When you discovered the ones putting out ads for a roommate were Bae and IRyS, you assumed it was some sort of practical joke. Those girls were both enormously successful streamers, so it was hard to imagine them running against any financial duress. During the tour of your potential lodgings, Bae had confessed to you their situation in full; the two of them had gotten swept up in the excitement of having their own place in the city and hastily grabbed a unit much larger than necessary. They could afford it, yes, but they still wanted another body to soak up some of the costs of their impulse purchase. And you managed to qualify as “another body.”

The unit is a four bedroom/two bath arrangement with modern furnishings, a laundry room, and large windows facing the sunrise. Certainly more spacious than the shoeboxes you'd been crammed into in the past.

As far as roommates go, Bae and IRyS are disarmingly easy to live with. Most of their time is either spent streaming in their bedrooms or scoping out the city with their coworkers. When their activities run long into the night and brush against early morning hours, they’re conscientious enough to keep their headphones on and their voices low.

One morning you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Bae peeks inside– a bulky gym bag is slung over her shoulder. The toes of some bright red sneakers stick out from the back of the bag where the zipper caught on the laces. “Yo, roomie! You’re gonna be here all day, right?” she asks.

You take off your headphones and look up from your laptop. “I was planning on it, yeah. Why?”

“I got a package that’s supposed to be delivered today,” Bae starts, then crosses her arms. “Well, it was supposed to be delivered last week, but the delivery guy keeps ducking me! There's been, like, five times where he shows up, doesn't buzz our room, then leaves that stupid blue slip saying he 'missed me'. Bro’s seriously trying to steal it or something.”

You consider this. That's a real problem, alright; your unit is on the tenth floor, so if they didn't announce themselves, you’d never know if they showed up and ditched unless you spent all day camped out on the stairwell.

“Fortunately, I have a plan,” Bae says with a smug smile. A small glimmering sphere of red and black spins into existence atop her index finger. Before you can react, she presses it to the side of your head with a quick tap. A small rectangular screen appears on the left side of your vision, seemingly floating in thin air. You try to brush it with your hand, but it doesn’t react.

Bae laughs. “It's not a real screen, dummy, just a projection in your head. I'll explain later. First off, what do you see?”

You hold your questions (of which you have many), and stare at the screen. Looking at the mysterious little monitor, you see a narrow, green-carpeted hallway with a cluster of small gray mailboxes on one of the walls. Further beyond are two sets of glass doors leading into the sun-soaked streets outside.

“This is...the first floor of our apartment?” you posit after a moment of consideration. You tilt your head and sway your eyes. The image remains stubbornly stuck to the left side of your vision like the afterimage from a flashbulb. The picture itself is magnificently, unnervingly clear, like suddenly seeing real life in a higher resolution. “I'm guessing this is Chaos Magic?”

“It’s Chaos Science,” Bae corrects. “It uses the…uh…quantum properties of our universe to send information across…um…space...t-time...” Her words peter out and she turns away, blushing. “Look, I knew how it worked at some point! The important thing is that it’ll let you keep an eye on the door from anywhere. So the moment you see that delivery weasel approaching from outside, you rush down to meet 'em!”

“Sure. And he’ll let me sign for you?”

“I gave permission for you to sign, yeah. So are you good? I needed to be at the studio eight minutes ago.”

You give her a thumbs up and she disappears from your doorway. From down the hall you hear Bae slipping on her shoes and creaking open the door. “By the way, the package has a bunch of new motion capture stuff– super expensive. I’m counting on you!” The door closes with a whoosh.

This is a lot to take in for a Sunday morning. You put on your headphones and try to get back into your game. It’s disorienting having a second POV stapled to your vision at all times, especially one streaming in what looks like 16K resolution.

Sometimes the entrance ten floors down darkens and grabs your attention, but it's always just another tenant fumbling for their keys or someone killing time on their cell phone while their friend buzzes them in. Later on there’s some drunk guys, a dog walker, and a couple with armfuls of grocery bags trying to open the door with their elbows. No delivery driver. All the surveillance is starting to make you feel like a surly security guard.

After dying for the dozenth time on an easy boss, you concede that there’s too much visual information to process between your game and the camera. You close your game and seek a more passive form of entertainment while you stand watch.

IRyS is live. According to YouTube, she’s been streaming for about five hours, and she looks somewhat distressed. Every now and then she mumbles under her breath, closes her eyes, and goes still. “Man...I really should attend that idol meeting, guys.” With a laugh, IRyS adds: “Yeah, there's...there’s a lot to go over during this one.”

IRyS had always been relatively open about her bathroom habits. And now, as her roommate, you can attest to the length and frequency of those idol meetings. There were times in the past when you went out to run errands, took the scenic route back home after grabbing lunch, and she’d still be on her porcelain throne upon your return.

Suddenly the phantom screen on your left changes. Instead of the short shadowed hallway and glass doors, you’re seeing a high-angle shot of an entirely different location. You look away from IRyS’ stream to inspect the image closer. You see white countertops, dark wood cabinets, an assortment of cutlery piled in the sink still sudsy with dish soap, an empty dessert box…and a bright red water bottle next to a stack of napkins reading “RAT PACK”. The scene is immediately familiar. You get up and walk to the kitchen. Sure enough, the small screen is now showing your body from a third-person perspective.

Using yourself as a point of reference, you quickly close in on the camera’s location. Halfway up one of the cabinets hanging over the fridge, you see a small dark bead floating in midair. That's almost definitely the camera, but Bae didn't mention how to fix this. Or that this was even a possibility. You reach out to try grabbing it, but it vibrates violently and slips into nothingness right before your fingers make contact. The screen in your left eye is once again showing the entryway.

Whatever works, you think to yourself, and turn back towards your room. Given the infinite ways Bae’s Chaos Magic could have gone wrong, this wasn't too bad. Before leaving, you inspect the empty dessert box. It was, at some point in the past, a large blueberry cheesecake, but now only crumbs and a smear of blueberry sauce remain. You turn over the box to throw it out and notice, with some irrational sense of foreboding, that the expiration date was weeks ago.

–
–

The camera continues jumping over the next four hours. Each time you have to get up, triangulate it with your body, then swat it back to its original position like a stubborn horse fly buzzing atop your food. By late afternoon it had jumped to every corner of the apartment, from inside the oven, to the underside of the ceiling fan's blades, to the cap of the detergent in the laundry room. You’re starting to think it’d be less annoying to just camp out at the bottom of the stairwell after all.

The screen flickers again. You groan and check the location, expecting it to be swinging on the balcony's wind chime or something equally outlandish. What you see instead gives you pause. Wherever it is, it's somewhat low on the ground, pointed mostly upwards at the ceiling. The screen is largely unobstructed, but bordered by a large white plastic rim with an opening at the bottom. Your chest tightens. Based on the color of the wallpaper, you already know where it’s looking out from.

Somehow, the camera had ended up inside IRyS and Bae’s toilet.

–
–

You sit on your bed in quiet deliberation, hands folded, eyes staring ahead into nothing. Your first instinct is to sprint over and reset the camera. It wouldn't take more than a few seconds. But IRyS has spent most of today (and yesterday, now that you think about it) brashly vocalizing her urgent need to use the restroom. She could pause the stream at any moment and barge into you. If you happened to be in there, kneeling in front of her toilet with your hands reaching under the rim, there would be no salvaging the situation. You'd be branded a deviant and kicked out on the streets before the first words of diplomacy left your mouth.

Then, leave the camera alone? It's pretty small. She'd have to be actively looking to notice it, and she has no reason to be suspicious.

But then what? The camera stays in there until Bae comes back, reclaims her Chaos Magic, and sees that you were monitoring her toilet? As far as you're aware, Bae doesn't know about her camera's tendency to flicker around– she’d probably think you found a way to put it there on purpose. You glance again at IRyS’ stream; her model is squirming in her seat, but she’s caught up in the middle of a boss fight, which should keep her busy for a while…maybe.

Your body acts before you're really aware. Moving swiftly on the balls of your feet, you half-run into the hallway and slip past IRyS’ door. The bathroom's dead ahead. This will only take a moment, you reassure yourself. Only the worst timing imaginable would bring the two of you together in the sliver of time it takes to set this right.

Their bathroom door is slightly ajar. You ease it open with one hand, hoping IRyS' headphones would block any incidental noise from the hinges, and slip inside. An unpleasant odor smacks your face on the way in, but you barely notice. The surfaces around the sink are covered with hygiene and beauty products of all kinds. Some strange black appliance perches on the corner, looking like a desk fan and computer tower crammed into one object. A shuttered bathroom closet with its door wide open sits opposite the toilet, shelves stocked with extra bath towels and toilet paper.

Three quick steps take you to the toilet. As expected, that damn camera’s hovering inside the bowl a few inches under the rim, gleaming like a small bead of polished ebony. You drop to your knees and reach inside.

IRyS’ bedroom door slams open down the hall. The sound of her bare feet thumping against the carpet grows loud in your ears. Frozen mid-crouch, you have only seconds to make a decision. The shower curtain's not opaque enough to hide your form if you were to dive into the bathtub. There’s the small closet you saw earlier at your back, but there's no guarantee you'd fit. No time to think. You fall backward and pull the shuttered door closed just as IRyS barges into the room.

From within the darkness of the closet, smelling of fresh towels and hand soap, you're able to peer out of the horizontal slits beneath each shutter. IRyS is busy with her hands under her skirt, hopping from one foot to another. She half-dances in front of the toilet and yanks her tiny black panties down to her ankles in one swoop, briefly flashing her impressive cleavage as she bends down. Half a second later, you hear the loud, meaty thwhap of her fat ass smacking into the toilet seat.

You've had plenty of casual interaction with IRyS throughout the weeks, but seeing her effortless beauty like this still catches you off guard. Her cute face, framed by stunning magenta locks, stares straight ahead. Her large breasts heave and sway in time with her breath. You're at the perfect height and angle to peer under her ridiculously skimpy skirt and, even with her legs pressed together, you can see the top of her incredible bush poking out from between her thick thighs.

IRyS starts fumbling with the strange device you saw earlier. She flicks something and it hums to life. It sounds like a little electronic fan, and you suddenly piece it together– it’s an air filter!

Movement catches your eye and you look to your left. In all the rush you’d completely forgotten there’s a camera under her. Staring wide-eyed at the screen, a screen visible only to you, the negative space framed by the toilet seat is now dominated by IRyS’ pale, sweaty ass and enormous, dense, unshaven bush. You always figured she was the type to slack on shaving, but this was on another level. Her crotch is completely smothered by a dark magenta jungle of pubes, so thick and voluminous that it trails up her slick taint and disappears between her heavy buttcheeks. Every inch down there is dripping with slimy sweat thanks to the eight hours she just spent sitting on her ass and streaming.

You swallow hard, muscles tensing, and try not to breathe too loudly. This is an incredibly precarious situation now that she’s bared herself like this. No matter what happens, you absolutely cannot leave until she does. Your livelihood depends on it. Yet in spite of the danger, your dick can’t help but react to such voyeuristic stimulation.

IRyS wiggles on the seat, drawing small creaks from the overburdened toilet. A sudden jet of dark yellow piss splits her chubby pussy lips and drills into the standing toilet water. It's so loud you flinch backward, thankfully keeping your limbs from knocking against the closet door. The pitch changes over time as more and more of the bowl fills up with her smelly, amber waste.

Nearly a quarter of the bowl is pure IRyS piss. The foamy impact zone sends bubbles outwards as she relieves herself. It's so warm that there's visible steam rising off the ever-growing volume of piss, and the acrid smell of ammonia starts seeping into the rest of the bathroom from between her thighs. Your nose wrinkles taking in the odor. Did her idol meetings always smell this strong? When was the last time she drank any water?

It takes nearly a minute of full force pissing before her bladder shows signs of emptying out. The high-pressure beam flags to a shuddering stream, then to a steady drip of urine. IRyS pushes down below her stomach to ease out the last few squirts, splashing small arcs against the bowl. A smatter of droplets cling to her piss-soaked pubic hairs.

Her brow unfurrows and some of the tension leaves her legs. You relax as well, assuming her visit is coming to a close. You're already semi-erect just watching her piss. You’re not prepared for anything more intense, so it’s good than she only needed to-

Following a small grunt, IRyS casually punishes her toilet with a thunderous, bowl-shaking fart. Most of the sound is muffled under her fat thighs, but you can faintly feel the vibration through the floor! Your eyes dart back to the screen, watching IRyS' thick, meaty, sweat-streaked buttcheeks shudder as she rips four ungodly seconds of spluttering flatulence. Drops of sweat fly out from her muggy crack as her release drones to a close. You swear the air inside the bowl has gotten steamier.

IRyS heaves a great sigh and drops her shoulders. “...fuck!” she whispers. A rare moment of no self-censorship, you note. Another beefy fart echoes in the bowl, shorter but much louder than before. Christ, if she let any of these loose on stream it would have peaked the audio for sure. Over the next few minutes, she idly rubs her stomach, coaxing out another half-dozen braps to fill the bowl. When it looks like she's temporarily worked through enough gastric distress, she straightens up and spreads her legs.

The first thing you notice is the full frontal of IRyS’ dense bush. The second is the sound of the air filter suddenly whining like an overheating laptop. The usual low hum pitches up and up until it's a small jet turbine. You see the LED on top rapidly flash from green, to yellow-orange, to a mortally deep red. It sounds like a mechanical cry of pain.

You're still processing the implications when the stench of IRyS' horrid gas slams into your nostrils like a strong backhand. It's a rich mix of bad meat and expired dairy, all whipped up in a rotten, cloying fruity miasma that must have been from the empty cheesecake container. You gag into your hand twice, but manage to ward off any audible dry heaving. No one in IRyS' audience would have pinned such a beautiful, spoiled princess to have such offensive gas, but you’re getting a visceral taste of her true nature.

IRyS, meanwhile, is markedly less bothered. She shimmies her plump thighs and casually billows the front of her short skirt, airing out the absolute bombs she’s been blasting into the toilet bowl. One hand waves impatiently in front of her face. “Ugh...Why's the fudging air filter not working?”

Pouting, she grabs it off the sink counter and turns it in her hands. “Huh? Is this out of battery or something? Why's the light blinking...?” She checks the back and slowly reads aloud to herself. “Hmm...air quality readings...green means good...mhmm...blinking red means...'unable to manage air quality'? Hahh!? It’s not that bad!”

She scrunches up her face and pushes out another sloppy, cheek-wobbling fart in defiance. They’re sounding noticeably wetter. The air filter revs up like a dog whistle, then gives one last pathetic squawk before dying out completely, the small electronic fan rattling to a dead stop for the final time. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me! Why'd Bae even bother buying this cheap junk?” IRyS adjusts herself on the toilet, peeling her fat buttcheeks off the sticky, sweat-soaked seat one at a time and plopping right back down until her cheeks are spread wide.

Hesitantly, you look at the screen. With her asshole no longer hidden behind her fat cheeks, you're able to trace IRyS' massive bush all the way down her taint until it fully encircles the rim of her juicy asshole. Every detail is on full display; the darker tone of her butthole, the wrinkles of her anus, the slight twitch that preludes every fart. You're fully, painfully erect now, and your hand is unashamedly inside your boxers, silently stroking off while burning the image of IRyS' asshole into your mind.

“Hmph! Well, if you thought that was bad...” IRyS leans forward on her knees, her face falling into pure concentration. A small frown tugs her lips. She rips another lengthy fart, then a massive dark brown log of shit starts gaping her asshole and stretching her sweaty rim. Inch by inch, it slowly lowers into the bowl while IRyS moans and struggles above, shifting her hips and gripping her knees. Her burgeoning shit is thick as a soda can and slightly falling apart from its own incredible weight. With a final girlish grunt, IRyS pushes out the last few inches, letting it fall from her overtaxed asshole and splash loudly into the piss-filled bowl like a heavy stone.

“Hahhh…mmm…” IRyS smiles in relief. She clenches her fists and starts forcing out another foul-smelling load. A long slender rope of light brown shit rushes out of her asshole, coiling up on itself four times before tapering off. Two more follow in quick succession to splatter on top of the other. Each one's broken off by a short, disgusting smattering of airy farts. After piling five steaming logs (now completely burying her earlier piss break), IRyS leans back with a small smirk and wipes her brow. The state of her already sweaty body got even worse after all the exertion, and she has no reservations about using a few squares of toilet paper to mat down her neck and stuffy armpits.

The smell worsened exponentially as soon as she started dropping logs. The air is thick with IRyS’ shitstink, easily overpowering the pitifully fragile scents of bath towels and shampoo tucked away in the bathroom closet which is quickly becoming your tomb. It's at the point where you can vividly taste her on your tongue after taking too deep a breath. Your cock is rock hard now, pumping pre-cum with every stroke. It's impossible for your body to deny the eroticism of IRyS' bodily functions, and staring directly at her puckering asshole dumping enough shit to clog any plumbing system has only made it worse. It takes all your willpower to keep your desperate hand-fucking a mostly silent affair.

There’s a brief reprieve in IRyS’ toilet’s execution. She pushes her bangs back, then pulls out her phone and begins idly scrolling. Based on her expression, she’s likely catching up on some manga. Every now and then, she grits her teeth and rips atrocious ass into the bowl, sometimes leading to a fresh load of semi-liquid shit splattering against the soft pile of standing waste. A few spurts of piss trickle down as well when she’s really straining.

Caught in a horny fugue state, your eyes don't know where to rest anymore. The contrast of views is just too intense. Through the slits in the closet you see IRyS’ bored gorgeous face, her flawless skin, and shining heterochromatic eyes– a prim and proper idol by any definition. Then, from the camera below, you see her sweaty, hairy cunt dripping with piss, and her twitching unwiped asshole blaring greasy farts and dropping heavy loads of shit. This was the sight hidden away from the audience every time she went for one of her sudden bathroom breaks. When her model went limp and the [EMERGENCY IDOL MEETING] scrolled humorously across the bottom of the screen like a national weather alert, she was busy destroying her toilet just like this…

This is torture. IRyS unintentionally edges you for another fifteen minutes, scrolling away on her phone through dozens of chapters. The whole time your eyes stare unblinkingly at her winking asshole. Each beefy fart she pushes out brings you closer to a messy climax.

IRyS’ phone vibrates. After checking the caller, IRyS grumbles and begrudgingly puts it on speaker. “Yes, Bae?”

“Yo. I’m on my way back from the studio, do you want anything from Maccas?”

“No, I actually…nngh...don’t want to think about food for a while,” IRyS says as she rips another noisy barrage of farts.

“Wait, are you calling me from the bathroom?!”

“Yeah, so? By the way, your stupid air filter died out already! Why’d you go for the cheap stuff, huh?”

Bae’s tone becomes incredulous. “First of all, you’re disgusting. Second of all, excuse you, that cost like two hundred dollars! Did you drop it or something?”

A light pink blush crosses IRyS’s face. “Well, not exactly. It just started humming really loud once I got in here and then died.”

“...you’re telling me your farts were bad enough to brick that thing? Bro…”

“N-no, of course not!” IRyS is beet-red now. “I’m a dainty flower, you know? It must just be a manufacturing issue or something.”

A loud gurgle rumbles IRyS’ stomach and she suddenly sits upright, almost dropping her phone. “Oh! Um, anyway, I gotta go,! Talk to you later, Bae! Bye!”

“Wait, I wanted to ask abou-!”

IRyS hangs up and shakily places her phone on the sink, right next to the corpse of the air filter. Half a second later, her sweaty asshole unloads a sputtering torrent of semi-liquid shit, splattering loudly against the gigantic dump already clogging the toilet and blasting flecks of Nephilim waste against the sides. As she paints the bowl with intense bouts of diarrhea, IRyS can’t hold back the low moan escaping her lips from the immense relief of pushing out the load that's been cramping her guts for the better part of the weekend. A grotesque stream of bubbly wet farts fills every intermission, and the bathroom's airspace is basically unbreathable in seconds. The rancid stench invades the closet and drives deep into your nasal cavity.

You pump your cock harder, the slick sloppy sounds of frantic masturbation lost beneath the din of IRyS’ toilet destruction. There’s no way to rationalize why IRyS’ horrid stench is lighting up your neurons, but at this point, it doesn’t matter.

A final massive log of shit the size of her fist emerges from IRyS' backdoor, pushing her tight anal ring to the limit, then thuds inside the bowl. An obscene, bassy fart covers the mudpie in a blanket of warm, rancid flatulence and it's during this gaseous eruption that you go over the edge. Huffing the tainted air and watching IRyS’ sweaty, gaping asshole, the powerful orgasm over an hour in the making rips through your body and pumps five thick ropes of cum straight into your boxers. You squeeze out one more shuddering shot then fall limp against the back of the closet.

IRyS lets her head dip down. Her tongue is out, her bangs are a mess. She laughs softly to herself and unclenches her hands; there’s a curious look of pride on her face.

She starts feeding out the toilet paper from the cabinet-mounted roll, hand over hand, and reaches back to wipe her intensely sweaty, shit-smeared asscrack. It takes six passes before she’s satisfied, and you can tell that another couple of wipes would have been prudent.

With a small huff, IRyS stands up and smooths the front of her skirt. She lowers the lid, but doesn’t bother flushing for the same reason one wouldn’t bother to try fitting a couch through a drinking straw. You’re given one last look at IRyS' incredible bubble butt jiggling under her skirt as she yanks up her poor panties. They all but disappear between her cheeks. There’s a few seconds of running water from the sink as she washes her hands.

IRyS pauses at the sink, a sudden mischievous grin on her lips. She snags Bae's toothbrush from the holder, reaches behind her, and digs it deep between her huge, recently-wiped buttcheeks. IRyS scrubs it vigorously up and down her crack, making sure to slip it under her panties and really smear the bristles against the wrinkles of her smelly asshole. “Enjoy that, Bae~” IRyS whispers. With a hum on her lips, she replaces the toothbrush, unlocks the door, and leaves.

You give her a couple of minutes to make sure IRyS doesn't abruptly sprint back in for extra innings. Eventually you hear the muted sound of her voice down the hall talking to her chat. You stumble out of the closet, legs half-asleep, and beeline for your room. Only when your door closes behind you, do you allow yourself a breath.

Shit. The camera.

The instant you get up, you hear IRyS leave her room again. A door opens and closes, then the shower starts running.

You sit back down. IRyS’ showers could be as long as her idol meetings. It’s unlikely you’re going to get another shot at resetting the camera before Bae comes back. There’s nothing left to do but hope.

–
–

Roughly two hours later, with the sun having long since set, Bae comes to your room.

“Hey, roomie, you get my package?” She’s in her pajamas, toothbrush clutched in her right hand.

“No, sorry. The guy never even showed up.”

Bae sighs. “Typical. I'm gonna call customer service or something, this is ridiculous.” She posts up on your doorway, and starts loudly brushing her teeth. “Scherioushly, how do theesh people even get hired?” she asks with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. The toothbrush slides between her lips, diligently running over every tooth, then sliding further back to clean her molars. Tragically, Bae's the type to go the extra mile in her dental hygiene, so she starts scrubbing the brush against the flat of tongue in deep, rapid strokes. There's a sudden twinge of discomfort on her face. She removes the brush and stares at it. “Uh, can toothpaste go bad? This tastes funny.”

You shrug. “I don’t think so. Maybe it’s the brand?”

“Yeah…I guess. Oh, right, do you mind being on camera duty for another day? I’m gonna be busy tomorrow.”

“Uh, sure. Should be fine.”

“Thanks, bro.” A sudden gurgle churns Bae’s stomach. Her eyes go wide. “Uh, you didn’t hear that. Look, it’s just indigestion– I had way too much food at the afterparty. A-anyway, make sure you get that package next time, okay?”

Bae makes a hasty exit. You’re safe for now but the situation’s still dire. Unlike IRyS, Bae knows about the camera and what it looks like. There’s a much greater chance she’d notice if she uses the toilet tomorrow. Meaning you have to solve this tonight.

At the stroke of midnight, when the apartment has quieted down, you retrace your steps down the hall to Bae and IRyS’ bathroom. You don’t hear anything from their rooms. Based on how involved their days had been, they’re almost certainly asleep. You keep thinking about the sound of Bae’s upset stomach. How worried and embarrassed she looked.

C’mon, stop overthinking this!

Only the worst timing imaginable would bring the two of you together in the sliver of time it takes to set this right.