You stammer in fear - the tables have definitely turned on you.
"l...look, Alvin..." you start, but are cut off by a polite hand.
"Say no more. If looking is what you want..." He turns his rump on you, pulls down his threadbare black shorts and reveals two pale, hairless globes. Oh god... this kid just mooned you, and you're powerless to leave- put in your place by the fetid miasma that seemingly continuously seeps out of his rear.
Alvin squats before you. His shorts draped over his bare feet, his bare ass crack spreads open before you. Like a book opening up its secrets, his cheeks part and reveal an untold story: this kid isn't exactly expertly acquainted with a roll of Charmin. Your stomach turns in knots as his soiled pucker bounces with contracting and relaxing maneuvers. Your eyes go down to his shorts, and sure enough, some light brown skid marks decorate the dirty boy's unfortunate inseam.
Alvin reaches behind and pulls his ass cheeks apart. His hands grip the smooth, firm glutes, covered only in the faintest down of blonde vellus. His hole pulses and half a second later, you realize why.
Tears come to your eyes as the most rotten stench imagineable seeps through the air, smothering you. He giggles once more at your reaction. The gagging and sputtering indicate your shame - forced to watch the defecation of a ten year old boy.
"Hey, you're the one who said you wanted to 'look.' hehe!"
he says, rocking back and forth on his heels to get comfortable.
"No - that's not what I meant. I don't want to see this... I don't... " you mutter, after hesitating from shame, "... wanna become this."
"Well, get a good look and smell, anyway. This time tomorrow, you'll be the one about to squeeze out, so you won't be able to appreciate the majesty of my butt!"
He groans, a fart slips out, this one thicker and hissier. His hole dilates and the tip of a brown log pokes out.
"The majesty!?" you cry indignantly.
"See - I knew you'd appreciate it." He clenches and a long, smooth sausage slowly slinks out. The longer his brown log gets, the pinker your face gets. This is so belittling.
Clumps of hair and digested bone fragments litter the otherwise smooth turd as it slips out of the boy and into obscurity. Jackie and whomever took an unfortunate tour yesterday no longer look human. Just like you won't tomorrow.
You close your eyes to the grisly sight and experience the slick, slimy crackling sound of his poop squishing out. He grunts some more, and, aware of heat, you open your eyes and cry out as one length of the massive turd is standing vertically, just inches from your face. You wiggle and scoot backward, but to no avail. His pucker snaps, smearing a last little bit of poop onto its rigged surface.
He senses the impending disaster and calls out "TIM-BER!" right as the moist boy poop slaps into your face and slides down your cheek, the log finally laying flat on the ground to cool. You could never, in your most depraved imagination, have forseen this morning that mere hours later, you'd be staring down a boy's bumhole, watching helplessly as it eased out a mound of rancid waste, just inches away. But this! The creamy, steamy texture of his brown poo smudged down your cheek make you quiver in revulsion. He giggled as he turned around.
"Hah! You got some of my poop on you! You're already brown! I guess you wanted a head start! That's gross, haha!"
Apoplectic with shock, you're unable to do anything but sputter, "I... know..."
He grins as he reaches into his shorts pocket and pulls out a pocket knife. Your eyes go wide as he brings it close to your throat, but he simply uses it to cut away the neckline of your t-shirt, following the seam all the way down to your sleeve. With a quick tear, he bares your torso by ripping your shirt to shreds. One of these he places over your face and uses to wipe your face clean.
"Speaking of wiping.." He says. Next he spreads your shirt smoothly over your face. You can see through the fibers that his rear is coming in, and quickly!
Alvin spreads his cheeks again and grinds his messy crack against the T-shirt spread over your face. While your shirt is actually surprisingly good at sponging away the muck, it is unsurprisingly bad as a barrier to the heat and the stench. Please, god... make it stop. As he rocks his pelvis to grind his crack up and down, his hairless ball sack tea bags you on the chin.
"Okay. I think that's clean enough, he declares triumphantly. Pulling his shorts back up, he turns on his heels and whistles. "Daaang! That's one big pile of crap! His lips pull to the side in a smirk. He squats on his heels once more, thi time looking you right in the eye.
"Tell you what - since you were such a good sport, I'll make you a deal. If you give my poop pile a big old smooch, I'll let you go, and I won't eat you."
What do you think? Go for it? or is it some trick to make you demean yourself further?
