Meeting Your Hero's Ass [Scat]
Happiest and Crappiest Day of Your Life
Today might've been the happiest day of your life. You, Anonymous Pony had met Soarin', second in command of the famous Wonderbolts! Not only had you managed to get his autograph, but you even managed to get a massive, filthy favor from him. He came with you back to your house, not to hang out, but to use you as his willing toilet.
You opened your front door for him and followed as he walked in, keeping a close eye on his thick, juicy pucker just barely hiding behind his deep blue tail. Your house probably wasn't much for the superstar, but it served your needs just fine. You gently put your new prized possession by the landing tray, a framed, signed photo of Soarin' himself.
“Well,” Soarin’ broke out, “I know you didn’t invite me over for afternoon tea, so let’s get down to brass tacks. Sit.” You immediately did as he commanded. Soarin’ slowly loomed over you. He held up his front right hoof to your muzzle. “Alright, doormat, get licking.”
You graciously drew your fat, eager tongue over the rough hewn bottoms of Soarin’s hooves. You were desperate to make a good impression on him, digging in the deepest crevices of his frogs to give him a proper cleaning.
Soarin’ turned around and you continued on his back hooves. As you licked his hooves, you couldn’t help but look up and stare under Soarin’s tail. You could just barely see the deep bluish gray skin of his ponut leading down to his balls. Soarin’ swished his tail over his nudity, “Ah ah, no peeking until you’ve finished cleaning my hooves.”
You practically power washed his hooves with your tongue in anticipation of his promise. You finally got his rear hooves squeaky clean as well and swallowed. Soarin’ lifted his forelegs and leaned against your bookshelf.
“You know, all the training I have to do to stay in the Wonderbolts, to stay in peak physical condition? It really works up a sweat, and that flight suit doesn’t breathe at all.” Soarin’ flicked aside his tail, exposing his magnificent plot to you. “I feel real nasty down there, and your face looks like a good sweatrag. Get over here.”
You crawled on hooves and knees over to Soarin’. Before you could lift your face to him, he met you halfway, practically slamming his plot into your face. Immediately, the humidity of his nethers washed over your face. Every breath you drew filled your lungs with his intense musk, he wasn’t kidding about his flight suit not breathing.
Soarin’ dragged his ass and balls over your face, smearing your face fur with his sweat. “Well don’t just sit there, a ‘biggest fan’ should serve his hero!” You eagerly shoved your face in his deepest crevices, using his musk instead of oxygen. You shoved your nose under his sheath, letting his full, heavy balls rest over your eyes as you huffed the stink off of his body.
You pulled your head back and let Soarin’s low-hanging fruit roll off your face. You leaned forward again and Soarin’ moaned as you carefully took one of his massive, bluish gray orbs in your mouth. You gently cleaned his sack one full, heavy ball at a time. You lightly sucked on his testes, letting them slip from your mouth with a satisfying pop.
You and your tongue worked up the back of Soarin’s sack, cleaning his taint before coming to your ultimate prize: his thick, juicy, sweaty pucker. “Go on, give it a kiss, asswipe.” You pucker your lips and gently plant them on his asshole. Almost as soon as your tongue slipped past the rim of his ponut, it erupts in a foul cloud of humid gas.
Soarin’ howled with laughter as you choked and sputtered from the throatful of his fumes. “What’s the matter, fartsucker? Can you tell I had beans earlier? Now, get back in there, there’s plenty more where that came from.” You continued licking him until he commanded you, “Open wide, here comes another one.” You latched your lips around his hole. Another of Soarin’s hot, stinky farts fumigated your mouth and you gratefully swallowed his gas.
After 10 whole minutes of nothing but swallowing Soarin’s farts, each more repulsive than the last, he turned to you and barked another order. “Alright, Septic Tank, go get me your best plate, I can feel your meal coming.” You hopped to your hooves and walked to your kitchen. Pulling your best, biggest dinner plate from the cabinet you carried it back in your teeth and laid it an Soarin’s feet.
“You’re in luck, toilet, the Wonderbolts annual cookout was yesterday, and I’ve been saving up ever since.” Your mouth watered as he described the ingredients of your meal. “All the hayburgers I could eat. An entire field of corn on the cob, just slathered in butter. Endless pots of beans, and plenty of cakes and pies on top of it all? It's no wonder I ate so much, it was all just so yummy!”
Soarin’ shifted the plate behind him and bent his hind legs, “I doubt it’s gonna taste as good secondhand, though.” A wet squelch of his gas puff out of his ponut as he grunted. Soarin’s anal lips split open as your meal descended from his ass. His log was incredibly thick. It’s dark chocolate girth was flecked with bits of yellow corn as it gracefully descended from his ass in one firm, unbroken log.
The tip of Soarin’s log made landfall and slid across the plate, leaving a bare brown smear across its white surface. His thick shit snake coiled into a “C” shape on the plate and stretched to over a foot long before it broke off from his ass, hitting the plate with a wet, stodgy slap.
Soarin’s thick tube of shit filled the room with its ripe, sour smell. It practically steamed as it sat appetizingly on the plate. You crawled forward to eat, but Soarin’ stopped you. “Ah ah. Hold on turd muncher, you’ve gotta eat your meals at the table.” You picked up the plate in your teeth and Soarin’ forced you into the kitchen.
All while you walked, Soarin’s fat dump filled your nose with its acrid scent, sitting only inches away from your nose as you carried its dense, heavy form to the table. You put the plate down on the close end of the table and sat down.
Soarin’ loomed behind you and pressed his hoof into the back of your head and pressed your nose against his shit. “Yeah, get a good whiff of it.” Nothing but the rank smell of Soarin’s log filled your senses as he forced you to huff his scent.
Soarin’ relented his hoof. “Don’t eat just yet. I’m gonna raid your fridge, get a bite to eat. Pushing out a meal like that works up an appetite.” Soarin’ opened your fridge and immediately spotted your leftover pizza that you were saving for later, but Soarin’s log was your dinner now.
He sat down on the other end of the table, “Eat up, Toilet.”
You leaned forward and took a bite of Soarin’s massive shit, barely managing to reach over it with your teeth. You struggled to chew his thick, firm log; its texture was almost fibrous from the hayburgers he had eaten. Soarin’ smirked at you as you choked and gagged from the overwhelming bitter taste as his shit coated your tongue.
The chunks of corn left over from his feast the day before burst between your teeth as you chewed. They provided a miniscule amount of sweetness to the sharp bitterness of Soarin’s shit as you tried to keep yourself from retching from the taste.
You stopped chewing out of disgust, trying to get your bearings. Soarin’ walked over to you, “Aw, what’s the matter, Shit Lips? I thought you wanted to eat my log. Well, I guess you just couldn’t handle it. Guess you’re not my biggest fan after all, and I’ll just have to find a new toilet.”
Soarin’ started to pull the plate away from you. Desperate to earn the respect of your hero, you snatched the plate away from him and took even more of his fat, repulsive log into your mouth and chewed with renewed vigor. Soarin’ was shocked at first, but quickly regained his cocky smirk, “Yeah, that’s a good Turd Muncher.”
Compared to your previous pace, you quickly worked your way through Soarin’s shit. As you chewed, the more and more you grew addicted to the secondhand feast. Though your body still instinctively gagged from it, your conscious mind replaced all feelings of disgust with those of lust as you wolfed down his godly turd.
You popped the last bit, the head of Soarin’s turd, into your mouth and swallowed it. You propped the plate up with your hooves and licked it clean of any smears or crumbs your hero’s waste had left. Soarin’ kept his smirk, but behind it there was a tinge of impression and respect.
He got up from his seat and walked over to you. “Heh, not bad, Shit Lips. I knew you had it in ya.” He put his hoof on your shoulder. “I like having such a willing and eager toilet. I might stop in damn near every day, just to bring you your meals.” You graciously thanked him for the opportunity and he made his way to your front door.
Before he left, Soarin’ pointed to the picture of him you left by the door. “Do me a favor? You can just use that to help you finish yourself off down there.” He left and closed the door behind him.
You looked down between your legs and your cheeks blushed as you realized you still had a massive erection. You grabbed your prized photo of Soarin’. With a belly full of his farts and shit, you sat down on your couch and started clopping to him.