Landlord Needs a Deposit

It's probably best to read the first part first, to get a sense for the characters. Heather is the landlord, in her early 60s. Mark is a college senior about to graduate, who rents a room from her. In part 1 Heather caught Mark in a scat session, but to his surprise was sympathetic to his cause.

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A few days later there was a knock on my door. I opened to see Heather, my landlord. I was worried she might be uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or evasive, after what happened between us on Tuesday. But she gave me a smile, and then a hug. "Hi, again! This time I thought I'd knock. I don't want to surprise you like I did last time. But that turned out OK, don't you think?"

"More than OK. My toes took hours to unclench. What brings you here?"

"When is your graduation?"

"The big ceremony is Sunday at 2 o'clock. Why?"

"I was hoping I could attend and see you off. But only if you have an extra ticket - your family comes first, of course."

"No family, unfortunately. My mom and dad split when I was young, and I'm no longer in contact with my mom. My dad passed away a few years ago. He would have been so proud to see me graduate. I haven't even invited any of my friends, since they're all seniors like me and graduating themselves. So unfortunately it's just me."

"I'm so sorry. I thought it might be something like that. I've been bringing in the mail for two years now and haven't seen so much as a birthday card or a care package. So I thought you might be alone. It's sad you've got no one to cheer you on and be proud of you - you deserve better at graduation. It's one of life's milestones and everyone I know has fond memories of it."

She had a point - I was a little bummed out, watching all my friends celebrating with their families. But you can only play the hand you're dealt. I told her "It's OK. I'm used to it. I'll be fine."

After a few seconds she said shyly, "If you want, I could be your family for graduation. Cheer when you cross the stage. Pictures afterward with your cap and gown and diploma. A celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant. I never had any kids or grandkids, so this could be my chance to be a proud mama. I know I'm not your real family, but I'd be more than happy to do that, if you'd like."

"You'd do that? That would be great! I can get you a ticket for the ceremony, and I'd be delighted to celebrate afterwards. But nothing too fancy -- I can't afford it."

"Don't worry -- it's on me. That's what family is for. I've seen you work hard, and I'd be more than proud to be your 'mom'. Plus it's fun to have an occasion to celebrate - I don't get to do that nearly as often as I like.

"Now for another more personal question. I had a great time a few days ago. By far, my favorite part was just sitting and casually chatting about scat sex. Treating it as matter of fact, with not just acceptance but shared enjoyment. That was wonderfully therapeutic, helping unwind a tension that's been gnawing at me for forty years. Would you be willing to do that again? I know young men prefer action to small talk, but if you can be patient and humor me on this, I'll make it *very* worth your while."

"That's quite an offer! Are you sure? When would we do this?"

"I'm completely sure, at least according to the warmth in my snatch when I think about it. We'll start sometime after your graduation. I'll let you know when. I'm off now to do some errands, but see you at the ceremony!"

Her offers really improved my mood. I was quietly bummed about graduating by myself when everyone else was celebrating with their families. But now I had a 'mom' and could celebrate like the others. Plus the vision of no-limits sex for the cost of a conversation cheered me up considerably.

So Sunday afternoon, I walked the stage, she took pictures of me and my classmates, and then we went to the booth where I framed my diploma. Most everyone thought she was my mom, and she positively beamed every time someone complemented her on her son. She had a great time and I was happy for her, perhaps even happier than she was for me.

After the ceremony, we drove home and got ready for dinner. True to her word, she'd made reservations at a new and posh place in town, and told me to put on my best clothes. I wore the suit I'd just purchased for job interviews -- the only formal clothes I own. She, on the other hand, dug through her closet and found a gorgeous evening dress. It was a little tight and she needed my help to zip it up. It was low cut in the front so I got to see at least parts of her boobs and cleavage for the first time - I'd never seen her before without some sort of shirt or blouse or sweatshirt, certainly as my landlord and even when we were making out, so I didn't know what I was missing. Turns out I was missing plenty and my pants suddenly got a little tighter. Overall she looked great and I told her so. She in turn told me she was happy to have an occasion to wear nice clothes - it was not very often she got to do so.

I offered my arm and started heading to the driveway, but she said "It's a special occasion! This calls for the fancy car." I didn't even know she had another car -- all I'd seen drive was her very practical beat-up Toyota - but she opened the garage and there was a shiny high-end Mercedes! She said it was an unexpected inheritance from a close friend who passed away but had no family. "I'd hate to sell it, as it's the last remaining link to my friend, but it's not my style and I hardly ever use it. I would never have bought such a car for myself - I'm more on the cheap and practical side. Plus I can't use it for work - it's hard to sit across from a vendor and tell them you can't afford their product, when you just arrived in a car that costs several times their annual salary. I drive it just enough to keep it in shape. For a fancy dinner celebration, though, it's perfect! Hop in!"

The car and her dress were a perfect match, whereas I felt I was distinctly under-dressed - a tux would have been in order. She drove to the restaurant with the top down, where she gave the keys to the valet (another first for me). We went in and got seated right away.

The restaurant was modern, made of all of stone and glass, with tables packed close together. Between the hard surfaces and the boisterous graduation crowd, it was so loud it was hard to talk. So we sat close, very close, which was fine with me.

To begin, Heather picked out a very nice bottle of champagne, much pricier than anything I could have afforded, and proposed a toast to my graduation. I told her with a straight face, "Sorry, can't do that. I'm not old enough to drink." She nearly spit out her champagne.

"But you're a senior in college!"

"Sure, but I took a lot of APs in high school. I tested out of most of my freshman classes, and by taking a few extra courses I graduated in three years. I'll turn 21 next month. So by law, you're free to offer me your body but not a drink. But in practice I'm happy to accept both. Cheers! And sorry for pulling your chain like that."

"Thanks for reminding me I'm a cradle-robbing cougar. On the other hand, I'm quite pleased that a man so young would find me interesting - the world is seldom kind to older women. So cheers!"

Heather then asked if I'd like an appetizer of raw oysters, and when I said I loved them but could seldom afford them, she ordered a plate. I started to eat them enthusiastically while she looked on amused and said, "Oysters are a weird aphrodisiac. You eat them but I'm the one who gets aroused. Something about watching you suck something small and slimy and a little odd tasting from something you hold in your hand." I offered her one but she turned it down. "I'm not quite ready to try that yet. I've got girlfriends who think they're fun to eat, and one or two have privately offered me a taste. They claimed the taste is unique, and I might like them very much if I tried them. So far, I've always said no thanks, but as I get older I wonder what I'm missing. I suspect I'll try them sooner or later."

I mentioned again how noisy the restaurant was, and she said "That's why I chose it. It's perfect for our scat talk."

"Here? In a crowded restaurant? Are you nuts?"

"Can you understand what the folks at the next table are saying?"

"No way. I'm sitting right next to you, and I almost need to read lips just to understand you!"

"So what's the problem? Let me demonstrate." In a loud voice she said "Listen everyone! If you can hear this, come on over and piss on me! Take a dump in my mouth! Cover me with your diarrhea!"

While she was speaking, I was cringing and hiding under the table, but she was right. No one even noticed. I relaxed a little, and I'm sure the bottle of champagne didn't hurt either. Plus she reminded me, "If you want the fringe benefits, you have to take the job." So we talked.

She asked me to describe my what scat scenes really made me horny. "One I really like is when a woman has a thick coating of shit on her boobs, especially her nipples. Then while her partner lies on their back, the woman, on her hands and knees, carefully hangs her filthy nipples, one at a time, into their mouth for cleaning. Then she lowers her cleavage onto their face, and squirms back and forth to finish the decoration."

Heather replied, "That would be great for me, too. I love smearing shit on my tits, and having my nipples licked. Got another favorite?"

"How about when a woman pushes big messy handfuls of shit into her mouth until it's completely full, and nothing more will fit - her cheeks are bulging and her wide open mouth is filled to the brim. That's already sexy enough, but then she firmly shoves in something else - a dildo, a cock, or a ball gag. As it penetrates, the shit oozes out the sides of her mouth."

Heather said "Oooh, that's a great visual."

"I think so too. When I'm playing by myself, and I have a nice big soft pile, I do this in front of a mirror. But I use various household objects for insertion since I don't own a dildo."

"I can fix that. I've got several which you're welcome to use, on you or on me. These ideas are great - give me another!"

I hesitated. She said "Spit it out. Remember you need to be completely open, no secrets, or no deal. And anyway, how much more perverse can it be, compared to what you've already admitted to?"

I cringed a little and said "OK, another favorite of mine is combination of open mouth scat chewing and braces. Don't get me wrong - I'm not a pervert, at least not *that* kind of pervert. The woman with the braces has be firmly over the age of consent." I continued, "It's a combination of two rather niche fetishes, so there is not a lot of material, but I find it super arousing. When I find a scene like that, I watch it over and over, and it never fails to turn me on." Heather patted my hand and told me she appreciated my honesty.

In return she told a few of her own favorites. Most were things I'd already thought of, and would be more than happy to help her with. A close up view of a huge dump into a previously pristine cleavage. Licking the ass of someone who desperately needs to go, provoking a shit explosion that fills the mouth and covers the face. Lots of mutual and enthusiastic licking of very dirty asses, and so on.

One fantasy I could not help with, though, was a three-folks-or-more scat scene. Until a few days ago I don't even know a single other person who would be remotely interested. She was in exactly the same boat, and neither of us were willing to trust a stranger, so we reluctantly decided we'd have to table that notion for the time being. She made me promise, though, that if I ever found anyone else interested in scat, man or woman, that I'd introduce them to her and we could revisit the issue. That's a story for a later date.

Then she added, "While we're on the subject of threesomes, I'm happy to try other stuff for your reward for humoring me. Almost anything you want as long as it's ethical. If you'd prefer a threesome, or bondage, or role play, or exhibitionism, or whatever, just ask. I promise I won't be offended, no matter what you ask for, and my door might well be open." I thanked her for the offer, but told her I'd stick with scat for my reward. It was both my strongest desire, and the hardest fetish to find partners, compared to any other possibility that intrigued me.

Then she said "My pussy is loving this talk about scat, but my brain says says we need to talk about some practical issues. I'm really busy the next few weeks, and you are leaving in a week and a half. Would it kill the buzz to schedule when we could get together?" She added that her main concern was that in her experience, once she came from playing with shit, the natural revulsion would return, and scat sex was off the menu for a few months. By that time I'd be gone. "I think we are both hoping for a couple of get togethers, but if I come at our first meeting, as you did, there will be no second. I guess this is how guys feel, when you desperately want to come, but not too soon, as that would ruin everything.

"It may seem weird to plan sex in advance, but could we spend the first date, in the next few days, concentrating on your desires? Then a week later, once you've recovered your scat enthusiasm, and mine is even stronger, we'll meet again, for our last meeting before you go. This time we'll concentrate on me, and play until I come. That's the stopping point, for after that I know I'll not be just disinterested, but appalled. Then we clean up and we are done. Would that be an OK plan?"

"Of course, whatever works for you. I feel lucky beyond belief to share any of this with you, so feel free to plan what is best for you. And I like the anticipation that comes before a big date. But I do have a question.

"Is this really something you can realistically plan, to realize your long-held fantasies and not come while doing so? No way I could do that. You saw that last Tuesday - about 30 seconds of serious scat play and blam, I could not help but come. Presumably I can do better when it's not the first time, but a whole session of scat play without coming? I'm surprised you're sure you can do this."

"Perhaps you have me confused with the female protagonist of a porn story? Unlike those lucky souls, or horny young males, I don't orgasm at the slightest provocation. Even intense sexual activities, ones I've dreamed about for years, won't do the trick for me without the right sort of stimulation. Penetration alone, for example, never works - I need fingers or a tongue or a vibrator, in the right spot, and pretty sustained at that. The last thing I'm worried about is an accidental orgasm."

"But that seems unfair to you, to have a session where I get an orgasm and you get nothing. I feel guilty when that happens, even with a girlfriend and regular sex, where we can try again tomorrow. Here you are proposing to do it on purpose!"

"Don't worry. It's far from nothing - it's hot and it's wonderful, and there's a lot of satisfaction to be had by pleasing your partner until they lose control. You saw that on Tuesday.

"And for a woman it's hardly unusual. When I was young, I must have had sex hundreds of times without coming, until I finally worked up the nerve to tell my partners exactly what I needed, or help myself along. But sex still felt great and the pent up desire made me even more eager to try again. Don't worry, I know what I'm getting myself into. I'll be fine. Let's keep planning."

As far as timing, we figured that early in the day was best, since in terms of voiding habits we were both 'morning people'. But neither of us was an early bird, so we settled on nine to noon - enough time to get up, have a cup of coffee, do the deed on each other and clean up. The only day she could easily get away from work in the morning was Tuesday, and there were only two Tuesdays before I departed. "If that's not enough I'll re-arrange my work schedule. That would piss my co-workers off, but I'd do it. I've waited forty years for this opportunity and do not intend to miss it."

"Two more sessions seems like a good plan for now. A week between sessions gives me the time to get back into the scat spirit, after I came from the last one. As far as more than two sessions, I'm conflicted in the same way you described. On the one hand, I'm partly hoping that once I get this out of my system, I can be glad I tried it, but return to more normal desires. On the other hand I can also see myself leaning into it and craving more."

"Since you don't know which, we'll need to run the experiment. If you try sex with shit and feel no urge to repeat, or even if you look back on it with disgust, I think that's perfectly OK. At least, unlike me, you would not spend your next forty years wondering what might have been. Now for me, I think it's too late for hopes of one-and-done - I suspect it will only make me hungry for more. But if so that's not your problem - I'm the one who will need to find a new partner."

She concluded, "Enough second guessing the future - let's agree on a specific plan. Here is my suggestion: We meet Tuesday morning, 9:00 AM, and play until you get your rocks off. I'm up for whatever turns you on the most - we could be two friends playing together, or I could be the domme that forces you to do what you secretly desire, or conversely the three hole cum-dump slut who begs to be abused. Fuck, I'm getting hot just thinking of the possibilities. In any case I'll enjoy the action, but not to the point of orgasm.

"You'll need to make sure you finish before 11 o'clock, the latest we could break and still have time for cleanup. Then the following Tuesday, same time, our second and last meeting, where our roles are reversed. This time the goal is my pleasure - I command and you obey until I come, at which point we are done.

"I should warn you that for you, this second meeting might suck. We're not characters in a porn story, so it's rather unlikely we'll both come at the exact same time. If you come first you'll need to continue despite your disgust - you owe that to me. And if I come first, you'll have to leave and then pleasure yourself without me - the second I achieve orgasm, we stop immediately and I run to clean up, no matter where you are in the process. That's a risk for you, but it's a problem women have faced for years. Is that OK?"

I said that sounded more than fair, and she thanked me and gave me a quick peck on the lips to seal the deal. Her next step surprised me, though. She pulled out her phone and opened her calendar. On Tuesday she selected 9 to 12, then added "Scat sex with Mark; his orgasm". Then for the next Tuesday she entered "Scat sex with Mark; my turn!". I was slightly taken aback and asked if she often organized her love life this way.

"Yes, I'm a project manager. It's in my blood."

After putting her phone away, she explained that as she got older, she was tired of being conservative and getting more and more eager to try new things. "For example, I'm not wearing panties under my dress tonight." With that, she placed took my hand from the table, placed it on her thigh, and pushed it up towards her cunt. She was unbelievably wet, and groaned when I inserted a finger. "Ooh, that feels fantastic. I've always fantasized about heavy petting under the table in a crowded restaurant. In real life it's even better! A little further in, please. I don't know if you can reach my g-spot in this position, but it's worth a try." As she spoke she reached across, fondled the lump in my pants, tugged down the zipper and snaked her hand inside. "Another plus! The feel of a hard dick in my hand always get me going!" Then she gave me a quick kiss, with just a little tongue. "And to top it off, I'm sitting with someone, discussing the joy of shit sex, and they're not only sympathetic, but aroused. This is my ideal trifecta of foreplay. I'm so fucking horny that if you touched my clit I'd probably explode."