Disclaimer: This is fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the sexuality, interests, or fetishes of any sports celebrities mentioned within it. This story contains sexually explicit descriptions, in particular ones involving EXTREME SCAT (i.e., shit) and piss. No readers younger than 18 (or 21) years of age, depending on your local laws.
I love to communicate with my readers, so please feel free to send me an e-mail at filthymind4guys@gmail.com and tell me what you think! (Yes, I am still working on further chapters of North Valley Football, although it will not include scat like this one does.) Remember to donate to the Nifty Archives so they can continue to host all these hot stories! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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Rookie Toilet
Christian McCaffrey was in disbelief. He had started out a great season in the NFL as a rookie running back for the Carolina Panthers, but now he was trapped as a toilet in the middle stall in the Panthers' locker room. Not a metaphorical toilet, either; he was a full-on porcelain toilet complete with a tank and seat.
...
It had all begun in the middle of the last practice. The head coach, Ron Rivera, had called him into his office. He had expressed his appreciation for Christian's hard work and performance on the field. Christian had been very happy that he had performed well.
"However," Coach Rivera had said, "it turns out that the locker room has a broken toilet, and we will need a replacement. You are going to be a perfect toilet for the team. We've got it all set up already. Follow me, Christian."
Christian had not understand what the Coach was talking about. He had felt like this was some sort of prank that he failed to understand, so he went along with it. The coach had taken him into the locker room to show him how the toilet had been removed in preparation for the running back. The rookie had turned to his coach to ask him what this all meant, but suddenly he felt dizzy and disoriented. His senses had been a whirl of confusion and his body had felt strange. He had blacked out.
When Christian had awoken, his senses had become crystal clear. He had felt as if he had had the best sleep of his life: he was more alert than he had ever remembered being. And suddenly, with a sinking feeling, he had known that he was now a toilet.
...
Christian stared at the ceiling, the four metal walls of the bathroom stall surrounding him. On the edges of his vision he could see the rim of a toilet bowl, as if he were looking up out of the toilet. He tried to look around, but there was nothing to move. No eyes to seek out other stimulation. His vision was fixed in the area above the seat. He could focus on different things if he liked, but only within that arc of perception. He could still hear because he could hear the rest of the team begin to file into the locker room. He could smell because he smelled the locker room just as he always did.
He mentally explored his "body," getting a sense of where everything was. It felt like his bowl was... the inside of his mouth--almost like the rim of it were his lips. He felt that the rest of his previous body was spread throughout the toilet. No, it wasn't just "a" toilet. It was him. He was the toilet. It was all very confusing and disorienting to him.
Coach Rivera suddenly leaned over him, looking down into his bowl. "Christian, this permanent position as one of the team's toilets is a great honor. I trust you'll do well with this, just as you did on the field. Of course, now that your transformation is complete, all memories of you have vanished save my own. None of the team is aware of your situation, and they never will be."
Coach Rivera reached out a hand to pat the top of Christian's tank. It felt like he was being patted on the shoulder, but in an odd way. He could feel the coach's touch on his smooth, porcelain body.
The running back attempted to move, to get out of this situation, to beg the coach to stop this, but nothing happened. No part of his toilet body responded to any mental urge or command to move. He was absolutely fixed in place.
"You are a very special toilet, my boy. You'll soon find this out. The rest of your old teammates are here. Enjoy your new life, Mr. McCaffrey. You're going to be here for a long, long time." With that, Coach Rivera left the stall. Christian could hear him talking to some of his teammates, telling them that the toilet had been fixed.
Christian had no time to consider his situation further, because now someone else was entering the stall. He could see that it was wide receiver and fellow rookie Curtis Samuel. Christian tried to shout out, to beg Samuel to stop, but of course a toilet had no way to speak. In fact, he could not even look away as Samuel faced away from the bowl and peeled down his sweaty football pants and jock, lowering his bare, perfectly muscular rump to meet Christian's seat. It felt as if Christian was holding open his giant mouth, and that Samuel was sitting on it.
Three sensations hit Christian simultaneously. First, Samuel's legs were damp with sweat, and Christian could feel the sweat and heat from Samuel's body pressing against him as if his seat were bare skin. Second, not only could Christian feel the wide receiver on him, but he could taste the 21-year-old's powerfully salty body sweat along every square centimeter of the seat. It was so strong and powerful, like Samuel was sitting on Christian's tongue. The third sensation that assaulted the rookie was the smell of Curtis Samuel's body and butt crack as it spread wide. It was clear that Samuel's butt had become wet with sweat during the hard practice, and it was as if Christian were shoving his nose into his musty crack and breathing it in. Except the scent was constant, as if he were breathing in endlessly, because a toilet has no need to breathe. Christian realized with shock that the taste of Samuel's legs was not lessening over time: his sense of taste and smell was just as sensitive as it was the first moment of sensation. There was no way to adjust to the disgusting flavors! Christian tried to pull away from it, tried to move, tried to do ANYTHING other than taste him, but of course, he was unable to move even the slightest amount.
Christian stared helplessly upward, his unblinking vision taking in every detail of the wide receivers ass, taint, balls, and cock. Samuel's big balls and long cock hung into his bowl, and of course he continuously "breathed" in the scent of them along with his butt smell. Front and center in Christian's view, however, was Samuel's dark asshole. It was pink in the very center, but mostly dark like the rest of Samuel's skin, surrounded by the black, curly hairs that were plastered with butt-sweat. Christian tried to look away, tried to close his eyes, but there were no eyes to close, and no way to stop himself from visually exploring the sweaty ass spread above him. Christian helplessly examined Samuel's hole, and he could just see a small, brownish smear on the edge of it that was clearly shit from earlier today that had been left there.
Christian panicked, realizing that if he could taste Samuel's sweat on his seat continuously, that the inside of his mouth -- no, his bowl -- could be so much worse! He had no time to consider this before urine jetted from the wide receiver's long, dark cock, hitting the inside front of his bowl. Oh god, it was as if every molecule was a sensitive taste bud. Yellow piss blasted against the inside of his bowl and streamed down into his water. If Christian could have gasped and screamed, he would have. Not only the sides of his bowl, but every cubic millimeter of the water was filled with taste sensation. He could taste Samuel's urine as it spread throughout his water: an acrid, salty taste that disgusted him completely. If he could have puked, he would have, but of course, he could do nothing but fully experience it.
What was worse, however, is that, even while being overwhelmed with the taste of his piss to the point of panic, Christian could see Samuel's sweaty pucker opening. A loud fart escaped the player's hole, filling Christian's senses with the full sensation of gas from Samuel's previous meal. Even as he took in the stench, he saw the head of a turd peek out from Samuel's hole. Christian summoned everything in his being, trying to push Samuel off him, trying to throw up, trying to scream with frustration and fear, trying to even burst into tears from fear and loathing.
Christian McCaffrey, toilet for the Carolina Panthers, remained absolutely still and absolutely silent. He could do nothing but consciously experience Curtis Samuel's dump with full awareness.
Samuel grunted, and his hole suddenly widened further, releasing his shit. Christian watched helplessly, taking in every detail, as a thick, pasty turd fell into his water with a loud plop. It was as if Christian's tongue immediately enveloped it, his bowl-water filling in all the nooks and crannies of the big piece of fresh shit. Christian could taste Samuel's warm waste fully, inside and out. As his bowl water was absorbed into the cucumber-shaped turd, he could immediately detect small pieces of Samuel's meal, pieces of peanuts, a kernel of corn--everything that had not been absorbed by the wide receiver's body. The taste was far worse than Christian had ever imagined shit could taste. And it did not abate. Piss was still streaming into his bowl and mixing with the shit. Samuel's butt-stench and salty sweat was still just as powerful. It was too much for the running back to bear, but still he continued to experience it with no abatement. He wished for unconsciousness, begged for escape, but none came. Christian was more focused and awake than he had ever been in his life.
The turd settled on the bottom of his bowl, meeting even more of his tastebuds there. Christian continued to watch Samuel's hole, unable to turn away, and he heard Samuel grunt again. His hole opened again, and another turd, this time smaller, slowly began to slide out of Samuel's ass. Christian hoped against hope that this one would be better, easier to handle. The turd plopped into his water. It only multiplied his experience. The new shit was just as bad as the first, mingling with the taste of piss and other shit in his bowl. Christian felt as if he were screaming, unable to do anything to stop the smell and taste, but the rookie toilet remained perfectly silent and still.
Another fart from Samuel's ass preceded another nugget of shit that popped messily from his dark, gaping hole. The stream of piss had finally ended, and he shook off the last few drops from his dick. It was as if Christian's consciousness was awash in shit and piss, his mind helplessly exploring and tasting Samuel's bodily waste, over and over again as it sat within his bowl-mouth. A few excruciating, taste-ridden moments passed as Samuel's hole opened and closed above him. Residual bits of shit clung to the dark pucker above him.
Christian heard the rustling sound of the toilet paper holder beside him, and he watched as the wide receiver rubbed the thin paper against his hole, wiping himself and dropping the paper into Christian's mouth. The paper did nothing to abate the taste of the shit. Christian felt the paper dissolving and vanishing completely into his bowl water. Oddly, it seemed to become water itself and added even more taste sensation. He realized that toilet paper was going to do nothing to dilute the experience for him. In fact, it would only ensure that every moment was more fully experienced. The shit previously on the paper floated in the water, Christian tasting every molecule as it mixed with the rest of the disgusting waste.
Samuel stood up, his sweaty thighs leaving Christian's seat but still leaving the taste of his sweat clinging to the cool porcelain of the rookie toilet. He pulled up his football pants and looked into the bowl. Two big logs of shit sat at the bottom, one curving around to match the shape of the toilet. He reached over and pushed down the handle in order to flush the toilet.
Christian swelled with hope and anticipation. If someone flushed him, the taste will soon be gone from his mouth! If he had been able, the rookie toilet would have shouted with joy as Samuel pushed down the handle. Unfortunately, his joy quickly changed to confusion, and then despair.
It was as if Christian's awareness suddenly increased one-hundred fold as Samuel touched the handle. Every taste and smell was more powerful than he could possibly imagine. It was too much for him, more than he could bear. But no, Christian realized, it was not that the taste and smells were more powerful. It was as if time was slowed to a crawl. Every second of time felt like an hour. The shit and piss in his bowl (as well as the sweat on his seat) filled his senses. His mind spent an exorbitant amount of time (from his perspective) exploring and experiencing every piece of Samuel's waste. He learned everything he could about Samuel's shit, this one particular dump, exploring the nuanced tastes of the filthy shit over and over again, hundreds of times. There was nothing for Christian to do but taste and smell, and think about it, for what felt like a full hour.
His bowl only now begun to flush. New water poured into Christian's bowl, adding more taste sensation and churning the shit and piss around. For Christian's mind, the process took hours, and he experienced every moment of it so fully and consciously, unable to pull away, unable to stop focusing on the sensations. His entire existence during the flush seemed to be piss and shit.
In the middle of the flush, however, seemingly hours into it, Christian could sense his awareness moving toward something else, adding to his sensations: The feel of Samuel's hand on his handle. He realized that his cool, metal handle felt... odd. Sensitive. Erotic. Oh god, no... it felt like Samuel was touching his dick. As he explored the sensation, his entire handle began to feel like the most sensitive area of his cock, as if his cock were harder and more stimulated than it had ever been in his life. It was as if every erogenous zone in his previous body was clustered on this handle.
Despite this new erotic sensation, Christian was still experiencing the piss and shit to the fullest of his capability. He tried to push the sexual stimulation part out of his mind, but he had no defense against it, and he had hours and hours to explore it. Christian began to get more and more horny, even as the shit slowly broke up and new experiences of filth assaulted his senses. Being flushed had become both the most disgusting experience and the most mindbogglingly erotic experience that the running back had ever had. As the piss and shit swirled in his bowl, filth and sexual stimulation blended together. The shit and piss became so erotic and powerful even as it filled him with disgust. He did not know whether to scream with revulsion or with utter joy.
Christian's flush slowly neared its end, as he felt the shit travelling into what felt like his throat. He longed for release. He wanted to cum so badly. He had been mentally begging for it, praying to God for it, for the last three hours. Just a little bit longer, and maybe he could cum. Oh god, he wanted it so badly! He was so horny, far beyond what he had ever thought possible.
Samuel released the handle as the flush ended, and suddenly Christian's awareness snapped back to the normal dilation of time. The stimulation on his handle immediately stopped, and Christian's mind floundered as his now clear water settled in his bowl. He would have shook with frustration if he could move at all.
Please, flush me again! I'm so horny! I need to cum so badly! Dear God, please let me cum! His thoughts were shouts begging for sexual release, but no one could hear him.
Samuel unceremoniously turned and left the stall, the door swinging shut. Christian was aching with desire. He needed release so badly. He searched for anything to do to help him, but of course, all he could do was feel, hear, see, smell, and taste. Taste. He could still taste. Maybe something would get him closer to cumming, to feeling that euphoric sensation, the sensation of his handle being touched, and... tasting the filth he had experienced during all that time.
Christian knew that there was still a small smear of Samuel's shit on his bottom of his bowl. He could taste it fully, just as he always tastes everything. But now he focused his awareness fully on this small smear, attempting to experience that erotic feeling again. The shit was disgusting. Nothing about that had changed for him. He explored and focused and tasted Samuel's tiny smear of shit, and yet he could not find that same sensation again. Only a tiny echo of that erotic experience entered his mind -- enough to drive him mad with horniness and frustration.
Before his thoughts could move on to further despair and frustration, the door to his stall opened again, and he could see linebacker Luke Kuechly towering above him. Luke was naked save for a towel over his shoulder. His big cock swung freely in front of him as he hung his towel on a hook in the stall, and he turned around to plant his big, muscular ass right onto Christian's seat. In those few seconds, Christian's sense of smell and taste told him that Kuechly had not yet showered after practice: his legs were salty with sweat, and his ass and crotch smelled deeply of funk. Christian stared at Kuechly's hole, helplessly learning every detail of his crack: his soft curls of sweaty brown hair along his taint, surrounding his pink opening. That hole was shiny with sweat and smelled like sweat and body odor.
Christian wanted to call out to Kuechly, to beg him to-- Christian paused mentally. What did he want? Did he want him to leave, to leave the toilet in peace, or did he want the big linebacker to flush his handle, to get the running back toilet a little closer to orgasm, closer to release? But with flushing comes the horrible, time-dilated experience of filth and shit, and Christian felt that he would go insane with disgust and revulsion if he had to experience that again. He couldn't handle that again!
Luke Kuechly's bowels didn't care about Christian's ambivalence. The linebacker's pink hole opened, and a hard spray of brown diarrhea shot into Christian's bowl-water. Big globs of runny shit burst out of that tight hole, splashing the shitty water onto the sides of Christian's bowl and the underside of his seat. Christian's horniness was forgotten as his mouth was filled with the vile, disgusting diarrhea. The taste of Curtis Samuel's turds was nothing compared to the stench and acrid taste of Luke Kuechly's liquid shit. A stream of Kuechly's dark piss sprayed into the water, and the diarrhea spread throughout all of Christian's bowl-water. He was tasting this even more than he did Samuel's turds, as the turds were limited to one part of his water. The diarrhea was everywhere.
Christian screamed silently, tasting the liquid shit over and over again, helplessly savoring it. He could not take this! This was too much. Too disgusting! Please, for the love of God, someone help him!
Luke Kuechly sniffed and made a disgusted grunt. Christian could hear the linebacker's bowels gurgling. Another burst of hot diarrhea jetted into his bowl, multiplying the horrible taste. Christian wished he could cry. He watched Kuechly grunt and strain, getting more diarrhea out of him. Christian took it all, helplessly savoring and exploring all of its horrible taste. The diarrhea filled his senses to bursting and beyond, but Christian could not escape it. He remained fully alert and conscious, his mind crystal-clear and his senses fully realized.
Christian watched as Kuechly turned to the side and reached for the handle. The rookie gasped internally. That means -- God, please no! Luke isn't finished; he's going for a double-flush! Christian begged for Kuechly to stop, willing his mouth to speak, to make a sound. Nothing budged. Nothing made a sound.
Kuechly's hand touched the handle, and Christian's hell began again. Seconds stretched into hours as he explored everything about Kuechly's diarrhea, knowing every taste and scent of it, through and through. He repeatedly examined the exact smells emanating from that sweaty crack and taint, turning them over in his mind. The linebacker's hand on his handle began to make Christian horny almost immediately this time. He quickly reached a fever-pitch of horniness, stimulation, and complete disgust. It held for hours. Hours of unwavering sensory overload. Hours of staring unblinkingly at the linebacker's hole, learning every nuance of his ass, every soft fold of his pink hole now coated with wet shit and dripping with diarrhea. He watched as a drop of diarrhea fell off of one of Kuechly's curly hairs. It slowly fell toward his swirling bowl-water, and Christian was overcome with anticipation, unable to look away. Almost an hour later, it finally touched his water, and of course the taste of it was never lost, never hidden. It mixed in with the rest of the disgusting bowl of shit and piss. Christian's mind was lost in arousal and disgust as the diarrhea was slowly, slowly flushed away.
The flush finally ended, and Christian was yet again left with no sexual release and a normal sense of time. He would have screamed himself into unconsciousness at this point, but of course that was impossible for him now. Christian was so horny now, crying out mentally for release.
The only answer to his mental cries was another burst of runny shit from Kuechly's ass. It spread throughout his bowl. Christian could still taste the splash of diarrhea on his seat from before. Kuechly grunted and expelled some more. Christian would have given anything to cry softly to himself, knowing that there were still hours and hours left for him to experience the linebacker's waste.
Christian suddenly realized that more team members would be lining up outside of the stall, waiting to empty their bladders and bowels after a hard practice. He would be servicing all of them, tasting their sweat and piss and shit, and breathing in the smell of their bodies. Thanks to the flushing time dilation, for him it could take weeks to complete, and that just was for the use of him after today's practice. Christian felt that there was no way that he would be able to bear it, but he now had firsthand knowledge that he would unwillingly experience it with constant alertness and awareness.
Christian McCaffrey now had an ageless, unwavering, and inescapable life of filth and stimulation laid out before him. He was one of the team's toilets now, and toilets last for a long time. Many, many years.
Luke Kuechly squirted out the last of his diarrhea, wiped his ass, and reached for the handle.
......
Other stories I've written:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/extreme-cockplug
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/athletics/north-valley-football/