Fecal Excellence
This is a proud time during my daily activities. I bend over long enough to binge out an unusually massive brown snake from my rectal eye. My sphincter is an amazing advisor. It gives didactic instruction with just the slightest seepage of air. As if reciting soliloquies to itself. The combinations of emitted juices, odor, and compact waste, make for an artistic panorama of sensual deprivation.
Shit speaks to me. Although sometimes squeezing too hard gives me the worst sort of aches and pangs, causing me to scream out, deafening my poor companion's jocular points.
In the end(from the end) it spills out. Filling the white depths with a splash that will sometimes jump from the water to kiss the swelling pink hemorroids that riddle its pink outline.
My teeth are ground to a chalky dust as a hard charcoal-like celestial body heaves itself from the orifice. Blood seeps out. It's a coagulated mixture of brown and dark brown. I pat my rear-end friend lightly with a soft, neatly woven, square tissue. I throw the tissue into the bowl as if I were leaving on a train never to return whilst throwing my handkerchief to the companion I so adore. That is the love I feel for each muscle spasming brown manifestation.
How could I ever begin to flush my friends? I must do so though. In order to continue the cycle in my bowels. From the taste of the food in my mouth, to the pungent aroma of my hairy pulsating orb. Through the swirling rollercoaster of my intestine, to the seperation of liquid and solid. The liquid to the stem, the solid to the star. I do hereby flush my friends.
With every gasping breath of anal pleasure; I give this journal entry to you, the readers, for being in the murky remains of my derelict fashion.
This is a proud time during my daily activities. I bend over long enough to binge out an unusually massive brown snake from my rectal eye. My sphincter is an amazing advisor. It gives didactic instruction with just the slightest seepage of air. As if reciting soliloquies to itself. The combinations of emitted juices, odor, and compact waste, make for an artistic panorama of sensual deprivation.
Shit speaks to me. Although sometimes squeezing too hard gives me the worst sort of aches and pangs, causing me to scream out, deafening my poor companion's jocular points.
In the end(from the end) it spills out. Filling the white depths with a splash that will sometimes jump from the water to kiss the swelling pink hemorroids that riddle its pink outline.
My teeth are ground to a chalky dust as a hard charcoal-like celestial body heaves itself from the orifice. Blood seeps out. It's a coagulated mixture of brown and dark brown. I pat my rear-end friend lightly with a soft, neatly woven, square tissue. I throw the tissue into the bowl as if I were leaving on a train never to return whilst throwing my handkerchief to the companion I so adore. That is the love I feel for each muscle spasming brown manifestation.
How could I ever begin to flush my friends? I must do so though. In order to continue the cycle in my bowels. From the taste of the food in my mouth, to the pungent aroma of my hairy pulsating orb. Through the swirling rollercoaster of my intestine, to the seperation of liquid and solid. The liquid to the stem, the solid to the star. I do hereby flush my friends.
With every gasping breath of anal pleasure; I give this journal entry to you, the readers, for being in the murky remains of my derelict fashion.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
rockabillybaby:
Mmmmmm...anal pleasure...
varzadium:
Sweet.... how'd you get those Army points? hehe