Mini-Scenes!

This is a collection of three ‘mini stories’ I thought up over a couple days. I figured if I didn’t have the patience to write full-fledged stories, why not write a bunch of different situations!

Don’t expect any of these stories to be continued, just enjoy them as the shorts they are! You’ll notice they got longer as I got more into the writing!

And if anybody wants to comment or message me with an idea for a mini-scene or situation they’d like me to write, feel free! If I’m interested enough, I might just write it!

Enjoy!
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The scout squatted down lower, feeling the turd mushed up inside of him, pressing on his anus for release. Not Now! he wanted to yell at his bowels. Here he was, eleven years old (practically a grown man!) in the middle of training camp, and he had to take a freakin’ crap like some kind of poorly-potty-trained sissy!

All the other boys were well ahead of him now; he’d always been slow, careful but slow, and he was afraid he wasn’t going to pass the inspection in time…and now this! Now he had to go poop something fierce right at the one time he couldn’t afford any stops.

Junior Scout Todd McRussell had to make up his mind; he couldn’t lose any more time. So he grimaced, held his stomach, clench his butthole tight, and got up from behind the bush; he was almost a real scout, a MAN, and men could hold it in!

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After his latest fling from the bull’s back, rodeo rider-in-training Scotty Busher had to check the seat of his jeans- muddy, and his underwear damp with sweat, but no poop…yet!

Why’d I ever think not visiting the port-a-potty before practice was a good idea?… Scotty thought as his partners pulled him up from the ground. He’d been stuffing himself with all the fried goodies his free-fair pass would allow him all week, and he’d felt the urge to lay a major dump coming on all morning, but no, he’d gone straight to practice after lunch with his girlfriend, and for the past hour and a half he’d been paying the price; unable to concentrate on anything but the worsening pressure in his lower belly, he’d been missing instructions, getting scolded by the older riders, and was making an all-together fool of himself.

He’d been farting like crazy to try and relive the pressure, but by this point un-clenching his ass cheeks would just make the situation worse. As he walked across the rodeo pit with his pals, he was struck by another wave of cramps, his body trying to them him that it wouldn’t be ignored now matter how hard he prayed, and was stopped dead in his tracks by the effort it took him to hold it back. This time his friends took notice.

“‘S’matter, bro?” Paul Walker asked Scotty, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“What’s the matter is that Scotty here’s gotta SHIT like a regular ol’ BULL!” the other rider said. He was Tucker McAfee, native of Oklahoma, and Scotty had never been of a fan of the guy; a real stuck-up boy, full of himself and cocky as hell; of course, among the cowboys and riders of the fairgrounds, a cocky attitude was to be expected, but Tucker took it to the next level- a real asshole, he’d been getting on all the guys’ nerves the entire three weeks he’d been at the fair.
“Ain’t you been smellin’ the farts he’s been crop-dustin’ all afternoon? Surprised he ain’t shit his pants already, from what I been smellin’ comin’ outta his ass!”

Scotty blushed red as his checkered shirt, and mumbled a half-assed comeback neither Tucker nor Paul even heard. Had his bowels not been in such a state, he’d have glocked Tucker square across the jaw right then…but even hot-headed Scotty had to admit that any sudden movements might trigger the mother of all messes right in the seat of his Levis…
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“…And as you can see, this month’s sales having been…” The words of his manager were falling on deaf ears- Lugo MacArthur was only focused on one thing that afternoon, and unfortunately, it wasn’t business.

Damn, I gotta PISS!

He glanced around the meeting room; everyone was focused on the manager’s power-point, and he couldn’t fight it any longer. Taking a huge risk, Lugo reached down under the table with both hands and gripped his ample basket bulge with the death force of a man determined not to piss all over himself.

If anyone had been paying attention, the scene would have been quite extraordinary. Lugo was truly a hulk of a man; it didn’t surprise most people when they found out he’d been a bodybuilder back in the youth; even after throwing in the towel and getting involved in the insurance business, he’d kept up his workouts- twenty years of semi-retirement had only added girth to his massive frame. Now here he was, six foot five inches, in a suit that was nearly bursting at the seams, sweating and flushed with embarrassment and strain.

He started squirming in his seat, desperate for relief. It was just a matter of time before his co-workers began to notice his predicament; the manager’s monthly report could only hold your attention so long.

Lugo couldn’t believe this; he’d only been drinking coffee for a few weeks, to help keep him awake during his after lunch slump, and his bladder still hadn’t adapted to the new intake of fluid. He recalled the days of his prime, when he’d held his piss for hours during competitions and judgings, and he’d never felt as desperate as he did now.

He wasn’t holding up very well, and the meeting wasn’t even half over! Suddenly, his eyes went wide- he leaned over the table, pressing his enormous man-hands into his crotch, but it was too much- his fat dick jumped free of its bonds, and sent a huge squirt of steaming urine straight into the pouch of his designer boxer-briefs.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!… He was losing it; he grunted with the strain of holding back the pressure from making any more of a mess- he could feel dampness in his crotch, and knew that would be his only warning before his bladder over-ruled any restrictions from his brain and sent its liquid load straight down the expressway that was his dick.

People were noticing now all right. The whole meeting room had stopped in its tracts to watch this bull of a man hunching over in what appeared to be utter pain.

“Lugo, are you alright…?” This coming from Audrey Summers, the fox of a sales rep Lugo’d been hitting on all summer.

Christ, not in front of AUDREY! Lugo cursed in a panic Not like some goddamn FIRST GRADER!..

He had to take action NOW. He leapt from his chair, throwing caution to the wind, and raced out of the meeting room. He stormed his way through the office (sweeping aside several bewildered employees, who treated him like a mad bull running wild down the streets of some Spanish village, and once striking his huge shoulder on a cubicle divider, which nearly tossed him down and led him to shoot another squirt of urine into his increasingly-damp suit pants), made it outside to the hallway, and, finally!, entered the men’s restroom.

He greeted the urinal like a long-lost brother, nearly collapsing his huge body between the privacy dividers. He practically ripped his zipper down, tugged out his dick from his wet undies, and let loose immediately with a blasting stream strong enough to extinguish a small fire.

He stood like this, a man lost to the world, sagging at the urinal, a huge guy huffing with relief and exhaustion, his muscle gut quivering underneath his tight suit, dick spewing a hot golden stream the entire time.

At last it was over. He flushed, and caught a glace of himself in the restroom mirror; rugged race still red with embarrassment and strain, huge sweat stains forming under his pits, staining his suit jacket; fly down, dick out, with a glimpse of yellow underwear inside. And the entire office had just seen him completely lose control of himself.

Lugo shuttered, afraid of what he’d have to face once he stepped out the bathroom door…

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Responses

  1. Fingertips stories! 🙂 I like them. In some way fragments are more alluring than beginning-to-end narratives. You cut straight to the chase. 🙂

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