Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2017 22:53:27 -0800
From: Filthy Mind <filthymind4guys@gmail.com>
Subject: Rookie Toilet (scat, sf-fantasy)

Disclaimer: This is fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the
sexuality, interests, or fetishes of any sports celebrities mentioned
within it. This story contains sexually explicit descriptions, in
particular ones involving EXTREME SCAT (i.e., shit) and piss. No readers
younger than 18 (or 21) years of age, depending on your local laws.

I love to communicate with my readers, so please feel free to send me an
e-mail at filthymind4guys@gmail.com and tell me what you think! (Yes, I am
still working on further chapters of North Valley Football, although it
will not include scat like this one does.) Remember to donate to the Nifty
Archives so they can continue to host all these hot stories!
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

......

Rookie Toilet

Christian McCaffrey was in disbelief. He had started out a great season in
the NFL as a rookie running back for the Carolina Panthers, but now he was
trapped as a toilet in the middle stall in the Panthers' locker room. Not a
metaphorical toilet, either; he was a full-on porcelain toilet complete
with a tank and seat.

...

It had all begun in the middle of the last practice. The head coach, Ron
Rivera, had called him into his office. He had expressed his appreciation
for Christian's hard work and performance on the field. Christian had been
very happy that he had performed well.

"However," Coach Rivera had said, "it turns out that the locker room has a
broken toilet, and we will need a replacement. You are going to be a
perfect toilet for the team. We've got it all set up already. Follow me,
Christian."

Christian had not understand what the Coach was talking about. He had felt
like this was some sort of prank that he failed to understand, so he went
along with it. The coach had taken him into the locker room to show him how
the toilet had been removed in preparation for the running back. The rookie
had turned to his coach to ask him what this all meant, but suddenly he
felt dizzy and disoriented. His senses had been a whirl of confusion and
his body had felt strange. He had blacked out.

When Christian had awoken, his senses had become crystal clear. He had felt
as if he had had the best sleep of his life: he was more alert than he had
ever remembered being. And suddenly, with a sinking feeling, he had known
that he was now a toilet.

...

Christian stared at the ceiling, the four metal walls of the bathroom stall
surrounding him. On the edges of his vision he could see the rim of a
toilet bowl, as if he were looking up out of the toilet. He tried to look
around, but there was nothing to move. No eyes to seek out other
stimulation. His vision was fixed in the area above the seat. He could
focus on different things if he liked, but only within that arc of
perception. He could still hear because he could hear the rest of the team
begin to file into the locker room. He could smell because he smelled the
locker room just as he always did.

He mentally explored his "body," getting a sense of where everything was.
It felt like his bowl was... the inside of his mouth--almost like the rim
of it were his lips. He felt that the rest of his previous body was spread
throughout the toilet. No, it wasn't just "a" toilet. It was him. He was
the toilet. It was all very confusing and disorienting to him.

Coach Rivera suddenly leaned over him, looking down into his bowl.
"Christian, this permanent position as one of the team's toilets is a great
honor. I trust you'll do well with this, just as you did on the field. Of
course, now that your transformation is complete, all memories of you have
vanished save my own. None of the team is aware of your situation, and they
never will be."

Coach Rivera reached out a hand to pat the top of Christian's tank. It felt
like he was being patted on the shoulder, but in an odd way. He could feel
the coach's touch on his smooth, porcelain body.

The running back attempted to move, to get out of this situation, to beg
the coach to stop this, but nothing happened. No part of his toilet body
responded to any mental urge or command to move. He was absolutely fixed in
place.

"You are a very special toilet, my boy. You'll soon find this out. The rest
of your old teammates are here. Enjoy your new life, Mr. McCaffrey. You're
going to be here for a long, long time." With that, Coach Rivera left the
stall. Christian could hear him talking to some of his teammates, telling
them that the toilet had been fixed.

Christian had no time to consider his situation further, because now
someone else was entering the stall. He could see that it was wide receiver
and fellow rookie Curtis Samuel. Christian tried to shout out, to beg
Samuel to stop, but of course a toilet had no way to speak. In fact, he
could not even look away as Samuel faced away from the bowl and peeled down
his sweaty football pants and jock, lowering his bare, perfectly muscular
rump to meet Christian's seat. It felt as if Christian was holding open his
giant mouth, and that Samuel was sitting on it.

Three sensations hit Christian simultaneously. First, Samuel's legs were
damp with sweat, and Christian could feel the sweat and heat from Samuel's
body pressing against him as if his seat were bare skin. Second, not only
could Christian feel the wide receiver on him, but he could taste the
21-year-old's powerfully salty body sweat along every square centimeter of
the seat. It was so strong and powerful, like Samuel was sitting on
Christian's tongue. The third sensation that assaulted the rookie was the
smell of Curtis Samuel's body and butt crack as it spread wide. It was
clear that Samuel's butt had become wet with sweat during the hard
practice, and it was as if Christian were shoving his nose into his musty
crack and breathing it in. Except the scent was constant, as if he were
breathing in endlessly, because a toilet has no need to breathe. Christian
realized with shock that the taste of Samuel's legs was not lessening over
time: his sense of taste and smell was just as sensitive as it was the
first moment of sensation. There was no way to adjust to the disgusting
flavors! Christian tried to pull away from it, tried to move, tried to do
ANYTHING other than taste him, but of course, he was unable to move even
the slightest amount.

Christian stared helplessly upward, his unblinking vision taking in every
detail of the wide receivers ass, taint, balls, and cock. Samuel's big
balls and long cock hung into his bowl, and of course he continuously
"breathed" in the scent of them along with his butt smell. Front and center
in Christian's view, however, was Samuel's dark asshole. It was pink in the
very center, but mostly dark like the rest of Samuel's skin, surrounded by
the black, curly hairs that were plastered with butt-sweat. Christian tried
to look away, tried to close his eyes, but there were no eyes to close, and
no way to stop himself from visually exploring the sweaty ass spread above
him. Christian helplessly examined Samuel's hole, and he could just see a
small, brownish smear on the edge of it that was clearly shit from earlier
today that had been left there.

Christian panicked, realizing that if he could taste Samuel's sweat on his
seat continuously, that the inside of his mouth -- no, his bowl -- could be
so much worse! He had no time to consider this before urine jetted from the
wide receiver's long, dark cock, hitting the inside front of his bowl. Oh
god, it was as if every molecule was a sensitive taste bud. Yellow piss
blasted against the inside of his bowl and streamed down into his water. If
Christian could have gasped and screamed, he would have. Not only the sides
of his bowl, but every cubic millimeter of the water was filled with taste
sensation. He could taste Samuel's urine as it spread throughout his water:
an acrid, salty taste that disgusted him completely. If he could have
puked, he would have, but of course, he could do nothing but fully
experience it.

What was worse, however, is that, even while being overwhelmed with the
taste of his piss to the point of panic, Christian could see Samuel's
sweaty pucker opening. A loud fart escaped the player's hole, filling
Christian's senses with the full sensation of gas from Samuel's previous
meal. Even as he took in the stench, he saw the head of a turd peek out
from Samuel's hole. Christian summoned everything in his being, trying to
push Samuel off him, trying to throw up, trying to scream with frustration
and fear, trying to even burst into tears from fear and loathing.

Christian McCaffrey, toilet for the Carolina Panthers, remained absolutely
still and absolutely silent. He could do nothing but consciously experience
Curtis Samuel's dump with full awareness.

Samuel grunted, and his hole suddenly widened further, releasing his shit.
Christian watched helplessly, taking in every detail, as a thick, pasty
turd fell into his water with a loud plop. It was as if Christian's tongue
immediately enveloped it, his bowl-water filling in all the nooks and
crannies of the big piece of fresh shit. Christian could taste Samuel's
warm waste fully, inside and out. As his bowl water was absorbed into the
cucumber-shaped turd, he could immediately detect small pieces of Samuel's
meal, pieces of peanuts, a kernel of corn--everything that had not been
absorbed by the wide receiver's body. The taste was far worse than
Christian had ever imagined shit could taste. And it did not abate. Piss
was still streaming into his bowl and mixing with the shit. Samuel's
butt-stench and salty sweat was still just as powerful. It was too much for
the running back to bear, but still he continued to experience it with no
abatement. He wished for unconsciousness, begged for escape, but none came.
Christian was more focused and awake than he had ever been in his life.

The turd settled on the bottom of his bowl, meeting even more of his
tastebuds there. Christian continued to watch Samuel's hole, unable to turn
away, and he heard Samuel grunt again. His hole opened again, and another
turd, this time smaller, slowly began to slide out of Samuel's ass.
Christian hoped against hope that this one would be better, easier to
handle. The turd plopped into his water. It only multiplied his experience.
The new shit was just as bad as the first, mingling with the taste of piss
and other shit in his bowl. Christian felt as if he were screaming, unable
to do anything to stop the smell and taste, but the rookie toilet remained
perfectly silent and still.

Another fart from Samuel's ass preceded another nugget of shit that popped
messily from his dark, gaping hole. The stream of piss had finally ended,
and he shook off the last few drops from his dick. It was as if Christian's
consciousness was awash in shit and piss, his mind helplessly exploring and
tasting Samuel's bodily waste, over and over again as it sat within his
bowl-mouth. A few excruciating, taste-ridden moments passed as Samuel's
hole opened and closed above him. Residual bits of shit clung to the dark
pucker above him.

Christian heard the rustling sound of the toilet paper holder beside him,
and he watched as the wide receiver rubbed the thin paper against his hole,
wiping himself and dropping the paper into Christian's mouth. The paper did
nothing to abate the taste of the shit. Christian felt the paper dissolving
and vanishing completely into his bowl water. Oddly, it seemed to become
water itself and added even more taste sensation. He realized that toilet
paper was going to do nothing to dilute the experience for him. In fact, it
would only ensure that every moment was more fully experienced. The shit
previously on the paper floated in the water, Christian tasting every
molecule as it mixed with the rest of the disgusting waste.

Samuel stood up, his sweaty thighs leaving Christian's seat but still
leaving the taste of his sweat clinging to the cool porcelain of the rookie
toilet. He pulled up his football pants and looked into the bowl. Two big
logs of shit sat at the bottom, one curving around to match the shape of
the toilet. He reached over and pushed down the handle in order to flush
the toilet.

Christian swelled with hope and anticipation. If someone flushed him, the
taste will soon be gone from his mouth! If he had been able, the rookie
toilet would have shouted with joy as Samuel pushed down the handle.
Unfortunately, his joy quickly changed to confusion, and then despair.

It was as if Christian's awareness suddenly increased one-hundred fold as
Samuel touched the handle. Every taste and smell was more powerful than he
could possibly imagine. It was too much for him, more than he could bear.
But no, Christian realized, it was not that the taste and smells were more
powerful. It was as if time was slowed to a crawl. Every second of time
felt like an hour. The shit and piss in his bowl (as well as the sweat on
his seat) filled his senses. His mind spent an exorbitant amount of time
(from his perspective) exploring and experiencing every piece of Samuel's
waste. He learned everything he could about Samuel's shit, this one
particular dump, exploring the nuanced tastes of the filthy shit over and
over again, hundreds of times. There was nothing for Christian to do but
taste and smell, and think about it, for what felt like a full hour.

His bowl only now begun to flush. New water poured into Christian's bowl,
adding more taste sensation and churning the shit and piss around. For
Christian's mind, the process took hours, and he experienced every moment
of it so fully and consciously, unable to pull away, unable to stop
focusing on the sensations. His entire existence during the flush seemed to
be piss and shit.

In the middle of the flush, however, seemingly hours into it, Christian
could sense his awareness moving toward something else, adding to his
sensations: The feel of Samuel's hand on his handle. He realized that his
cool, metal handle felt... odd. Sensitive. Erotic. Oh god, no... it felt
like Samuel was touching his dick. As he explored the sensation, his entire
handle began to feel like the most sensitive area of his cock, as if his
cock were harder and more stimulated than it had ever been in his life. It
was as if every erogenous zone in his previous body was clustered on this
handle.

Despite this new erotic sensation, Christian was still experiencing the
piss and shit to the fullest of his capability. He tried to push the sexual
stimulation part out of his mind, but he had no defense against it, and he
had hours and hours to explore it. Christian began to get more and more
horny, even as the shit slowly broke up and new experiences of filth
assaulted his senses. Being flushed had become both the most disgusting
experience and the most mindbogglingly erotic experience that the running
back had ever had. As the piss and shit swirled in his bowl, filth and
sexual stimulation blended together. The shit and piss became so erotic and
powerful even as it filled him with disgust. He did not know whether to
scream with revulsion or with utter joy.

Christian's flush slowly neared its end, as he felt the shit travelling
into what felt like his throat. He longed for release. He wanted to cum so
badly. He had been mentally begging for it, praying to God for it, for the
last three hours. Just a little bit longer, and maybe he could cum. Oh god,
he wanted it so badly! He was so horny, far beyond what he had ever thought
possible.

Samuel released the handle as the flush ended, and suddenly Christian's
awareness snapped back to the normal dilation of time. The stimulation on
his handle immediately stopped, and Christian's mind floundered as his now
clear water settled in his bowl. He would have shook with frustration if he
could move at all.

Please, flush me again! I'm so horny! I need to cum so badly! Dear God,
please let me cum! His thoughts were shouts begging for sexual release, but
no one could hear him.

Samuel unceremoniously turned and left the stall, the door swinging shut.
Christian was aching with desire. He needed release so badly. He searched
for anything to do to help him, but of course, all he could do was feel,
hear, see, smell, and taste. Taste. He could still taste. Maybe something
would get him closer to cumming, to feeling that euphoric sensation, the
sensation of his handle being touched, and... tasting the filth he had
experienced during all that time.

Christian knew that there was still a small smear of Samuel's shit on his
bottom of his bowl. He could taste it fully, just as he always tastes
everything. But now he focused his awareness fully on this small smear,
attempting to experience that erotic feeling again. The shit was
disgusting. Nothing about that had changed for him. He explored and focused
and tasted Samuel's tiny smear of shit, and yet he could not find that same
sensation again. Only a tiny echo of that erotic experience entered his
mind -- enough to drive him mad with horniness and frustration.

Before his thoughts could move on to further despair and frustration, the
door to his stall opened again, and he could see linebacker Luke Kuechly
towering above him. Luke was naked save for a towel over his shoulder. His
big cock swung freely in front of him as he hung his towel on a hook in the
stall, and he turned around to plant his big, muscular ass right onto
Christian's seat. In those few seconds, Christian's sense of smell and
taste told him that Kuechly had not yet showered after practice: his legs
were salty with sweat, and his ass and crotch smelled deeply of funk.
Christian stared at Kuechly's hole, helplessly learning every detail of his
crack: his soft curls of sweaty brown hair along his taint, surrounding his
pink opening. That hole was shiny with sweat and smelled like sweat and
body odor.

Christian wanted to call out to Kuechly, to beg him to-- Christian paused
mentally. What did he want? Did he want him to leave, to leave the toilet
in peace, or did he want the big linebacker to flush his handle, to get the
running back toilet a little closer to orgasm, closer to release? But with
flushing comes the horrible, time-dilated experience of filth and shit, and
Christian felt that he would go insane with disgust and revulsion if he had
to experience that again. He couldn't handle that again!

Luke Kuechly's bowels didn't care about Christian's ambivalence. The
linebacker's pink hole opened, and a hard spray of brown diarrhea shot into
Christian's bowl-water. Big globs of runny shit burst out of that tight
hole, splashing the shitty water onto the sides of Christian's bowl and the
underside of his seat. Christian's horniness was forgotten as his mouth was
filled with the vile, disgusting diarrhea. The taste of Curtis Samuel's
turds was nothing compared to the stench and acrid taste of Luke Kuechly's
liquid shit. A stream of Kuechly's dark piss sprayed into the water, and
the diarrhea spread throughout all of Christian's bowl-water. He was
tasting this even more than he did Samuel's turds, as the turds were
limited to one part of his water. The diarrhea was everywhere.

Christian screamed silently, tasting the liquid shit over and over again,
helplessly savoring it. He could not take this! This was too much. Too
disgusting! Please, for the love of God, someone help him!

Luke Kuechly sniffed and made a disgusted grunt. Christian could hear the
linebacker's bowels gurgling. Another burst of hot diarrhea jetted into his
bowl, multiplying the horrible taste. Christian wished he could cry. He
watched Kuechly grunt and strain, getting more diarrhea out of him.
Christian took it all, helplessly savoring and exploring all of its
horrible taste. The diarrhea filled his senses to bursting and beyond, but
Christian could not escape it. He remained fully alert and conscious, his
mind crystal-clear and his senses fully realized.

Christian watched as Kuechly turned to the side and reached for the handle.
The rookie gasped internally. That means -- God, please no! Luke isn't
finished; he's going for a double-flush! Christian begged for Kuechly to
stop, willing his mouth to speak, to make a sound. Nothing budged. Nothing
made a sound.

Kuechly's hand touched the handle, and Christian's hell began again.
Seconds stretched into hours as he explored everything about Kuechly's
diarrhea, knowing every taste and scent of it, through and through. He
repeatedly examined the exact smells emanating from that sweaty crack and
taint, turning them over in his mind. The linebacker's hand on his handle
began to make Christian horny almost immediately this time. He quickly
reached a fever-pitch of horniness, stimulation, and complete disgust. It
held for hours. Hours of unwavering sensory overload. Hours of staring
unblinkingly at the linebacker's hole, learning every nuance of his ass,
every soft fold of his pink hole now coated with wet shit and dripping with
diarrhea. He watched as a drop of diarrhea fell off of one of Kuechly's
curly hairs. It slowly fell toward his swirling bowl-water, and Christian
was overcome with anticipation, unable to look away. Almost an hour later,
it finally touched his water, and of course the taste of it was never lost,
never hidden. It mixed in with the rest of the disgusting bowl of shit and
piss. Christian's mind was lost in arousal and disgust as the diarrhea was
slowly, slowly flushed away.

The flush finally ended, and Christian was yet again left with no sexual
release and a normal sense of time. He would have screamed himself into
unconsciousness at this point, but of course that was impossible for him
now. Christian was so horny now, crying out mentally for release.

The only answer to his mental cries was another burst of runny shit from
Kuechly's ass. It spread throughout his bowl. Christian could still taste
the splash of diarrhea on his seat from before. Kuechly grunted and
expelled some more. Christian would have given anything to cry softly to
himself, knowing that there were still hours and hours left for him to
experience the linebacker's waste.

Christian suddenly realized that more team members would be lining up
outside of the stall, waiting to empty their bladders and bowels after a
hard practice. He would be servicing all of them, tasting their sweat and
piss and shit, and breathing in the smell of their bodies. Thanks to the
flushing time dilation, for him it could take weeks to complete, and that
just was for the use of him after today's practice. Christian felt that
there was no way that he would be able to bear it, but he now had firsthand
knowledge that he would unwillingly experience it with constant alertness
and awareness.

Christian McCaffrey now had an ageless, unwavering, and inescapable life of
filth and stimulation laid out before him. He was one of the team's toilets
now, and toilets last for a long time. Many, many years.

Luke Kuechly squirted out the last of his diarrhea, wiped his ass, and
reached for the handle.

......

Other stories I've written:

   http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/extreme-cockplug
   http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/athletics/north-valley-football/