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It's 2:30 AM on a Sunday night, I have work tomorrow, and I can't get myself to sleep. You know what that means? Masturbation time.
I throw off my bedsheets and make my way over to where my PC hums quietly in a corner, running some P2P app or other overnight; I've long since learned to sleep through the modest noise it puts out, punching the power button on the monitor before settling down onto my leather chair, naked except for the plain black panties I sleep in.
In moments I've navigated to my (substantial) porn folder. Video thumbnails speed by as I ponder just what I'm in the mood to jill off to tonight: maybe some Sasha Grey? Some Facial Abuse? One of the weirder Japanese titles I don't pretend to know the name of?
My mouse pointer finds its way to a particular subfolder and I grin inwardly. It's my 'homemade' folder, videos I've either made myself, of myself, or which have been made for me, of me, by boyfriends, by one-night-stands, by clients.
I'm about to masturbate myself to orgasm to a video of myself. Narcissistic much, Ellie?
Double-click, double-click, maximize, and aww yeah, here we go. The screen fills with a shaky hand-held camera shot of me stretched out on a dirty mattress, pale and mostly-naked, boots, gloves, a choker and black panties (I reflect for just a moment that I don't actually own any other colour) my only dress. Around me are numerous pairs of male legs and feet. Back on this side of the screen, my right hand stays on the mouse, and my left finds its way down the front of my panties to tease my hairless lips.
A quick skip ahead to 0:02:23 and we're almost at the good stuff. The men around me have shifted, naked figures squatting over me and standing beside me, almost obscuring my body; the cameraman moves, scrambling around and ducking down to get a look at my face, my open 'O' of a mouth, beneath a man's clenching ass. From the way me-on-screen is writhing and panting, it's clear that she's masturbating too. And now comes the good part. The part that always fires up that little thrill of surprise and shock inside of me. The part I can never quite believe I actually did.
Ellie-on-screen opens her mouth wide, and there's a grunt from above as the man straddling her face takes a shit in her mouth.
Here in my seat, I can practically taste it.
She bites down once about four inches of it are in her mouth, and she starts to chew. The remainder gets dragged accross her nose and dumped on her forehead as the man stands. The camera zooms in on her face - my face - and I watch in rapt fascination as her jaw moves, mouth opening and closing, the thick brown mass squelching and squeezing between her teeth, bulging as she roles he tongue around within it, her black lipstick now hidden beneath the filthy brown mess smeared across her lips. She chews, she moans, she chews some more, eyes flickering open as another man squats into place above her.
The camera jerks aside for a moment, coming to rest on another thick log of shit that's been deposited on her belly, then back to her face. From the rhythmic bulging of her throat, it's clear that she's now swallowing, a little bit at a time, still chewing as the breaks the shit into pieces she can choke down.
A few moments, and Ellie-on-screen is done, opening her still-filthy mouth, lumps of it still clinging to her lips and teeth, and drawing in a ragged breath. She doesn't get a chance to do much more than that before the second man lowers his asshole to her; breathlessly, she opens her wouth wide again.
Did she - did I - just moan "More," right there?
If she did, then her wish is granted; another grunt from above, and once again, a man - a nameless, faceless man - shits in her mouth. It isn't as solid this time; there's a ridiculously liquid, flatulent sound, and some of it spatters across her cheeks, her chin, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids. The rest of it pools fluidly in her wide-open mouth, drowning her tongue, overflowing and starting to dribble slowly down the sides of her face in brown streaks. Less need to chew this time; her jaws close once, twice, and then she's once more gulping it down in hurried preparation for the third load.
I could probably sit here masturbating to videos of men shitting in my mouth all night, but I'm determined to show some discipline - one big, hard, rushing orgasm and then back to bed - and so I skip ahead. Dimly I'm aware that I've rolled my chair back from the computer a little, hitched my heels up onto the corner of the computer desk as I finger myself frantically. Beneath the fingers of my right hand, the scroll wheel spins.
0:26:49, and Ellie-on-screen is no longer masturbating, having coaxed herself to a wet climax at least once. Instead, her hands trace across her face and body in slow, sinuous movements, her lithe torso writhing on the mattress and she smears herself with the accumulated filth. Steel still glints at her nipples through the brown muck, but her tattoos are becoming increasingly obscured. Every second, every pass of her hands, buries creamy-pale skin under layers of yellow and brown.
0:58:13 and Ellie-on-screen is back at it, filthy panties - little more than a brown-smeared rag - dangling from one booted ankle as she masturbates with her legs in the air. Something is spoken offscreen, and she pauses, hands clasping the backs of her thighs. A man steps into the shot, squats over her hairless lips, and drops another load. He's barely had time to step away before shes dives back in with both hands, smearing the mess thickly across her slit, spreading herself with one hand as she drives two fingers on the other hand through the slick shit-pack and into her waiting, begging depths.
1:30:19 and Ellie-on-screen is on knees and elbows, looking up through a faecal facemask, her short hair smeared back and sticking out in clumps at odd angles, lumps of shit clinging to it. Between her forearms is a glass bown within which at least two men have deposited their contributions; from a semicircle gathered around it, four others add their yellow streams to the mix, while a fifth stirs it with a metal rod. She waits for them to finish, looks down into the bowl, and then decides to add her own contribution to the disgusting slurry; reaching into her own mouth, she jams two fingers against the back of her throat and is rewarded by a veritable outpouring of watery, yellow-brown vomi, the mess slopping over the sides of the bowl.
It takes her a few moments to recover, the man tending the mix giving it a few final stirs, and then she shifts to a kneeling position, wrapping both trembling forearms around the bowl and lifting it, slowly, to her mouth.
Through her mask of shit, she cracks a smile, and then she tilts the bowl and begins to drink.
That's it. That's what I need.
My panties have somehow found their way from my crotch, down my legs, over first one foot and then the other, and now find themselves - and this comes as a surprise to me - in my mouth. I bite down hard as I climax wetly around my fingers, the wadded black cotton muffling my cries as Ellie-on-screen gulps down the piss-puke-shit slurry, the stuff washing over the broad sides of the bowl and washing down her lithe torso, her pussy lips abused from an hour and a half of near-constant masturbation, dripping down her thighs into the tops of her boots.
It takes me several minutes, after pulling the panties from my mouth, to regain my breath and my composure, by which point Ellie-on-screen has had the remainder of the bowl's content upended over her head and is now dripping with the stuff, her hair smeared flat against her scalp. Absently, I lick the fingers of one hand clean and reach out to click the video closed. Ellie-on-screen disappears, and with her go the immediate, intimate memories of how that night felt, how it smelled, how it tasted - Gods, how it tasted.
I pick up the wet wad of my panties, consider for a moment finding a clean pair, then, shrugging to myself, slip them back on, cold and damp with my own saliva against my post-orgasmically aching pussy lips. I slip back into bed, pull the sheets back atop me, and close my eyes, a comforting warmth spreading through me as I settle back down for the night.
Sleep does not come.
Eventually, my eyes open again and flick to the glowing blue-green numbers of my clock radio.It's 3:30 AM on a Sunday night, I have work tomorrow, and I can't get myself to sleep. You know what that means? Masturbation time.
Comments for Paid To Eat Shit: Recursion
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Location: My House | Roleplay: Stranger/Stranger
Fulfillment: Share it only | Nature: Agressive