I'm Not Proud of This

Taylor could feel something sick on the tip of his tongue. It was crusty and solid, like thick paint chips or sticky potato chips.
He moved his tongue back and forth but he could not pull it into his mouth; it was sticking out and feeling everything around
him.

He did not know where he was either. Everything was dark and wreaked of some familiar foul odor, the walls were slimy in places
and rough in others, and there seemed no exit. The whole place was pitch black.

Taylor walked around in a haze, just feeling the area with his tongue and extending his hands to know the boundaries of the walls.
And then light broke out above him. A narrow gap formed in the roof of the blackness and through it Taylor could see a bright white
bowl with water in it. The bowl came closer.

He tongued the area more rapidly and could feel flecks of wet-mud-like material splatter across his cheeks and lips. He liked it.
And then all of a sudden he was in the white bowl of water. He looked up from the bowl, which he recognized now as a toilet, and
he saw Carter standing in the bathroom.

"You're licking the deepest part of my ass."

And then Taylor woke up. He was drenched in sweat and laying in his bed, naked, with a rock-stiff pistol. He pumped his stomach up
and down and squirted some solid shit out of his ass and onto the wet sheets. It slide around like a water drop on a window.
Taylor eyed it curiously and smushed it with his finger, jabbing little holes in the slippery shit.

"Wow, I'm hungry," Taylor said out loud. The room was empty and black.

Taylor was standing at the side of his bed, staring at the turd, and then he was not at the side of his bed and he was on top of
turd, chomping and slurping. The sides of his mouth were streaked with liquid ass, and his teeth were stained with brown. He loved
the slooshy chomp of the moist diarrhea. And then, even though he loved it so much, he began to vomit. It was just natural, he
thought, that dessert should come after the meal. He looked down at the wet sheets, sheets ruined with shit and vomit and sweat,
and he flopped his torso down. He slid in the mess like a raindrop on a windsheild.

BOOM!

Someone naked burst through the bedroom door. It was a big fat man with a rag in his hand and a bonnet on his head. He had a
microscopic wiener and it pointed straight at Taylor.

"Oh my!" Taylor cried as the river of bodily-fluid mixture ran like a waterfall into his gullet. He gulped big gulps and the
liquid poured from his nose like a faucet. The fat man eyed him seductively.

The man in the doorway gripped his shimmering little smacker and began to jerk it.

"Yeah, jerk that," Taylor said, naked and hard as a boulder.

"I'm jerking it at you!" The man roared, his stomach shaking like a bag of marshmallows. Taylor ran over, his small chooster
smacking against his chicken-thighs. He was gobbling the man's little sausage before either of them knew it. And when the man knew
it, he was happy.

But that's when Taylor realized it: above the man's small stiff coogle was a tattoo. The tattoo was barely distinguishable, but
Taylor could make out the cone, and then the ice cream. Taylor's eyes grew wide as he touched the cock to the back of his throat.

That's when the man started cumming ice cream.

Taylor hadn't realized that there was a hose attached the man's ass, a hose that extended outside and to an ice cream truck. It
was pumping ice cream through his ass and out his wiener! He knew Taylor would fall for the trick.