Oksana Dimitrova was laying in bed, still half-asleep after a long night out. Her mind drifted lazily across the events of the evening: the clubs, the music, the flirting, and the endless stream of admirers. She felt a warm, contented glow spread throughout her body as she recalled how they had all fawned over her, desperate for even a moment of her time.
But now, as the early morning sun began to peer through the blinds, reality started to set in. Oksana rolled over, groaning softly as she felt a distinct pressure in her lower abdomen. With a grimace, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as she took stock of the situation: she had a nasty hangover, and judging by the knot in her stomach, she was about to experience one of the worst cases of constipation she'd ever had.
She padded unsteadily to the bathroom, hoping against hope that things would move easily. But as she sat down on the cold porcelain toilet seat, she knew it was going to be a battle. She clenched her eyes shut and girded her loins for the fight ahead.
The first few minutes were agonizing: nothing happened. Oksana gritted her teeth and tried to push, but all that seemed to do was make her cramp. She bit her lip, determined not to make any noise that might tip off the rest of her household to her predicament. This was always the worst part, she thought to herself.
And then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it began. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, a series of gassy eruptions fizzed and popped from her tightly-clenched sphincter. Oksana winced and gritted her teeth, focusing all her energy on not making any noise.
At last, the pressure began to abate, and Oksana took a deep breath. She leaned forward, placed her hands on the cool tiles, and lowered her head, preparing herself for the final assault. With a deep, guttural groan, she pushed hard, feeling the hot, viscous sludge force its way from her body.
It took an eternity, or so it seemed, but eventually, the flow subsided, leaving Oksana collapsed on the floor, panting and sweating. She took a few moments to gather herself before turning to the matter at hand: what to do with her unwanted gift.
She thought back to the events of the previous night, the way the guys had hovered around her like moths drawn to a flame. They couldn't get enough of her, of her body, of her ass. One of them in particular had spent the entire evening whispering dirty little nothings in her ear, telling her how much he wanted to taste her and how she should never, ever let anyone else have a taste.
A wicked smile began to creep across Oksana's face. She stood up, her legs wobbly but determined. It was time to put that eager little sycophant to the test.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she made her way towards where she knew he would be waiting, still buzzing from the night's events. She stopped a few feet away and looked him dead in the eye. "Hey," she purred, "you know what I've always wondered?"
He looked at her, confusion and desire warring on his face. "What's that, baby?"
Oksana licked her lips, savoring the power she held over him in that moment. "I've always wanted to know what it tastes like," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My first bowel movement of the day."
The man's eyes went wide, shock and arousal mingling on his face. "You mean...?" he stuttered.
"I mean," she purred, drawing out the word until it was a low, rumbling growl, "I want you to eat my shit."
For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then, suddenly, he was on his knees before her, his mouth open, his tongue darting nervously out. "Please," he whimpered, "I'll do anything. Just let me taste it."
Oksana stepped forward, lowering herself down onto the floor until their faces were level. She smiled, feeling a surge of power course through her veins. "There's my good little shit-eater," she whispered, reaching back with one hand and pulling down her panties. "Now go ahead. Eat my shit."
And so he did.
