call me administrator if my url doesn't suffice. i'm a nonbinary lesbian (taken) with a weird relationship to sex. 20s, ze/hir. i like fictional men but not at all in real life. please don't follow or interact if you're under 18. if you know my main no you don't. i'm a little neurotic so if i don't respond to you or if i respond weirdly that's why, sorry.
i am a hard dom. i will not behave submissively for you, jokingly or not.
yuckier kinks, which you'll probably see more of:
omorashi and wetting
scat, holding and messing
bathroom control
constipation (but i prefer the whole process, if that makes sense)
other light scat and watersports. not into eating or smearing. prefer hard over soft scat.
other kinks:
sadism, in most but not all forms
fucking with people psychologically
light voyeurism and exhibitionism
humiliation
techfet
robots, robogore, and computers
motorcycle gear
gunplay
crossdressing
degradation and begging
stuff i'm not into:
ab/agere (though im fine with diapers)
wg/feederism/vore
farting/epructo
slob
send me asks about holds if you want. i tag everything but my system is a little esoteric, block tags as needed. here's a list.
i love being given power and asked for permission, but i won't always reciprocate attention. don't try to bother me, please.
bladder bulges are fucking insaaane. what do you mean theres visible evidence of how much liquid is in youā¦ā¦ā¦. i understand feederists because like. Waow
The best kinds of the dumps are the kinds you can't finish in one sitting. The kind that leave your stomach gurgling and your anus puckered as your body begs to be fully emptied. They leave you rocking back and forth on the toilet, straining until you're red in the face. Painful nuggets plop in the bowl, leaving you unsatisfied. You leave the restroom, rubbing your stomach to soothe your restless gut.
Then it hits. You dash to the toilet, pulling your pants down as you move. This mess is coming and it's coming now. Sitting down, you grab whatever's closest to you and prepare yourself. You feel your tender hole widen as you begin to push, grunting loudly. Pieces break off in spikey chunks. They splash noisily in the water below. Finally, you're empty. You release a flurry of pent up gas as your clean yourself up.
you ever think about, someone absolutely bursting to both pee and poop, rushing to the bathrooms and deciding their bladder is making the most urgent demands and using the urinal first, only to quickly realise their bowels aren't gonna wait either, and having to try and stop the stream so they can switch to the stalls, while trying to keep their mess inside as well
That's really good. So many possible ways it can go.
Not being able to stop the stream and having to choose between trying to finish peeing and risk messing, or running to a toilet and leaking al the way.
Stopping the stream and rushing to the toilet, but wetting on the way.
Taking too long to decide what to do so they end up messing anyway.
Getting so into the relief of peeing that they accidentally mess right then and there.
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 anā 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.
ā¦
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 wereāoh god I didn't have the mental bandwidth to spare for this kind of thingāwas 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.
ā¦
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, wasnāt 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 didnāt 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 hadnāt noticed, but standing up, it was making itself noticed. Because of course it was. I wasnāt even hoping to avoid an accident any more, I just wanted to get off the train before it happened. I didnāt want to be stuck with strangers in here, where Iād stand obvious under the trainās 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 wouldnāt 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.
ā¦
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 wouldnāt be any issue at all, but when my guts were twisting themselves in knots like this it felt almost impossible.
I couldnāt 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.
ā¦
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 couldnāt help it as my legs bent in an involuntary squat. I could feel my body start pushing. No. I wasnāt 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 wasnāt. 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 wouldāve 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 wasnāt going to give up now.
ā¦
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 donāt 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 justā¦ 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.
ā¦
I just stood there. I donāt 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 wasnāt 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 wasnāt 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 wouldnāt have to feel the waste. I turned around to look across the train tracks. I had made itā¦ I dunno, maybe 50 meters from the train. Perhaps a hundred. Iām bad at distances like this, but it wasnāt a long distance. I still had my ten minutes of walk ahead of me.
ā¦
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 hadnāt 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 canāt really describe. By rights it shouldnāt be. It mustāve been less than a kilo. But the way it sat against my ass, it was an unwelcome weight that I just wasnāt 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 canāt imagine they didnāt 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 sheād react to me. But in the end she didnāt even look at me.
ā¦
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.
desperate, embarrassing public messing that ends w your fav half-squatting and trying to hold back moans and tears as they lose complete control of their bowels and load their pants with log after log of shit.Ā squeaky farts escaping around the turd adding insult to injury but they just canāt stop.
but also your fav just being completely unashamed of shitting themselves in public, not even trying to hold it as they spread their legs a little bit while waiting in line and grunting/straining loudly as they push huge, roping coils of shit into their pants.Ā people are looking but they dont care.Ā their belly spasms, working hard to rid themselves of their burden while they fart noisily.Ā finally finished, all that straining causes their bladder to relieve it self.Ā It spreads wet across their crotch but the sudden flood of liquid gushes through their pants and splatters all over the floor while they sigh with relief.
the best thing is when someone needs to go both 1 AND 2, and getting so desperate their body decides they can only hold in one at a time, not both, they try to hold their poop, and their pee is dribbling out, they try to hold their pee, and now they're turtle heading, they can either pour all their attention into keeping one exit shut, and accept that the other will be uncontrollably releasing into their pants, or try their best to alternate between the two and just slowly have an accident
or secret third option, give in entirely and let it all loose
Yesss, that's so good. Combined desperation is the best. Maybe they get to a spot where they're able to pee, or they find a bottle or something to pee into, but the act of relaxing enough to pee brings them dangerously close to pooping as well so they have to slowly and agonizingly let out tiny spurts to avoid messing themselves.
I'm so bad at writing full stories these days, but came up with a snippet. Context is a hypno-ray that makes men soil themselves, you can fill in the blanks!
The banker squirmed. His grip tightened around the rail. Though he snorted and guffawed his way through the call, his voice was thinning out, getting higher and more frantic, and a few pathetic whimpers slipped through his reserve.Ā
His farts got wetter; louder. I imagined his pristine white briefs becoming slippery and brown, coating his perfect, pampered hole with sticky juice. His fat ass wobbled as he edged up to the wall. A coin-sized damp spot appeared on his crotch. Poor baby. He must be so frightened. He looked pale now, his lower lip was wobbling frantically; after every second fart heād leap up, startled, and let out a little gasp.Ā
ā
The dam had broken. The bankerās tailored trousers ballooned outwards, filling with a soft and smelly semi-liquid mush; a poop of sickness, uncontrollable, worse than a healthy coil of turd.Ā
He started to cry, holding his bottom with both hands. The sound was helpless, childish; a broken wail peppered with needy sobs. The man on the phone to him was laughing.Ā
āPlease, make it stopā¦ please donāt look,ā he lisped, stumbling through the words, āIt wonāt stopā¦ why wonāt it stop?āĀ
āOh no, noā¦.ā His hands scrambled to his belt but it was too late, and there was nowhere safe to release anyway. The front of his pants darkened by two shades. Hot pee dribbled down his legs, into his socks, and puddled at his shoes. Iād only made him shit himself. The piss was his own contribution, probably fear, or perhaps a weak and overburdened bladder.
character who always has big, solid shits...like i'm talkin firm, huge loads that only take a little effort to get out. the problem is...he's not exactly super regular about it, nor does he have the best control. it always comes out when he least expects or wants it to. usually at work. he has to struggle to hold it until he gets home, and when he gets home, he has to do the awkward 'oh god i'm about to poop myself' waddle-run for the bathroom. sometimes, even then, he doesn't make it and has to do that awkward half-squat in the hallway, pushing a long-delayed load of firm shit into his work pants.
worst of all, he hates having to do laundry because of it. so, so many pairs of boxers in the laundry basket. even worse than that, he lives with other people. he has to run the risk of someone noticing how much laundry he's going through, or, god forbid, they actually see him shit himself. and because it's so random, he runs that risk all the time.
through one way or another, he ends up wearing a pull-up. white, medical, plain. maybe trying to get over a UTI while still working his 8-6 job. he ends up needing a shit fairly early on, which means by the time he gets home, he's desperate for the bathroom. he parks the truck and just sits for a moment before getting out. the moment he's out of the seat, he almost loses it. he considers just giving in, but it's at least worth the effort of trying to make it to the bathroom.
he makes it to the bathroom door and moves to shove it open, relieved at the prospect of...relief. but when he opens it, he finds someone else already on the toilet. they yell at him to shut the door, and he does, backing up and glancing around. seeing as nobody can see him, he starts wiggling like a worm, grabbing at his rear as if that's going to keep him from having an accident.
he can't hold it long at all. he crouches down right there in the hallway, bracing himself against the wall, finally, just pushing it all out and getting it over with. he didn't think he could even fathom shitting this much, but it's enough that he has to tug his pants down to give himself more room to fill his pull-up.
once he's pretty sure he's done, he reaches a hand around to pat his bottom and see how much he really did...
it's a lot. more than he thinks he's ever gone in his life. and on top of all of it, he gets the urge to pee, so he does, letting out a painful jet of piss that soaks into the padding immediately.
"...[character]? what are you... are you having an accident?" he turns, his face growing hot with embarrassment as he sees his [family member/friend] at the end of the hallway.
"I..." he tries to come up with some sort of excuse, but can't. "don't- don't worry about it."
I love it when it's so obvious when they're pooping themselves. Doing a potty dance right before only to freeze. Suddenly their face contorts into both strain and relief. Their hips dip into a half squat and they audibly *push* and a fart comes out. And it's one of those loud wet ones, and they keep coming. The sharts stain through everything in its path and creates a puddle on the floor, with the solid bits spreading up their waist band. They grab onto something for support and don't even try to stop it anymore. They push as hard as they can to just be done with it. They're peeing too, it's splattering everything and it's so loud. And when they are done their underwear is so weighted down with shit that it can escape easily form any uncareful movement.
When they are eventually done they sigh in relief, catch their breath. Then they have to make the trek to the nearest bathroom to clean up. Its so clear what they are covered in so they don't even try to hide it. They try to walk carefully and hold their underwear in place to keep all the solid poop contained.
fear wetting is so cute but i only like it if thereās desp beforehand too. like it canāt come out of nowhere. the victim hasssss to already be desperate and then the fear just makes it impossible to hold it. ykwim
A character desperately needing to poop but thereās no bathroom in sight as they struggle to hold it. (They are recovering from bad constipation.)
-š¶
After not pooping for so long theyāre bound to be absolutely FILLED with mess desperate to come out. I love turtleheadingāwhen you can see the asshole pucker, starting to force the poop out against the personās willā¦ a lot of people even take suppositories or laxatives to recover from constipation, so all of that backed up poop could just be liquified into a thick, squirty paste. Where are they going to let this huge dump out if not in the toilet; in their pants? On the floor? In their hand? Can they find something to hold it? Do they hold their butt over a balcony or something similar?? Who knowsā¦
