Last week, I embarked on a road trip that took me through several states. It was an adventurous journey filled with unexpected surprises. As I cruised down the highway, my stomach started to rumble. I couldn't hold it any longer and decided to make a pit stop at a small town in Illinois.
The diner I stopped at looked run-down from the outside, but the locals assured me their food was amazing. Sitting on the cracked toilet seat, I let nature take its course. My black thong peeking out from underneath my shorts, a constant reminder of my ebony fetish. As my shit plopped into the old, rusty bowl, I couldn't help but think about the dirt this toilet had seen.
My cell phone was strategically placed over the bowl, capturing every delightful moment of the encounter. As the last of my cum shaped turds slipped into the watery abyss below, I couldn't resist taking a picture of my wipes. Closing my legs slowly, I reveled in the feeling of dirty fluff against my cleanly shaven pussy.
Back on the road, my stomach started to grumble again. A small gas station stand seemed like a good place to quench my hunger. As I devoured a hotdog the size of my arm, I couldn't help but notice the sketchy bathroom sign advertising "underground pleasures." Curiosity getting the better of me, I took a chance and headed down the dark, dingy stairs.
The musty smell of old cigarette smoke and sweat hit me like a ton of bricks. The room was dimly lit, barely illuminating the filthy hole-in-the-ground toilet. Ignoring the worries about hygiene, I squatted and let my tummy empty itself out. Yet again, my phone captured every intimate moment in all its glory.
Feeling triumphant, I wiped up the remaining drops of pee and sauntered out of the disgusting room. The man at the stand gave me a strange look as I left, but I couldn't care less. My second stop had been just as exciting as the first. As night fell, I pulled into a seedy motel just outside of Memphis.
The neon signs outside promised "hourly rates" and "no questions asked." I couldn't resist taking advantage of the cheap thrills. After a long, hot shower, I crawled into bed and let my mind wander. The lights were dim, but not so much that I couldn't see the bathroom door right across from the bed.
As the whiskey bottle emptied itself, so did my bladder. Dragging the porta-potty into the bedroom seemed like a better idea than leaving it in the smelly trailer. I squatted over the small hole, letting out a soft fart as I waited for my stream to start. Once again, my phone captured every moment of the act.
Satisfied with my “performance,” I wiped up the remaining pee and reluctantly put the porta-potty back in the trailer. Tomorrow was another day, but for now, I drifted off to sleep with the smell of bleach and shit lingering in the air.
