I normally like to set these TIFU posts with a personal story that relates to the situation. Sometimes it could be something my dumbass friends have done and other times I can be so lucky to have fucked my life the same way.
For this story, there is no built up. No relation. And I HOPE I NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPEN. I was going to say I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy but last time I said that Aaron brought up a good point. Fuck that guy.
Here is what this guy posted on Reddit (see I sourced Reddit stop giving me shit)
I am a single man living in a city in the US. I was raised incredibly religious and recently, already far into adulthood, I have begun to experiment with the mischievous pleasures I have up to this point avoided. My life is currently an oddly connected string of misadventures. Not the least of which happened on the night I fucked up.
One such taboo I have explored is sex with married women. For those unaware, there is a robust online community comprised of couples in open relationships looking to explore sex outside of their partnership. I have dipped my toe into these waters many times with generally positive results. But after the events of this night, I fear I may never again.
I had been talking to Jane (fake name) via text messages for a few weeks until all parties felt comfortable engaging. We decided to meet at a restaurant attached to my apartment building. Dinner was nice and we connected immediately. She’s a beautiful woman a few years older than me. She married young, has at least one child and an understanding husband. The only real mistake at dinner was opting for a second, free bottle of wine that came as part of a previously unknown 2 for 1 deal. We opened it thinking we would have a sip or two, but finished it far too quickly.
After dinner we changed into swimwear and went up to a large ornate hot tub on the roof of my apartment complex. The wine kicked in and we were feeling its romance. There was chemistry. We kissed. Soon we were ready to be alone.
In my apartment we turned the music on and the lights off. She removed her wet swimsuit in a strip-tease performance. All clothes came easily off and we started to have sex on my couch.
ENTER THE FIRST PHYSICAL ODDITY – Jane is a squirter, meaning upon sexual stimulation up to and including orgasm, Jane lets forth warm gushed bursts of liquid from her vagina. I’ve been with squirters before, but the shear volume and frequency of Jane’s squirting was truly remarkable. After a few strong pulses that showed no signs of letting up, I suggested we move to the floor. At that point she assumed the top position and we continued. Moments later the floor was covered in female ejaculate.
ENTER THE SECOND PHYSICAL ODDITY – After an especially intense orgasm Jane’s body became erect and her face showed a state of shock. She ran to the bathroom. It was then I realized the smell. It was a terrible and familiar smell. My wine-drunk brain frantically scattered through its olfactory libraries to determine the culprit, afraid to look down where Jane had straddled. But in the end I couldn’t will away reality, and when all evidence was too strong to refute I began to accept that I’d been shit on.
Said mess was spinning afloat a small sea of gushed love left spreading inch-wise across my apartment floor.
I started to clean the mess with a half dozen towels (that have since been burned). Jane called out from the shower, demanding I join her. At this point in my mind our little rendezvous had ended and this was the solemn hygienic dénouement. But this only lasted a moment.
Her hands washing me and her face and the steam and the wine all played partner, and as shameful as it may seem, we continued our sexual experiment starting again in the shower but shortly later moving to my bed.
Though I had apparently forgiven the earlier mishap, I had not forgotten. I laid down a series of towels in strategic locations and positioned our bodies to have sex on the bed’s edge so that the physics of our planet coupled with the angle of her asshole would form a natural path towards one of many towel traps. The sex continued. I could feel another strong orgasm build inside of Jane and peak. She paused, motionless. The suspense was palpable. Had it happened again? Up until this moment all admission of fault had be implicit. Until, that is, in a moment of introspection she conceded:
‘I keep excreting.’
I was a bundle of emotions. On one hand, I had been shit on a second time. On the other hand, my shit-trapping towel mathematics had succeeded! In many ways I felt like the sexually deviant De Vinci of this wayward shit-fearing generation.
The pride of accomplishment carried me a second time into the shower. This time we both had a silent understanding that there would be no third shitting.
We finished our shower. I walked her out. I bleached the apartment and I have never spoken of the incident. Until today….
TLDR; During sex, a married woman squirted and then shit on me. We showered and continued and I was shit on again.