My Best Friend, Part 3

It was a long two weeks. Work was busy and for one of those weeks, Randy was away on vacation with his family so I barely got to speak with him. When he returned he was distant and preoccupied. I didn’t quite know what was going on, but maybe it was just me. As the days passed he warmed up again and soon we were back to our not-flirting flirtation. I had mentioned to him that I had to make a pit stop earlier because I just couldn’t hold it, I had to shit so badly. While he knows I wear diapers, he also knows I can’t mess while at work.

This had the desired effect. He told me of a time where he had to shit so bad that it hurt, but he was driving at the time with no bathroom within miles. He was afraid to get out of the car in an unfamiliar area and make a dash for the treeline. The pressure built up to the point where his massive load was pushing on his prostate, and he told me that he began to cum, shooting uncontrollably into his briefs, almost soaking through his shorts. Luckily he soon found a gas station and was able to make a mad dash for the restroom, where he spent the next half hour emptying his bowels.

Why does he tell me these things? I was so tortured as I drove home that night. I couldn’t even shit myself and beat off like I did before, I was just perplexed and so horned up.

I know nothing will ever happen between us, but he keeps telling me these stories…

Two weeks later, we’re leaving the store. He tells me that he should have used the bathroom while he was in there. The lot is empty, the lights are not all working. It’s unusually dark as we go around to the back of his car. He opens the trunk to put his groceries in and freezes.

“What?” I ask.

“I think I just shit myself”, he says.

Now I know he’s lying so I call shenanigans.

“No dude, I just sharted a little- “, his face reddens and he whimpers, almost. I fly into action.

“Turn around and undo your pants.”, I order, He balks at first, but then I remind him, “I’m wearing a diaper, you can shit in your pants or you can shit in mine, or shit on the ground, but you’ve got a few seconds before your ass unloads whether you’re ready or not. Don’t worry, this will say between us always”.

Shaking nervously, he loosens his belt as I do mine, and slips his shorts down underneath his pale, smooth cheeks. I squat slightly and pull my diaper (which was already a bit wet) up underneath his hole.

“Spread your legs a little more,” I tell him as he hunches sightly forward-

BAM!!!!!

A swift rushing, liquidy sound and a sharp stink hits me a millisecond before his shit pours into my diaper all over my cock and balls. Like a garden hose but with a thicker, more pasty consistency. The steam rises from the hot pile, which is now settling in underneath my nuts. I am in pig heaven as I see his legs stiffen and again, this time, a longer rope of burning-hot ass slop washes over my genitals. The front is filling up fast so I quickly turn and present the back of my diaper. Like an ice-cream dispenser now, the seemingly non-stop flow of crap fills my crack as gravity pulls it down underneath my own sss, and then I push.

My own somewhat firmer dump barrels into the seat of my diaper and joins Randy’s two piles. By now the front is settled down nicely, and as I turn I feel the weight of my loaded diaper, smell the heavy stench of two fat fucks’ dumps in my drawers. My piss flow welds them both together. Randy signals me again, though, he’s not done. This time, a smaller flurry of shit ribbons fly forth from his almost prolapsing pink hole, and it ends with a fart that spatters droplets of fecal matter all over my lower belly.

I pull up my diaper in silence. Fuck, do I want to hump his mess right here, but I know I have to keep this as non-sexual as possible. He looks at me with a pained expression on his face, and I look at him consolingly…

“I’m your best friend, if you can’t poop on me, who can you poop on?”

He offers back a wan smile, but there is a light in his eye… something about him likes this.

All fat boys love to shit. They love being pigs. Those who don’t just don’t know it yet.

Now Randy knows.

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