Things were getting pretty bad.
Butch had been aware that something was wrong as he went about his delivery route, but he flinched when he felt his guts gurgle ominously as the UPS truck bumped along the quiet country lane towards his next drop-off. He knew he should have had the muesli at the roadside diner before starting his shift, and that his girlfriend would give him hell if she knew, but the burrito had been a naughty pleasure, and no one needed to know.
Shifting uncomfortably, he desperately wanted to let out a fart but knew he couldn’t dare risk it. He knew he’d have to ask to use the can at the ramshackle old house at the end of the drive he was, even now, negotiating. It was too far back into town and he’d never make it if he tried to hold out. He knew the old geezer who lived there as he’d dropped off parcels to him before, but his impression of the old guy was of a nervy, secretive, type who only ever opened the door sufficiently to get the parcel into the property. This could be a tough ask.
Pulling up in front of the house, Butch gingerly climbed down from his van and straightened out the creases on his brown, uniform shorts. He went to the back of the van to get the parcel; probably a book, the guy got a lot of big heavy books delivered. When he lifted the tailgate, the effort caused a small but loud fart to escape from his muscular butt and he froze in horror as he felt the tell-tale wetness in his underpants that confirmed he’d followed through a little.
Red in the face and sweating, Butch practically waddled up to the front door and thumbed the bell. He was about to lean on the damn thing when the door opened, fractionally, and the old geezer appeared. Remembering his job, Butch announced his parcel and proffered it to the old man. As usual, the old guy eyed both Butch and the parcel suspiciously before cautiously reaching out and taking it from the imperilled delivery driver.
“Sir. Mr Tartaros, please, do you have a bathroom I could use? I hate to ask but I’m in a bit of a predicament and it’s a mighty long way back to town” A bead of sweat dripped from the uniformed man’s eyebrow and he shifted position awkwardly as the turmoil in his guts reached new crescendos.
The old man was opening his mouth, presumably to frame the word ‘No’, when an urgent spasm wracked Butch’s bowel and sent a squirt of hot diarrhoea into his underwear. Without even pausing, Butch, shouting apologies, barged past the startled man and into the property in a frantic search for a bathroom.
“I’m so sorry sir! I’ve got to find a bathroom! I’m going in my pants!”
Knowing that this was totally against the rules and aware that the old geezer was screaming behind him, Butch crashed into the parlour, his eyes frantically scanning for any door or route that would lead to a john. The room was dark and had little in the way of furniture. Books, candles, and crystals were everywhere in piles and the bare floor was covered in a massive symbol that framed the guy lying, face-up, and imploring the UPS man for help from behind an enormous gag secured around his head.
Butch was dimly aware that the old man’s shouting had changed in pitch and was now more of a chant, in a language he’d never heard before. He felt the old guy’s spittle hit his neck and his vision dimmed and sleep descended upon him.
The alarm went off and Butch woke from a nightmare that he couldn’t quite remember and thumbed his phone to stop the shrill buzzing. It took a few seconds for him to orient himself and he realised that he had forgotten to cancel the alarm and that today was his day off. Muttering under his breath, he threw back the covers as he moved to haul his well-built frame out of bed. His eyes widened as he realised that the briefs he was wearing, and the sheets below him, were drenched in urine.
“What the hell?”
Butch was astounded that he’d wet himself while he slept. This hadn’t happened to him since he was a little kid and, at 34 years old and 6 feet tall, Butch was alarmed that he hadn’t even noticed the bed was soaked.
Silently grateful that it hadn’t been a night that Janey had stayed over, Butch quickly stripped the bed and started for the bathroom. Clutching the sodden sheets gingerly, the big man pushed open the bathroom door and flicked the light switch; illuminating the tiny room.
The instant he saw the toilet something startling happened. Butch groaned in pain and grabbed at his hairy belly as he suddenly felt his guts lurch and an instant and desperate need for a bowel movement overwhelmed him.
“Ooooff!”
He hadn’t been aware of this pressing compulsion before he saw the white porcelain but the contents of his bowels seemed to be becoming heavier and heavier, at an alarming rate, and before he knew it, he was squatting low and dumping thick, heavy coils into his abused briefs; unable to even wobble to the toilet a mere foot away from him.
“Oh no!! Unnngggh!”
Gripping the shower screen for support, Butch voided helplessly for a good 30 seconds before he was able to gain some semblance of control of himself, the soaked briefs compressing his mess as he tented their rear with the huge weight of poop.
Finally, breathing heavily, Butch was able to cease evacuating and carefully stood upright again. The smell, in the tiny room, was appalling and a quick glance in the mirror beside him showed him the mortifying extent of the damage. The rear of the briefs hung low with their weighty contents; somewhat visible due to the transparency of the piss-drenched fabric.
Butch threw the sodden sheets into the bath and tried to work out how to extricate himself from his predicament and get cleaned up. He decided that the best thing to do would be to hover over the toilet and lower the waistband of his underwear to allow the load to, hopefully, fall out. He could then jump in the shower and deal with everything else.
The plan was sound but, for some reason that he couldn’t understand, Butch didn’t go ahead with it. Instead, he simply sat on the toilet in his loaded briefs.
“What the fuck!?”
In his mind, Butch knew what he wanted to do. It was as if his body was simply refusing to comply. Worse, he was becoming aware of another, perplexing, impending need from his nether regions. Almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling, Butch looked down at himself and realised that he was sporting a massive erection; protruding visibly through the wet fabric of his briefs. This was no simple inconvenience of biology. The stupefied hunk felt an undeniable urge to come and, in spite of his condition; sitting on a toilet in a pair of piss-soaked and heavily soiled underpants, Butch found himself stroking his sizeable manhood through the cotton fabric.
In spite of the noxious smell, the unpleasant squelching, and the repulsive sensation of the mess at his rear moving around, Butch was soon labouring his way to a mammoth orgasm that shook his frame and left him trembling as wave after wave of hot spunk oozed through the wet material and trickled down his engorged dick. He was unaware that he’d been screaming his release and slumped, momentarily, breathless and spent against the cistern.
Eventually, Butch regained his composure and took in the revolting state in which he found himself. He was utterly bewildered by his urgent arousal and frantic need to ejaculate and, as he looked down at his now softening manhood he felt a wave of disgust wash across him.
More worrying had been Butch’s apparently spontaneous, and violent, incontinence. Butch badly needed to clean himself up and, with shaking hands, unloaded the vile mess as best he could into the bowl below him. He then jumped in the shower, not caring that the water took a minute to run hot, and worked to cleanse his soiled frame.
Within an hour the big man had laundry running and had dressed his hairy frame in fresh briefs, grey sweats and a hoodie. By the time he left the house to saunter to the nearby gym his thoughts had moved on and his anxieties somewhat lifted.
Butch wandered down the main street of town towards Pure Pump Gym, nodding greetings to various folk who responded fondly (no one messes with the UPS guy). About 100 feet away from the gym, he was passing Velma’s café and decided he could use a coffee to get his system running for his incipient workout. He entered the café and moseyed up to the counter to engage in a bit of friendly flirting with Velma; the septuagenarian who ran the joint.
“Hey, V! What’s occurring, this fine day?”
Banter was in full swing when Butch casually looked around the café to see who else was sampling Velma’s famous carrot cake and his glance took in the sign at the back of the café. The sign that said ‘Bathrooms’ with the infographic of a toilet.
“oufff!”
His guts heaved with a disagreeable thud and he suddenly knew he needed to take the mother of all dumps; immediately. Not wanting to be rude he attempted to curtail the conversation with the old woman while making a start for the bathrooms, crabbing slightly as his bowels distended uncomfortably and the weight therein increased exponentially. He wasn’t aware that he was stammering and puffing as he moved away from Velma and that, by the time he reached the door to the johns, he was squatting in discomfort.
He hit the door at speed and was shocked when the damn thing didn’t give to his, now sweaty, palms. Confused, he looked and realised that the sign not only informed him of the presence of the bathrooms but also that they were out of order.
By this point, he could feel an enormous log pushing solidly at his back door and it was only with an expression of stressed effort that he was able to hold the monster back and clench his cheeks.
“Hhhnnnggg!”
Red-faced with embarrassment and effort the big man blundered towards the front of the café, unaware he had his hands held protectively to his butt as if to hold back the inexorable flow. He was, however, acutely aware of his squat-like stance but he was unable to stand straight because his lower abdomen felt utterly packed with the unwanted cargo he was in danger of releasing and cramps wracked his muscular frame; drawing grunts of pain and groans of effort as he tried to clench and avoid soiling himself. His last, unwanted, act in the café was the release of a huge noisy fart that made him cry out in embarrassment.
A spasm hit him just as he emerged into the street and he could feel an enormous turd start to emerge. He moaned through gritted teeth as he attempted to pull the log back in and succeeded in stopping the relentless flow. He realised, with horror, that he hadn’t been entirely successful and that he could feel a knob of firm excrement between his clamped butt cheeks. He was touching cloth.
“How the fuck is this happening again!? Ohh! Oh no!!”
Butch felt his sphincter give out momentarily and his anus flowered to allow the passage of another stiff log into his waiting underwear. With an insane effort, he managed to pinch it off and gain control.
“Oh God!” His hand tentatively felt behind him and, sure enough, there was a sizeable bulge in the rear of his sweats. He started towards the gym, frantic to make it there and avail himself of the toilets but had to suddenly stop dead on the sunny sidewalk.
The pressure in his bowels was immense and he knew that if he took a step forward the movement of his legs and arse would allow further poop to push its way out. He was just taking in his helpless predicament (remaining still but pooping eventually when his strength gave out, or keeping moving and pooping with every step) when a familiar voice drew him back to reality,
“You okay, Butch? You forgot your gym bag”
Velma had toddled out of the café bearing the aforementioned item and was looking at him with concern. Butch realised the view that he was presenting; sweating and puce-faced as he hunkered awkwardly on the street, one hand behind him to try to shield his misfortune from passers-by.
“T-thanks V. I’m… uhh… I’m fine. Gotta go work on these muscles. H-here, let’s take that ohhhh… from you.”
Such was the squat that Butch had assumed, to manage the cramping in his guts, that he had to reach up to retrieve his bag from the woman’s hands. The movement of his abdomen and the momentary distraction added to his undoing and another coil flowed into his briefs; pushing out into them and stretching his sweats in a manner he knew was more than evident for anyone to see.
Rational thought left him and he looked up into the kindly woman’s worried eyes and simply said,
“I’m uuhhhhnnn… I’m h-having an accident”
“What, dear? Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry. I’m uggghhh… I’m doing it in my pants”
Butch watched as realisation flashed across Velma’s face and her hand flew to her mouth as he let out another resounding fart into the mushy confines of his sweats.
“Oh dear!”
“I can’t help it. Oh God!” Butch lost complete control and felt a gigantic turd force its way past his exhausted ring; filling his briefs and dragging the rear of his sweats down heavily. He fancied he could hear the crackling noise as yet more turds came.
Velma flapped ineffectually in front of the hapless man, torn between concern and disgust, as Butch slowly and ceaselessly voided the biggest bowel movement he’d ever known into his pants. This went on for about half a minute until he was finally able to regain control of himself. Sweat from his efforts beaded his flushed face as he was finally able to assume a more upright position and pull himself to his full height, awkwardly aware of the stupidly heavy mess squishing around behind him. He could feel the sheer weight and volume of what his briefs now struggled to contain and was glad that he had tied the cord of his sweatpants because he could imagine that mass dragging them to the ground.
His embarrassed gaze met Velma’s. There was nothing to be done. She had seen what she had seen and he needed to get off the street and into the gym where he might be able to repair the damage.
“I’m so sorry V. I’ve gotta go.”
Butch tried, feebly, to use the gym bag to hide his butt as he waddled the 80 feet to the door to the gym; every step was torture as his cooling load squelched uncomfortably against him.
He entered Pure Pump, grateful for the air conditioning that he hoped would take care of the sweat he was drenched in and the awful smell surrounding him. Calling a perfunctory greeting to the receptionist he crabbed awkwardly to the changing rooms and headed for the toilets.
As he approached the toilet area he was planning frantically on his next move. The gym was fairly quiet and there was no one in the changing rooms. He could get cleaned up and wear his gym gear home; maybe dumping his ruined outfit in the trash on the way. These thoughts were immediately struck from his addled mind when he rounded the corner and caught sight of the toilets.
The now familiar lurch in his guts took him by utter surprise.
“No! God, no! I can’t! Not again! Oooohhh…”
This time there was no resisting it. He was too tired and too shaken from his previous ordeal and the big man sank to his knees as wave after wave of heavy, firm logs forced their way out, flatulently, into his overburdened pants.
There were many mirrors. Butch watched in horrified fascination as, two reflections away, he took in the broad back of the man kneeling on the floor of the locker room; endlessly distending the seat of his grey sweatpants with a revolting bulge. He observed, almost idly, as his underwear reached capacity and began emptying into the now-tight grey cotton of the sweats; filling and bloating the back of his thighs; the only sounds in the room, the crackles of his load emerging, peppered with the occasional fart and groan from the hapless man.
Finally, after 40 seconds of relentless dumping, the urge ended but it took a few more moments before Butch could marshal his strength to attempt to get up and shamble to the waiting toilet cubicle. He stank to high heaven and he could feel his excrement packing his briefs and sweatpants almost to the backs of his knees. The utter shame that he had become a walking toilet was palpable as he awkwardly manoeuvred into the stall and locked the door.
Leaning against the door he tried to take stock and figure out his next move. He looked at the waiting toilet bowl and immediately felt himself getting hard in his briefs.
“No. This can’t be fucking happening”
His dick throbbed and he noticed that he was absently fondling it through the ruined clothing. He knew what he needed to do but he couldn’t focus on anything but the need to get off and, within seconds he was sitting on the toilet and jacking his cock frantically through the fouled material; feeling his shit moving and conforming as he wrenched at himself. His cock ached from such heavy ministrations so soon after his previous aggressive wank but he didn’t care. All Butch could think of was the overpowering need to cum. He barely noticed that his own excrement had shifted to engulf his tightening balls and he cried out hoarsely as, again, he pumped his seed into the confines of his disgusting underwear.
Slumped and breathing roughly, Butch was suddenly startled back to reality by a nearby voice outside the stall,
“You okay in there? Not prying but you were moaning like a heifer”
“I-I’m fine. Thanks!”
He looked down at himself. ‘Fine’ was not an adjective that applied to his current predicament but he knew he had to move fast and find a way out of this appalling situation before he got caught.
Butch quickly stripped out of the sweats and briefs, grimacing as the filthy fabric touched his legs on the way down. There was no point trying to salve the situation with toilet paper. He slipped open the cubicle door, the evidence of his horrendous deed wadded in his hands, and checked to see if anyone was in the changing room. The coast was clear.
The muscular man moved as quickly as he could across to the showers and threw himself under the jets, working fast to remove the most obvious damage before anyone came in and saw him. Soon he was clean, although he felt disgusting and was convinced that he could still smell shit on his skin. He moved quickly to his gym bag and pulled out his outfit and towel while firmly stuffing the ruined clothing into the bag and zipping it up hurriedly.
15 minutes later and Butch was towelled off and walking back down the road towards his house. He felt mortified that he only had his gym gear to wear (a jock, blue lycra shorts, and a muscle vest) but needs must and he’d soon be home where he could explore what on earth had happened to him this morning. He winced as he passed Velma’s but speaking to her would have to wait for another day.
Butch needed to get home and work out how he had managed to end up crapping himself three times in one morning to such an absurd volume and why he’d developed an obsession with jacking off while in such a dreadful state. His dick, unfortunately evident in its Lycra package, ached and his arsehole was sore.
Safely back at his home, Butch quickly moved the clean clothing, from his previous ordeal, to the dryer and placed the filthy evidence of his last humiliation in to boil wash.
“Maybe I’m sick” he mused to himself as he headed for the bedroom to change out of his revealing gym gear. As he crossed the hall to the bedroom, he glanced to his right and into the tiny bathroom. As soon as he saw the toilet he cried out in disgusted shock and, without the strength to help himself, immediately began loading up his Lycra shorts with another enormous coil of seemingly-endless, firm poop.
His jockstrap offered no support, as his briefs had before, and it was left to the soft stretchy fabric of his shorts to attempt to contain his burgeoning load even as he slumped to his hands and knees at the door of the bathroom. Inexorably he filled the shorts; the rear drooping, somewhat comically but not to Butch, below his balls. This wasn’t diarrhoea, this was the mother of all turds and the weight of it seemed impossible as it relentlessly exited the exhausted fellow.
Butch’s strength gave out and he crashed to the floor, face down, and lay there insensate, as he continued to load up the spandex.
“Help me!” He bleated, to no one in particular.
This time the ordeal went on for nearly a minute and ended just before the awful mass made its way out of the shorts. Puffing and moaning with humiliated weariness, Butch lay still for a moment before slowly pulling himself to his feet and entering the tiny room, the Lycra garment sagging disgustingly and swaying as he moved.
He looked at the toilet, his heart hammering in his chest, and felt the stirring below that presaged what he most feared happening next.
“No. Please. I Can’t. What is happening to me?!”
Even as he tried to appeal against what was occurring, Butch had grabbed his priapic dick through the fabric of the shorts and jock and began tugging. He reached the toilet and turned smoothly, dick in pumping hand, and sat; absently noticing that he’d put the lid down after the last ignominious time he’d been here. Even the fetid sensation of his hot load spreading out under him didn’t draw him away from what he needed most and he growled in pain as he frantically stroked himself to painful ejaculation in his foul mess.
When he came, it was a with scream of agony and Butch collapsed in a faint, slumping off the toilet and onto the bathroom floor where he slept for an hour in his filth.
