Taking Care of Business

Dylan Saunders sat back into his overstuffed leather recliner, in the darkened den, watching the final minutes of his latest production unfolding on the screen of his expansive television. On the screen, twenty year old Trish Abrams, a slim, petite redhead, with thin, wire-rimmed glasses, sat nude atop a toilet, her face, a contorted mask of determined effort. A sound, like that of crackling fire logs, soon emitted forth, ending in a final muffled thud, as Trish released a long-winded, conclusive grunt.

Gasping slightly from the exertion, Trish slumped, pushing her delicate glasses further up the bridge of her nose with one finger. She remained seated atop the toilet for a while more, looking around her, but seemingly acting oblivious, while the camera continued its jerky movements, spanning in for closeups of her body, as its unseen owner circled slowly around her.

Finally, Trish raised herself from the toilet. She was rather diminutive in stature, her physique almost devoid of feminine curves, making her seem almost boyish in appearance, had it not been for her wavy, cascading sheen of fiery red hair. The camera's capturing lens, scanned her body, scrolling down her small, round breasts, their peaks accented by rosy-pink nipples, dipping down across the flat plain of her belly, ultimately ending at the juncture of her thighs and the nestled, bare smoothness of her perfectly groomed vagina. The exposed expanse of her flesh was covered with a light speckling of freckles, which went as far as adorning the pale globes of her buttocks, displayed in all their splendor into the camera's frame, as Trish turned around to step aside.

No words were spoken throughout, no contact, whether physically or verbally, was to be established between the female participant and the cameraman, this being done in the purpose of retaining an atmosphere of intimacy, a sense of voyeurism, giving the impression that the participant was alone during these most private proceedings.

The camera then focused on the vacated toilet, zooming in on the bounty of the freshly deposited contents within. The bottom of the bowl, presented a stark contrast of brown against gleaming, white porcelain, a clashing metaphor of pure sanitation and waste, its shades varying from those of rich, dark chocolate to the lighter color properties of toffee. Its textures were just as diverse, a mixture of clustered fragments, tapering off to smoother, lightly creased folds. The heaping mound was an intricate design of accumulated coils, making it almost impossible to discern where one began and the other one ended, with the sole exception of one upraised tip, which protruded proudly above the surface of the murky water.

At this point, Dylan reached for his remote control, and with shaking hands, paused the tape, the frozen image of this elaborate creation filling the confines of his television screen. Unconsciously, his hand lowered slowly to the erection which had undoubtedly taken shape during the critical attention he paid to the revised material of the tape. As the editor of such productions, it was his job to review all completed recordings, and to make changes wherever appropriately needed. Overtime, Dylan thought he would eventually become immune to what he saw on a daily basis, but as his current erection attested to, such would not be the case any time soon.

Over the course of his teenaged years, Dylan had, like all boys his age, developed an affinity towards the wonders of the female body, but something more had set him apart from the rest of his peers, whom only went as far as obsessing over the usual combination of tits and ass. Of course, the ass part was featured dominantly in his interests, but its role extended to much further levels, to create a rather unusual equation.

An equation Dylan might never have considered, had he not, at sixteen years of age, inadvertently stumbled upon his older cousin, as she occupied the bathroom, its door slightly ajar, unaware of his presence.

It had been a hot summer day, and Dylan remembered a family gathering of some sorts, a barbecue, he recalled now, as if it had happened only yesterday. After an afternoon of tossing back countless glasses of lemonade in an attempt to keep the stifling heat at bay, he had entered the house, to make an urgently needed pit stop. He would have charged into the bathroom in his haste to relieve himself, but a sound from within stopped him abruptly in his tracks. He listened at the rustled turning of pages, presumably of a magazine. The rustling would occasionally pause, the following silence punctured by subtle inhalations and exhalations, slight feminine moans, and dispersed, hollow splashes. All of which might have been interpreted in a sexual context, had it not been for the present circumstances. Dylan even briefly thought that his cousin might have slipped away to engage in a spontaneous session of masturbation, but the ensuing splashes soon indicated otherwise.

His curiosity getting the best of him, Dylan hovered closer, peeking through the gap of the door, being careful about not revealing himself. There, his nineteen year old cousin Kelly, sat on the toilet, slightly hunched forward, holding a magazine and casually flipping the pages. Her long, blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail, two errant strands framing her sweat-sheened face. She wore a tight, pink halter top, her large breasts filling it prominently, straining against the fabric. A pair of blue denim shorts, and a hint of light pink panties bunched together around her ankles, her sandal-clad feet peeking out from under them.

After several more minutes, Kelly cast the magazine aside, tore off a few sheets of tissue from the adjoining wall dispenser, and proceeded to clean herself. Dylan watched with baited breath as she then discarded the soiled tissue and got up, pulling her shorts and panties up in the process. As Kelly turned around to press down on the flush handle, Dylan hurriedly scurried off to the nearest bedroom, waiting until he was certain Kelly had returned outdoors, before allowing himself to venture, once again, towards the bathroom.

Having temporarily forgotten about the urgent state of his bladder, Dylan entered the bathroom, surprised at what he unveiled while unzipping his pants, releasing a very rigid member from between the metallic indentations of his jeans, acknowledging it as one of his very first erections. He had to wonder if this was simply caused by the prolonged holding back of its contents, or more interestingly, because of what he had just witnessed. He then began urinating, at the same time, becoming aware of the lingering odor left behind by Kelly's recent expulsion, even despite the cleansing air drifting through the open window.

Soon, Dylan was back outside, looking on as Kelly lay sprawled on a lawn chair, munching on a hot dog and reading the same magazine she had brought with her in the bathroom. From that point on, and to this very day, that was a moment Dylan would never be able to rid from his thoughts. Rather, it would play a much bigger role in his life, over the course of the next upcoming years.

Dylan was taken out of his reverie, and back to reality by the authoritative tone of his roommate and fellow collaborator, Eric Foster.

"Hey dude, are you done with that tape yet? Josie's gonna be here in an hour, and you're the one who's gonna be filming her."

Dylan tried to regain his composure as best he could, as he tried to formulate words.

"Ummm... yeah, I think this copy is good to go. All we need to do now, is prepare the packaging and put it up on the site for promotion."

Dylan hurried towards the television, ejecting the tape from its player, the transfixed scene of prominent brown, replaced by the sudden, loud hiss of white static, the hypnotic sight and sound propelling him into yet another flashback...

As he got older, Dylan continued to live with the burden of his secret fetish, not trusting himself to impart his thoughts to his friends, fearing he would be viewed as some kind of freak. He felt ashamed, and almost wished he could erase all memories of that fateful day, which had involved seeing his cousin Kelly in a whole new perspective.

All this remained a weight on his conscience, until the booming evolution of the Internet. It was a medium which had opened doors to a whole new dimension, and where almost nothing was taboo. Through chat rooms and websites, Dylan soon found himself in the comforting presence of like-minded people, who amazingly shared his interest in the aspects of human defecation, and that's when he realized that he had finally found his true element.

After a many chat session, Dylan had bonded with two particular types, Eric Foster and Josh Anderson, with whom he had shared countless conversations on the subject which he was forced to keep contained for so long, his frequent, pent-up arousals being released in the guise of frantic masturbatory episodes fuelled by his growing fantasies. While the encounter with Kelly often dominated his thoughts, Dylan soon found himself imagining other women in this scenario, often taking the form of his girlfriends, or even simple acquaintances from college.

The Internet proved to be a virtual store catering to diverse fetishes, and the demand for defecation was no exception. As a result, many people launched their own online businesses, specializing in specifically themed merchandise, often garnering a loyal clientele in the process.

Which is where Dylan got the inspiration to start his own online business, sharing his idea with Eric and Josh, who were all too willing to join in on this venture.

Now, two years later, their online business was established, and thriving as strong as ever. While college fees proved to be a rather strenuous expense, Dylan, Eric and Josh had agreed to share housing accommodations, all the while, running their part-time business from home.

The guys shared a three-storey townhouse, which conveniently enough, included three bathrooms, which on most days, would allow for simultaneous videos to be filmed. To their surprise, they received quite a lot of replies to the ads they posted on their online website, which recruited girls to participate in their videos. Mostly, the willing participants were college students themselves, who also needed additional income to get through school. Others, simply thought it would be an original gift to offer to their spouse or boyfriend. It was amazing to see just how far some of them would go for a little extra money or attention.

Whatever the reason may be, they now had at least a dozen long-term participants on board, as well as a steady influx of regular customers. While all this was quite an achievement in itself, the guys always wished for the introduction of new faces aboard their project.

After Eric had left, Dylan had logged on to their website, checking up on current orders, and posting an announcement about upcoming releases, when the phone suddenly rang.

"Hello?" Dylan answered, just as he finalized the latest details on the site, and shut the computer down.

A silence followed his greeting, which made Dylan irritable. As Eric had earlier stated, Josie would arrive soon, and he had to set up, hence, that gave him no time to play games.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Dylan prompted, ready to hang up, when a small voice suddenly spoke.

"Umm... yes... is this Dylan from the ummm, website that sells... poop videos?"

"Yes it is. How may I be of service to you today?" Dylan asked, his impatient manner instantly replaced by his most courteous and professional tone.

"Umm... well, you see... I was thinking that maybe... I wondered how one goes about.... being in one?"

Excited at the prospect of bringing a new participant onboard, Dylan launched himself into a detailed explanation of the business's specifics, down to the distribution of the salary.

Once again, there was a lengthy pause, and Dylan feared she might have hung up, but then he was relieved when he finally heard the small, uncertain voice.

"It's really foolish of me to even be contemplating this. I kind of need a job right now, and I'm really having trouble finding something. Plus, my parents and I aren't on the best of terms, so I can't really count on them for support... Oh gosh..." she finished, letting out a nervous giggle.

"I understand." Dylan encouraged, pressing her further.

"Anyway, like I said, I can't believe I'm doing this. What if someone finds out?" she asked, her voice rich with skepticism.

"The best part about our business, is that we respect our participants and their anonymity. If one wishes not to reveal their face on camera, we can make sure that doesn't happen." Dylan said reassuringly.

Another long pause ensued, presumably so that the girl could contemplate that revelation.

"Well, I've come this far, so it would be kind of stupid to back out now... Umm... when should I do this?"

Dylan considered for a moment before answering,

"Well, usually I'd let you decide on your own terms, but we have a rather busy schedule for the rest of the week, so how about you drop by next Monday?"

"Ummm, yeah sure. That sounds okay."

"Okay, great! By the way, you haven't told me your name. Just so I can add you to the schedule."

"Oh yeah, sorry. It's Sarah. Sarah Whitmore."

"Okay Sarah, I'll be looking forward to seeing you next Monday, and thanks for your interest in joining us. I know it's a bit daunting, and you've been very brave in coming forward."

Afterwards, they both set a time, preferably a time of day during which Sarah was most accustomed to having a bowel movement, then Dylan gave instructions on how to get to his location, hung up, then made final preparations before Josie's arrival.

The following Monday, Dylan eagerly awaited Sarah's arrival, while Eric and Josh were both busy overseeing the filming of two videos in progress. After the appointed time had come and gone, Dylan feared Sarah had had second thoughts and would not show. From where he stood, he concentrated on the sounds coming from the den's bathroom, as Rebecca Porter released a long, guttural groan, which was followed by a loud splash, and heavy panting, indicating that she had at last won her arduous battle against an obviously stubborn turd.

Dylan began wondering how Sarah would go about taking a shit. Would it require a lot of pushing on her part, or would her anal offerings be expulsed effortlessly?

It turned out he would not have long to wait before finding out as the doorbell rang. Not wanting to seem too eager, he made his way casually to the door, opening it to greet the sight of the girl standing on his porch.

Sarah looked up at him, then swiveled around, her gaze glancing furtively, as though trying to reassure herself that nobody she knew would notice her here, somehow certain that everyone would automatically know the purpose of her visit.

Noticing her obvious discomfort, Dylan invited her into the concealing confines of his home, shutting the door behind them. He took this opportunity to formally introduce himself and to assess her as subtly as he could, so as not to give the impression that he was staring. He guessed she was approximately twenty years of age, 5'4" and 120 pounds. She had shoulder length, brown hair, and from what he could see in this light, minimal makeup was used to accentuate her soft, hazel eyes.

It was mid-September, and yet, the colorful leaves were a false testament to the Indian summer which was presently in their midst. Sarah obviously took every advantage of the last remaining balmy days of the season, by wearing a loose fitting, short-sleeved blouse, and a knee-length floral patterned skirt, completing the whole ensemble with low-heeled flats.

Upon final inspection, Dylan concluded that Sarah's appearance was not outdone or imposing, but rather, refreshingly plain. A trait that he encouraged rather than dissuaded. In no way, did he require the participants of his videos to look glamorous. Rather, he wanted natural young women that the consumers could associate with and relate to.

Dylan proceeded to familarize Sarah with the key points of what the video productions entailed, when he was suddenly interrupted by the rumbling "whoosh" of the overhead toilet, followed by a deep, male voice mingling with playful, female laughter. They both looked up to see a lightweight, Asian girl descending the steps, followed by a burly man with a goatee and baseball cap, wearing a Motley Crue t-shirt, and faded, torn jeans. The Asian girl was in the process of buttoning up her open blouse which exposed the peaks of her braless, dark nipples, talking animatedly to the guy behind her.

At the bottom of the stairs, the girl noticed Sarah, and gave an approving smile to Dylan.

"I see you've found yourself a new one. Good job!"

"Thanks, Zoe." Dylan said, rather modestly.

"Zoe, this is Sarah. Sarah, Zoe."

The two girls smiled and shook hands. Sarah noticed that Zoe's blouse still revealed a hint of perky breast, a fact that Zoe didn't seem to notice, or perhaps purposefully chose not to acknowledge.

The guy with the baseball cap put his arm around Zoe, as he began heaping extensive praise upon her.

"This here is our pride and joy. She's what keeps our business afloat, so to speak. Zoe sold more videos than all of the other girls combined. No disregard towards the other girls of course, they all work very hard. But Zoe here is something special. She shits like a horse and she just makes them keep coming back for more. This is a first class, grade-A turd maker. Speaking of which, she just laid six, huge beauties in your upstairs toilet. I thought we'd need the plunger to get it all down!" the capped man enthused, emphasizing his point by lightly pinching Zoe's butt.

Zoe squealed and giggled like an excited school girl, before turning her attention to Sarah.

"Well, good luck. As you can probably tell, the guys here like it when you lay it on thick. If you know what I mean. The bigger your stash, the bigger their wad of cash. And let's not forget their other wad." Zoe said, bursting into uncontrollable fits of giggles again. Sarah just smiled faintly, not really sure how to respond.

Dylan scheduled a time for Zoe to make her next video, and after hasty farewells, she left on a breeze.

"She really has life into her", the capped man observed, whose name Sarah soon found out was Josh.

"Well bud, the bathroom upstairs is free for you. I'll go take a look downstairs to see how Rebecca and Eric are doing. They've been down there an awfully long time."

"Well, you know how Rebecca is. It always takes her forever to pinch a loaf." Dylan commented.

"True, true... So, I don't want to keep you any further. I'll extend Zoe's sentiments and wish you good luck, Sarah." Josh said, adding,

"I'd really like to see you in action, but I don't think my good friend Dylan would let me."

"Not a chance. You never let me film Zoe, so, we're even." Dylan joked.

With all bantering aside, Dylan led Sarah upstairs, into the bathroom.

"Pheeew! Zoe sure knows how to raise a stink!" Dylan exclaimed in mock disgust, noticing how Sarah crinkled her nose slightly.

In order to divert Sarah's attention, Dylan suggested,

"So, how about we start setting up? I hope you don't mind shitting in the nude? What we do is we take into consideration what the customers suggest, and we then follow certain themes. Sometimes they want to see women wearing business attire, other times, it will be provocative lingerie. Lately, a lot of people have been requesting nudity, so that's the theme we've been following throughout our last several productions."

Sarah shrugged nonchalantly, indicating her consent, watching as Dylan prepared the camcorder.