{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"e382137e-d02c-47cc-8dcd-77780f2fa2ac","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2024-01-15T12:46:46.4Z","title":"Mon's Early Shift [Scat]","slug":"mons-early-shift-scat","shortId":"rLDnaLy7","authorNote":"Exploring the psychology of someone who is deeply into scat but hasn't realized it yet and doesn't know they are looking for an excuse.","disclaimer":"All events, characters descriptions, etc are fictional. Any similarities to reality are purely coincidence. This is intended to be masturbation fantasy only -- I do not condone mixing anything scat related, unhygienic or anything where the chance of a non-consenual party encountering scat in the workplace or anywhere in reality. Etc, etc, All the usual disclaimers apply with fapfiction. Please don't reproduce without permission.","type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"A woman finds out the toilet at work won't flush after it's too late -- and the big important meeting is in half an hour!","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"41b6830c-0360-4f58-baa3-d8752666b7d4","title":null,"summary":"Monica sat upon the porcelain throne in the cubicle in the theatre's staff bathroom. Skirt hiked up ","wordCount":3509,"readTime":18,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

Monica sat upon the porcelain throne in the cubicle in the theatre's staff bathroom. Skirt hiked up - striped panties around her ankles dawdling on her phone. She had come in for an early weekend shift and her workplace was deserted. It was only a small local theatre, one stage, barely a green room and just a dingy curtained off area with some light-studded mirrors against a bare brick wall for a dressing room. They were currently in-between touring shows so things were very quiet. In half an hour she had an important meeting with some high profile clients who were coming to inspect the venue to see if they would like to use it on an upcoming tour. Several of her bosses and managers would be with them, including her direct boss and she had made it clear to her that this was an important sale that meant a lot of revenue for the company and so she had rostered her in early in the morning before anyone else was in the building just to make sure that everything was perfect in order to impress the new potential clients on their tour of the venue. Monica had tidied, taken care of various chores and tasks, double checked what needed to be checked and was happy with the state of the place. That's when some vicious cramps hit her belly and she realized the coffee had worked its magic and she needed to take care of her morning poo. So here she was in the only cubicle in the meager staff bathroom having plopped out three healthy sizeable turds and a nice voluminous stream of wee -- playing on her phone. She had plenty of time -- felt confident that everything was in order for the tour and that after she had finished her business she just had to send a few emails and she would be all set.

She closed Tiktok and sighed. She stood up and reached for the flush, as she was in the habit of flushing before she wiped. She was a flush twice kind of gal. One for the poo, and one for the paper, so she could have a good look at it without the paper in the way. Her parents had impressed upon her when she was young how important it was to look in case of blood or other signs that a visit to a doctor may be required. Satisfied that her work looked healthy, she pressed the flush and *clunk*. Nothing happened. She pressed it again and felt something in the cistern move but *clunk* nothing else was happening. So she pressed the flush rapidly over and over out of frustration and nothing happened. She let out a grueling moan.

\"Are you kidding me!?!?\" She thought.

She lifted the lid of the cistern and it was full of water. She pressed the flush, saw the big arm thingy go *clunk* but she couldn't figure out why it wasn't flushing -- she didn't really know how it worked. She put the lid back on, sat back down and bit her lip.

She thought about her predicament -- not a big deal, a little embarrassing but it's fine, this was the only staff toilet in the venue but there was always the one for the public in the theatre's auditorium. She could just close the staff toilet, call the maintenance team and everyone could just use the auditorium toilets. They were way nicer anyway and there was a lot more of them. She'd just have to find the big safety barrier and put it across the door and put an out of order sign up ... wait a second the big safety barrier was in the auditorium ... oh no! That's right! The auditorium bathrooms were closed for renovation! The boss had made such a big deal out of it, the back of house area was of course suffering from decades of neglect but everything front of house had to be lush or at least give the impression of being lush -- it was a theatre after all. The boss had organized for some trades-people to come redo the auditorium bathrooms in the downtime between shows and put in some much needed disabled access facilities. Everything behind that bathroom door was a war-zone of tiles, dust and plumbing fittings. The trades-people didn't work weekends (at least not for what the boss was paying them) and so they weren't in. The only working toilet in the whole building was under her butt right now and it had decided to give up flushing just as she had stunk it out with her massive smelly poo!

There were heaps of people coming to tour the venue including her boss and the sales team. There would be coffees, there would be nibbles, there would be smoke breaks, meetings, wheelings and dealings. The likely-hood some of them -- if not most of them --would have to go wasn't just high but outright guaranteed. She was the only person in this morning! Worse yet she was the only person in last night as well! A lot of people would put two and two together and they would know it was her poo, they would see it floating in her putrid, vivid yellow wee. They would smell her stench! The embarrassment was already flushing her pale skin a bright pink. Monica put her face in her hands and let out a despairing sob.

She pulled herself together. \"Focus on what you can do\" she told herself. She got out her phone and she gave the maintenance firm a ring. Her boss had sacked all permanent staff in roles like janitors and general maintenance years before she'd been hired. This was so he could contract out to a third party firm that handled this kind of stuff for buildings all over town. All over the country in fact. Much cheaper this way then paying a few full time staff full benefits. If they had a problem with the air conditioning they called the firm. If they had a problem with a leak they called the firm. Seat was broken in the auditorium? The firm. Toilets were also firmly in the firms ball-park. She figured whoever they sent may also figure out it was her stinky poo in the toilet but better a virtually anonymous maintenance man on a call-out then the entire management and sales team.

Monica went through the usual rigmarole of plugging numbers into a robot until she got the lady in the call center who asked her what the problem was. She told them it was a broken toilet, where it was and that it was urgent. The lady in the call-center dutifully informed Monica that all of their technicians were busy and that they would attend as soon as possible but to expect a wait time of up to several hours. Monica didn't even try to argue with the lady, she'd dealt with them many times before and she knew there was no point, ultimately the call-out technician would get the job added to his list and would attend when he could. Probably at least after he'd had lunch in her experience. Trying to fight it would just get her into an endless loop of being transferred around call centers and on-hold robots as she had been a half dozen or so times in the past. She knew it was best to just put the order in, say it was urgent and wait. There was no way she was going to explain exactly why it was so urgent in any case -- she was embarrassed enough as it is! And no-one else knew about it yet! She couldn't even fathom how she would feel if she saw the always sharp handsome Martin from Sales back out of the bathroom holding his nose!

She breathed in her own stench and looked at the time on her phone. 15 minutes until they arrive. She knew her boss, she wouldn't be early, she wouldn't be late, she would be exactly 'on the dot' on time. That was her style. Right on the clock with a tray of bowel awakening morning coffees in hand.

\"Focus on what you can do\" she told herself. It had always been her self-imposed mantra for getting through long nights and days in the theatre. Solving the kind of problems that cropped up at 3am on an overnight-er when everyone was delirious required that kind of attitude.

A trash bag. Of course! She picked up her dog's poo that way all the time! She'd just get a trash bag and ... eugh ... pluck ... her poo .. from the toilet ... and then ... throw it out? and what, have it stink out any bin and the room the bin was in in the theatre!? They were touring the whole place. It'd be even worse if they thought she'd shat in one of the bins! She'd lose her job! There was the dumpster but the damn thing was overflowing from the last show's trash as they left the venue -- the garbage truck came on Monday. It's not like it was just trash bags she could move and bury the poo under. It was bits of scenery and they weren't just overflowing out of the dumpster they were in piles all around it too. She would have to just dump it on top and the the dumpster was in the loading dock and they would be sure to inspect it! A big stinky bag of poo on top of the overflowing dumpster would be obvious.

Frustrated and stressed she started scissoring her knees back and forth with nervous energy. A habit from her childhood. Forgotten about by the toilet was her handbag and when she started fidgeting nervously she accidentally gave it a kick, spilling its contents across the toilet floor. She groaned and got up off the toilet, panties still around her ankles, un-wiped poo drying in her bum crack, and crouched down to put her possessions back in her back. First her wallet, then some make-up, a notebook, pen, sharpie, a spoon, phone charger, a .... a spoon ...

It was the one she kept in her handbag for her yogurt she put in the staff fridge every morning on an early start. The staff kitchenette was always dismally under-stocked with cutlery so she found it easier to just carry her own. Plus she could be sure it was properly washed this way.

\"Focus on what you can do\"

The words came into her head unbidden as she held the spoon in her hand and stared at it.

No.

That's disgusting.

Ridiculous.

Revolting.

Absolutely unthinkable.

She couldn't believe the idea had even crossed her mind. Yet it had crossed her mind. She had thought it. The spoon in her hand was shaking a little. She could never be that desperate, the situation wasn't that bad, she could be starving to death on a desert island with a pile of a poo and the Queen of the universe about to present her the Nobel prize on live-stream and the situation would not be that bad! No she should just walk away and pretend she had no idea what was going on with the bathroom. So what if her boss thought she was disgusting and so what if the sales team thought she was disgusting and so what if Martin ... thought she was disgusting and so what if the ... client ... thought ... she was ... disgusting ... and it ruined the sale ... and she lost her job ... because of her poo.

She stared at the spoon.

\"Focus on what you can do.\"

I mean it was a stupid idea anyway. Her breath would stink. She'd be fired anyway for being disgusting anyway.

That's when her eye caught the last object still on the floor. Her little toiletries bag. With her deodorant inside. And sanitizer. And her floss ... and toothbrush ... and toothpaste ... and even her little travel bottle of mouthwash.

No! it wasn't just wrong, she'd throw up! She checked the time. 10 minutes.

\"Focus on what you can do.\"

She turned around and looked in the bowl. Three turds glistened in the yellow water. Well not water, pee. The one on the bottom was knobbly and a darker brown colour and it was huge, thick like three of her fingers and curled around the bowl. If she straightened it might be two of her hands in length. The one draped over the top of it was knobbly and dark at one end but changed colour along its length and become smooth and it was about a hand in length. The one on the very top was very smooth, almost but not quite mush. It was a light colour, with hints of yellow and even green in it, and there was a tiny little floret of broccoli embedded in it, that had somehow survived from yesterdays broccoli salad she'd had for lunch.

And the smell, it was thick, she'd been sitting amongst it for ages now and it had become dull and she could swear, damp as well. Like the toilet water, or pee, had soaked into the smell somehow. The sharp familiar and offensive tang of fresh warm poo as it exited was now a miasma of cold dreadful stench that wasn't so much offensive to the senses as a clinging all-permeating heavy thing that had gone past offensive and was now made of stinky sloppy dread -- all of it punctuated with the acrid undercurrent of urine.

She took a deep breath.

and another one.

and another.

She looked at the spoon. She dropped down to her knees.

She breathed deeply in through her nose and exhaled sharply. She swallowed the spit in her mouth and felt the sweat prickling on the back of her neck. She felt almost like she was high all of a sudden.

\"Focus on what you can do.\"

She lowered her head and took a deep sniff of the bowl. Past the point of denying what she was doing now. Or asking herself why she was doing it. The smell was making her giddy, unaware she was moving into a very different mode of consciousness. She breathed in the stink in the bowl, savoring the depth to the brown tones, the detail her brain never normally dared pay attention to. There was so much information there swimming through her stench-high brain. She began to salivate and a single drop of spit fell from her mouth and caused ripples in her wee.

She dipped the spoon into the bowl, still aware she had to hurry. Her heart was thumping like a mad thing inside of her. She raised it from the bowl, she had carved the tip off the lightest mushiest turd on top and she held it up to her face. She swallowed her saliva in anticipation.

She brought it up to her nose and breathed deeply into it. Then she took the plunge and popped it into her mouth. Her taste-buds exploded. It was wet, it was sloppy, the flavour was like the smell but a million times intensified. Like mud and rotting garbage but also surprisingly sweet. She chewed, aware there was no going back and that she had little time. As it smushed apart in her mouth it clung to everything, worked its way between her teeth, smashed into a paste under her tongue and onto the roof of her mouth. Then her brain said wait a moment, and the rejection hit her and she gagged. Tears welled into her eyes and she retched. She fought with every ounce of her being not to spit it out and then it subsided and she sat with her fecal paste inside her mouth for a moment.

\"Focus on what you can do\"

She closed her eyes tightly. Her body said no, but she focused her will and told her throat to say yes and

*gulp*

Just like that she swallowed. She felt the slime every millimeter of her esophagus, coating it in dank, cold sludgy poo. She felt it hit her stomach and sit in there like a cold weight. She was breathing heavily. She stared down at the bowl, at the turds with the spoonful missing. Trance-like she saw her hand dip down into the bowl and scoop up more, this time with the broccoli piece within it -- and before she knew it, it was in her mouth and she was chewing again. More gagging and retching. She felt the broccoli between her teeth and rather than the familiar crunch it squished and poo juice flooded her mouth -- squeezed out from its fibrous florets. Just like before her will overrode her body and she swallowed. Marveling at the surprising sweetness that made it so much easier and must come from her love of daily sneaky convenience store treats.

Again another spoonful and another, retching and gagging and crying but never spitting, only chewing and swallowing. Her heart racing, her body sweating she couldn't believe how different every bite was, depending where in her poo she was eating, the different colours and textures each bringing different flavours and mouth feelings, although all chewing into a pervasive, clinging sludgy paste that got everywhere in her mouth, throat, trachea and stomach.

Before she knew it she was done. A slightly brown tinged yellow bowl of water with some skid marks was all that was left and her dirty brown mouth. She couldn't just leave it like that she had come so far. So she reached down into the bowl with her fingers and scraped the skid marks off and sucked her fingers clean. Then she remembered her butt and rather than use paper, she did the same, ran her finger through her crack and sucked them clean. Satisfied there was only evidence of some, admittedly slightly brown, pee in the toilet, she washed her hands.

She checked the time. 5 minutes. She dove into her toiletries bag and set to work washing out her mouth, brushing her teeth, washing every part of her she could. She practically drank the mouthwash. Applied air freshener, deodorant, perfume, everything. She made sure her teeth sparkled. With a minute left she even ran to the kitchen got a glass of water and poured it into the toilet bowl and was satisfied the brown pee diluted to a nice very pale yellow, like someone was just trying to save water by not flushing their #1 -- something she and most of her girlfriends practiced in their homes.

When the boss arrived with sales and client in tow she smelled of roses -- or rose scented products at least -- and greeted them with a shiny white, intensely mouth-washy smile. There might have been the faintest hint of a stench lingering in the whispers of the air, but nothing out of the ordinary for having a window open in a city where alleyways were synonymous with toilets for most homeless people.

The meeting and tour of the venue went well. Lots of nodding, nibbles, coffee, and dry questions. At some point Monica's boss excused herself to the bathroom. When she came out she looked a little flustered and called Monica over.

\"Excuse me, Mon, um this is a little embarrassing but I've just had a poo and the toilet won't flush -- do you think you can fetch a bucket from the supply cupboard and fill it up for me? I can flush it by pouring it in the bowl.\"

Monica's heart just about fell out of her mouth. She of course stammered a \"yes, no problem\" and raced off to do it, but internally she screamed at herself feeling the leaden weight of the cold, clammy poo sitting in her stomach.

...

When Monica got home that night she walked in the door and greeted her dog -- then she raced to her room and flung herself face first onto her bed. She thought she wanted to cry but now she had a second with herself she felt something else, another intense feeling that she was familiar with. Before she knew it she was reaching into her top draw, her panties were around her ankles and she had her vibrator on her clit. Her stomach lurched and she burped and all of the flavours of the cold, damp poo erupted back into her mouth. Her orgasm hit her and thoughts of what it could taste like warm and fresh ran through her mind as she spasmed and moaned. A second larger orgasm blossomed as she pictured what it would be like to eat it straight from someone else's arsehole, as she put herself in the position of the toilet, accepting the waste into herself. She screamed and shuddered and rode the waves of pleasure and then promptly passed out where she lay, undies around her ankles.

The last thought that barely registered in her unconscious mind as she drifted away was that the truth was, somewhere deep down inside, she did know you could flush a toilet with a bucket of water. She just didn't want to.

The end. If you like email me @ PilesOfPoo@proton.me

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