Posted by Pooper on July 08, 1998 at 08:53
I'm a 23 year old woman writing to you for the first time. When I was 16, I spent 3 1/2 months in a juvenile reformatory on a drug
charge. Though the place was not as bad as the movies often portray, it is definitely not a time of my life that I'd like to live over
again. From the first day I arrived there, I resolved to behave myself so I could get out after serving only my minimum sentence -
which I did. After I got out, I resolved to straighten out my life so I'd never get sent back there or someplace worse. Looking back,
though, my time there taught me two valuable lessons. First, it got me to straighten out my life for good. I'll be graduating from
college this spring, possibly with honors, with a degree in Accounting. Second, it was there that I discovered my fetish for pooping in
my panties. During the day, girls moved throughout the reformatory on work details, going to classes and lectures, meals, and a
leisure hour after dinner. From 7:30 PM to 7:30 AM, however, everyone was locked into their room/cell. There were no toilets in the
individual cells. For this purpose, each girl was issued something called a "pee pot" each night. Basically, it was nothing more than a
glorified bedpan that a girl would have to squat over to pee into. Each morning when they unlocked the cells, you had to dump it out
into the toilet. Periodically, the gave each girl a small box of thin tissues to wipe with in the cell. It took me a while getting use to
using the pee pot (and wiping with thin tissues rather than regular toilet paper), but not being able to hold it in for 12 hours each night
(some girls could), I had no choice but to use it. Though they were called pee pots, they were large enough to use for the other
reason and occasionally when a girl had to move her bowels at night, the pee pot would have to serve that purpose as well. Towards
the end of my second week there, I had to do a bowel movement in one of them for the first time. It was then that I discovered why
most of the other girls were always sitting in the lavatory trying to have a bowel movement right before room lock time. Not only was
going in the pee pot unpleasant and it stunk up your cell, but a girl who defecated in the pee pot was assigned the work detail of
washing out all the pee pots the next day. You were allowed to make in the pee pot, so they insisted that this work detail was not a
punishment, but what else would you call "pee pot duty." Either way, it was a strong encouragement for girls to move their bowels
before being locked in the cell each night. I guess that was the idea. Luckily, on that first night when I had my first bowel movement
in the pee pot, there were three other girls who made in the pee pots, so I got to split the work with them. Most of the time when I
had to clean them, I got to split the work with at least one other girl, but one night I was the only girl to have had a bowel movement
and I had to clean over 150 pee pots all by myself. After my first time on "pee pot duty", I resolved to have had my last bowel
movement in one of them. Ever night after dinner, I would go into the john and try really hard to make in the toilet, so I wouldn't have
to do it during the night. After a while, my bowels seemed to be trained to usually function at this time. Other times, I would wake up
in the morning having to go poops but was able to hold it in until the cells were unlocked at 7:30 AM and I could run to the toilet. It
wasn't until maybe a month after my first one that I had my second nighttime bowel movement in this place. It was this one that I did
in my pants. One night after dinner, my stomach was feeling really full but my bowels simply would not move. I sat on the toilet for
nearly half an hour that night, but still could not go. But once locked in my cell and getting ready for bed, my bowels began to call for
relief. At first, it wasn't so bad, and I was able to hold it in and fall asleep. But I awoke in the middle of the night (I'd say around 4:00
AM) and my bowels felt like they were about ready to burst. Still half asleep, I was trying to ascertain whether I could hold it in until
morning or if I should squat down and go in the pot, when suddenly it became a moot point. Suddenly, my panties were full of thick,
soft messy poop. I guess I had waited so long and my bowels had to move so bad, that they did so before I had a chance to get my
nightie up or my panties down. Needless to say, I was very embarrassed and ashamed of myself. It was impossible for me to clean
up in the cell. The thin tissues they gave us to wipe with were barely enough to wipe with after a regular bowel movement, much less
cleaning up after a messy one. And feeling so much of the sticky kind of poop all over my backside, I could tell it was a clean-up
better suited to the shower than toilet paper or even a washcloth. I just had to sit in my cell in the mess and wait for morning. First
thing in the morning, I told the matron on my floor what had happened. I was hoping I'd be allowed to shower and change clothes
immediately. Instead, she gave me a long indescribable look of disgust and then led me down the hall to "discipline wing." She put me
into one of the isolation cells (more commonly known as "the hole") and told me I had 24 hours in there to think about what I had
done. Isolation was where they put you for punishment. It was a small locked room without windows and you weren't allowed out at
all. It had just a sleeping bag with no pillow to sleep on and a pee pot without a lid in the corner. At first, I was horrified at the
thought of getting sent here now. Isolation wasn't so bad in itself as the punishment cells weren't that much worse than the regular
cells and one day in there wasn't so bad at all. (For certain things, you could get 15 straight days in there and that would drive me
crazy). But not being allowed to clean up my accident first meant I'd have to stay in there all day with the mess in my pants. I just
climbed into my sleeping bag and just burst into tears, horrified at the thought of having to lie there all day with a shitty mess in my
panties and all over my behind. I also noticed that the matron didn't leave any toilet paper or tissues with the pee pot, so just in case I
had any thoughts of trying to clean myself up in here, they were quickly put to rest. Obviously, she had intended I feel the full effect
of going to the bathroom in my pants. And feel the full effect, I did. But a funny thing happened to me during my punishment. My
feelings of disgust at the load in my panties quickly disappeared and eventually were replaced by lust. I spent practically my entire day
in isolation, masturbating in my sleeping bag. My messy panties were really turning me on in a big way and the one big advantage of
being in isolation was that it gave my more privacy to masturbate. You could do it in the regular cells (heaven knows I couldn't go 3
1/2 months without it), but you'd always having people looking into your cell while you were doing it. But in isolation, masturbating
was just pure uninterrupted bliss. Actually, the day in there went pretty quickly as I was doing myself practically the whole time.
Later in the day when I had to move my bowels again, I just let the load out in my panties and in a matter of seconds afterwards had
a deep, mindblowing orgasm. The next morning, I was allowed a shower and change of clothes. My only further punishment was
having to clean-out my loaded (and I do mean loaded, after two healthy bowel movements) panties in the toilet. For my remaining 2
1/2 months at the reformatory, I was dying to mess in my panties again. I actually had dreams about messing myself and most of the
time when I masturbated, I did so to panty pooping fantasies. Especially at night, when I squatted over the pee pot to defecate on
several occasions, how I longed just to let go in my pants and avoid "pee pot duty" the next day. That time when I had to clean 150
pee pots myself, oh how I wished I could have just let it out in my pants and avoided all this. But I knew I just couldn't do that. It
wasn't that I feared being sent to solitary again, (in fact, I welcomed it for its privacy to masturbate), but it was considered a
disciplinary action and the matron warned me that two disciplinary actions would automatically disqualify me for early release. She
assured me that the first one wasn't so bad, especially for something relatively minor like this, but a second accident would delay my
release. And I didn't want to spend one more day in that fucking hell-hole than I had to. So whenever nature called on me, I dutifully
used the toilet (and occasionally, when necessary, a pee pot) like a good little girl. But I lusted to do more messes. My first night out
of that place, I went out to dinner with my parents. When we got home, I went straight to my room and let out such a magnificent
bowel movement in my panties, that I orgasmed right there on the spot. And masturbating in my bedroom in messy panties is even
better than doing so in the isolation cell in jail. Subsequently, there have been countless times I've gone in my pants and countless
orgasms from masturbating in messy panties. I feel like crying when I'm out somewhere and have to waste a bowel movement in the
toilet. That's the story of my fetish and how it started.
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charge. Though the place was not as bad as the movies often portray, it is definitely not a time of my life that I'd like to live over
again. From the first day I arrived there, I resolved to behave myself so I could get out after serving only my minimum sentence -
which I did. After I got out, I resolved to straighten out my life so I'd never get sent back there or someplace worse. Looking back,
though, my time there taught me two valuable lessons. First, it got me to straighten out my life for good. I'll be graduating from
college this spring, possibly with honors, with a degree in Accounting. Second, it was there that I discovered my fetish for pooping in
my panties. During the day, girls moved throughout the reformatory on work details, going to classes and lectures, meals, and a
leisure hour after dinner. From 7:30 PM to 7:30 AM, however, everyone was locked into their room/cell. There were no toilets in the
individual cells. For this purpose, each girl was issued something called a "pee pot" each night. Basically, it was nothing more than a
glorified bedpan that a girl would have to squat over to pee into. Each morning when they unlocked the cells, you had to dump it out
into the toilet. Periodically, the gave each girl a small box of thin tissues to wipe with in the cell. It took me a while getting use to
using the pee pot (and wiping with thin tissues rather than regular toilet paper), but not being able to hold it in for 12 hours each night
(some girls could), I had no choice but to use it. Though they were called pee pots, they were large enough to use for the other
reason and occasionally when a girl had to move her bowels at night, the pee pot would have to serve that purpose as well. Towards
the end of my second week there, I had to do a bowel movement in one of them for the first time. It was then that I discovered why
most of the other girls were always sitting in the lavatory trying to have a bowel movement right before room lock time. Not only was
going in the pee pot unpleasant and it stunk up your cell, but a girl who defecated in the pee pot was assigned the work detail of
washing out all the pee pots the next day. You were allowed to make in the pee pot, so they insisted that this work detail was not a
punishment, but what else would you call "pee pot duty." Either way, it was a strong encouragement for girls to move their bowels
before being locked in the cell each night. I guess that was the idea. Luckily, on that first night when I had my first bowel movement
in the pee pot, there were three other girls who made in the pee pots, so I got to split the work with them. Most of the time when I
had to clean them, I got to split the work with at least one other girl, but one night I was the only girl to have had a bowel movement
and I had to clean over 150 pee pots all by myself. After my first time on "pee pot duty", I resolved to have had my last bowel
movement in one of them. Ever night after dinner, I would go into the john and try really hard to make in the toilet, so I wouldn't have
to do it during the night. After a while, my bowels seemed to be trained to usually function at this time. Other times, I would wake up
in the morning having to go poops but was able to hold it in until the cells were unlocked at 7:30 AM and I could run to the toilet. It
wasn't until maybe a month after my first one that I had my second nighttime bowel movement in this place. It was this one that I did
in my pants. One night after dinner, my stomach was feeling really full but my bowels simply would not move. I sat on the toilet for
nearly half an hour that night, but still could not go. But once locked in my cell and getting ready for bed, my bowels began to call for
relief. At first, it wasn't so bad, and I was able to hold it in and fall asleep. But I awoke in the middle of the night (I'd say around 4:00
AM) and my bowels felt like they were about ready to burst. Still half asleep, I was trying to ascertain whether I could hold it in until
morning or if I should squat down and go in the pot, when suddenly it became a moot point. Suddenly, my panties were full of thick,
soft messy poop. I guess I had waited so long and my bowels had to move so bad, that they did so before I had a chance to get my
nightie up or my panties down. Needless to say, I was very embarrassed and ashamed of myself. It was impossible for me to clean
up in the cell. The thin tissues they gave us to wipe with were barely enough to wipe with after a regular bowel movement, much less
cleaning up after a messy one. And feeling so much of the sticky kind of poop all over my backside, I could tell it was a clean-up
better suited to the shower than toilet paper or even a washcloth. I just had to sit in my cell in the mess and wait for morning. First
thing in the morning, I told the matron on my floor what had happened. I was hoping I'd be allowed to shower and change clothes
immediately. Instead, she gave me a long indescribable look of disgust and then led me down the hall to "discipline wing." She put me
into one of the isolation cells (more commonly known as "the hole") and told me I had 24 hours in there to think about what I had
done. Isolation was where they put you for punishment. It was a small locked room without windows and you weren't allowed out at
all. It had just a sleeping bag with no pillow to sleep on and a pee pot without a lid in the corner. At first, I was horrified at the
thought of getting sent here now. Isolation wasn't so bad in itself as the punishment cells weren't that much worse than the regular
cells and one day in there wasn't so bad at all. (For certain things, you could get 15 straight days in there and that would drive me
crazy). But not being allowed to clean up my accident first meant I'd have to stay in there all day with the mess in my pants. I just
climbed into my sleeping bag and just burst into tears, horrified at the thought of having to lie there all day with a shitty mess in my
panties and all over my behind. I also noticed that the matron didn't leave any toilet paper or tissues with the pee pot, so just in case I
had any thoughts of trying to clean myself up in here, they were quickly put to rest. Obviously, she had intended I feel the full effect
of going to the bathroom in my pants. And feel the full effect, I did. But a funny thing happened to me during my punishment. My
feelings of disgust at the load in my panties quickly disappeared and eventually were replaced by lust. I spent practically my entire day
in isolation, masturbating in my sleeping bag. My messy panties were really turning me on in a big way and the one big advantage of
being in isolation was that it gave my more privacy to masturbate. You could do it in the regular cells (heaven knows I couldn't go 3
1/2 months without it), but you'd always having people looking into your cell while you were doing it. But in isolation, masturbating
was just pure uninterrupted bliss. Actually, the day in there went pretty quickly as I was doing myself practically the whole time.
Later in the day when I had to move my bowels again, I just let the load out in my panties and in a matter of seconds afterwards had
a deep, mindblowing orgasm. The next morning, I was allowed a shower and change of clothes. My only further punishment was
having to clean-out my loaded (and I do mean loaded, after two healthy bowel movements) panties in the toilet. For my remaining 2
1/2 months at the reformatory, I was dying to mess in my panties again. I actually had dreams about messing myself and most of the
time when I masturbated, I did so to panty pooping fantasies. Especially at night, when I squatted over the pee pot to defecate on
several occasions, how I longed just to let go in my pants and avoid "pee pot duty" the next day. That time when I had to clean 150
pee pots myself, oh how I wished I could have just let it out in my pants and avoided all this. But I knew I just couldn't do that. It
wasn't that I feared being sent to solitary again, (in fact, I welcomed it for its privacy to masturbate), but it was considered a
disciplinary action and the matron warned me that two disciplinary actions would automatically disqualify me for early release. She
assured me that the first one wasn't so bad, especially for something relatively minor like this, but a second accident would delay my
release. And I didn't want to spend one more day in that fucking hell-hole than I had to. So whenever nature called on me, I dutifully
used the toilet (and occasionally, when necessary, a pee pot) like a good little girl. But I lusted to do more messes. My first night out
of that place, I went out to dinner with my parents. When we got home, I went straight to my room and let out such a magnificent
bowel movement in my panties, that I orgasmed right there on the spot. And masturbating in my bedroom in messy panties is even
better than doing so in the isolation cell in jail. Subsequently, there have been countless times I've gone in my pants and countless
orgasms from masturbating in messy panties. I feel like crying when I'm out somewhere and have to waste a bowel movement in the
toilet. That's the story of my fetish and how it started.
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