The Brown Blogger Returns Ep. 02

Becky's house, Becky's rules. I'm cool.

"Oh, you found the kitchen?" Becky smiled towering her hair.

"Yeah, you said help yourself."

"It's fine Judes, no worries, so how do I smell now?" She twirls in her short yellow robe.

"Very nice."

"I know, terribly dull, but it can only get better from here."

Becky shows me the rest of the house. I want to mention the huge chamber pot in the lounge, but I wait. There was a lovely, spacious en suite wetroom off her bedroom, and then we hit a closed door. She pauses and looks at me.

"Okay, this is my privy," she says and opens the door.

I bug-eyed a little. It was the smallest bedroom but turned into a communal toilet. There were four oval holes in a wooden bench against the wall running the length of the room. The back was wooden with obscene carvings of fat women on toilets and men guffing in their faces. The holes opened onto white porcelain bowls. I peered into one.

"Where's the plumbing?" I ask.

"There isn't any. It's a 17th century privy. You use it and empty the bowls by carrying them to the toilet." She undid a latch and lifted the wooden bench to reveal the bowls nestling in a support structure that ran the full length.

"Lowering the seat lid seals the bowls. One concession is the silicone seals, otherwise, the wood below would get splattered and become fouled. This is the second wooden lid though. I have a fan who made this to measure for me and did the carvings. Neat huh?" Her pride shone through.

"It's astonishing," I reply with a straight face.

"You're a sarky cow, Judy Bellingham," she said good humouredly.

"Estate Agents going to have a hell of a job selling this feature when you move."

"Fuck off," she smiled sweetly.

"The family that shits together stays together -- oww!" I rubbed my arm.

That evening we had take out, Chinese, watched TV, Becky was into soccer, and there was a Friday match on, and we touched on her habits and lifestyle.

"I have stink out weekends, I use the chamber pots in my bedroom, the big one down here and I don't empty them until Monday. I don't wipe myself or bathe, but use paper towels to get any excess mess off. Brush my teeth in my urine, which is how ladies used to do it back in the day.

The privy I use with guests as it's communal. There is a group of us, women of all ages who have communal stink outs, tired of the beauty regime we are obliged to follow. We all have different ways to show our rejection of the norms we feel pressured to live by, like no longer shaving, but the one common theme is, frankly, we do what men are allowed to do, and that is live, shit, and wallow like pigs."

"Are the women lesbian, kind of a communal sex thing?"

"No, I mean some are, but no one is getting off with each other, well not much. We shit and piss together, in front of each other and if anyone requests it on each other."

"What about guys?" I bit into a sweet and sour ball. I talk about food a lot on this blog. I like my food.

Becky pulled a face. "Haven't met the right one. I date and stuff but not really happening, plus what I do is problematic. Now and then I hook up with the guy who made the privy for scat or piss sex and one other guy I get on with, but he's married so not super keen on that, but sometimes well a girl has needs."

"Ken?"

"Mainly business plus his wife is now a firm member of our stink group. Lovely lady. Sometimes me and Ken fool around with shit or piss. No sex though, just messing around."

"So are we having a stink weekend?" I kind of fancy the idea. I told you I'm not a girly girl, so a stink out sounded cool. To be honest just a slob weekend but 'slobbier', and if there is one thing I know how to do and that is 'slob'.

"I hadn't planned to, but after the afternoon in the woods, I'm really up for it, but only if you are."

"What are the toilet rules again?" I ask.

"As from now, chamber pots only. You have two in your room. One for pissing and one for shitting, I don't like to mix. Big one in the lounge is shit only. We can only use the privy together, even if only one of us goes."

"Fancy using the privy with me?" I ask.

Becky jumps up. "Cool."

We troop upstairs, I was dying to use it, and I needed a piss. Hitching up my robe, I plonk myself down. Becky sits next to me, and we piss and chat away. Suddenly she gets up and sits on the other pot next to me and gives a little toot.

"Have you?" I ask Becky.

"Just a little, hun. Kind of slipped out."

I make her raise herself and sure enough, lying there is a small, almost apologetic looking turd.

"Stink weekend starts here, no bathing, no washing?" I ask.

Becky nods. "Yes."

Picking up her poop, I mush it into her arse crack and smear it.

"Well, that is going to stink tomorrow." I grin looking at her cute ass.

"So is your hand, hun."

I sigh. Think things through, Judes, for fuck's sake.

Saturday

I stumble down to the kitchen the next morning. I forgo brushing my teeth in urine. I'm not brushing anything in piss without a morning cup of tea.

"Morning," says Becky cheerfully.

I grunted something. I'm not a morning person. Give me a cup of tea, some leftover Chinese and talk to me after that. Looking at my still shitty, if dry, hand, I grunt again.

Becky grins and fetches a box of latex gloves out of the cupboard. "I may be a shit loving stinker, but I'm not an animal."

One glove, one cup of tea and one heated up bowl of something Chinese, I am ready to chat. I look at Becky closely and sniff. Either the Chinese food had gone off, or something was up.

"You really pong, can't be just your shitty arse," I said.

Becky, flushing a deep red of intense pleasure, said: "Thanks, appreciate you saying so, and no it's not just my arse, I have 32-day knickers, 45-day bra and a 52-day t-shirt on."

It's way too early in the morning for riddles, so Becky explains.

"This will be the 33rd day of wearing these knickers without washing."

"Oh," I was wearing what I had on yesterday in the woods, including Becky's underwear. My attempt at a honking head start had been trumped.

"Let me show you," she was dying to show me, I could tell.

Standing in front of me, she raised her long t-shirt to reveal a greyish, yellowish blotchy pair of what were once, I assume, white cotton knickers. Lifting the t-shirt wafted her aroma toward me. It was a pungent cocktail of pussy, pee and poo. I was repelled, fascinated and, god help me I leaned in to get a better whiff.

Delighted Becky waved her crotch in front of my face. "One of my favourite pair of knickers, don't they smell great!" No. They smelt bad. We are going to hell.

"You should see the back."

Turning, she bent over to reveal a brown, grey and yellow Rorschach blot test which probably revealed I'm a perv. She pulled them down to show her smeared arse and the shit-stained interior of her panties. Again I smelt her. I was definitely going to hell.

"So you keep filling them?" I ask. An everyday topic of conversation over breakfast.

"Many times. I just wait for it to dry and scrape the shit out or pee on them and wash them that way"

If there was a test for practical application for scat girls, Becky would ace it.

"That's unfair," I grumble as my ambition to out stink Becky faded.

"Well, you have your knickers I wore home yesterday. I got most of the shit out."

"Maybe," I'm almost sulking. Told you I am rubbish in the morning.

Becky leans into me. "Is Judy all upset like a big baby?" She coos.

I try not to smile. "Fuck you and your cheating knickers."

We both start laughing at my grumpy petulance.

"I'll go get your knickers," she said.

Scraping the last bit of rice out of the bowl, I recoiled as she tossed them at my head.

"I'll get you back if you carry on like this," I warn her. Yeah, we were having fun.

Slipping off her knickers, I chucked them at her head, and they landed over the spice rack. I examined the pair I had pooed in and had to admit she had done a good job of getting the shit out. They were badly stained, and stank of Becky's pee, but they would do the trick. I put them on and did a catwalk number around the kitchen.

"Modelling the latest in shit-stained, pee washed knickers is Judy. Judy is 21, a bit of a slut, and her interests are boys, food and shit." I stopped in front of Becky. "So the race to honk the most is now on, are we working today or just vegging on the sofa watching bad movies?"

Bad movies won.

In between, we talked. About growing up, family, friends, hopes, dreams, disappointments and failures. We laughed a lot, got a bit maudlin and even dozed off.

It was getting toward five when Becky winced from sitting too long and said: "Privy pee?"

Stretching, I scratched my groin. The knickers may smell glorious, but they were itchy.

"You'll get used to it," said Becky.

We went up to the privy, and I opted for the seat Becky had used last time. It was still about a third full as neither of us had emptied anything, anywhere.

"You know the rules, no emptying until Monday," she said.

"Okay," I wasn't fussed. There may be a no toilet rule, but no one had said anything about the sink or a bowl out of the kitchen.

We pissed together happily, discussed what we were having for tea, frozen pizza and wine won, and then Becky broached the big one.

"If you need to shit then let me know. We really should be shooting content, but we can do that tomorrow or do some webcam instead."

"Let's just have fun today, do what we want, shit when we want, stink as much as we want," I said contentedly.

We finished peeing, no wiping and pulled up our knickers. Time for pizza and moulding ourselves to the sofa. Life is made up of little pleasures.

So now we are approaching the moment, it's just before ten and I do want to go. I could hold until morning but what's the protocol here? I had drifted off during the latest movie, but Becky was engrossed. Do I mention it? I mention it.

"Becks."

"Hmm?"

"It's kind of time."

"Uh-huh."

Becky is still fixed on the movie.

"Becks," now I'm getting grumpy.

"Shush!"

Shush? Seriously?

"I need to shit, not shush, just looking for a bit of guidance."

Becky tapped the sofa. "So shit," she replies absently.

Oh, the crafty cow. I turn on my side, facing away from her and pull down my knickers. With a bit of luck, I'll pebble dash her. I give a discreet push or two, and with a fanfare of wind instruments and then one long emphatic note on the tuba, I coil a long one between us. A symphony in shit and heavy on the bass.

Becky giggles, pausing the movie. "I didn't think you would actually do it!"

"Hold on, wait for it!" Christ, I'm a shit making machine!

"Finished?" She asks sarcastically.

I look over my shoulder. That was a serious dump. Large, light brown, and faintly menacing. "Wipe my arse, babe?" I ask her.

"Why sure," she slips off her panties and sticks them in my shitty crack and promptly rubs poo all over my arse cheeks. She puts the smeared panties back on and sits down, indulging in a little squirm.

"That do?" She smirked.

Cow.

"Did you enjoy your shitty squirm?" I ask.

"Yep."

"You fancy a squirm in that dung deposit on your sofa?" I can see she does, once you light the fire with Becky there is no stopping her.

"I guess."

Oooh, she's playing the cool card.

"Park your arse on it, babe, scrunch down, squeeze it through your thighs, slip and slide in that lovely mess I made." I stick my finger in my pile and then trail it down her arm "Be my shitty little oink, oink."

"Fuck!" She stands up, whips her smudged panties down and pulls off her t-shirt and bra. Becky has lost it.

She sits in my shit with a squishy sigh, squirming her bum, and opening her legs to see it squeeze over her pussy. "I smell so bad," she breathes in her odour, massaging her breasts with handfuls of poo.

I move onto the sofa arm, giving her room to get down and dirty, her fingers are shovelling shit into her smelly snatch and I'm aiming my pussy at her. Steady, aim, fire!

"Think you need washing down, babe," and with that, I hose her down, scuddy brown trails moving over her body, her head turning toward me to catch my piss in her mouth.

The sofa is one shitty, pissy mess. It's difficult to tell where the sofa starts and Becky ends as she wallows full length in this stink pit, finger fucking herself to orgasm as I happily slop my shit all over her.

Finally, with that tell take squeak of hers, she cums and slides gently off the sofa and onto the floor with a small 'Oof' of contented pleasure.

Smiling, I looked down at Becky, who is going to have a hell of a job getting clean using paper towels.

"You okay down there, babe?" I ask.

"Mmmhmm," she airly waves a shitty hand.

"Cup of post orgasm tea?"

"Hmmmhmm."

"One cup of post orgasm tea coming up," still smiling, I step over my shit loving new bestie and head for the kitchen. Never let it be said that Judy Bellingham doesn't know how to show a girl a good time.

Sunday

It's late. I peer blearily at my phone. Just gone ten in the morning and the house is quiet. I had left Becky on the floor, used paper towels to get rid of the excess shit off myself and climbed into bed. Oh, and I brushed my teeth using my own piss.

I lay there thinking I have to reassess my life goals because, being unwashed, unkempt and brushing my teeth in urine was never part of my life plan.

I peel the sheets off, yeah, they stuck to me. Laugh it up, go on, happy now? Once unpeeled, I stagger to the bathroom and end up pissing in the tub because I can't be arsed to go back and use the chamberpot. It's amazing how quickly you accept standards of behaviour that would have revolted you a day or so earlier. I didn't even check my appearance. I now measured myself in how bad or unkempt I looked and smelt, and I didn't need a mirror for that. It's very liberating.

Not even bothering to dress, I make my way to the kitchen, stopping by the sofa to see how it fared. Surprising well. Becky had cleaned up after I went to bed. Odd fact, Becky was a bit of a clean freak when it came to her house. It made sense. It was like preparing a fresh canvas every day.

I had coffee, a slice of what may have been shit flavoured toast, and after thirty minutes, Becky still hadn't shown her face. Concerned, I knocked on her door to find her lying face down on a vinyl covering over her bed, and bad as I smelt, she was worse.

"Yes?" A depressed voice emanated from the pit.

"You okay, babe?" I wander over to the bed "Want me to open the blinds?"

"No."

I try and find a clean patch. I sit down next to her anyway.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay, babe." I wait for her to talk about it.

"I'm not blaming you,"

Well, that's charming I thought, waiting for her to blame me.

"You're like a bad influence."

I struggled to digest that one, but okay, I'm here to listen.

"I guess that's unfair," she eventually said.

You fucking think?

"You just do things. The sofa and then you press my buttons."

I had no idea either, well, okay, maybe a little. I'm kind of impulsive, it gets me into trouble.

"I mean, look at me!" She raised her head and turned toward me with her panda eyes. I didn't smile. God knows how I didn't smile. "Do you know what I have been planning all night? How to build my very own sty! A pigsty! In my home!"

En-suite? I didn't say this out loud.

"Do you want to know why?" She was shaking with emotion. "You with your oink oinks this and shit pig that and then just casually shitting on my sofa. No one has shat on my sofa! Occasional 'accidents' yes, but not just dump one out on it! And the worse thing? I was crazy for it! Now I'm wondering if it's possible to have my own sty and be kept as a human pig!"

Becky slumped back down onto the bed.

I was a bit miffed. I was also finding it funny. Most of all, I recognised it for what it was. A crisis of confidence and doubts as to the sanity of it all. Just as I felt 'shit shamed' the other week. Becky too was feeling 'shit shamed'.

"I hear you, Becks and I'm sorry. Last thing I want to do is upset you."

"Oh, stop being so bloody nice!" She flings her arms around me and hugs me tight.

God, she does stink.

"A farm is what you need," I said.

"A farm?"

"Yes, Becky's pig farm where she wallows in her filth, and kind gentlemen crap on her and rut with her for a weekend in the countryside. Maybe they can bring their wives and be the boar or the bore."

"Yes, a farm."

"There has to be one gentleman farmer who is into this and wouldn't mind giving you some space and building a nice sty for Becky the human shit pig. He'll be all, 'I be slopping out moi fine yun' piggies'."

"Don't do that, Judes."

"Do what? The accent?"

"Yeah, the accent, the voice, please stop. You sound like a pirate."

"Not good?"

"Terrible, really bad. But you see you have great ideas!" Becky continued, climbing off the bed. We padded back down to the kitchen, trailing a fine brown dust haze. Venture outside, and we would be classed as a health hazard. "A farm would be great, and that domestic scene we did, that was your idea, loved it!"

"On the other hand, you are an actual pig yourself," Becky swept some brown flakes I had left on the kitchen top earlier, into the bin. "You had toast. White or brown and did you use a glove?"

"Well, no, and it started off white, but hang on you've had slob weekends with other women," I protested. (Oh, and guys, get your mind out of the gutter when you toast white bread it goes brown.)

"Yes but they treat the house with some respect, use gloves when touching utensils, don't deliberately shit on my sofa, they use the chamber pots or the privy!"

I did get the huff at this point. "Well, I guess I won't share my other ideas then!" With that, I diva flounced into the lounge and plonked myself on the sofa. And yes, I regretted it before I had even left the kitchen. I also wished I had picked a different chair.

Becky brought me a cup of tea. I accepted. I wanted to make up.

"Thanks. Sorry," I said.

"Don't be. It's my fault. I drag you into this, you embrace it better than I dreamt, and I act like a spoilt bitch. Thing is," she hesitated, "you intimidate me."

"No way! You're gorgeous, bright, drop dead sexy, with legs I would kill for, in fact, one day I might."

She laughed. "And you're a force of nature. You overwhelm people without realising it."

"Well, I can be a bossy cow."

"You have no idea, Judy, it's like riding a whirlwind. I admire you."

"Oh," was all I could manage. For once in my life, I was speechless. I then started laughing, full on hysterical snorting.

Grinning, Becky looked at me. "What's got into you now?"

"Honestly, look at us, filthy, messy, stinking, you look like you've had a bad fake tan job and you have panda eyes. Us bitches be crazy."

"Yeah, we do look a state," then, after a thoughtful pause, she asked: "Fancy earning some money?"

"Sure. How?"

"Webcamming. Punters will pay a lot to see two filthy shit covered girls getting it on."

"Sounds fun, you have a home studio?"

"Yep, in the garage."

Becky had a great set up. Top cameras, lighting, all hooked up to a voice-activated system on a laptop. We're sitting on a plastic covered sofa, coffee table in front of us, chamber pots by the side. A cosy and domestic feel to it. Becky had warmed up her followers by advertising a start time and that we were on day 2 of 'Stink Weekend', no bathing, just us in dirty underwear, honking and looking a state.

I had asked Becky not to use my name on her site and after mulling over a few names, I finally went for 'Sandie'. If I was going to do this I needed a separate persona. Intuitively I put on the glasses I used in the 'power exec' scene, I think I felt it disguised me somehow a bit like Superman. Weird huh? Thing is it became my 'look' and a practical asset.