WARNING: contains poop desperation
Your fave has been baking brownies in the oven for the past three whole days. Theyâre on vacation in the mountains and the only available toilet is accessible from two rooms, with people constantly occupying those two rooms and your fave is so poop shy that they wonât even consider it.
Today, itâs bad. Theyâre lying on their bed, pretending to nap, tucked into a fetal position, curled around their extremely full, bursting bowels. Low gurgles and moans echo from their poor stomach every few seconds and, worse, is the gas. Noxious jets of hot gas are spurting out from their ass every few seconds. Drilling their underwear with awful hissing farts that leave their hole tingling from the heat. And the smell, the smell is just atrocious, rotten and poop-scented; itâs so bad that itâs seeping out from the covers, infesting the room with a cloying stench. They muffle a whimper, brought to near tears from the pain in the tummy, the massive log thatâs been festering inside them wanting so badly to just unfurl into their pants.
They tighten their hole as another cramp wracks their midsection, letting out a little gasp, hands working their bloated gurgly stomach. God, theyâve never been this full of shit before, bowels just absolutely packed. Another fart sputters out, gently flapping their cheeks as their gas purrs like a motorboat. They clench their asscheeks just as the fart gets louder, their stomach gurgling angrily at its denied relief.
âOh, fuck,â they whisper to themselves. Just anotherâ they check the date on their phone and groanâ three more days. But by nighttime, itâs clear their body has reached its limit. Theyâre farting every few seconds, putrid puffs of gas that work around a huge turtlehead. And speaking of, the face of a truly massive log keeps prairie dogging in and out, spreading their hole before being clenched back into their stuffed rectum; they feel waves of shivers down their spine whenever this happens.
Suddenly, at around midnight, with your fave having given up on trying to sleep with the state of their bowels, the turd starts to creep out and clenching isnât working, with the two cheeks pressing on the log, itâs like trying to panini-press an iron ingot. Your fave is throwing off the covers and waddling to the door. Moonlight streaming through the windows helps them not trip. They throw open the door and stumble towards the wooded area behind the cabin. Farts are bubbling out of them. Their stomach is contracting, forcing their hard-packed log further and further out; itâs nearly touching cloth. The night bugs hum and buzzing mosquitoes dart at them. They hurry, legs spearing urgently, log hanging out of their butt, one hand over their rump, one hand on their aching belly. Sweat runs down their face.
They make it to a tree, tear down their pajama bottoms and hover their ass over a cluster of roots. Immediately a fat rope of glistening scat unfurls from their spread hole, bumps and knobs sending shivers of pleasure through them as they loose a breathless moan at the pure relief from emptying their bowels, finally, after four days, and its coiling round and round, it just keeps coming, the log is getting softer, golden brown instead of tree colored. Urgent farts and pops of toxic gas squeeze past the turd and a crackling like fall leaves fills the air. Their hole pinches, cutting the loaf off and it doesnât even fall, propped up by the curling logs that your fave just laid. An airy fart that lasts a solid five seconds before it starts to sputter obnoxiously shoots out of them, disturbing the leaves underfoot.
Your fave blushes bright red looking at their enormous pile. They canât believe they held that cow patty in for so long. They feel so light. After wiping with a wet leaf, they hike up their pjs, kick dirt over the log, and sneak quietly back inside. No one is ever the wiser.
