Comparing it to ordinary, human waste wouldn’t even make sense. Catra certainly didn’t like a mess any more than anybody else, but she usually thought herself too mature to be affected by mere physical sensations, especially ones that didn’t actually harm her. Being on the battlefield every day, after all, meant plenty of filth, sweat, and grime; she’d long since gotten used to the base level of dirtiness that came with waging a war. But the mountains of manure she was now ankle-deep in…it was so viscerally, sickeningly rancid that she couldn’t help but gag at the sheer stench. Every aspect of the tank’s contents was so revolting, to such an intense degree, that she simply could not imagine anyone letting out such fat, foul turdlogs, let alone—

“This…c-came from…ghuhh…G-Glimmer?!”



Is this the filthiest thing I've ever published? I dunno, there's obviously a lot of competition, but I did my best to put it up there.  Cryos's stories were a big inspiration in pushing that to the extreme, so go give her work some love!

This story was available two weeks ago on my SubscribeStar and Patreon! $5 subscribers get access to exclusive commentaries on this and other stories, and $1 subscribers get the next story today—here's a little sneak peek!



Hestia patted her plump cheeks once or twice, reminiscing about nymphs she’d snacked on in her younger days—and the swarms of eager prey that sometimes followed, which she’d only made sense of later. “When someone you worship goes and gets herself bound to some corner of a digestive tract, you’re gonna want to follow suit. Not such a problem, when it’s just a few nature spirits tryin’ to get back in touch with the deity of whatever forest or mountain they came from…but, well, miiight be a little more disruptive if the ideal of beauty itself is paddin’ out my rear, yeah?”

Please login to post a comment.