0 comments/ 22666 views/ 2 favorites The Businessman By: Poo-Bear 5PM. The end of another workday. I began following my usual route towards home, but through a flash of spontaneity, headed in the opposite direction, watching as the sterility of gleaming office buildings and symbols of professionalism slowly transformed into a maze of deserted side streets, gray, nondescript tenements and boarded windows. Dusk was falling, and there, a short distance away, a neon sign was flashing almost in invitation, a promised paradise to all who chose to be swallowed within. Inside, I was met by a hazy atmosphere, air heavy with smoke, the clink of glasses, laughter, low jazz music, the smell of perfume, old beer stains on the carpet, all combined to assault my senses. Plush, black velvet sofas lined one wall, as men of varying ages, most of them still in their office attire, mingled with women, all in different stages of undress. Some, who I assumed were the more generous customers, were led by the lady of their choice through doorways covered by beaded curtains for more private entertainment. I looked around the room as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, familiarizing myself with my surroundings, since I was not exactly accustomed to these mysterious playgrounds. After a few minutes, a hostess sauntered over towards me, a welcoming smile curving her blood red lips. "Hey there! Is this your first time here? You look a bit overwhelmed," she laughed, albeit not in any condescending manner, but in a way that told me that I was not the first man, guided by his curiosity, who somehow found his way here. "Don't worry, our staff will make sure you enjoy your stay and perhaps even return," she continued. "Pardon my manners, I have yet to offer you a proper greeting. So, what's your poison and pleasure, handsome fella?" After a few minutes, I was seated at a round table, tall beer mug in hand, having introduced myself as Spencer to the hostess whose name I soon learned was Camille, attempted to prod me further about my intentions. "Come on, don't be shy! There must be something specific that brought you here tonight," she coaxed encouragingly. She was right, there was, but I wasn't about to tell her that anywhere else was better than going back to an empty apartment. "We can offer you anything from mild to taboo, depending on how much you're willing to pay. So, any special requests?" After some hesitation, not to mention, slight embarrassment, I admitted that I had always harbored a repressed fantasy about watching a woman shit. To my relief, Camille did not seem at all shocked or repulsed by this confession, as though it was something she heard on a daily basis. "Excellent! I think you're in luck, because we can arrange a little something for you," Camille beamed enthusiastically, walking towards the bar, where a tall redhead in her mid-thirties stood, wiping down the mahogany counter. From a distance, I discreetly looked on as the two women talked, occasionally turning to look in my direction, and I would quickly avert my gaze. After a few minutes, the redhead smiled, nodded, and disappeared through a rear exit. I continued taking gulps of my beer, as Camille returned by my side, the triumphant messenger of good news, "Allow a few minutes for Priscilla to set up, and then she'll be ready to see you," Camille announced. Soon, after I had paid the dues Priscilla had negotiated, I was led towards the back, and through what seemed like a small apartment in itself. The first room containing a black leather sofa and coffee table, the next, a circular bed, and finally the last, serving as a dressing room/bathroom, with a large mirror, framed by glaring bulbs, endless supplies of cosmetics and hairstyling products occupying a glass counter, open closets overflowing with colorful costumes and props. And then, in a more secluded, darkened corner, there was Priscilla, seated atop a toilet affixed to a tiled wall, completely nude, stripped of the tight shorts and equally tight top she had worn earlier, which were now slung over the oriental patterned partition of a room divider, lacy bra and panties discarded carelessly on the floor, her only remaining accessory being her polished black stilettos and a delicate gold anklet. Priscilla sat, back straight, hands cupped together and resting on her lap, the ample globes of her breasts jutting out, her light pink nipples prominently taut. I stood, no doubt with my mouth gaping wide, as she beckoned Camille, "Could you kindly bring a chair for our gentleman spectator?" After Priscilla was confident that I was comfortably settled, she shifted, assuming another position, but not before I had the opportunity to glimpse the concealed "V" of her hairless pubic area. She then leaned slightly forward, her arms folded across her stomach, knees joined together, legs huddled in close to the base of the toilet. Some silence ensued, as Priscilla cast her gaze downward, until she began to piss, the strong torrent hissing out and finally receding to a trickle and then mere droplets. The sound of some of the other entertainers beginning or ending their shift in the adjoining dressing room could be heard, but were but a distant echo, as I concentrated on a series of long squeaky farts which were emitted inside the porcelain bowl. Priscilla and I began to engage in small talk, as she occasionally paused between sentences to strain, her complexion becoming a shade redder than the applied cosmetic blush on her cheeks. She pressed the heels of her stilettos into the floor and her hands clenched into fists at her sides until the distinctive moist crackling of an emerging turd began and gradually accelerated, continuing almost endlessly, it seemed. After a few minutes, Priscilla tilted her head back and released an almost orgasmic moan, her tense body seeming to deflate, the only indication that she had passed the turd entirely, as there were no other audible sounds of it making impact with the water. After catching her breath, Priscilla asked me if I could get her a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and an ashtray from the dressing room. I complied immediately, leaving and returning as promptly as I could, almost afraid I would miss something, despite my state of arousal making it difficult to stand, let alone walk. She shook out a cigarette from the pack, holding it up between her lips for me to light. She remained on the toilet, her legs crossed, puffing away, and I inhaled the combined scent of cigarettes and fresh crap, both battling to overpower the other. "I always enjoy a good smoke when I'm having a shit, it helps to keep things moving," Priscilla said, stubbing out her cigarette and setting the ashtray on the top of the toilet tank. "Now, I was hoping to produce a lot more than just this one turd for you. I want to make sure you get your money's worth. How about you come a bit closer for a better look?" I moved my chair beside the toilet, as Priscilla tilted sideways, revealing a lengthy formation of gradient browns, one rounded tip submerged underwater as the other tapered end rested against the side of the bowl, small fragmented bits embedded in its smooth glossy surface which was etched by deep crevices in parts. I was no expert, but I could confidently say that this turd was worth everything I had paid, and much more. I could not very well make any comparisons, since this was the first time I had ever seen the real shit of a woman, other than online. But who was I to object if she offered to provide more? I now watched as Priscilla leaned forward, allowing me an intimate view through the gap between the back of the toilet's plastic seat and her ass, where one subtle brown smear stained the freckled flesh of her left cheek, no doubt a result of clenching both masses together in an attempt to dislodge the recently deposited turd. And for the first time, I noticed the small tattoo of a rose on her lower back, its long, thorny stem seeming to disappear inside her crack. Priscilla resumed straining and smiled, her features contorting in a mixture of concentrated effort and pleasure. It was obvious that she enjoyed performing for me, as well as seeing the reaction it elicited, made evident by my frontal bulge. My attention was diverted from the rose on her back to the pink bloom of her anus as it stretched and puckered out to accommodate another wide turd which emerged and retreated a few times. Priscilla's ass flexed and quivered, almost raising herself off the toilet as the turd grew progressively, soon hanging suspended like a long tail. More piss dribbled out, running down the turd and dripping from its blunt tip. It broke off under its weight, the lengthy segment falling on top of the first turd, disturbing its position, causing it to slide down the side of the bowl, leaving elongated streaks. Three more jagged chunks dropped in rapid succession before Priscilla slumped back, finally depleted of her supply of shit, which now filled the toilet almost to capacity. "Phew! My shit stinks! I'm going to clear out the room," Priscilla exclaimed, waving her hand in front of her nose, but the women in the dressing room seemed oblivious to any odor that may have wafted in their direction. It certainly did not bother me in the least. "Now, on with the paperwork." Priscilla unraveled some tissue from the roll dispenser beside the toilet. Tilting sideways and reaching back, she swiped deep inside her crack, making her ass cheeks jiggle, inspecting the soiled tissue after each stroke, discarding it into the toilet where it covered her abundant mound of shit. She then got up and pressed down on the flush handle, and we both watched as the turds swirled and detached in the murky water, disappearing with a loud, laborious gurgle. Later, I stepped out into the cold night air, but it was the smell of Priscilla's shit that still lingered inside my nostrils, and while my pockets were emptier than when I first arrived, the front of my trousers was a lot fuller. The Businessman "This is unacceptable!" The shout came from the front desk and I looked up from my laptop, startled. I hadn't heard the elevator or the doors -- how did someone sneak up on me so easily? I stood, straightening my hotel name tag, and exited the back room -- wondering what all the fuss was about. There was a man standing at the front counter in nothing but a pair of shorts, his face red with rage. He looked like he was maybe in his 40s, and I remembered him checking in the previous day -- Mr. Brooks. He was in one of the suites, some sort of important businessman. The staff had been instructed to make sure he stayed happy, and we had apparently failed. "I'm sorry Mr. Brooks, what seems to be the problem?" I asked, all profession and poise. "This! All of this!" He shouted, waving his arm, gesturing -- in effect - to the entire hotel. "I'm sorry sir -- what's going on?" I asked, a little scared at this point. I was new at the hotel, and had never seen a guest so angry. "This whole hotel is an utter disaster," he hissed. "The room is too hot, the air conditioner doesn't work, the T.V. Is shit, the bed is hard. I am in a SUITE for god's sake -- I shudder to think what your normal rooms look like!" My eyes widened as he spoke. As far as I knew, nothing he said was true. Furthermore, he hadn't bothered to ask for help with any of it until 2 in the morning. I did my best to look polite and concerned. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'd be glad to move you rooms, if you like. The fourth floor might be a little cooler at least." This didn't seem to appease him at all. "What?" he demanded, "What- you're going to give me another shitty room to make up for the first one being shitty?" He laughed at this - "No, no. Tell you what. You're going to refund my room, and buy me another room at a different hotel -- alright?" I shook my head, flustered, "I-I'm sorry sir, I'm not authorized to do that. You can call my general manager tomorrow, she might be able to refund the room." Before I was half finished with my sentence, Mr. Brooks was shaking his head, his hands balling into fists. "No, no. This wont do," his angry gaze met my frightened stare, and then he began to look down, his eyes raking over my body, taking in my short blonde hair, pale skin and DD chest. A shadow of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "You can be sure I'll call your manager tomorrow. I'll tell her how rude you were -- how unhelpful. See if you keep your job, eh!" he laughed, pleased with his malice. "I'll tell her how you ignored me, told me to suck it up and sent me back to my room." My heart shot into my throat, pulse thundering, "But sir, that's not what I meant at all! I didn't say those things!" His smile was a wicked thing as he answered, "Who is she going to believe?" He laughed, beginning to walk away from the counter. I was panicking, desperate. My job was in danger, for something that wasn't my fault. Pinpricks of tears sprang to my eyes as I called after him, "Wait!" I said. "Please, tell me what I can do to make it right." Later I would look back on this moment, wondering if I had any inkling of what was to come. He stopped and turned, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Hmm. Like what?" I stammered, "W-well I can move you up the the fourth floor, like I said. And, uh. I can come make sure everything's working... maybe find you another mattress pad?" He was shaking his head, but the rage and malice was deflating, he was clearly tired. "No, I'm sure I wont sleep now. Got any coffee?" My eyes brightened and I bounced a little, pleased that I could finally do something for him, "Oh yes! Lots!" "What kind?" "Um, I'm not sure. Let me go see." "No, no -- you're incompetent. Let me come back there and see." Okay, so he wasn't all smiles and cheer, but he at least seemed fairly harmless by now. I didn't even think twice about letting him into the office and into the back room where the guest room supplies were kept. I opened the drawer with the coffee in it and stepped back for him to look through it. As he moved in front of me, I suddenly noticed the large lump in his shorts. My heart sped up again, and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was the only employee in the entire hotel. It was a slow, winter night. No one else would be in for another 3 hours, and most of the guests were sound asleep. He pawed through the coffee for a minute, but grunted his disapproval. "No, no. All awful. Looks like you're going to be out of a job." He tsked. "No, please!" I begged. He glared at me for a moment, finally asking "How serious are you about keeping this job?" I stammered, "V-very, Mr. Brooks. I need this job." "And you'll do anything to keep it?" "Anything." "Alright then." he smiled, "How about this." I stared in shock as Mr. Brooks stuck his hand down his shorts, pulling out a massive, thick cock. "If you take care of this for me, I will call your manager tomorrow and tell her what a great help you were. Alright?" I was in shock, staring open mouthed at his gigantic member. I had to be 10 inches long or more, and so thick- with the tip glistening in the light of the back room. "I -- you want me to -- Uh." I stammered. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. "C'mon, on your knees," he commanded and I obeyed dumbly, sinking down onto the rough carpet to where my face was level with his huge cock. I knelt there for a moment, looking nervously between the head and his face, expecting him to tell me it was a joke. His eyes were hard though, and he looked annoyed. Gingerly, I touched my lips to the tip, amazed at how warm it was. As I hesitantly parted my lips, he pushed forward, sliding into my mouth. "That's a good girl," he cooed, holding it there for a moment. I ran my tongue over the large rod in my mouth, giving it an experimental suck. He grunted his approval and moved back slowly, pulling it out. The reprieve was short lived, however, as he pushed into my mouth again. I closed my lips around him, but he pushed farther this time -- thrusting forward until I gagged and pulled away, coughing. "Oh no, we can't have that," he muttered, winding a fist into my hair and dragging me back in place, "Did I tell you to stop?" "No, I'm sorr-" he cut me off, shoving his cock back into my mouth. He was rougher this time, holding my head as I gagged on all 10 inches of him. He withdrew partway- just enough for me to catch my breath, before shoving back in, fucking my throat with short, strong thrusts. "There we go, just like that," he said appreciatively. He balled his other fist in my hair and began to thrust faster, pushing as deep as he could into my throat, again and again as I looked up at him, gagging. My eyes began to water, but this didn't seem to faze him. Faster and faster he went, banging against the back of my throat with each thrust. Eventually I got into the rhythm of it, moving my tongue and sucking in all the right places. He began to groan, quickening his thrusts and making them more shallow -- this allowed my tongue a little more movement and I began to flick it across the tip every time he pulled back. His groans grew loader and his thrusts more frantic, "Oh, good girl," he gasped, and with a final grunt, and a straining thrust he began to cum, ropes of semen spraying into my mouth and down my throat. I tried to release him then, but he seized my hair more firmly, holding me in place and demanding that I swallow. I obligingly sucked as his cock twitched, guzzling every last drop of his cum. When he was finally finished, he let go of my hair and let me pull away. I wiped my mouth and gazed up from my place on the floor, unable to believe what just happened. "What an obedient little slut," he chortled. "Yes, you may keep your job. That was quite good -- your first time?" I nodded, still speechless as I shakily got to my feet. "I'll have that new room, on the fourth floor you said? Yes, that will be nice." He seemed downright cheery then, as I switched him in the computer and made him new key cards. At some point he realized his cock was still hanging out and returned it to his shorts, as if he was sad to see it go. "I'm here all week, you know," he said with a grin as I handed him his new key. "Perhaps you can come, ah, help me again?" I blushed and looked down, "Have a good night, sir." He chuckled, walking away. "Oh, I will. I will."