5 comments/ 10547 views/ 1 favorites Dirty Streak By: nymph817 __________________________________________________ "DIRTY STREAK" by ══/\/ymph══ (DAW) (C) September 2015 ... please do not reprint without permission ─ Updated: October 12th 2015 __________________________________________________ * All players in this story are 18+ It was perhaps only a few years ago. Despite being in college, bullies still pursued me and tried to make my life miserable. I remember once telling the dean of the school about it, but he said his hands were tied on the issue, which obviously didn't make any sense to me. I pressed him on the issue but all he did was send me out of his office saying he had more important matters to attend. I did a little research for a few days on the internet and quickly found out that the ringleader of the bullies, Buford, was in fact his younger nephew! It was then I knew and realized I wouldn't be getting any help from the school. Whatever bullying that Buford did, I had to handle it on my own. However, it is Summer now, classes are over, and I am with my girlfriend, Rosa. Both her and me are at this beautiful beach that just opened up recently and we are taking in the rays of sun and water of the surf, bright snap early at 10am. She is dressed in a flattering bikini and I'm in simple blue swim trunks. We are sitting in pool chairs we brought, in the shade of a wide umbrella, eating cucumber sandwiches, when this large van pulls up. On the side it reads, "Port-A-John - Where You Go - We Go." I laughed a little at the slogan and watched. I guess I was a little surprised to see that it wasn't old men but young teenagers, both driving the vehicle and taking out one of the portable toilets like you see at construction yards. They place it near a snack stand that's opening up several hundred feet from where we are. Then one of the workers there sees me across the way and tips a jaunty salute. I tilt my head in confusion. Having placed the portable toilet, the van and its workers soon leave. Rosa sees it too. Then she speaks, "My back teeth are floating. I'm going to see if it's open." "Don't be too long." I call after her. She is gone for several minutes. Then all of a sudden cars and sand buggies start pulling up in all directions. The quiet of the beach Rosa and me were enjoying earlier is now gone to be replaced with loud teenagers, screeching in talk and laughter alongside loud radio playing, raucous music, all of it. But I have come equipped for this. I reach into the picnic basket to the side of me and pull out a set of headphones. I put them on, smiling at one little girl who is holding the hand of a woman walking by my shading umbrella. I close my eyes for what seems only a few seconds, and then someone is tapping me. It's Rosa. She mouths the words, "Take those things off," and, obviously I can't hear her with them on. I pull off the headphones and at once am smashed in my ears by the sound of what must be over 100 teenagers and people now, both in the surf, on the sand, and - turning my head to the porta-potty, there is a huge line of people. She speaks, "That's strange the way they set it up." "Oh, what do you mean?" I ask her. "That port-a-john. The inside of it was empty. Normally they fill them with a blue liquid. That one was completely empty when I got there. It didn't stop me from going though." I nodded. "Well, that's good." I looked beyond the john to see there weren't very many people at the checkout for the snack bar, most apparently needed to use the bathroom. "Ok, I'll be right back myself. I'm going to see if they carry any pickled sausages." Rosa gives me sick look, "Oh those things are awful, they're too salty for me!" "Well, you're not getting one." I call back with a smile. The sand which was pleasantly warm earlier is now starting to get a little hot. I "hot-foot" it over to the snack stand. "What'll it be?" the proprietor asks me. "Any pickled sausages? 'Tijuana Mama,' that sort of thing?" "The very." he says and points to a jar full of different kinds of beef jerky. Inside there are 2-pickled sausages. "Yeah, I'll take these." "Two bucks." "What? Really?" "Gotta make a living, Mac. You might get cheaper elsewhere, but not on this beach where everyone is right now." I nod, I have this flat nylon necklace I am wearing which has a watertight carry container. Inside is a single 5-dollar bill and keys to drive the car and get home. I hand it to him and he counts back 3 one dollar bills for me. "Here ya go. Want anything to drink with that?" * * * "No, I'm fine, thanks." He nods. I out away my change and walk back to where Rosa is. As soon as I get there she starts talking at once. "Gina showed up!" "Who?" "Gina, my girlfriend." I give her a look and smile out the corner of my mouth. She looks cross and says, "No, not THAT kind of girlfriend, GAWD, you know what I mean!" She pauses to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Anyways, no, she's a friend of mine. I want to talk to her for a bit. Think you can hold down the fort?" I nod. I'm in the picnic basket now looking for some bread to accompany my pickled sausage. "Okay, be back in two shakes!" and then she exits to the left where some other people have opened up umbrellas as well, and she's gone. I look to the port-a-john and see there is no-one there now. I sit back down and take off the waterproof carrier around my neck and toss it to the ground. I'm thinking maybe that isn't such a good idea. I look down around my feet and don't see it. Sighing in frustration, I get up and set my sausages and bread in the chair. Then I am on the ground on all fours now looking around the chair and still can't see it. I am still digging around the area when the light ahead of me is blocked by some people. At first I don't do anything but then it gets darker as they approach closer. I'm now looking up and see it is Buford and his gang of bullies. You've heard of hard case bullies? Yeah, well these guys take the cake. I can sort of understand bullies back in elementary and middle school. But college? Wow, get over it and grow up. And despite my internal thoughts, they DID grow up, not in intelligence, not by a whit, but certainly in SIZE. I guess they all worked out and it showed. These guys were huge compared to me. I tried to stand up but Buford spoke, "Don't bother to get up, weenie. You're good where you're at." Yeah, that's what they always called me, Weenie. Not a very nice name but I suppose it could be worse. Not wanting to get kicked or punched, I quickly sit down cross-legged on the blanket facing him. He stood next to me, an imposing sight and asked kindly enough, "What're you having for lunch?" He walked past and looked at the bread and sausages I set on the chair behind me. "What's this!?" he said, apparently amused by it. "Weenies, guys. He's eating little salty weenies!" The others laughed and surrounded me, giving me no chance to stand up now, I turn around to face Buford who is shadowed in the umbrella. "Well geez, Nate. If you wanted to suck on a weenie so bad, you could always have mine!" With that and where no-one could see him except me he drops his swim trunks and reaching down cups up his own where I can see it. And I guess as God hates me, his was quite a bit larger than my own. I looked in silence as he wagged it back and forth, edging closer and closer. His friends behind him cheer on until one of them gets behind me and puts a foot on my back trying to get me to lean forward into it. "Suck it." Buford says finally holding it in such a way that it's inches away from me and pointed at my chin. My lips tremble and I crinkle my eyes in frustration, trying to figure some way out of this nasty predicament they're putting me in. I open my mouth to say something and Buford, seeing an opportunity puts one foot in to step in closer, when one of his cronies from behind me says, "Hey, I found 3 bucks!" Buford then takes a step back and quickly pulls his trunks back up. Then he quickly walks around me to go to the guy that spoke about found money. 3 bucks, I'm thinking in my head ... 3 bucks! Now I'm yelling, "Hey, that's mine!" Sure enough the crony has found my little carrier with the money and keys in it. I'm pulling away and on my feet in an instant now. "Give it back!" I say. "Or what!?" Buford demands easily picking it from the grip of the other fellow. "Or I'll - I'll fix you good somehow! I'll - I'll hack your Facebook!" I sputter insignificantly. Buford leans back and laughs, "You're full of it!" and the others laugh with him. I'm really mad now though so I add, "No, you are. Buford T. Wallace, you're full of SHIT!" Apparently that was the rulebreaker. Buford gets a big smile on his face and putting the cap back on my plastic carrier, drapes it around his neck. Then says, "You want this so bad, well come and get it, weenie boy!" And then they're off like a shot, but so am I! For some strange reason they're all running to the port-a-john, and then it sinks in me. Oh no! They're going to throw it in there, and I'll have a really hard time trying to get it back! My legs are already hurting from the sprint but I push them even harder. I arrive to find all of Buford's cronies standing around the entrance smiling. I don't even hesitate for a second and fling open the bathroom door. Buford is sitting on the toilet seat with his swim trunks down to his toes and has my carrier in his hands, looking it over. "Give me that!" I say but don't make a move cause I'm certain he'll just toss it in between his legs right in the toilet. "What'll you give me in return?" he asks. * * * I walk in and the door on a spring closes behind me. I go up to him and sit on his right, his own weenie is in plain sight; massive. I bite my lip looking at it, remembering the awful situation he put me in earlier. Buford sees me staring at it and grinning puts a friendly arm around me whispering all buddy-like. "How about you suck my dick, Nate?" "How about I - I what!?" I cry back. From my left, he pats my back soothingly, "Hey, I know you're gay, everyone here knows that. Even your girlfriend, Rosa, but she'd never admit it to you. Just get down on your knees here, suck on me for only a minute, that'll be enough. Then I'll give you back your money and keys and leave you alone for the rest of the day. How coolio is that?" I get up for a moment. Then I face him, really nervous about what he wants me to do, but I certainly don't want to lose my pack - especially my keys! I'm biting my lip but do quietly kneel in front of him, if nothing else to collect my thoughts and go over my options. "Thattaboy." Buford says eagerly. He spreads his legs apart invitingly. At first I glance at his fat wiener because it's so close to me. It's right then I noticed it was erect, facing toward me slightly, and the tip was oozing a pearl of gray stickiness. Oh my god! He really was ready for me! I push that thought way in the back of my mind but morbid curiosity then forces me to lean forward a little to look down between his knees - and it's a terrible nightmare in the porta-potty. The pee has mixed with the poo and it's an awful thick light-brown pudding with a few semisolid darker chunks on the surface. That and the mess must be at several feet deep from what I can tell of seeing the edges. Just then from my angle near the floorboards, a terrible smell wafts out from below like a hundred backed up toilets and I gag but catch myself from retching. I pull my head back to look up to the expression on Buford's face. His gaze is between his legs and he is smiling in a funny way. Right away I can tell he's hiding something, and then it clicks in on me, I see what he's planning. Once I do as he says, he's simply going to close and lock his legs above my head to push it right down beneath the seat and keep me there trapped, in abject misery with both the sight and stench of the nasty toilet and its putrid contents right up in my face, and me quietly sucking his dick besides. And likely won't let me go until he's satisfied I did a good job and that could include him going all the way, shooting his load in my mouth and forcing me to swallow all of it before he would finally let me go! I gulped hard, my throat dry with fear, realizing this would be a lot worse than what he casually offered earlier. Then I leaned back on my legs away from him in thought. My stomach rumbled uncomfortably at what I was earlier prepared to do. Finally I sighed, words being difficult for me, and I hoped this was enough for him to give back my pack. "Buford, I'm - not - gay, okay, you keep saying I am, but I'm not. I just wish you wouldn't go around telling others ..." and my voice trailed away in torment. Buford suddenly stood up angrily and it's clear he's frustrated, not just in his thoughts. "Well, I guess if you don't want your precious case, you don't have to have it!" and with my worst fear in mind, he easily drops it right in the toilet! "Augh!" I yell, "I'll kill you, I swear I'll - " but he is already pulling up his swim trunks, circling around me, and is out the door on the spring leaving me alone still haunched on my knees. I stand up, turn around, and try to push on the door to leave, to maybe get some gloves, but it won't open. Then I hear one of Buford's cronies sing out, "Lose your keys little man?" and they all laugh nastily. Dammit! They're blocking it so I can't get out! I take a look at the toilet seat. Everything in here is new. No stains or anything. Inside it looks even worse now. And right in the middle is my plastic carrier, about 5 maybe 6-feet down. I step closer and the smell gets worse. "Oh God!" I say in disgust. I hear more laughter outside. Clearly they are waiting for me to get my keys and then they'll open the door. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Finally getting used to some of the smell, I raise the cushiony single seat and see it's a smooth plastic oval beneath with no sharp edges. That's good. I was concerned I would cut myself quite a bit trying to reach in and get them. Surely they expect me to get my keys back without mishap. I knocked on the door. "Room service!" one of them laughed. I responded, "Yeah, how about some plastic gloves, please?" "Fresh out!" the voice said and they all laughed cruelly. Clearly they wanted me to get my hands soiled getting out my keys and stuff. I sigh. Ok, here's what I can do. I can hold on to the side with my right hand and lean in hard with my left, AND I can hold my breath so I don't get sick or something. That should work. With that I grab the side as well as I can and fish my other arm reaching down below. But I'm grasping empty air. I take a quick peek and see my pack is still several feet below that. I stand on my tippy-toes and even stick my head inside the toilet now to get more distance. My nose wrinkles up at the smell now, almost burning it, but I'm still too far away to get it. "Dammit!" I yell and my voice echoes in the cavity of the restroom. I reach in further and feel my feet slipping, but I grab the side harder with my hand. I've just about got it! My index finger touches the tip of the carry case, but my arm isn't going to reach any further. Then I hear the door open behind me. I try quickly to pull out but can't! It's clear it's Buford and two others by the heavy footsteps. "Need help?" Buford asks. * * * I nod my head where he can't see it and speak as respectfully as I can. "Yes, please. Could you just hold my waist - I've almost got it." my voice echoes in the bottom. He replies above me, "Sure. Hey, I didn't think it would be this difficult for you. I certainly don't want you falling in." and for a moment he sounds sincere and even the two other guys with him are quiet. And now I'm thinking Buford is an okay guy and maybe I misread his earlier intentions, but then he shifts his grip from holding my waist to just tucking his fingers under the stretch band of my swim trunks. "What are you doing?" I ask in confusion. "Holding on to you, what do you think?" he says back, but laughs cruelly, and so do his friends. Then they are whispering like mad, apparently trying to make a decision on something. I try to grab the inside of the toilet and push back up but it's perfectly smooth and slick inside and I can't find any leverage to do so. Then the inevitable happens. I start sliding in and with Buford still holding on only to the band of my swim trunks, they start to peel off of me from behind. "Buford!" I yell. "Don't want you falling in - not with your swimsuit on anyways!" he says and laughs wickedly. Gravity is now working against me and I start to slide even more out of my swim trunks. At this point I am holding out both my arms and hands to cushion me from a fall and the tips of my fingers on both hands touch the surface of the horrid brown pudding. I'm doing all I can to try to wriggle back up using my waist, but I start sliding in even more. Buford is still just hanging on to my swim trunks as they easily come off my bare bottom. He pulls further to get them off my legs and finally shakes them free from my toes to leave me naked. Then he steps back to look. Now all you can see at the top of the toilet seat is my bare skinny bottom sticking out from the center and my 2-spindly legs dangling and twisting around a little from the back trying to find leverage that just isn't there. Finally I stop moving around, trying to think of some other way to get out. But Buford isn't going to wait. Seeing I'm not going to fall any further, he grabs my right leg in his hands and holds it up in the air. Then with firm pressure, gently pushes on one cheek of my naked bottom with the other free hand to get more of me inside the toilet. "Quit it! Stop pushing!" I tell him, but it's clear he's ignoring me. My bottom slowly slides across the seat and easily disappears down through the opening causing my stretched out hands to squish nastily below up past my wrist, but he's not done with me yet. He then lifts up both my legs and holding them up in the air together lowers and pushes them slowly down into the center of the toilet, now forcing my arms and elbows into the mess. I groan in despair realizing the hopelessness of my situation. He switches from grasping my legs, to my calves, until he is just holding on to my bare feet which wriggle in his grip right near the opening of the toilet seat. While my arms have reached the bottom, my nose is almost touching the nasty surface. Then he lets me go to see that I am guided straight to the foul bottom. I fall only a short distance with a nasty splat, all the way up to my neck but have still reached the base of the waste receptacle, exactly where he wanted me, apparently. I rotate myself and my legs around painfully in the small vat to turn myself around and find myself sitting on my knees, waist-deep in the foul pudding. I am not liking where I am! I cry out,"Oh God, oh God, no - no - NO!" Finally I look up to see Buford's beaming face along with two of his friends, not guys but girls, who are looking in after me past the foam seat, which they apparently lowered back down. And the two women have big leering grins on their faces like where I am is the funniest thing in the world to them. "Help me out!" I demand to Buford disregarding the girls' amusement of my predicament. I try to stand up but the vat is formed below in such a way that I can't raise up on my knees do so. I reach my hands up but can't touch the seat at all now as I'm too far down in here. "Remember what you said to me earlier, weenie?" Buford asks with a sneer on his face. "Remember - what - look, it doesn't matter, get me out! You can't - " Dirty Streak "You said I was full of SHIT!" With that my eyes go wide at his words and I am quiet and so is everyone else. Clearly he is wanting those words to sink in me. I look up again, "Wait, what do you - you can't, oh my God, NO!" Buford puts a finger to his lips, "Shhh ... You better be quiet, weenie. That is unless you want me to call the police or something and get you in REAL trouble." He can't leave me in here like this! I whisper angrily, "When are you going to get me out?" "Later," he says easily. "Yeah, later. But first, it's time for you to EAT your own words!" The light shifts and for a minute I think he is reaching in to help so I move forward. But no! I see he has dropped his own swim trunks again and this time I am greeted by the scene of his wide bare bottom now pressed neatly against the toilet seat above. His fat wiener lolls to the front. A moment later he starts to pee on the side of the vat that I'm in and it makes a faint trickling sound of falling water. I watch where it falls, and sure enough it's straight in the mess where I'm sitting. I'm terrified now! My voice is shaking, "Okay, that's - uh - very funny, ha ha - see I'm laughing, now - could you help me out, please?" * * * "You're the one full of it." he grunts and in an easy movement, a thick brown and nasty sausage of his waste starts to descend and ooze out from his bare bottom. Now I'm struggling hard to get away from it, but there's nowhere to go! I finally look up in panic and am horrified at what I see and yet I can't look away either for some reason. I am frozen in place for several moments. I blink my eyes and a glob of his waste breaks free from the top and drops down splatting hard against my nose and sticks there, warm, wet, and oily. "Noo ..." I say quietly in my misery, my eyes still unable to pull away from the horrible visage of the pucker in his ass. As I watch it dilates slightly and more waste easily oozes out of it with a soft, wet flupping sound. "Yeah, eat my shit." he rumbles above me. Suddenly I felt especially warm in my forehead and a curious confusion entered my mind of even contemplating what he suggested I do. I open my mouth in shock but had nothing to say back to him in return. My unexpected silence causes him to laugh nastily in such a way that leads me to believe he really thinks I am going to do as he wants. And in truth, it would be so simple from the position my face was pointed and where I was seated right now ...! In my head I imagined the worst. Staying right where I was without moving and actually letting his crap dangle for a second to finally fall into my mouth, and me quietly and meekly sucking on it for a moment or two before finally swallowing it down - all of it, just as he told me to do. The ultimate act of submission to a bully ... But NO! I was NOT going to to give him or ANYONE that pleasure! So before any more of his crap could fall on me I shook my head to focus. Then I pushed hard to get myself out of the line of easy fire I was in and shifted myself mightily against the small but heavy-duty vat, sloshing in the filthy contents, and grunting with the effort of difficult movement. Finally I am seated Indian-style, with my head against the edge of the receptacle below where you can't see me unless you lean up close to the edge of the seat above. You also can't see my legs or feet either as the existing filth has covered over them completely. A moment later his foul crap is dropping in front of me, but now not on my head or face and instead on my chest and in my lap, splatting nastily around me in a sticky wet pile. I moved just in time! This goes on for a full minute with the others hooting and laughing at my predicament. For a moment it stops and I turn up to look to see that he is wiping his bottom with toilet paper. He drops it in but I bat the wad away angrily to a corner of the vat. "How did you like that?" Buford asks whirling around to duck his head down in the seat and leer at me. The two girls aren't in sight now but I can still hear them giggling. But I've had enough - more than enough! I look to him and there are tears in my eyes. I am so miserable where I am - I want out! He smiles and covers his nose, "Phew! that's just nasty. Okay, here's how it's going to go. You stay in there, till say evening, I'll come back and help you out. There's even a public shower nearby." "Promise?" I ask him, and my voice is very small indeed. Whatever anger I had earlier is gone now to be replaced by fear and misery. "Man of my word." he says. Then adds, "Oh, hope you're still hungry, My whole gang needs to use the pot now so you better just get used to being our toilet for the next 6-hours!" I can't even think of a comeback for that so I just remain silent. He smiles widely, knowing I am wallowing, literally, in misery. I hear the two girls leave then true to his word, every one of his guy friends come in to use the toilet, dumping their wet load on top of me. Others still look down near the rim to see where I'm at and aim to pee straight in my mouth which I resolutely keep closed, my eyes flashing in anger. But I don't dare move from where I'm at because this is as far away from the center of the toilet opening above that there is. I wriggle my toes a bit now because it feels like they are falling asleep being pinned in here the way they are. Finally it ends. Buford shows up again. "Look up, weenie!" he says. I'm hopeful he'll pull me out early so I do lean forward and look up with wide pitiful eyes. Filth is stained all around my face now from backlash splatting and it's clear even from being down here the short time I was that I would need a heavy duty bath to get rid of the smell on me at this point. But if anything, Buford is amused at the way I look. "Yeah, you look like SHIT!" he laughs. "Well, a bunch of people are coming this way. Remember what I said, you make a noise and they'll call the lifeguard and HE will call the POLICE, so you better be real still for the next 6-hours and just quietly suck it all down like a good little boy. I'll see you after then." With that he leaves. A moment later the door opens on its squeaky hinges and a pleasant woman's voice is heard talking on a cellphone. Then I see her pink buttocks sit down on the seat above and she starts squeezing out a load of her own waste. I watch in morbid fascination, never having actually seen a naked woman before, not even Rosa, but still cursing myself for being here all the while. Her and many other people start to bury me in their crap. From the way they are sitting, some do manage to dump on my head. But I remain quiet beneath them, not wanting to risk the authorities being called. The smell is atrocious, like bad beanie weenie, and what's worse, it doesn't seem like there is an end to the number of people quite content to empty their bottoms on top of me. As I gaze up, it's like being mooned by every person on the beach but far worse. It's mooning with nasty consequences. With a brief moment between patrons I lean my head forward and pure liquid crap oozes from the top of my head into my already filled lap. Then I hear a familiar voice and my heart beats hopefully in my chest, it's Rosa! She's outside the port-a-john and I can hear her speaking! "Hey, have any of you seen a guy, about this high, he's wearing a blue plastic carrier around his neck and - " * * * Then I hear Buford's voice interrupting hers. Apparently he is hanging around the outside toilet in case I do get caught, and he wants to witness that when it happens. "Yeah yeah. You're talking about Nate, good friend of mine." he glibly tells her. "Him and me go to college together. Yeah, he just went home, doll-face." Rosa is angry, "Why on Earth would he do that?" "Dunno." Buford says lazily. "But, that's what he told me. Some kind of emergency. Why don't you meet him there?" I'm thinking in my head now. I know we both came in our cars. I'm hoping Rosa will check the parking lot to see that my car is still here and then call the authorities to search for me. But no! I don't want that, what if they find me in HERE? How will I explain it to - well - ANYONE? Being down here for hours now I had some time to think. Suddenly I remember that I had seen one of Buford's friends earlier. He was the one driving the truck that held this particular port-a-potty! So ultimately they DID want me to wind up down here after all! And I fell for it, literally! I scowled at my stupidity for not thinking of this earlier and my earlier clumsiness to make it even easier for them to place me exactly where they wanted me to go. As I'm caught up in my thoughts, another patron arrives, I look up to see a fat guy's hairy ass and his wiener hanging down in the bowl. His buttocks spew a thick brown pudding that ribbons down nastily around my shoulders and chest. I'm out of tears so I just numbly stare at his naked bottom in misery as it quietly empties its filthy load on to me. It's sad to say but by being down here as long as I was, I was actually feeling pretty warm and comfortable buried in the mire if it wasn't for the horrendous stench. As more and more people dump on my head and lap, my self-esteem is further mashed into the filth, which I'm certain is what Buford wanted. I go over it in my head, which would be worse, where I am now, or to have sucked him off? That was an easy question. Yeah, I should've just sucked him off. I've never done that before and I know they would brand me in college as a faggot cause I knew Buford. He would tell EVERYONE about it! And then where would that leave me at school with everyone knowing what I did? Would the friends I knew already at college think differently of me? But THIS! Was this any less worse than that? There is a small hole to the side above in the toilet. From there I can tell if it's daylight or nighttime. More people come to use the port-a-john. I have seen well over 4-dozen naked buttocks squeezing out their loads, directly on to me, and it just twists me around not only in my stomach but in my head and my own feelings about myself. With the pudding of human waste getting larger in the vat, the humiliation of being right in the middle of it is extreme. I'm beyond tears and remorse and can only look up in misery to see yet another new person's bare ass disgracing me even further by quietly releasing more puddings of waste from their bottom's eager pucker to bury me ever deeper in the wet and nasty dump. I shift a little during a momentary lull in usage so my chin is not so close to the top of it. Finally night does come. I hear crickets outside and the crackle of fire as some people have made barbecues for themselves from the fire-pits dotting the beach. I look around and see I must've dozed off as now I'm almost up past my neck in the rancid wave of brown batter! If Buford doesn't come back soon, I'll be buried up to my nose in this ... SHIT! Fortunately he does. "Hey, wiener boy, you still down there." he hisses in a sharp whisper. I lean forward, pushing hard against the sticky mess and look up as the earthy paste slides to my side with a sickening wet sound. He smiles and speaks normally, "Phew! So have you had your bellyful of shit down there or are ya hungry for more?" I shake my head left and right to say no. He is not fully satisfied. He leans in closer, "Now answer me this simple question. WHO is full of shit ... NOW?" I had to think about that for a minute. Did he really believe that I was down here quietly and submissively eating everyone's shit for the past 6-hours? And if I had, that would make his statement true for me. But it's not true since I haven't! God! And my stomach turned in nausea again for the umteenth time even imagining it! Nonetheless, I look down at the warm crap all piled around my neck and shoulders and respond quietly full of sorrow, "I am." "You are WHAT?" he smiles, indulging the question. I look up teary eyed. "I am full of SHIT." I say in a small and scared voice, and hope he doesn't ask me to prove it right then by sampling any. Fortunately, he doesn't. He just nods in victory, "Yeah, you are. You really are full of shit, Nate. Okay, well, I hope you learned your lesson. Once you get cleaned up, you owe me a good blowjob, weenie, tomorrow after school at the gym in the locker room, understand?" I'm certain if I say no now he'll just leave me here to drown, nasty, in everyone's dump AND the dumps that would surely follow as the evening passes on to midnight, so I see that I am in absolutely no position to argue anything. I'll do anything to get out of here now. Anything! I have seen enough bare and naked bottoms to last me a lifetime of twisted nightmares, so I just meekly respond, "Yeah, sure." * * * Buford rubs his nose for a second, the smell even apparently getting to him. "That's what I like to hear! Okay, a promise is a promise. I'll get you out now." He reaches in with thick yellow gloves on his hands. I grab my little plastic carrier which I set to the side so it wouldn't get buried in the crap. Then I reach out and let him pull me up. Fortunately the mess I am in shucks off easily enough and doesn't stick to me except my hair. It must be the oil from the urine so that was a blessing in disguise. "Dude, you are RANK!" he laughs and falls back on the floor guffawing at how horrid I look. I don't even respond. Pee glistens off my skin and chunks of crap stick to parts of me. But I don't wait - I am out the door and running to where the showers are. "Streak!" I hear someone yell. "Yeah, we gotta streaker!" someone else yells from the other side of me. "Streaker! Streak! Gotta getta peek!" I hear a teenage girl cry out, and then I see a flash of light as someone takes a picture. But I don't care. I am running, running, running with all my might to the showers as everyone is laughing derisively at my nudity, seen clearly in the campfires and outside lights. And while I realized I had my watertight carrier with my money and keys in it, I was without my swim trunks as I never asked for those back from Buford, so my little wiener is flapping in the breeze too. And despite me thinking my nasty adventure was over now, it wasn't. Because then it took no time at all for the police to arrive and they are right outside the public shower, waiting for me to finish cleaning up. I scrub myself from head to foot with a bar of soap and an abandoned loofah sponge I find there. I am also washing the crap off of my carry case. A policewoman is there watching me carefully. "Get your hair really good." she says. I nod and suds up my hair thoroughly with the bar of soap, then scrub it hard, and finally rinse off. I step out and she hands me a white towel. I dry myself. Then she hands me a pink robe to wear. I sigh and put it on. She bridges her nose with two fingers. "God, what a stench! That didn't help much at all." She is all business again and takes my carry case from me. "Okay, Romeo, hands behind your back." I comply. She clicks on the handcuffs and forces me out of the shower to see everyone outside is applauding and cheering, not so much for me I think but for the police to catch the streaker, me. "Inside." she says and opens the left door to the police car. I duck inside and sit down. She closes the door and it locks automatically behind her. Outside I see a mass of people with big grins on their faces. Voices fade in and out but it's clear they saw where I came from and where I ran to. They only had to put a few numbers together, that plus the fact I stunk to high heaven. I lean my head back and sigh, trying to think of what I'm going to tell them down at the station once we get there. (( Now normally I would end the story here, but this story was written as a request for someone - and they, too, wanted to see that there is REVENGE, where Buford gets his. Some of the best stories I've written (non-erotic) are about vengeance, and I can relate to this - so - the story continues back in the police car)) ... I am almost asleep in the back seat, it's after 10pm. I know I need to let Rosa know what happened to me, but for now, I'm on my way to the police station, and there I can make a statement - to show that what happened to me was not at all voluntary and that I was tricked into being there. There is a thick plastic insert between the front seat and the backseat, airtight from what I could tell, so the driver was likely not even aware of how fragrant I was. We arrive at the police station. I shake my head, wow, I've never been arrested - for anything! The woman comes around, she pinches her nose one last time but is smiling at me. I think she knows I didn't commit a crime but was somehow and stupidly tricked into this. "Come on, Romeo." she says kindly enough. I get out and follow her. At first I think we're going to the main desk, but no, we are walking around the building. She fishes in her pocket for a key and opens up a door I've never seen before. "Inside." she says. I step in and see it is some type of shower, but apparently for convicts. I see a massive hose hung on the side of the wall and several unopened bars of soap lining a shelf. She takes off the handcuffs for a moment, then asks me to put my hands in front of me and puts them back on again. "Now it's time for ME to get you clean, boy." she says. "And if you need to speak, you call me officer Darnell, understand?" "Yes ma'am, officer Darnell." "Good. Stand here, and DON'T MOVE. If you can't keep your hands to yourself then we'll just skip this procedure and you can spend your night in a jail cell with your stink until you learn to respect authority, and really I don't think you want that." "No ma'am." I say politely. "Good boy. Just stay perfectly still." She goes to put on a full-fitting plastic jacket, goggles, and gloves. She takes the hose and fixes it to a type of stand where it is blowing directly on me. At first I thought it would be biting cold but it's actually pleasantly warm. "Turn around." she directs me. * * * I face my back to her. She opens a bar of soap from its paper sleeve and puts it inside a sponge. Then she starts to scrub me, starting from my hair. I watch the drain ahead as all the brown sewage is washed off and runs down the stream. She is very thorough. She goes from my hair, to my head, my ears, my face, and finally to my neck. She tosses the used and whittled bar of soap in the trash nearby and grabs another. Then she scrubs hard my back, waist, legs, and feet. "Turn around." she tells me again. I do so. She scrubs my face again one more time. She then scrubs my collarbone, breast, chest, belly, and leaning down she finally scrubs my wiener with the soft lathered sponge. I bite my lip trying not to make any sound and I keep my hands perfectly motionless. She is humming now as she cleans around it. Without waiting, she turns herself around and starts scrubbing my butt. Oh my god, did that feel good! My fingers tense up in pleasure but I try to keep them still. "You're doing just fine!" I hear her yelling over the loud sound of the water hose. I nod. She can just keep scrubbing right where she was - forever for all I cared. But no, it's only a few minutes, then she goes back to my front to scrub my knees, ankles, and telling me to lift each foot carefully scrubs my feet and between each toe. The soap is scented too, a little like strawberries. The whole process takes a little over an hour. "You did good." she tells me as she takes off the plastic gear and apparatus. Her gaze falls down to my handcuffs. I remain silent. She finally says, "If I take these off, you're not going to run away, right?" Dirty Streak "No ma'am." I reply. She nods, "Okay, I'm trusting you. We still need to find out what happened - and as compliant as you've been so far, I have a feeling you were tricked into this." "Yeah, I was." I tell her. She doesn't answer to that but then she dries me off with this huge double-size body towel. My hands are free but I keep them at my side. Like with the bathing she is very thorough with the towel. Causing me to gasp once or twice as she dries both my butt and wiener entirely. As she is drying my little wiener her face lights up in an indulgent smile and she comments cheerily, "My, I'll bet you are really good with computers, aren't you?" I sigh, and I suppose that answered one question I've had in my mind for years now. God either gives you a great body or a great brain, but not both. The throwaway robe I was wearing when I got there I see has been placed in the trash. She has a new sturdier pink robe for me to wear and some underwear that's my size. "Okay, we're doing so good here. I want you to get dressed - and then we'll see the chief." I step forward and put on the underwear, then the robe, then I walk back to her. "Great, let's go." I follow her from the back of the police station to the front. One of the officers comes by and sticks his nose right up against my face. "Smells fine to me?" he asks in confusion. Apparently word of me smelling horrid was already circulating amongst the other officers. "He's clean now, okay?" Officer Darnell snarls. The other officer laughs and walks away. We walk up to a desk that has what clearly is bulletproof glass protecting the other side. Seated appears to be an old man, likely the chief of police. He is writing something down on a form. He looks up at me once or twice. "Name?" "Nate. Uhhm - I mean, Nathanial Branston." "How old are you?" he finally asks. "18, just last month." I tell him. "Hmm ..." he grumbles. "Height?" "5 foot 7." "Yeah ... " he mutters. "Do you know how much you weigh?" "170 ... 175, I think." The he looks up and points the pen at me all serious, "And you DO know why you are here, don't you son?" "Yessir." I say, without elaborating. "Mm hmm ..." Then apparently he has the form filled out the way he wants. He slides it under an opening in the glass to officer Darnell who clips it on a thick board. Then the chief of police looks up at officer Darnell, "Question him. Find out what caused this - " and he laughs on the last word, "stink." Darnell smirks at the joke but nods just the same, "Yessir. Come on. There's a room empty we can talk in." I follow her. The room has its lights off and she clicks them on. At that point I can see there is a little serving table in the corner with a coffeepot and fixings for it. "Sit there." she says directing me to a chair. I do so, and look at the pot. She sees where my gaze is and offers, "Want some coffee?" * * * "Sure, thanks." She makes a cup for me and brings it back. In truth it is horrid, way too strong, but I don't tell her that. She sits on the other side of the desk and looks at the clipboard for a moment. Then at me. "Let's get started. Nathaniel is it?" I nod. "Fine. Let's get the important question out of the way. Now, how did you wind up naked in the bottom of a porta-potty, Nathaniel?" ... and I tell her the entire story of what Buford did, even pulling out his wiener under my beach umbrella trying to get me to suck it, him running off with my carry case, him dropping it in the porta-potty, me trying to retrieve it and unable to climb back out, him pushing me all the way in, and then everyone crapping on me for 6-hours. Finally I told her of Buford pulling me out at night only if I agree to suck him off in the gym after school tomorrow. She shakes her head and sighs leaning back in her chair causing it to creak. "He calls you a weenie, doesn't he?" she asks, remembering what I told her. "Yeah." and I look down at my lap in shame. "You know, you really are a weenie." she says picking up the clipboard and uses the edge of it to point to me, accusingly. "That's not very nice!" I tell her, raising my voice in anger. She sets the board back noisily on the table. "But it's true, Nathaniel. Now you think about this for a second. If this had happened to ANYONE else they would've done something - ANYTHING to get out of there! They wouldn't just SIT there quietly and let people dump SHIT on their head and face for 6-hours, God, what were you thinking!?" "I was scared." I say, trying to defend myself. She shakes her head, "Lord knows I suppose you were, still ... Now you said his full name was Buford T. Wallace? That's very interesting indeed. You sit here, DON'T MOVE. I'm going to check on something. I'll be right back. You just enjoy your coffee." She stands up and continues, "If I'm right, you really are innocent of this and I THINK I know who your bully Buford is and - well, let's just see if I'm right about this." "That'd be great." I tell her. "Stay put." and with that she leaves the room, leaving the door slightly open. I think about that for a moment. She could've easily locked me in here. I was certain these interrogation rooms would let you do that. So she was testing me, to see if I would try and escape. But no! I knew I wasn't in the wrong here, maybe a little gullible, maybe I am a 'weenie' as she said to let bad things like this happen to me, but I didn't dive in that porta-potty on purpose! I wanted my keys back, man! As I'm spinning this over in my head, she returns with the man from behind the bulletproof counter. Clearly the chief of police. I stand up suddenly in respect. He quickly whips out his pistol and points it at me. I'm terrified now. I quickly sit back down. He holsters his gun, his voice tense, "Now why did you do that!?" "I was trying to be respectful sir, you know how you stand up when someone enters a room?" "Respect ... respectful?" and he laughs in the back of his throat sounding a little like a whinnying horse. "God kid, you're a treat. You've never broken the law or been in jail before. I just checked on that. You're a good kid, a little DUMB I think for what you did today at the beach, but a good kid after all." He pulls up another chair and both him and officer Darnell sit together on the other side. "Close the door, Darnell." he tells her. She gets up, closes the door, and sits back down. It is pitch silent in here. The chief of police whispers as if he is confiding a great secret. "I - know this Buford character. I am not proud to say when you mentioned his full name, that is in fact my son, apparently going to the same campus as you. A relative of mine is the dean there, and no, he won't do anything about Buford." He leans back in his chair to give me a hard look. "You must be really bright indeed to already be in college at 18. My Buford is 24-years old and struggling with it as near as I can tell." He leans forward again and puts out a supportive hand. I take his older one in mine. "Please, forgive me, I had no idea my son was being this much of a bully to you. At home he is usually a good boy and does what he is told. And yes, he currently lives with me." He pulls his hand from mine and pounds it angrily on the table. "But what he did to you, forcing you into a public toilet to get shat on for 6-hours, that is unforgivable! I assure you, he will NOT get away with this!" "For now, you needn't worry about, ahhm, meeting him in the gym after school for your rendezvous. As of this moment I am pulling him from college and putting him to work. He likes to humiliate and disgrace others, does he?" "He is still living with me, but no more, he needs to find his own place. I'm going to get him a decent paying job - cleaning prison toilets, starting with this precinct!" * * * He leans back in the chair thoughtfully, "Buford'll earn just enough to eke out a meager existence. That ought to drill in his head just how WRONG it is to put someone in there. And MAYBE after 10-years of this drudgery, I'll call him back home to see what he's learned." He holds his hand out again and I take it. "Does that sound fair, son? We're going to drop all charges. We've already towed your vehicle back home from the beach, and we can give you a ride back to your apartment. Will you let us do that for you?" I nod. Wow! This is better than I hoped! No more would I have to worry about Buford! How he was always messing with me when I was at my locker or when I was in gym class. He was gone! For 10-years, and I knew I'd be out of college before then and have a great job teaching computer programming classes after that, what I really wanted to do. "Yeah, sure, thanks!" is all I can muster. He smiles. "That's just fine, Nathaniel. Officer Darnell, will you see to it this fine gentleman arrives home safely?" "It would be my pleasure, sir." she says and hands me back my carry case. The chief gets up and leans back, cracking his back but doesn't say anything further. Then he turns around and walks out of the room. "Finish your coffee, Nate." she tells me. I swig it one swallow. "Good, let's go." And true to her word, she sends me home, patting me nicely on my back as I step out. I admit, I am out of a pair of swim trunks, but I did get my carry case back, didn't lose any of my keys, and I even got this cool pink robe out of it all that Rosa will likely want for herself. But now I am totally exhausted. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll call her up early and tell her the entire amazing story of what happened yesterday. With that I crash in bed and have a dreamless sleep ... ══THE END══ BTW, if you comment, please LOGIN so I know who to give credit to. Negative anonymous comments will be ignored as should all.