Secret Behind Close Doors

A special thanks to my editor/friend @Kenjisato for his help. His quick and precise editing allowed me to publish this old story of mine that had almost been lost in my files.

Disclaimer: My story is entirely a work of imagination. It is based on SCAT fetish and may not intrigue some readers, so proceed with caution. All characters in the story are 18+. My intention is not to harm or disrespect anyone but to use these elements to share a spicy, erotic story.

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It was around seven o'clock in the evening, and everyone had left the playground. The kids from other neighbourhoods had also left the grounds. The streetlights surrounding the Evergreen Society had turned on. Knowing that everyone had left the grounds, the watchman was seated to watch the cricket match on his phone. But little did he know that there were people unknown to him breaking in.

In the quiet, dusty corner of the sprawling playground, there stood the communal washroom. It was often overlooked, having the big mango tree beside it. The washroom was barely used by anyone, but the night janitor always made sure to keep it sparkling clean. And because of his dedication, a few special types of individuals were attracted to this cleanliness.

And, Rohan was one of them.

Rohan, a chubby, short-in-stature, oily skinned, 19-year-old was on a mission. A mission that he believed would help him to understand the minds and nature of women. So, risking it all, he decided to play bold and start his research by spying in ladies' washroom.

Rohan was a pervert, whose mind was consumed by lust and porn. He lived with his widowed mother and his mother's unmarried sister. Rohan's world was a dark, erotic maze that consumed his decency.

It had all started with him and in his pornographic-wonderland-of-a-mind, where he pictured his mother and aunt getting down and dirty, having lesbian sex.

When plain ol' jerking off to these thoughts didn't cut it, he started stealing their panties, just to inhale the musky scent of their most intimate moments. With the fabric clutched in his hand, held to his face, he'd jerk off to the thought of their naked forms, his imagination running wild.

But that also didn't fulfill his hunger for lust. So, he started snapping pics of them while they were bathing or shitting on the toilet. It was good, but nothing close to what he had imagined. He needed them to get dirty and to do all kinds of nasty stuff he had been seeing on the internet.

His fortunes turned, when he found an AI website that could make his wildest dreams come true. He used the AI to graft his mom's and aunt's faces onto his favourite porn stars' bodies, creating a depraved fantasy world. For a few glorious months, he made several videos, stroking his dick twice an hour.

During that time, he stumbled upon a genre of hidden-cam-footage-style videos. The videos mainly consisted of mature ladies pooping, the sound of it splattering in the toilet, and the moans of their constipation being the ultimate high. He realized seeing ladies poop made him hard and horny--Rohan had found his fetish. But sadly, those kinds of videos were hard to find, and half of them were poorly made and unfinished, or they were scripted acting.

Rohan took the matters into his own hands, deciding to film his own videos. Once the decision wad made, he found that setting up the cam in the toilet was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. But the results were outstanding. Rohan saw his aunt squatting on their Indian-style toilet, positioning her anus, and then releasing her pressure on the porcelain bowl. The sight of her bare ass widening, and the way her asshole stretched to release a long log of poop was--breathtaking.

Rohan thought the best video that he ever took was one of his mom. It was a bright, sunny morning, and after finishing her morning tea, Rohan's mother approached the bathroom. She was dressed in a simple white-cotton sari, the pallu thrown over her shoulder, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts as she moved.

She squatted gracefully over the Indian-style toilet, her petticoat pooling around her ankles. As she did her business, little did she know that her private intimate movement was being recorded.

Her right hand moved slowly under the fabric of her sari, her eyes closed in concentration. Her tension was clearly visible in her face as she bit her lip, a soft, pink tongue darting out to wet her lips. Rohan's mother was pleasuring herself, and the sight of it was both shocking and oddly mesmerizing.

She would often come across as a soft-spoken, very naive lady, and, being a widow on top of that, was a gift for this scene. Since that, in our culture, a widow must-- at any cost-- keep herself away from any kind of sexual pleasure, and in doing so, was strictly taboo.

So, when Rohan saw the recording, he couldn't help but to start jerking off.

Her fingers began to move more vigorously, her hips rocking gently, as she pushed one finger into her vagina. A soft, guttural moan escaped her mouth, the sound sending a shiver down his spine.

He watched, unable to look away, as she advanced and retreated, the rhythm growing more urgent. Rohan was torn between the thought of desire to join her and the fear of being caught.

The sound of her moans grew louder, her breath coming in short gasps. She leaned forward, her breasts swaying as she bit down harder on the pallu of her sari.

Rohan saw the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her body trembling with the effort to stay quiet. The sight of his mother in such a state of arousal was a blessing of ecstasy.

As the pressure grew inside of her, she could no longer hold back the sounds of her pleasure. The wet, squelching noise of her finger in her pussy, filled the small space, punctuated by the occasional splash of piss against the porcelain bowl. She reached with her other hand to squeeze one of her breasts, the nipple hardening under her touch.

Rohan's eyes widened at the sight; he tried to time his hand movement with hers.

As the pressure built, she felt a slimy log of shit creeping its way out of her anus, stretching her anal walls as it went, revealing its full length. She pushed harder, the tip of her finger reaching deeper into her pussy, and she felt the beginnings of her climax. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of relief and ecstasy that made her toes curl and her body quiver.

The shit log still sliding out of her sphincter, Rohan's mother's face contorted with pleasure and satisfaction. Her moans grew deeper, her breath hitching in her throat, as she felt the pressure build in both of her holes. Her pussy clenched around her finger, begging for release, while the thick log of shit was still slowly coming out from her asshole.

The slimy, steamy stream of cum began to trickle out of her pussy, coating her finger as it danced in her wetness. It rolled down the shit like a serpent on a slide, spiraling down the length of it.

Rohan's eyes followed the path of the cum, as it rilled down the shit log. He had already come, but his dick remained erect, and he mirrored his mother's masturbation.

His mother's moans grew louder, and she could feel her climax approaching. Her hand worked feverishly, her finger plunging in and out of her pussy. Imagining the scent of her arousal and seeing the sight of her release were intoxicating.

The shit continued to slide out of her, the length of it surprising even to her in the throes of her pleasure. It was almost surreal, the way it gleamed in the early morning light, a testament to the power of her body's functions. The cum was flowing freely then, mixing with the remnants of her pussy's natural lubrication and running down the length of the shit like a stream of white lava.

Her hand moved faster, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure in her bowels reached a climax, and with one final push, the long shit exited her body with a wet plop. The sensation of release was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure through her that made her whole body convulse.

Rohan's mother leaned back slightly, her pussy contracted around her finger, her orgasm washing over her in a tide of sensation that made her toes curl and her back arch. The cum spurted out of her, mixing with the remains of her climax and the slickness of the shit she had just expelled.

His mother's face was a mask of pure ecstasy, her eyes squeezed shut as she rode the wave of pleasure. As she finished, she slowly opened her eyes and looked down at the mess she had made. The slimy log of shit lay coiled in the toilet bowl, surrounded by the stream of cum pooling around it like a moat. She took a deep, shaky breath and pulled her hand away, the digit glistening with the evidence of her climax. She felt a mix of satisfaction and embarrassment, not knowing that she had an audience.

She took a moment to compose herself. With a sigh, she flushed the toilet, watching the water swirl around the shit and cum, pulling it into the abyss.

After that, he filmed several videos of his mom and aunt doing their business. But the thrill of watching his own mom and aunt pooping slowly started to fade away. He yearned for something more, something new that would make his dick throb like never before.

Rohan knew what he needed, and where he could find it. Watching just his mom and aunt was no longer cutting it for him-- he needed new people; new anal holes to explore, to see others relishing their smelly, little secrets.

It was seven-twenty, as Rohan made his way from the back gates of the playground. He wore a grey hoodie and shorts, with blue sandals. Rohan made sure that no one was there; he stood quietly in the shadows of the old mango tree.

With heavy breathing and anticipation, Rohan stood in front of the empty communal washroom. He had been monitoring this place for a while; he had seen young moms with their kids come to this playground every evening, and they often used this clean washroom as their gossip ground. It was a perfect place for him to film.

He slowly approached the washroom, he knew the night janitor came around ten o'clock, so he had enough time to set the cams in the washroom.

With a mischievous smile, Rohan pushed open the door to the ladies' side and walked in. There were five stalls and one small mirror and basin. Rohan walked to the second-last stall and opened its door. Only this stall had an Indian-style toilet, as rest of them were western-style toilets.

Rohan's heart raced, as he slowly pulled out the small spy cams out of his pocket. Slowly and carefully, he began the installation. He was half done when he heard some soft giggles coming from outside. The laughing grew louder, more intense, and suddenly, the door to the washroom burst open.

Rohan, in panic, quickly closed the stall door and covered his mouth. He started sweating, with the weight of fear and confusion on his brow. With trembling hands, he pressed his ear to the cold metal, where he heard three different voices, all were female, talking with each other. They were laughing, and for some reason, their voices felt familiar.

Rohan thought nervously, had he made a miscalculation? The playground didn't allow trespassers after seven. So, that meant they had also snuck in, just like he had done. But from there carefree voices, it was clear they had done this before.

Rohan decided to abort his mission, and quickly bent down to remove the cams. In doing so, his phone fell out of his pocket. Rohan rushed to grab it but the phone hit his wrist and skidded under the stall divider, landing with a muffled thump on the other side.

Rohan froze in fear, as he couldn't believe what had just happened in front of his eyes. Suddenly, he heard a cry, followed by a hard slam on the stall door. Rohan knew it was over for him, he squatted down and covered his head with his arms. He heard two hard knocks on his stall door; he didn't answer. After a bit, everything went quiet.

Rohan looked under the stall divider, and saw his phone on the other side of the divider. Rohan leaned down with a trembling arm to get his phone. Just as he was about to grab it, a woman's shoe came down hard on his hand. It hurt so much that he yelled out. He pulled his hand back and held it to his chest, really scared.

Rohan's eyes watered up with tears, when he heard a soft, muffled giggle. He slowly looked up, and froze in horror. He saw the woman who had just stomped on his hand, smiling down at him from the top of the stall. She had his phone in her grip and a look of pure mischief on her face.

Although Rohan had a backup plan for this kind of scenario, the problem was those three ladies weren't just any strangers, whom he could trick with his words. They were from the same building he lived in, and they knew him very well. The three ladies were Savita, Rehema, and Soma-- all housewives and very well-known in the neighborhood.

"Ladies, looks like we have found a fat pervert piggy," Savita said, with a cruel smile.

***

Savita, the eldest one who had stomped on Rohan's hand, lived on the same floor as Rohan. She was thirty-nine years old, with a perfect figure, but was shorter than Rehema and Soma. Her complexion was a color of a light brown tone, with long, sharp eyes; her breasts were big, and often swung when she walked, mainly because, for an unknown reason, she never wore a bra.

Rehema, the second member of their group, was thirty-three years old, but looked younger than her age. She lived on the third floor with her daughter and husband. She had several online affairs, and she hated Rohan, as she had often found him looking at her big, thick ass, when she would wait for her daughter's school bus. She had a fair complexion, with long hair and a sharp jawline.

Having it been only three years since Soma had moved into their building with her husband, she was the newest addition to the group and youngest at twenty-eight. With a sweet and charming look, she spoke in a soft, sweet voice and smiled at everyone, but deep down, she was frustrated with her husband's weak performance in bed. She had been forced to marry her husband, but she still loved her ex-boyfriend. Soma had a slim figure, a fair complexion, with round eyes and curly hair.

***

Rehema grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out from the stall. Her nails dug into his skin, as she dragged him to the corner.

"You think you can spy on us, you pig?" Rehema snarled, her grip tightening.

She threw him onto the cold floor, his back hitting the tiles with a thud. Rohan hurriedly sat up, his eyes darting between the three housewives. Three figures loomed over him; their faces contorted with anger. He opened his mouth to explain something, but Soma cut him off.

"Let's report him to the police," Soma said, softly.

"Noo!" Rohan exclaimed, in desperation, his voice echoing, like a pinball.

Rehema, who had a serious grudge with Rohan, lipped in and kicked him in the chest. Soma's eyes widened; she felt a little bad for Rohan. Savita, on the other hand, found it very amusing.

Rohan felt the sharp pain in his chest. He, somehow, managed to stay on his knees. He knew if he didn't act quickly, he was done for. Rohan's heart raced faster than a Formula One car as he constructed his words. His eyes darted from Rehema's furious gaze to Savita's smug smile, and then to Soma, who looked genuinely disgusted. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

"I... I... was just... uh... I'm not spying. I swear!" His voice cracked like a whip in the tense silence.

"What the fuck then, are you doing here, you fat perv?" Rehema said, her voice echoing through the otherwise quiet ladies' bathroom.

"I'm just... I'm making a ghost-hunting video for my YouTube channel!" Rohan said, in a shaky voice.

Soma folded her arms, her eyes skeptical.

"Since when do ghosts hang out in the ladies' toilet?" she scoffed.

"This place is haunted!" Rohan protested, his voice rising in desperation. "Everyone knows it! I hear strange noises here all the time!"

Savita bent down, her eyes scanning his oily, pimple-covered face, with a knowing smirk.

"Oh really?" she said, dropping two small things in front of him. "But this says otherwise."

Rohan, who had totally forgotten about this spy cam, froze, as Savita crushed them under her running shoe.

"Say, what is your channel name?" Soma asked.

At this point, Rohan had lost his mind. He was so scared and afraid that he didn't know what to say. Seeing him confused and helpless, Savita and Rehema started laughing.

"Your YouTube career is over before it even started," Rehema said, slapping him hard across the face. "No one is buying your bullshit."

The slap brought tears to his eyes; he wanted to scream and hit them back, but he knew if he made one single move, it was over for him. They had the power to ruin his life.

"Please, don't tell anyone. Savita auntie," Rohan said, his voice thick with desperation.

He climbed to his knees in front of Savita, and bent down, for forgiveness.

"Please, forgive me. I will never do anything like this ever again," Rohan begged.

A wicked smirk played on Savita's lips. She looked and took Rohan's phone.

"Okay, but promise me first," Savita said in a straight voice.

Rohan couldn't believe his ears; he quickly looked up and saw Savita holding his phone in front of his face. Before he could react, Rehema grabbed him by his hair and chin. With some focused adjustment, Rohan's phone unlocked from his facial recognition.

Savita, with a mischievous smile on her face, took a few steps back and stood close to Soma. Fear washed over Rohan's body, as he watched them looking over his phone. His body reacted automatically, and he proceeded to stand, but a hard kick from Rehema made him fall on his back. She quickly stomped on his ankle, making him immobilized.

It didn't take much time for them to find Rohan's video collection. As soon as they opened the gallery, hundreds of videos popped up. As they clicked one video after another, Soma's and Savita's facial expressions changed.

Soma, who had some sympathy left for Rohan, turned away from the screen with disgust. Savita, with an astonished look on her face, kept on watching; her eyes widened with every click, making her mischievous smile grow even more.

Finally, she looked up from the phone and turned the screen towards Rohan. A video was playing of a lady pooping on a table. Rehema's eyes widened with disgust and shock, as she saw the face of the lady-- it was Gita, Rohan's mother. Savita handed over the phone to Rehema.

"What kind of perv are you?" Savita asked.

Rehema stopped the video and looked at Savita. They exchanged glances, as if Rehema was asking if the videos were real or not.

"Deepfake," Savita said, her voice filled with mystery and excitement. "Our pervy Rohan, here, has a special fetish. He loves to watch ladies pooping."

She looked at Rohan, whose gaze was fixed on the tile floor. Rehema, in disgust and anger, raised her right leg and aimed for Rohan's face, but luckily, he blocked her with his elbows. With watery eyes, he looked at them, thinking it was the end for him.

Suddenly, Savita bent down and looked into Rohan's eyes, trying to figure out how much she could toy with his mind. She placed her hand on his head, and slid it to his cheek, holding it genteelly.

Savita, with a soft, motherly tone, asked, "Rohan, look, at this point, it's useless to hide anything. You know what will happen if your maa finds out about this. And, from your Rehema auntie's and Soma di's looks, it's clear they want the police to be involved."

After a pause, Savita continued, "But you see, I believe everyone has some reason behind their needs, and same goes for you."

Rohan suddenly felt a soothing calm in his heart. He felt as if Savita was an angel, who had come to save his life.