December 27, 2012 · 1:19 pm

“Mother Goddess”

I’d been in my room, playing on the floor when the Goddess stormed in.

“Mom!” I scurried back in astonishment; her storming meant I was in trouble.

“It’s Mother you little brat!” She said angrily. Then a smile quickly filled her beautiful face, “But why don’t you get used to calling me Goddess sweetie.”

“No… please.”

“Sylvia said you have this coming; why would she say that?”

“Because she hates me mo…Mother.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the Goddess says, sensually walking to her son; the fear in his eyes so evident. It excited her. “She’s your sister, she…loves you.”

The delay was a bit of a push; as her magnificent booty crossed my face, a flapping, squeaking, forceful gust blew back my hair and I immediately choked on the beany gas that assaulted my nose and clung like it clawed it’s way into my skin.

“I’m positive she only wants the best for you,” the Goddess says, grabbing my arm and dragging me, coughing and gagging to the bathroom.

The Goddess’ stomach rumbled so loudly, it was inhuman.

She looked sadistic as she positioned my head in the toilet; she clutched her stomach.

I was spared not even another glance as she rushed to place her big, naked booty on my face, it slipped deep within her profound crack.

Immediately, I was assaulted by a deep, penetrating, flappy, wet fart directly in my face. I trashed and fought as Mother giggled; then pushed.

Suddenly, I stopped, my body froze as a gargantuan, ten foot wide shit came plowing out of my Mother’s backside. Like a spear it force it’s way into my mouth, nearly dislocating my jaw; it filled my stomach and quickly overflowed my face with it’s juicy, drippy solid waste.

The Goddess floated on a pile of dumps as I kicked and trashed, buried deep within a smelly prison of old tacos, cheap burritos and undercooked beaned.

A strong, penetrating fart ripped through the sludge and filled my senses with a fresh, hot hell.

The Goddess, uncharacteristically laughed out loud, as she watched my feet stiffen then kick frantically under a hundred pound pile of shit.

With a very satisfied sigh, the Goddess stands and struts, unseen by her buried son, and switches off the light.

He, unfortunately, clearly hears her say, “Clean up fast shit face because my booty is still backed up. Shouldn’t take more than, three minutes, right? I’ll go make some bean quesadillas.”

I gag, gargle, and swallow shit of every variety; each lap is worse than the last; somehow each log more potent than the last; each spray darker, smellier, and more putrid.

My mouth is tired, exhausted; with a giant log in my mouth, I pass out.

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· 10:18 am

Empty

The more I persist, the more I think on it, I have reached the feeling that I am merely drained of it.

Think about it, at a certain point, where do you go? Every combination, every possible smell, victim, ass assailant  it’s all been done and said before.

You can change the words and descriptions to infinite combinations but the content is limited in scope. The important aspect is the release and torture (or adoration) that follows; you can fluff it with all the story you want but it doesn’t really change the fact that an Aggressor is farting on a Victim, at some distance, which is then offensive to the Victim’s olfactory senses.

You can exchange the underlined words for other words such as pooping, exciting, and esophagus. Italicized words could be replaced with Lover and Willing Participant.

The farter is fat, the farter is sexy hot; she likes farting, she’s hesitant, she’s sadistic. These are minor detail changes but the core; it’s all just the same story, retold over and over again.

A psychologist perhaps explained it to be best when asked about writing facesitting eroticism; he asked what is there after she sat on his face. Little did he know about the farts and shit that come out but, at the end of the day, the analysis seems correct.

I presume vanilla porn has the equal brick wall of bordom; perhaps only for those who have this mindset beyond or ‘above’ release. But even then, I don’t know what that is; I just assume it’s superior, perhaps it’s highly inferior; a relic.

Perhaps this dying hunger to be dominate is, subconsciously, at the helm; driving the desire into self-destruction if it is further suppressed from reality cum realization.

Perhaps it is just me who thinks the core is dried out; even if just by myself for myself. I’ve written many stories, perhaps the core is over-mined for me. I don’t know.

Maybe my life has drifted away from this; if not, I feel this is the crossroads. At one side stands a relatively asexual normalcy; at the other, a fear yet burning desire to fulfill something that my paranoia would not allow. I do not believe, when beginning one’s life, one can merely stick their face deep in a woman’s ass, be forcibly held to sniff a powerful, potent gassing, and then go about a life of normalcy.

Perhaps following through would kill this desire; even that change is scary. And even that, involves overcoming the paranoia of someone knowing.

What must be done?

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December 23, 2012 · 11:16 am

The Depreciation of Content

The main issue with producing (that is to say: writing, drawing, recording, etc.) content for this realm is that it depreciates in value very quickly. I’m not talking about a monetary value for which most are worthless/priceless; the exception being most video producers and some visual and traditional artists that take commissions.

It seems like those who like ‘regular,’ dick-into-vagina or -ass, porn aren’t particularly picky about it; it seems to just kind of be about the motions. I don’t quite understand it myself but there’s no denying ‘normal’ people’s attraction to it.

For fetish content, because it’s a whole package; the dialog (insults), the sounds, the prospective smells, the reaction of the victim, or willing participant, I guess, who you assume the position of. In my case, the victim, acting as if I’m dying under her; yelling how wrong this is for her to do but she pays little mind (I know she can’t hear me). All of these factors, come together and makes the, in this case, video, get dull very quickly.

You simply get tired of being that guy, pretending to breath in those farts, that sound exactly like that, with her saying the same thing. In some ways, it would be like that movie Groundhogs Day. What doesn’t make sense is why this isn’t true of vanilla porn but perhaps it’s merely the far vaster propensity of it all. Many more people are creating content or just simply filming (and sharing) themselves having vanilla sex.

It seems like porn would be greatly hurt by piracy but perhaps even they are beaten out by people who just ‘give it away.’ I don’t know anything about the porn business; ‘people’ say it’s lucrative. I’ve heard nothing else really.

Fart video producers seem very damaged by piracy and there’s far more content on lockdown then there is available free in comparison to vanilla porn. But don’t get me wrong, what fart content is available for free is also plentiful; the ratio is merely tilted in monetary’s favor.

I guess this can be no better than a rant; I realize this only after deciding I could not wrap this up with a point or goal. It’s really merely an observation of the differences; a comment on how quickly our content fades. But then, this is pornography, who expected to mean anything? And fetish pornography? It’s foolish to even dream.

Only now do I realize, yes, indeed, what I write looses it’s luster. For me, my stories are no longer exciting after their completion. Going back, perhaps even waiting years to open up and look at a story again; that might re-ignite the flame but it’s a dull burn that will die out quickly.

Some of my favorite stories, from some of my favorite writers, even they are no longer what they used to be to me. It saddens me, perhaps this problem is only mine; perhaps merely I am some horny, insatiable beast, always seeking more. I didn’t think so.

Perhaps repression of this from the public can do that.

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December 21, 2012 · 10:55 pm

Versus

I often question what’s better; to full embrace these urges within me or to remain a semi-normal member of society, living in secret.

Do I want to sniff a chair when a woman has walked away? No, not really; it’s not an impulse or urge that comes to me on the spot. Perhaps it’s I’ve never had the suspicion a woman farted on a chair previous to standing from it but I doubt I’d react differently.

Would I perhaps have a further understanding of this thing inside me if I did? Perhaps. But I think, arguably, this is a path; once you tread down this path, it could be difficult to leave and I’m not sure I want this to rule my life. At best, a comfortable person I can discuss it with but even then, why?

Why do I need to discuss it? At times, it is difficult to just bare it alone; I’ve already written (perhaps owe a post to) about the quick decay of new content; the endless, lusty pursuit. That, in itself, scares me enough, in the privacy of my own home, how I act regarding porn content, to not really have urges to act upon any fetish desires. It doesn’t rule me.

I often think it’s a difficult thing to be normal and likely it is. Probably equally as likely is this particular struggle makes normalcy a much different path to attain; balances are found, compromises struck because, face it, it’s not like you’re going to suddenly love straight intercourse because your fetish is ‘all used up’ and you want to play normal now.

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December 18, 2012 · 4:06 am

Thankless

It’s hard doing this work. There’s little reward for it, much sorrow, overdue bills, but the freedom afforded can’t be beat unless there’s money involved. But each dollar slowly chips away at your freedom and individuality; this is why highly paid executives are pretty stiff and interchangeable on a personal level.

You wish there were some accolades to this, some fame, even just an income. Freebies maybe? No? You really just have to be in it for yourself; for your own enjoyment.

No, this can’t be more than a side project; at least for me. I’m in awe of those who make a living writing; I pride myself on the art too but I don’t know if I’d ever come to make it profitable.

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December 16, 2012 · 10:24 pm

“Waiting”

I spend much of my time, waiting.

I don’t always understand it.

It used to be always anxiety, fear.

Now there is, anticipation?

How is it that, this that I abhor.

Suddenly, I adore?

 

What has she done?

How can this be?

My soul is filled now, with gas?

My heart excited, by you ass?

How have you turned one to your ways?

How have I been beaten without a war?

 

I hear her, steps down the hall.

The click of a lock and I whimper, eagerly

Like a dog. Her smile wide, my tongue extended.

 

Her butt came close, its odor unmistakable.

Then she farted, its thickness unbreakable.

 

I noted that before, I had tried to run.

Now, I inhale; as if this were fun.

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December 14, 2012 · 5:34 am

“I am the toilet”

I see little from my little hovel. I know little of the outside world. I’ve known this hole for as long as I’ve lived but I know not how much longer I’ll live.

Here it is, it’s happening again. A bright light, creamy skin, round, perfect orbs then darkness.

A ripper from above, the putrid smell drifts down and chokes me. Laughs from above as gas blasts once again.

I call for help but it’s just inhuman mumbles; I know not how to speak.

The first splash of creamy dumps startles me as it coats and seeps into my skin; the warm diarrhea baking on me like batter.

Then, a loud squelch fires out a flood of shit, contented sighs of relief as my mouth gargles chunky shit, spitting out what I can like a doomed vessel bailing endlessly as the ocean pours in.

I only catch a glimpse  buried under thick, sticky shit; the woman above, wide, relived smile on her face winks right at me and darkness reigns again, and shit.

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December 12, 2012 · 10:50 pm

Writing for a Goddess

Most of you should or may know that, from time to time, especially during my heavy scat ‘phase,’ I wrote a lot about a Goddess named Rosemary.

This is a real Goddess I speak to regularly and like any good toy, I attempt to please her by regaling her of tales of her travels.

It’s interesting writing for a Goddess; demands are not to be taken lightly and when you’re new, sometimes the timetable for assignments are fierce  But, you get it done; you finish your work and present it with a pathetic smile to the glory and power that is the Supreme Goddess. I am a lucky slave indeed to be in her roster.

It is no simple task. Taking on the needs of a Goddess will forever change your thoughts; alter your thinking of what’s importance. You find the yourself you once knew quickly, rapidly fading away; absorbed into the greatness of the Goddess. So in some small, insignificant, and whiny way you can say you exist as part of that greatness but you must understand that you merely exist as a simple bolt. You hold up the Goddess, you uplift her on your puny shoulders and hold her for all the world to applaud and adore; but your important role is insignificant and highly replaceable. Any brainless peon can do what you do.

You simply have the luck of the draw to pretend to be important, simply by being near an awesome greatness that is the Goddess Rosemary.

 
Read a few of my favorite Goddess stories:
http://www.asstr.org/~Closet_Fetishist/toileteducation.html

http://www.asstr.org/~Closet_Fetishist/goddesscollectioninc.html

http://www.asstr.org/~Closet_Fetishist/sludgescience.html

http://www.asstr.org/~Closet_Fetishist/thickpunishment.html

http://www.asstr.org/~Closet_Fetishist/careergoddess.html

 

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· 3:44 pm

“Holiday Get-together”

In her bathroom, the Goddess takes great pleasure, stretching out the moment she drops a few laxatives down her throat. She takes delight in feeling the small squad of pills drift down her throat; she’d swear she could feel them hit her stomach.

Looking at her fabulous body once more in the mirror, she smiles wide and switches off the light exiting the bathroom.

She calls to her brothers as she walks down the stairs; each sits nervously, obediently even without any demand for such, on the couch. They sit in front of a TV that isn’t on.

Timmy shakes, most anxious of all; the Goddess smiles, “So, you guys have been waiting; maybe we should get started.”

Darren asks, “What are we doing?” A tone of hesitance, fear is in his voice; this excites the Goddess, makes her wet.

“Well, Darren, I think…” the Goddess said, sauntering over to her brother’s faces, rocking her prominent booty proudly before ‘accidentally’ falling on Timmy’s face and blowing a giant, rippling, twenty second fart in his face. His body shakes and he coughs and screams before fading into unconsciousness. “…you know exactly, what we’re doing. In fact, my dear brother, I believe we probably do this every year around this time; wouldn’t you say Timmy?”

Timmy’s leg spasms involuntarily under his sister’s massive, weighty booty.

“That’s right, see Timmy knows because Timmy’s a good boy. And he’ll get his treat later, but for you…” the Goddess quickly, with ninja speed, stands and kicks Adam across the face, his head falling directly into Timmy’s lap. He was out, for now.

“Now Darren, looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Please…can’t we just be like a normal family, for once?”

The Goddess is taken aback, “What about this isn’t normal sweetie?”

“What part of it is?!”

“Don’t scream at me.”

It’s quiet for a moment and then the Goddess grabs Darren by the neck and carries him to the bathroom where a large, clear container waits for Darren’s head as she wrestles him down and into the locked box.

“I’m sorry, whatever I’ve done…I’ll give you money, I’ll be your servant just please don’t…”

The Goddess booty responded with deaf ears as her ass rumbles like a thunderstorm and shot out a flood force of diarrhea all over Darren’s wagging face; his mouth gurgling liquid and half digested waste kernels. He vomits, it quickly mixes and is over powered by a seemingly endless flow of shit; Darren’s head is already four feet under when the box explodes and shit runs literally everywhere. Darren’s now uncovered face is at peace, dead or unconscious.

The Goddess giggles hysterically as she tiptoes out of the bathroom in her sexy, long black boots; “I’ll leave you to clean that up toilet.”
Back in the living room, she finds Adam still slumped over in Timmy’s crotch. She smiles as she lifts Adam’s body out to his car.

Adam’s eyes, hours later, flutter open softly. He reaches up and feels the giant bruise on his forehead, recoils at the pain. He looks at it in the rear view mirror when he notices the moonroof of his car is open.

He looks up and his eyes go wide at the sight of his sister’s enormous anus, in mid-widening to dump out an awful sized log.

“Hey little bro!” The Goddess excitedly exclaims. Immediately followed by her ten inch log dropping directly onto Adam’s face, the giant shit consuming him in a poo cocoon of which he found it difficult to break free from as his senses were filled with his sister’s waste. The Goddess wasted no time, looking up to the heavens for relief, as she ejected ten gallons of sludge into the car around her brother.

“Oh, I feel bad about this; if you send me the bill I’ll pay to have this….ugh…..cleaned,” she said, releasing a hailstorm of shitty, drippy logs that splashed against the windows as the car quickly filled with the Goddess’ dumps.

Timmy wakes in relative darkness. His sister’s living room is outside a large, opening to the right of him but he finds himself tied.

From above, a large echoing fart is fired down the chamber above; once the smell hits, it’s immediately recognizable. As is the giggle that follows Timmy’s struggle to undo his binds.

It’s too late, like a bucket, shit pours down the chimney with haste, raining down on her brother like a storm.

Timmy screams a girly scream; a haphazard log falls and lodges in his throat. He tries to move it, cough it up but it’s stuck as he begins to suffocate. The shit slowly, dangerously melts down, filling Timmy’s stomach as gallons of hot, steamy sludge pours down from above. Timmy is quickly buried; drowned in a chimney full of shit.

The Goddess stands, farts loudly and proudly, and says, “I do love the holidays.”

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· 7:02 am

Fetish always a rollercoaster

Having this fetish is always a roller coaster. Between feelings of inadequacy when it comes to feeling ‘normal,’ worrying about someone finding out, juggling the thoughts of why you sexually enjoy the thought of pain and suffering to yourself or a proxy of yourself; there’s a lot to feel badly about.

I find the answer in balance. I’ve been ‘hot’ in regards to this fetish for a long while but now, hundred or more stories later, it’s lost a lot of it’s luster but I find myself more at a sexual no-mans-land rather than crawling to the ‘normalcy’ of vanilla sex.

Perhaps, like the Roman decline, the answer to my fizzle lied in the extremities of scat content. My choice of entertainment, due to boredom, went extreme and now even that is unsatisfying. But where do you go from there? I mean, this is my niche so where do I get off?

The new becomes old quickly, it’s almost an insatiable hunger at times but I’m no heathen, you wouldn’t recognize me outside of the net; my secrets are my own.

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