Since when did she start asking for this kind of treatment from me? I mean, I've always been open to experimenting in the bedroom, but scat play? That was just... weird. Not that it didn't turn me on—her ass clenched tightly around my finger as I pushed deeper, coating it in her warm, slick shit. But still, we'd only been dating for a few months, and we'd never even discussed it.
"Fuck, yeah, just like that," she moaned, her breath hot against my ear. I couldn't help but smile as I felt the first little twitches in her bowels. She was all mine now.
I pulled my finger out slowly, relishing in the sight of her mouth watering as she stared at the string of brown ooze stretching between us. I quickly brought it to her lips and she eagerly accepted it, sucking it off with gusto. I couldn't believe how easily she had given in to this dark side of hers—and now we were both consumed by it.
The next few minutes were a blur of moans, groans, and the rasp of denim against skin as we frantically made our way towards the bathroom. The smell of her shit filled the air as we pushed open the door—it was almost intoxicating. And then we were there, both of us kneeling on the cold tile floor as she grunted and strained, pushing her massive turds out one by one.
I couldn't resist—I had to taste it. I leaned forward, my tongue darting out to lick at the slimy residue left on her pussy lips. She let out a loud moan of approval as I took her in my mouth once more, lapping up the salty tang of her essence mixed with the acrid stench of her shit.
And then it was my turn. She positioned me on all fours, her slick fingers once again probing my tight little hole as she kneaded my ass cheeks. I felt the familiar burn as she pushed into me, filling me up with that sweet, stinky shit of hers. And then she withdrew just as quickly, leaving me aching for more.
We repeated this ritual over and over again, each time pushing ourselves further into the depths of our depravity. The room was thick with the smell of shit and sex, and yet neither of us could get enough. It was as if we were addicted—no, it was more than that. It was a connection, a bond that couldn't be broken by anything as trivial as societal norms or basic hygiene.
As we collapsed in a heap on the floor, smeared in each other's filth, I couldn't help but wonder how long this would last. Would we always be drawn to this dark side of ourselves? Or was it just a passing phase? One thing was for sure—I wouldn't have it any other way.
