sorry sorry but the phrases âwow, you must have really had to goâ and âyou have to go so bad that you canât hold it, huh?â are burned into my brain as the hottest things someone can say to an omo victim ever
of course these are up there with the hottest things an omo victim can say. those being âi canât hold itâ, âitâs an emergencyâ and âitâs coming outâ. my tastes r varied
A sequel to Breakdown, as I wrote a few months ago. But it's just a scene of someone shitting their pants, so it's not like there's a plot you are missing.
Comments make me happy... ;)
CW: desperation, loss of control, public embarrassment, messing, scat, bodily functions
By the time the train rolled away from the platform I knew I was in trouble.
I had waited for maybe 20 minutes at the station, and I really needed to use the bathroom. But it was after eight in the evening, and the station building was locked and closed. I had planned to use that, thinking it closed at nine, but no. I was wrong.
The next step had been to use the bathroom on the train. But when I stepped on I realized that this late at night the service was just using the short trains, and they didn't have a bathroom on board. Until I got on board I had merely been uncomfortable, not looking forward to using the cramped train toilets, but I had been fine. Now I was sitting on the train with my arms wrapped around my sling bag, gritting my teeth and focusing all I could on holding it.
I had had anâ well I had had an accident a few months back, this summer. And all I could think of as the train rolled through the evening, was of that horrible afternoon, and the heavy feeling in my bowels promised that if I didn't get home soon, it would happen again.
âŠ
The ride home takes forty minutes, more or less, and it was forty minutes of suffering. There weren't many other people on board, but there were some. I tried to keep a straight face and not attract attention throughout the ride. And I think everyone else was busy with their phones. The darkness outside meant that you couldn't even look at the surroundings. A teenage couple were very busy trying to not be affectionate in public. It was kinda sweet actually.
I had tried to distract myself with my phone myself, but I simply couldn't focus enough. It was as if all my brain power was funneled into keeping my stomach under control. I couldn't think of anything else. The need to take a shit was just dominating. That, and the memory of the time I hadn't made it.
I almost lost it when the ticket inspector tapped the chair I was sitting in, to attract my attention. I had been completely caught up in mental torment spiral and had completely failed to notice her coming up behind me with the ticket scanning thingy they use, and she had startled me badly. I could genuinely feel something start to shift inside me as I jolted, and trying to hold it, while also fishing the phone up, finding and opening the app, navigating to where the tickets wereâoh god I didn't have the mental bandwidth to spare for this kind of thingâwas a torment.
But with effort I managed to do both, she smiled at me, and moved on to the couple, while I hugged my bag and focused all that I could of keeping myself under control. This was just like the cramps I had felt before shitting my pants, and a sinking feeling of inevitability settled on me.
âŠ
I spent the last quarter or so of the ride in absolute misery. The cramps were coming and going, getting more intense with each spasm that rolled over my gut. At first sitting down felt like the right choice, it was like it was putting less stress on my stomach, and I could use the pressure from the chair against my ass to hold it. But as the waves were getting more intense I realized I was making the same mistake as I had done the last time. I was squatting down, wasnât I? I had learned by bitter experience how that was a trap.
It took a lot of effort to force myself to stand up. And my gut really didnât like it, making a new pressure wave roll over me. I couldn't help but notice that my bladder was also getting uncomfortably full. Sitting down I hadnât noticed, but standing up, it was making itself noticed. Because of course it was. I wasnât even hoping to avoid an accident any more, I just wanted to get off the train before it happened. I didnât want to be stuck with strangers in here, where Iâd stand obvious under the trainâs lighting.
I tried to be casual as I walked past the kissing teenagers, and grabbed onto the pole over near the doors and steadied myself against it. I was close enough to my stop that I figured it wouldnât look too awkward, and even if it was, I was honestly beyond caring. I hitched my bag over my shoulder and hugged the pole close, and tried not to squat as the train closed in on my station.
âŠ
The jolt when the train came to a halt almost wrecked me. I was mid-cramp and holding on for dear life when the train stopped and I staggered. I could genuinely feel my asshole begin to dilate when I did, and my entire body froze up as I focused with all I had on not shitting my pants then and there. It was hard. It was so fucking hard. But, by the time the teenagers stopped smooching and got up, I had gotten myself under control enough to step out of the train and into the cold autumn evening.
I grimaced to myself and did a mental calculation of what I had to do to get home. Through the underpass by the station, then a ten minute walk home, on a lane that ran parallel to the railway. Normally it wouldnât be any issue at all, but when my guts were twisting themselves in knots like this it felt almost impossible.
I couldnât even walk normally. I tried to walk fast at first, but a twisting spasm in my gut that nearly made me double over with the need to shit made me stop after just a few steps. The other people who had been on the train walked past me, and I was left alone on the platform as they departed. I took short, careful steps as I got going. It was slow, but it worked. Every step took me closer to home.
âŠ
I was almost all the way down the ramp to the underpass when a new cramp struck, and I had to grab the guide rail. I couldnât help it as my legs bent in an involuntary squat. I could feel my body start pushing. No. I wasnât going to shit myself. Not here. It hurt to force myself to stand, to straighten up, and to hold myself rigid. I squeezed my ass cheeks together, and pressed one of my hands against my ass, as if that would help. My other hand cradled my aching tummy. My body wanted to just do it, and it was pleading with me to just let go. I wasnât. Not again.
A man on a bike passed me by while I was standing there like that. God it must have been so obvious; anyone wouldâve seen I was almost shitting my pants. He vanished through the tunnel and left me standing there. Sweat running down my spine, as I was fighting for all I was worth to stay composed. It would have been so easy to let go. But no. I was just some ten minutes away from home. I had managed a 40 minute train ride. I wasnât going to give up now.
âŠ
The stairs up from the underpass were too much for me.
I struggled up them, one step at a time, legs shaking, hunched over in pain, clasping the guide rail. I honestly donât know how I made it all the way up, but that effort turned out to be simply too much for me. Once at the top, I tried to straighten up, and that movement caused a stab of discomfort to roil through my belly, and before I even realized I was doing it, I slid my feet apart, bent into a half-squat, and for the second time in just a few months, shit my pants.
Unlike last time there was no slow breaching of the sphincter. This was forceful. The mass pushed itself out of me in one unstoppable movement. I felt it against the hand I was pushing up against the seat of my jeans. The gap between my ass cheeks just⊠swelled with a mound of my own shit. I gasped as I felt it there. The same kind of horrible feeling. My underwear suddenly growing too tight as something disgusting filled them. Something disgusting and hot. Oh god why was it so warm?
A second spasm followed the first, and it sounded almost like someone stepping in mud as the bulge grew under my hand. My body had just stopped obeying me. And then, of course, I felt my bladder join in as I pissed myself. I felt a long, hot spurt flood into my underwear. It made a strange hissing sound as it hit the cloth of my distended panties. I stood there, one hand still on my ass, just staring down at my legs. I saw the glistening piss flood down my legs, and drip down onto the stairs, and beginning to trickle down towards the underpass.
I felt I needed to shit more, but with this much already in my pants I was back in control. The last of the piss ran down my legs, some of it flowing into my shoes, some of it forming a puddle between my feet. I was a fucking mess.
âŠ
I just stood there. I donât know how long. Half a minute maybe. I just had to gather myself. The September wind had already cooled the piss, but the mess in my pants was still just as warm. In a sticky, disgusting way. I slowly straightened up. My legs were protesting. I wasnât used to just holding a half squat like that, and they shook as I stood up. The shit was pressed into a different shape, and spread out along my butt cheeks as I straightened.
The stink of it hit me. Just a whiff as the wind turned, really. It wasnât as bad as it could have been, but I winced a bit nevertheless. The last time I did this, the clean up had been a stinking hell. It was going to be just as bad this time.
I took an uncomfortable step forward, legs slightly apart, so I wouldnât have to feel the waste. I turned around to look across the train tracks. I had made it⊠I dunno, maybe 50 meters from the train. Perhaps a hundred. Iâm bad at distances like this, but it wasnât a long distance. I still had my ten minutes of walk ahead of me.
âŠ
It was a pain. Walking in the chill air with piss-wet pants was a kind of misery that I should have expected, but I just hadnât thought about it. The wetness in my shoes was worse though. Cold, wet socks. Piss-wet socks. The shit also slowly cooled, and I felt it all begin to make me itch where the filth touched my skin. I hated it.
The mess in the rear was heavy in a way that I canât really describe. By rights it shouldnât be. It mustâve been less than a kilo. But the way it sat against my ass, it was an unwelcome weight that I just wasnât used to, and each step it tugged on my jeans and panties from within.
A few cars passed by on the road next to the lane I walked. They probably saw me. The piss-trails down my legs were obvious enough that I canât imagine they didnât spot me. There was a woman walking a dog that I saw coming, who was going to pass me by. I had a lot of time to let my imagination paint how sheâd react to me. But in the end she didnât even look at me.
âŠ
The walk took about 15 minutes. It felt a lot longer. Waddling the way I did slowed me down, I guess. But finally I got up the short hill to where the house with my apartment was. I dug my keys from my jacket pocket, and grit my teeth. It had been bad so far. But the cleaning up was going to be worse still.
Saying âI canât hold itâ while actively pushing. Red face, grunty voice, etc
The subtle shift in expression when someone goes from relaxed to focused as they start pooping. Itâs like you can visually track their gradual surrender to nature, the moment they shift from competent adult to animal relieving itself.
Solid accidents in uncommon places. Being on a bumpy bus ride that makes your turtle-heading poop bump against your hole over and over like itâs trying to pry you open from the inside. Being in the crowd at a big area game, struggling with all your might not to relax your bum, then seeing your red face pop up on the megatron right as your gut decides to bear down and work that poop out. Being stuck in an elevator with important colleagues when your poop decided itâs time to come out and despite urgent clenching, youâre forced to stare your colleagues in the face as your hole gapes open.
Side note: solid accidents are almost *more* embarrassing because itâs likeâŠyou couldnât hold that? Not being able to hold a loose liquidy poop is one thing but not being able to hold a big solid poop? Childish incompetent incontinent behavior
Iâve harped on about this before but vocal pooping >>> announcements like âitâs coming outâ, âIâm goingâ, âIâm poopingâ, âitâs happeningâ etc itâs so good idk why
anon I'm in my 30s under 18 dni @accidentallyanon - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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