As I settled onto the cold, hard toilet seat, my mind wandered to the delicious burger I had consumed for lunch. Mmm, maybe it was a bit too much fiber, I thought to myself, as I felt a familiar, uncomfortable tightening in my gut. I let out a long sigh and leaned forward, resting my forearms on my thighs as I prepared for the battle ahead.
Gingerly, I began to push and strain, feeling the muscles in my stomach clench painfully. My eyes squeezed shut as I concentrated on the task at hand, but it was no use—no matter how hard I tried, nothing would budge. With a frustrated groan, I stood up and paced around the small bathroom, rubbing my aching belly.
"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, wondering how much longer I could go without relieving myself. I tentatively moved closer to the toilet and tried again, this time using my fingers to massage my tight anal sphincter—a technique I had heard could help when you're really backed up.
Slowly, I felt something start to shift. It was agonizingly slow, but it was progress. I moved my fingers gracefully in circles around my anus, feeling the soft, puckered skin beneath them. Suddenly, there was a surge of pressure, and before I knew it, the first piece of hard, dry poo slipped out.
It was a strange feeling—exhilarating and revolting all at once. I stared, fascinated, as the dark brown mass slowly grew longer, stretching out before me. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride; after all, not many people could say they had successfully extracted their own constipation.
But the battle wasn't over yet. I got down on my knees and started to kiss and nuzzle the base of my spine, moaning softly as I massaged my own body. The tension in my gut began to ease, and I gently pushed once more, sighing with relief as cool air rushed over my sweaty skin.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over. I stood up, feeling drained but accomplished, and surveyed the scene before me. Lying on the bathroom floor was a thick, messy pile of shit—my shit. I smiled to myself; even though it was repulsive, there was something strangely satisfying about seeing proof of my accomplishment.
With a deep breath, I smeared the poo between my fingers, letting it dry on my skin as I admired the contrast between my soft, pale flesh and the rough, dirty mess. I ran a finger around my asshole, feeling the barely-there remnants of my strain, then slowly lifted my shirt to reveal my breasts, covered in a fine layer of sweat and dirt.
With a sly grin, I snapped a picture and sent it to myself,promising to never forget this unique experience. Then, grimacing as the lingering unpleasantness threatened to overwhelm me, I finally picked up a toilet brush and started cleaning up—but that's another story for another time.
