Date: Wed, 23 Feb 2022 20:49:14 +0000 From: namab mass Subject: Ben Shits His Pants in public Ben Shits His Pants in Public There weren't many people about as Ben walked briskly up the street, past the houses and a couple of little shops, and headed for the back entrance to the shopping centre. It was only 4pm so people were still at work, and the November afternoon was dark and freezing. He felt intensely self-conscious, as if it was obvious to everyone he was up to something, or his semi was showing to everyone who walked past him, and for the tenth time he looked down to make sure his jacket covered it. His stomach was full of butterflies and his mouth was dry, and his mind was racing like he was on speed or something as he turned into the short street leading to the centre. He fumbled in his pocket for his fags and lighter, stopped and lit one, and forced himself to stand and smoke it calmly near the doors. Finally the chance had come to do what he'd been fantasising about for months, and he fidgeted on the spot as he smoked, willing himself to go through with it. He needed to empty his bowels badly, and his nerves were making it worse. `I so need the toilet,' he thought to himself. `I really need a shit!' He usually went for a shit sometime in the morning, but on that day he hadn't needed to, even though he'd eaten a lot the day before. The urge had started to come to him earlier that afternoon, but his housemate, Mark, was in and he'd had to hold it a couple of hours. It built up slowly, like it usually did for him, and for a while the fullness in his bowels was pleasant and he'd sat and nursed a semi. But then the pressure started to grow stronger, and by the time Mark slammed the front door and drove off down the street to his night shift at the warehouse it had become very uncomfortable. Quickly he'd gone and made a few things ready, then put his tight trunks and loose jogging bottoms on and headed out. Even as he walked up the street he'd been clenching his bottom a bit, and now he was busting. If he set off now and gave it legs he might make it home, but he was desperate enough that he wasn't sure. He was going to have to go to the toilets inside, whatever he did there. He clenched his bum up tight and made himself finish the cigarette slowly. Someone walked by then, close enough to remind him of the risk he'd be taking. This end of town was always quiet and there were few people coming in and out of the shopping centre, but he'd still have to get back from the toilets to the exit, and the thought of being spotted made his blood run cold. Visions of running out of the place in shame flashed into his mind and for a second he almost backed out. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down again. He'd been through all that in his mind and decided what he'd do and how he'd behave, and now the time had come. It was the risk that made it exciting! He took the last couple of puffs on the cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray on top of the litter bin next to him. As he headed for the entrance he wondered whether it was only in his imagination that he was walking awkwardly, his legs stiff as he clenched his bum. Beyond the automatic doors was a broad, dingy corridor leading into the main bit of the centre, with the entrance to a bowling alley on one side near the far end and an amusement arcade almost opposite, and just beyond them the toilets, where a short corridor branched off into men's on one side and women's on the other. Most people going to the shops used the main entrance and facilities on the other side, near the main street and the car park, so it was quiet here, though he could see some townie lads hanging about in the amusements, and when he went by he noticed a few families and groups of students in the bowling alley to the other. His heart was thumping now and he felt more self-conscious than ever, glancing furtively around to make sure there was no-one he recognised in sight. Some fit student lad came out of the toilets as he got there, and once again he almost bottled out. It was too busy and he was bound to be seen, surely. But then the fantasies he'd had for months came back to him, and reminded him why he'd hit on the idea of doing it here. The toilets were usually quiet, but the bowling place and the amusements attracted younger guys, and a few times Ben had gone and occupied a cubicle and got a hard-on as he listened to some lad having a poo. The plops and grunts turned him on, and later he'd wank over the thought of watching some fit guy he knew shitting. He'd rarely seen any security guards or staff round here either, and now there really were only a few people about. The risk of being caught was tiny, and taking it made him quiver with excitement. He'd never forgive himself if he bottled it now, he thought, took a deep breath and walked in. The toilets were clean and brightly lit, and nearly empty. One one side a lad was shaking his last droplets of piss into one of the row of urinals and another was just drying his hands, but all of the cubicles were free. He tried not to look conspicuous as he went for the nearest one, hastened in and shut the door behind him. Inside he started to feel panicky. His chute was full and aching and his rational mind was screaming at him to drop his pants and sit on the toilet, and he stood and hesitated, torn between that and an alternative that had been drifting into his mind as he wanked for weeks. His semi stirred and started to swell. As he stood there, touching himself and revelling in the feeling of his full bowels, the two lads both left. Now that he was alone he felt calmer again, his head cleared, and fear gave way to crazily intense horniness. Quickly he took his jacket off and hung it on the inside of the door, and fumbled his phone out of his pocket. He wanted to film it, he thought; like that lad whose videos turned him on so much, and who grew a massive hard-on when he did a shit in his pants. He put the toilet lid down, propped the phone up on it facing back towards him, and straightened up again, massaging his dick through his pants and breathing hard, swaying his slim hips and showing off his pert arse to the camera. Then the sound of the hand dryer from the women's toilets next door brought him back to reality and he forced himself to breathe silently and stifle the little noises he made when he was madly turned on. For a moment the vision of being caught shot into his mind again, but all of a sudden he realised he no longer cared. He gulped again, turned round and switched on the camera. He was busting, his turd pushing hard against his clenched hole and sending him the `you need a shit right now!' signal. In his mind he began to give into it, and pulled his jogging bottoms down around his legs. His hard-on tented out the front of his pants. At that moment he heard footsteps and muffled talking in the corridor outside, and he froze. `Yeah, safe mate,' said a young man's voice. `Yer what? Nah, I'm going for a shit. Might be a while! I'll see you in there.' Footsteps came into the toilets, and paused as the lad clocked the closed door of the second cubicle along. Behind it Ben stood stock still and silent, his hand on his cock, which was now softening slightly as his doubts crept back in. He listened intently as the lad went and took the furthest cubicle, heart racing and his head spinning again, wondering if he still had the courage to do it with some fit student just a few feet away. He was pulling his pants down now, and he grunted audibly as soon as he sat on the toilet. There was a few seconds' pregnant silence. `Ploop ... plop, plop!' The plops were muffled but heavy; the sound of a satisfying dump, and at the last one he grunted audibly. Ben's heart began to pound and the blood rushed in his ears, and something in his mind snapped. He relaxed a little and his turd pushed urgently at his hole again, a little turtle's head nosed through, and when he pinched up again he could feel sticky shit squash in his ringpiece. His cock grew fully hard again, rising to the occasion so that it made a great marquee in the front of his pants. `I'm gonna do it,' he told himself silently. `Oh God I'm gonna shit myself!' He pulled his jogging bottoms down further and parted his legs, hitched his top up clear of what was about to happen. Hands on his knees, he bent forward and stuck his bottom back, quivering all over, daring himself to do it; to relax fully and push, and ease the overwhelming discomfort inside. His heart raced and his breathing grew heavy again, no matter how hard he tried to stay silent. Two doors up the lad fidgeted and grunted, and let out a soft wet fart and succession of muffled splashes. That tipped him over the edge, and it masked the ecstatic little gasp when he abandoned himself to it and emptied his bowels into his pants. His shit was huge and firm; a hefty, satisfying dump that would have felt tremendous if he'd just done it on the toilet. He pushed out a big lumpy log that crackled loudly between his cheeks and forced the seat of his pants out like a long spike, bent and pressed against his right cheek. The sensation was mind-blowing, and he clenched his teeth hard and stifled another gasp. The smell hit him at once. He wasn't normally a very smelly lad, and when he went for a shit in the bathroom at home he left just a light aroma behind him, but without the water of the toilet to contain it the vapour trail was much stronger. His eyes widened with horror and his dick throbbed as his predicament hit home. He'd actually done it. He'd shat himself in a public toilet! It was warm and lumpy against his bottom and he had a huge hard-on, and he was going to have to walk back out of that shopping centre with a turd in his pants or clean himself up here as best he could. And now his shit was moving inside him and he was about to do another one whether he wanted to or not! His head was spinning, and dimly he was aware that he was edging slightly, making little droplets of cum soak through his pants at the head of his engorged cock. Then his body's physical needs took charge again, and he bent over further as his bowels gave a big push. Another log forced its way out and squashed against his pants, slimy and hot as it spread across his cheeks and down between his legs. In the silence the squelching sound and gassy squeaks seemed horribly loud. For a few seconds he dumped uncontrollably, his dick twitching and dribbling sticky cum, and just managed to stifle a squeak as firm shit hit the back of his balls. He straightened up again, edging and trying to control his whirling thoughts. He must have a big bulge in his pants now and it would probably show through his jogging bottoms when he pulled them up. The air around him was thick with his smell. His bowels felt deliciously empty and satisfied, but he didn't think he'd finished. On the toilet he normally took a dump in two parts; the first big logs and then a load of smaller turds a couple of minutes later, and if he wiped and pulled his pants up before the second bit he'd have to go again within a couple of hours. He gave a little experimental push, but nothing came. Could he wait and finish here, if he needed to, or should he give in to the sudden urge to get out and head for the safety of home? He cocked an ear to the side, listening for any sound from the lad sitting a few feet from him. He'd go now, he decided, before he started wiping, but then his heart sank as more footsteps came into the toilets. He hoped fervently it was just a quick piss, but no such luck. Whoever it was came straight over took the cubicle to his right and pulled down his pants. That decided him. He bent and pulled his jogging bottoms up, stretching them at the back to guide them over the bulge he'd made, and fingered it cautiously through the fabric. He'd done a big, lumpy block of shit that was firm to the touch, like plasticine. Next to him the guy grunted audibly and started shitting. `Plop ... plop ... plomp ... plop-plop.' The smell came up under the partition and mingled with his own, and he edged again. Part of him wanted to stay and listen now, but the guy on the other side was stirring, and if he didn't want to be seen he'd have to go. Quickly he reached around and turned the camera off, shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled his jacket from the hook. It was the longest one he had but it still wouldn't fully disguise what he'd done, although at least it would mostly hide his hard-on. He looked around to make sure he'd left nothing behind, took a deep breath and opened the door. Thankfully the toilets were empty, aside from the two occupied cubicles. He left quickly, all too aware again of his the vapour trail following him. As he reached the exit another guy came in and he scuttled by staring fixedly the other way, and again when he passed a couple of girls turning in from the main corridor. He daren't look round, but he imagined them noticing the smell or his bulging crotch, turning round to look as he hastened past them with their eyes boring into his back and noticing the bulge on his bottom. He felt panicky again, on the verge of breaking and running for the exit, but he drew breath and forced himself to calm down. Running would draw attention, and there was no-one close enough now to smell him anyway. He kept telling himself that as he walked briskly up the corridor, eyes fixed on the floor as he passed another couple of people coming in. His shit was pressed firmly against his cheeks, pushing about as he walked with a soft squelching sound that seemed alarmingly loud, and his heart was racing again. The twenty or thirty seconds it took him to get to the exit seemed to drag on for a lifetime, but finally the doors opened right in front of him and he walked gratefully back into the cold afternoon air, fumbling in his pocket for his fags. He didn't break step as he put one in his mouth and lit it with shaking hands, and headed purposefully for home. Outside, in the dark, with a cigarette in his hand, he felt a lot calmer and he started to enjoy the sensation on his bottom. His shit was massaging his cheeks and tickling the ultra-sensitive area behind his balls as he walked, and a couple of times he stopped and let the smell catch up with him. All of a sudden he felt deliciously naughty. He'd shat his pants in public at last, in his favourite toilets with two young guys shitting nearby. In just a few minutes he'd be home, and he could shut himself in the bathroom and sit in his brown pile, squash it all over his bottom and wank until he came. His dick grew very hard again, and he put his hands in his pockets and pushed his jacket out a little to hide it, and hurried on towards his house. He was at the top of his street when the need to shit hit him again. He'd started to think he must have finished after all, but as he walked the last couple of hundred yards his chute filled up quickly. Sticky shit squashed in his crack as he clenched up, and he pulled his cap down lower as he hurried along, hoping none of his neighbours were there to see him. Thankfully they weren't, and the house was in darkness when he got there. The need to shit was becoming desperate, and he jigged up and down on the spot as he unlocked the door. As soon as he'd slammed it shut behind him he bowed his legs and filled his pants a second time. He did another big turd, smooth but still quite firm, pushing out another bulge behind and over the solid lump he'd done earlier. That had cooled as he walked home, but now the slimy warmth spread across his bottom again and made him grunt and gasp out loud. Having to stay silent in the toilets had been intensely exciting, but now in the privacy of his house he gave voice to his relief and pleasure. He pushed as it started to slow down, and kept pushing until no more came. Then he stood up straight again, swayed from side to side and sighed as his shit moved against his skin. A big lump of it was nestling right against his balls and giving the bit behind exquisite sensations when he moved. The smell of it filled the hallway. He'd edged again as he dumped, and a bit of cum was soaking through the front of his jogging pants. His head cleared again and he made his next move. He pulled his jacket off and hung it up, pocketed his cigarettes and phone again and scurried up to the bathroom, his shit doing lovely things to his bottom as he climbed the stairs and the smell following him through the house. He'd made the bathroom ready before he went out; put out some bags and cloths and disinfectant, cleared the shower gels and stuff from around the shower, and put down the lid of the toilet. Neither he nor Mark ever did that normally. Mark was a fit, straight lad he'd fancied from when they'd first met, and who sat on the toilet for ages and left big skidmarks and smells that always turned him on. Being here, in the bathroom they shared, made what he was about to do feel even naughtier and more exciting. He could see himself in the mirror over the basin, and he twisted round and posed, and checked out the bulge in the seat of his jogging bottoms. Anyone walking behind him could have seen it, and they'd have smelt it too! On impulse he pulled his phone out of his pocket before he pulled his T-shirt off and his jogging pants down, so that he could take some photos of the big lumpy mound he'd produced. Then he put the phone down. He was tingling all over in anticipation, and like he always did he stood and wanked through his pants, and psyched himself to what he so desperately wanted to do next. Then he stepped over to the toilet, turned round, bent his legs and lowered himself slowly down. He squatted until his bulge just touched the seat, so it pressed harder to his skin and did amazing things to him underneath when he moved. He rocked to and fro for a bit, until his dick was throbbing and he was edging into his pants, and he had to stop and compose himself. Then he closed his eyes and sat in his brown pile, and cried out loud. Shit exploded across his bottom and shot forward to his balls, hot and slimy, and he got a hot blast of his own stink. For a moment he tensed up all over, edging hard and soaking the front of his pants in spunk, trying desperately not to cum. Then when the spasm passed he relaxed and leaned back against the cistern, squashing shit further up his bottom, and fumbled his sticky cock out of his pants. As he moved his shit gave him wonderful sensations underneath. He slid gently back and forth to feel it more strongly, lost in the moment and barely aware that he was whimpering and moaning out loud, and only stopped when he was near to cumming again. Once more he relaxed and composed himself, sitting and rocking gently amid the thick smell he'd made. He was losing control now, like he only did when he was at his most turned on. All he could think of was the mess he was making, and the craving to get messier still. Afterwards he'd regret it and feel guilty, he knew, but that didn't weigh with him then. He wanted his face covered; wanted to plunge his nose and mouth into his own filth. He'd never quite done it, always cum before the final moment; but now he couldn't think of anything he wanted more. Quickly he stood up and took his pants down. They were stuck to his cheeks and he had to pull them free, but then the weighty lump took charge and they dropped heavily to the floor, leaving a long smear down his legs. In the mirror he caught sight of his brown bottom. Then he bent and picked up the pants, put them on the toilet seat and knelt down in front of it, wanking again and moaning out loud. He bent down towards them, so he could almost feel the warmth of his own shit and the smell gassed him. `Ugh,' he moaned. `Oh no ... Oh God...' He was terrified again, scared of himself and what he might do, and right on the edge of cumming. He leaned down again so his shit was right in front of him, staring intently at it, and whimpering in disgust and fear and primeval excitement. He closed his eyes and clamped his mouth tight shut. Then something snapped inside him again and he plunged his face into his slimy, hot shit. At once he jerked upright again, and somehow he managed to stifle his scream as he came harder than he ever had before. It took him a long time to clean up. He stumbled blindly into the shower first and washed his face before he hosed the shit off his bottom and balls and legs. Disgust overtook him then, he retched, and when he had to push a lump down the plughole with his toe he was nearly sick. By the time he'd washed himself down with disinfectant he felt better, though, and he opened the window to disperse the smell while he cleaned the bathroom up, until twenty minutes later there were no traces of what he'd done left and his housemate would never know what he'd done. He took another shower, and then went and got himself a beer from the fridge, sat and drank it and thought back on what he'd done. He did feel a bit guilty, he had to admit, but he'd just had the horniest experience of his life and he'd loved every second of it. He couldn't wait to do it again!