled out. Suzy let it fall on her upper lip, ran her tongue over it as it perched under her nose, then wrapped her tongue around it and pulled it inside.

I was empty.

“You’re not done yet,” I reminded Suzy, pointing at the poops that had piled up on her neck and chest. “I’m certainly not going to pick those up!” Suzy took them one by one between her fingers and popped them into her mouth.

“Now get on your hands and knees and clean me,” I commanded. Suzy turned over as I’d told her, and began licking the thick paste of shit off my hole. “Inside too,” I said. My stool, though not really loose, had been messy, and she had work to do. “My hole has to be clean enough to eat out of,” I admonished her. She licked and licked, digging deeply inside — more to get the last bits of excrement than to clean me, I was sure. Finally she was polishing up around my hole. “Just don’t touch my cunny with your filthy tongue,” I warned.

“Stop,” I said, allowing her to catch her breath. I took a small mirror I’d brought and held it down between my legs to inspect. “You missed something,” I said, pointing at a perfectly clean area. “Maybe you don’t deserve a drink after all.” She quickly scoured the area with her tired tongue.

“Stop,” I commanded. “Lie down.” She quickly obeyed, and I stood, straddling her, facing her head this time. I squatted down, bringing my pussy to just above her mouth. “Don’t you dare touch me with your shit mouth!” She hurriedly nodded. I let loose. The steaming yellow stream splashed over her tongue and down her throat, washing the incrusted shit down with it. Her white teeth gradually appeared through the brown. It came too quickly for her to swallow, and her mouth filled with piss. She gagged, recovered, then swallowed, the piss and floating shit disappearing as if her toilet mouth had just been flushed. “Close your mouth,” I commanded. She sealed her lips tight. I could see the nausea on her face as the stew of excrement and urine churned in her belly. She wouldn’t be able to hold it in for very long.

I got up off her and carefully inspected the carpeting. A suspicious dark speck caught my eye. Suzy was clearly struggling to hold the mess in, but I ignored her and closely inspected the speck lodged in the carpet. Finally, I picked it up. “You’re lucky it’s just lint,” I said. Suzy had clamped her hand over her mouth against the heaving she couldn’t control any longer.

“Alright, you can go,” I said. She jumped up. “Slowly.” She disappeared into the bathroom. I heard a cry, followed immediately by what sounded like an entire bucket of slop thrown violently into the toilet. Coughing, gagging, more vomiting. Another flurry of coughing and heaving, then water running in the sink. Finally, Suzy returned. She fell to the ground and hugged my knees. “Mom’s going to be out again next week. Please come over again.”