Posted by Christine on February 03, 1999 at 09:11
'm a 24 year old woman with a fetish for pooping. I've had this secret fetish ever since one night when I was 15 and my mother
made me sleep in my pooped panties as my punishment for pooping in them. This fetish has always been a secret for me
because I've always been afraid to tell anyone about it and in some ways I've always been a little ashamed of it. But now that I
read about others like me, I know that I'm not the only woman who's into pooping. It all started one day when myself and my
family were at the local 4-H agricultural fair. The only place to go to the bathroom were those portable johns and boy did they
smell. We were there the whole afternoon and I had already peed in them once. Later, I not only had to pee again, but I had to
poop as well. I just started to hold it in -- I wasn't going to use one of those johns again unless I was really desperate. Pretty
soon, I had to go worse and even though it was becoming very uncomfortable, I was still determined to wait until I got home.
My mother noticed this and suggested that I should "go and use the facilities." I'm going to hold on til we get home," I told her.
"Chris, just go and get it over with," she told me, "Why torture yourself -- you're going to have to go sooner or later." "Those
things are disgusting," I replied, "I can hold it in until we get home." My mother told me that I was being stupid and finally
flat-out ordered me to go to the bathroom. Reluctantly (under the threat of grounding), I went into the portable john and took a
pee -- but I did not move my bowels. I figured I could hold it in a lot easier if I was only holding in my poop rather than if I was
holding in both. Well, I couldn't hold it in good enough. Suddenly during the trip home, I got this awful feeling in the pit of my
stomach -- I know that I was desperate for a toilet. Just when I was about to ask my dad to pull into a gas station or
something, I realized that if I did that, I'd get in trouble for disobeying my mom by not using the portable john. But then I
thought that if I didn't get to a toilet immediately, I'd be in double trouble for disobeying my mom and also for messing in up my
panties. Just about the time I decided to speak up, the point became moot. Suddenly, I found myself sitting there with a hot,
wet mess in my pants and I could feel some of the mess starting to trickle down my leg. I felt ashamed and disgusted as I felt
the big load starting to settle in the seat of my panties. I couldn't believe I had done such a thing at my age but I could feel the
evidence in my pants. And even if I couldn't feel the mess, the smell was more than obvious. Any hope I had of hiding this from
my parents was quickly put to rest by the smell. It wasn't long before my parents smelled my poop and I knew I was in for it.
"Christine, you didn't go to the bathroom like I told you to, did you?" she asked. I always knew I was in trouble when my mom
would call me by my full first name. I just bowed my head in shame. "Its in your pants like I warned you about when I told you
to go at the fair, isn't it!," she told me (as if I didn't already know this fact). "I'm sorry," I cried. "You know how disgusting that
is?" she asked me, "15 years old -- how could you do this?" (Like I didn't already know how disgusting this was with the mess
now leaking from my panties.) My little sister started laughing at me until my father told her, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn't
funny. "You march straight into that bathroom immediately, Christine," my mother told me as we pulled into the driveway.
Crying, I walked slowly toward the house, hoping that no one in the neighborhood was looking. The mess was very obvious in
my tight jeans which were now lumpy and badly stained. Just as soon as I reached the bathroom door, however, my mom
stopped me. "Do you still have to go to the bathroom?" she asked. I shook my head no. "Then march straight up to your room,
young lady," she ordered me. "Get up there now! Christine," she yelled as I was slow to obey. Still not knowing what was
going on, but knowing that I'd better obey, I started walking toward my room -- the foul smelling bowel movement now
seriously leaking from my panties. "I gotta clean myself," I told her, "What about the mess." "You can just sit in your room a
while with it in your pants," she directed, "Then maybe you'll be a little less stubborn and careless about these things next time."
I wanted nothing more than to get into clean panties and get this whole humiliation over with, but my mother was insistent that I
had not yet learned my lesson. I begged to be allowed to clean up immediately, but my mother wouldn't let me. Up in my room,
I was made to put on two extra pair of panties to prevent any leakage onto my bedroom furniture. My mother told me that I
had two hours to "sit with my mess." When I begged her again to let me clean it up now, she threatened to make my
punishment longer. She then left me alone to cry out my shame in my room. About twenty minutes later I had an idea -- a stupid
idea! I told my mother that I had to pee and she let me go to the bathroom. She left me alone (as I'd hoped), but I should have
suspected something when she left the bathroom door unlocked. Instead of peeing (which I didn't have to do), I started wiping
up some of the mess. Well, my mother came in and caught me red-handed (brown-handed?). Furious, she ordered me off the
toilet. "Well, Christine, now you can sit in your mess all night and you're not going to clean it up until after everyone else gets up
tomorrow morning," she ordered, "And one more word out of you and you won't be cleaning it up until tomorrow night."
Crying again, I went back to my room. When I did have to pee later, my mother (the first time) and then my older sister (the
second time) went with me and watched me the whole time. I was so embarrassed. In my room, I tried to relax as best I could
-- facing an awful night sleeping my messy panties. It was far from awful, however. First, I started to rub my tits and that felt
good. Next, I started to rub my pussy and that felt even better. Soon I had worked up the urge to really do it to myself. Soon I
hit climax but that didn't satisfy (or even decrease) my appetite for more sex. By now, I had worked my pillow into a ball
between my legs. That was the way I usually did it when I made love to myself in those days, but somehow this time it was
much, much better. I did it again and again and again and until I was exhausted from it all. Ever nerve in my body was tingling.
Nothing had ever (or since) felt so good. I was a virgin then, but I knew of the pleasures of masturbation and with all due
modesty, I was pretty good at it. But masturbation in messy panties felt better than everything else combined. Not only was my
mind off the punishment, shame and disgust of my messy panties but all kinds of thoughts were running through my mind. In that
night, I fully realized the pleasures of panty-pooping. In one kinky nights, I was sold on this wild and wicked fetish. The next
morning at 10:30 AM (after the last of my sisters had gotten up and finished with the bathroom) I had a very humiliating
supervised clean-up of my bowel movement mess. Thankfully, I was allowed to wash it off in the shower (I couldn't imagine
doing with just toilet paper or even a washcloth) but there were still three very disgusting pairs of panties that I had to rinse out
in the toilet and scrub clean in the sink. My mother asked me if I had learned my lesson and obediently, I apologized for what
I'd done. Pleasantly surprised, I was only grounded for two weeks. This was a very small price to pay for a new found joy, and
ever since then I've pooped in my pants a lot. Not as much as I'd like to, though, as exercising great care and discretion is a
must when enjoying this fetish. Still, I do manage to do it a lot and greatly enjoy the wonders of masturbating in my messy
panties.
Email:
made me sleep in my pooped panties as my punishment for pooping in them. This fetish has always been a secret for me
because I've always been afraid to tell anyone about it and in some ways I've always been a little ashamed of it. But now that I
read about others like me, I know that I'm not the only woman who's into pooping. It all started one day when myself and my
family were at the local 4-H agricultural fair. The only place to go to the bathroom were those portable johns and boy did they
smell. We were there the whole afternoon and I had already peed in them once. Later, I not only had to pee again, but I had to
poop as well. I just started to hold it in -- I wasn't going to use one of those johns again unless I was really desperate. Pretty
soon, I had to go worse and even though it was becoming very uncomfortable, I was still determined to wait until I got home.
My mother noticed this and suggested that I should "go and use the facilities." I'm going to hold on til we get home," I told her.
"Chris, just go and get it over with," she told me, "Why torture yourself -- you're going to have to go sooner or later." "Those
things are disgusting," I replied, "I can hold it in until we get home." My mother told me that I was being stupid and finally
flat-out ordered me to go to the bathroom. Reluctantly (under the threat of grounding), I went into the portable john and took a
pee -- but I did not move my bowels. I figured I could hold it in a lot easier if I was only holding in my poop rather than if I was
holding in both. Well, I couldn't hold it in good enough. Suddenly during the trip home, I got this awful feeling in the pit of my
stomach -- I know that I was desperate for a toilet. Just when I was about to ask my dad to pull into a gas station or
something, I realized that if I did that, I'd get in trouble for disobeying my mom by not using the portable john. But then I
thought that if I didn't get to a toilet immediately, I'd be in double trouble for disobeying my mom and also for messing in up my
panties. Just about the time I decided to speak up, the point became moot. Suddenly, I found myself sitting there with a hot,
wet mess in my pants and I could feel some of the mess starting to trickle down my leg. I felt ashamed and disgusted as I felt
the big load starting to settle in the seat of my panties. I couldn't believe I had done such a thing at my age but I could feel the
evidence in my pants. And even if I couldn't feel the mess, the smell was more than obvious. Any hope I had of hiding this from
my parents was quickly put to rest by the smell. It wasn't long before my parents smelled my poop and I knew I was in for it.
"Christine, you didn't go to the bathroom like I told you to, did you?" she asked. I always knew I was in trouble when my mom
would call me by my full first name. I just bowed my head in shame. "Its in your pants like I warned you about when I told you
to go at the fair, isn't it!," she told me (as if I didn't already know this fact). "I'm sorry," I cried. "You know how disgusting that
is?" she asked me, "15 years old -- how could you do this?" (Like I didn't already know how disgusting this was with the mess
now leaking from my panties.) My little sister started laughing at me until my father told her, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn't
funny. "You march straight into that bathroom immediately, Christine," my mother told me as we pulled into the driveway.
Crying, I walked slowly toward the house, hoping that no one in the neighborhood was looking. The mess was very obvious in
my tight jeans which were now lumpy and badly stained. Just as soon as I reached the bathroom door, however, my mom
stopped me. "Do you still have to go to the bathroom?" she asked. I shook my head no. "Then march straight up to your room,
young lady," she ordered me. "Get up there now! Christine," she yelled as I was slow to obey. Still not knowing what was
going on, but knowing that I'd better obey, I started walking toward my room -- the foul smelling bowel movement now
seriously leaking from my panties. "I gotta clean myself," I told her, "What about the mess." "You can just sit in your room a
while with it in your pants," she directed, "Then maybe you'll be a little less stubborn and careless about these things next time."
I wanted nothing more than to get into clean panties and get this whole humiliation over with, but my mother was insistent that I
had not yet learned my lesson. I begged to be allowed to clean up immediately, but my mother wouldn't let me. Up in my room,
I was made to put on two extra pair of panties to prevent any leakage onto my bedroom furniture. My mother told me that I
had two hours to "sit with my mess." When I begged her again to let me clean it up now, she threatened to make my
punishment longer. She then left me alone to cry out my shame in my room. About twenty minutes later I had an idea -- a stupid
idea! I told my mother that I had to pee and she let me go to the bathroom. She left me alone (as I'd hoped), but I should have
suspected something when she left the bathroom door unlocked. Instead of peeing (which I didn't have to do), I started wiping
up some of the mess. Well, my mother came in and caught me red-handed (brown-handed?). Furious, she ordered me off the
toilet. "Well, Christine, now you can sit in your mess all night and you're not going to clean it up until after everyone else gets up
tomorrow morning," she ordered, "And one more word out of you and you won't be cleaning it up until tomorrow night."
Crying again, I went back to my room. When I did have to pee later, my mother (the first time) and then my older sister (the
second time) went with me and watched me the whole time. I was so embarrassed. In my room, I tried to relax as best I could
-- facing an awful night sleeping my messy panties. It was far from awful, however. First, I started to rub my tits and that felt
good. Next, I started to rub my pussy and that felt even better. Soon I had worked up the urge to really do it to myself. Soon I
hit climax but that didn't satisfy (or even decrease) my appetite for more sex. By now, I had worked my pillow into a ball
between my legs. That was the way I usually did it when I made love to myself in those days, but somehow this time it was
much, much better. I did it again and again and again and until I was exhausted from it all. Ever nerve in my body was tingling.
Nothing had ever (or since) felt so good. I was a virgin then, but I knew of the pleasures of masturbation and with all due
modesty, I was pretty good at it. But masturbation in messy panties felt better than everything else combined. Not only was my
mind off the punishment, shame and disgust of my messy panties but all kinds of thoughts were running through my mind. In that
night, I fully realized the pleasures of panty-pooping. In one kinky nights, I was sold on this wild and wicked fetish. The next
morning at 10:30 AM (after the last of my sisters had gotten up and finished with the bathroom) I had a very humiliating
supervised clean-up of my bowel movement mess. Thankfully, I was allowed to wash it off in the shower (I couldn't imagine
doing with just toilet paper or even a washcloth) but there were still three very disgusting pairs of panties that I had to rinse out
in the toilet and scrub clean in the sink. My mother asked me if I had learned my lesson and obediently, I apologized for what
I'd done. Pleasantly surprised, I was only grounded for two weeks. This was a very small price to pay for a new found joy, and
ever since then I've pooped in my pants a lot. Not as much as I'd like to, though, as exercising great care and discretion is a
must when enjoying this fetish. Still, I do manage to do it a lot and greatly enjoy the wonders of masturbating in my messy
panties.
Email:
- Re: My First Pooping Lionheart 11:19 2/03/99 (0)
No comments:
Post a Comment