A Diarrhea Convention

"Oh my goodness, would you look at the use of color in this one! It's astounding!"

Carla pursed her lips together, but she didn't look at the painting. Her eyes were darting around at the crowds with growing nervousness, and she tapped her foot in place. 

"Uh-huh."

Carla's pink pump tapped again against the marble floor. She shifted her hips back and forth, in her growing panic a little unaware of how extreme the back-and-forth shift of her ass was. She was on the lowest floor of the convention center, which was hosting a massive art gallery for all of the newest upcoming talents, and for the past hour she has desperately needed to shit. Carla had the terrible habit of taking large, loud, and embarrassing dumps, so much so that she always tried to avoid going to the restroom in public. Her enormous lunch had sat in her stomach like a brick right after she ate it, and now a desperate pressure was growing in her bowels, weakening her and shaking her guts. 

Tall and slender, she moved through the crowd without her typical grace, nearly stumbling on her heels. The crowd, startled by the awkward click-clacking of her shoes turned away from appreciating the paintings and sculptures in surprise. 

Her hair was jet black and flowing in waves. Her pink blouse was bordered with subtle designs of matching coral lace. Her black and white striped pencil skirt, at once both professional and stylish, clung to her round buttcheeks as she moved toward the restrooms. 

"Carla! Are you all right?" Her friend called after her. 

Carla ignored her. She turned the corner, bustling her way with growing frustration through the crowds of young, wealthy art enthusiasts. Looking over their heads, she saw the sign for the restrooms. Smiling, she sped up, but had to break to a halt. 

The women's restroom was out of order. A paper sign held up with duct tape decorated the door. She tried the knob, but it was locked. Turning, Carla saw the men's restroom. She had heard of women sometimes using the men's restroom in desperation, but none of her crowd had ever done that sort of thing. Surely, she couldn't...

The massive weight in her ass became more apparent, shifting, moving forward. Carla squirmed like a cold shiver ran down her spine. She reached for the doorknob of the men's restroom...

***

Upstairs, Peter focused the photo the lens, drawing it away from the Instagram model's firm, full ass in order to capture the rest of her. She was posing with a bottle of protein powder, holding it up to her face and beaming widely. Peter snapped some photos and gave her the thumbs up. She put down the bottle and walked away into the milling sea of athletic, gorgeous women, her hips swaying as she walked and her muscular thighs flexing with each step. All the women were wearing state of the art yoga pants and tights and leotards, dressed for the gym, but also with perfect hair and makeup, their work out attire more costume today than actual outfit.

The entire floor was a convention for Instagram fitness influencers, and Peter had been hired to photograph the event. The influencers walked between booths advertising new work out equipment, outfits, and protein powder. Most of the women were happily drinking the new powder, mixing it with the water provided by the convention. 

Peter, with a smile, took photos of the crowd, composing excellent pictures showcasing the convention, but he also snuck in a few discrete pictures for himself, zooming in on boobs pressed tight together in athletic crop tops and the squeezing panty lines visible through thin yoga pants. He swallowed hard, hoping his growing erection wasn't too visible in his pants. 

He should probably go back to his room, he thought, for some alone time...

***

As Carla shamefully reached for the doorknob to the men's room, the door suddenly opened and a tall man almost walked into her, nearly bowling her over. Carla stumbled back toward the main floor of the art exhibit, startled and stammering. The man, absolutely gorgeous, with a beautiful jawline and a trimmed beard of stubble, looked at her with concerned eyes. Growing flushed and lightheaded, Carla experienced the distinct feeling of arousal spread through her skin and mind. 

"I-I-I-I-" Carla sputtered out. As she panicked, her bowels gurgled and lost control and a rippling, noxious fart.

PHHRRBBTBTBTBTB

"OH!" Carla gasped and twisted her body around, looking at her own ass in shock, surprised at the monstrous noise. 

Snickers rose from the art patrons as they watched her with bemusement and disgust. 

PHHHHBBBRRRTTTTT

Carla looked at the ground, lock kneed, ass sticking out, stunned, taking in their lashing laughter. She looked up for just a moment, catching the face of the man who just left the bathroom. His eyes were twisted up into laughing, adorable crescents, and the lines of his face curved up with his bright, beautiful smile. 

At that moment, a cramping spasm struck Carla in her colon, and she felt a shifting slithering mass against the walls of her ass, that she was barely able to grip with her internal butt muscles. It pressed forward through her body with such force that she felt the cramps and the wet snaking motion through the front of her body and her crotch, through the walls separating her vagina from her rectum. She clenched with her whole ass, stopping the onslaught of shit just as the tail poked against the inside of her anus, threatening its escape. 

A high-pitched hiss of farting, toxic gas escaped out of her butt instead, and Carla reached back and clamped her hand over her buttcrack. 

"Ohhh Nooo!" She yelled. Her face was turning bright red, and breathy arousal filled her lungs. To her immense shame, she felt pussy grow wet, and her nipples become erect.

In her humiliation, she rushed away from the snickering crowd, mindlessly running away from the men's restroom, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to release the demon from her ass.

***

Peter couldn't see past the women packed into the corridor like sardines. Some were huddled, slightly bent over. Others were sweating, looking around nervously, and fanning themselves. A few were bouncing on their heels, gritting their teeth, and clenching their fists.

All were farting nonstop. 

Peter coughed, gagging from the rising sent of the toxic, rancid farts escaping the countless women. He could smell Sulphur and shit and rotting food in the air, burning his eyes and nose. Belching, hissing, echoing, rippling, wet farts surrounding him in an almost deafening cacophony. The influencers, in their work out costumes, were starting to sweat profusely, from the churning panic in their rectums and the cramped, swampy heat of the corridor. Patches of sweat formed down the buttcrack canyons of their yoga pants and short shorts and under the arms and breasts of their work out tops and sports bras. 

"It's that goddamn protein powder, I'm telling you!"

"Oh god, please hurry, I can't hold it much longer!"

"JESUS, Janine, what did you eat?!"

"Ohhh OH Nooo It's turtling...!"

Peter pushed his way forward to his room, eyes burning from the scent. The women, though, were too preoccupied with not shitting themselves, to move quickly out of his way. In fact, most ignored him out right. 

"Excuse me, sorry..." Peter pushed his way through the walls of women. He bit his lip in embarrassment as his hips and crotch accidentally collided with another athletic, toned ass, and another, and another, each buttcheek rubbing against and soon poking against his growing cock. He was, without meaning to, plowing dick-first through a crowd of perfect asses and sweating warm bodies, each one spraying warm ass gas onto his confused and swollen cock. 

Peter made his way to the front of the crowd where the women were packed together into an impenetrable wall. They were waiting in line to the restrooms. Peter craned his neck to look ahead. Both the doors to the women's and the men's restrooms were thrown open. The moaning, screaming, sobbing sounds of women sharting and spraying and shitting their splatting scat inside both restrooms, destroying them utterly, echoed out into the halls. Peter's eyes grew wide and bloodshot as the powerful smell of fresh shit reached out from the open bathroom doors and invaded his respiratory system. He almost fell forward, lightheaded. His clothed cock jabbed right into the wet, sweaty asscrack of an especially wide hipped influencer, and she stepped back, knocking him to the ground. 

He looked up, the shadow of the massive ass casting a shadow over his horrified, yet somehow still horny expression, and she farted a long explosive wet gurgling fart into his face.

PPPPHHHBBBBRRGGGGRRPPPPBBBBRTTTTTT

***

Carla ran up through the convention center, floor by floor, but every time she found a restroom it was either out of order or completely decimated. She had opened the door to one restroom and gagged in terror. Her stomach churned and the turd within her wrenched and almost exploded out of her anus. The earthy sewage stink awakened something in her mind, and her wet pussy cried out with arousal and need. She wished, she needed, to touch herself, but she didn't dare because she dreaded that she would lose control of her ass and fill her panties in the process.

All of the toilets were overflowing with shit and piss. Turds fell out of the bowls like ropey monstrous shitty vines. Piles of feces decorated the floors, filled the trashcans, overwhelmed the sinks. The rank smell hit her in the face like a fist and she had turned and ran in the opposite direction. But all of the floors of the convention center were like this, like an army of shitting asses were slowly moving upward, destroying each bathroom one by one. 

Carla's mind raced, wondering how, in the name of all that was Holy, so many of the restrooms were destroyed. What horrific ass disaster had befallen these poor pipes and tile and porcelain?

Sprinting barefoot up the stairs, her pumps long since discarded, she reached the top floor of the convention center, her last hope. 

Carla opened the doors, a fitness influencer convention. Sweaty and panting, she ran down the corridor to where the restrooms were, only to cry out in with a groan of despair as she saw the crowds of women filling the hallway. 

The croaking, wet farting filled her ears and nose, and her eyes watered in shame and terror. Carla's ass gurgled and a deep baritone fart escaped from her and shook her to her core. 

BBBRRRRPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHTTTTBBB

She couldn't hold it anymore. Her guts cried out in pain, unable to hold the floodgates at bay any longer. Ripping her skirt and her dripping wet, clinging panties to her ankles with a struggling frantic fumbling, she turned her sweating ass and dripping, swollen pussy to the crowd. 

At the same time, Peter crawled across the floor, trying to escape the farting forest of shitting women. His dick pointed to the ground, rigid like steel. He reached what he hoped was the end of the crowd and raised his head, only for it to be inches from Carla's spreading, dilating, shit swollen asshole. 

He didn't even have time to close his eyes. 

SSSSPPPPPPPPRRRRRRTTTTTSSSSSHSHHHHHHSSSPSPSPSPSPSLLLLRRRRTTTTCCCCHHHH

"OUHHHHHHHHHH!" Carla moaned. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and pure heavenly relief echoed through her guts as she sprayed and splattered and shat on Peter with the most horrific turd to ever exist on planet Earth. The hell snake of shit, wet and sputtering and sticky and fibrous and thick and burning, liquid and solid at the same time, occasionally chunky and wet, always never ending, exploding out of her ass like a high-pressure stream. Carla dug three clawed fingers into her sopping pussy, stretching open her vaginal over their girth, fucking herself in rapid, squishing, juice splattering motions, moaning, mouth open, deeper and deeper as she came in an instant but kept fucking herself, relishing in the thick, wet, brutal, friction of the shit exploding out of her stretched open ass. Doubly penetrating herself with her own shit in one end and her pumping fingers in the other. 

As soon as Carla began shitting, the other women instantly felt eruptions deep in their own bowels, crying and sobbing and crying out in dismay, they all wrenched down their shorts and yoga pants, they pulled their leotards to the side. They exposed and freed their sweat drenched pussies and asses and thighs and hips, squirming and bending over. Clutching their guts or shamelessly pulling apart their voluminous jiggling cheeks, they shat all over themselves and each other. Loud eruptions of bursting splatting shit hit the floor. Shorter women took sprays of diarrhea to chest, but they didn't care as they squinched their faces up and projectile shat thick brown logs onto the women behind them.

"AAAAIIEEEEEEE!" On the floor, covered on all sides by shitting asses, Peter was mercilessly sprayed, coated completely with shit and turds and diarrhea in seconds, fumbling on the ground, trying to free himself, but only falling into the shit. The women couldn't even hear his pathetic, high-pitched wail of terror over their own exploding, farting, shitting guts.