Little Shit

by Arthur Saxon
arthursaxon@zombieworld.com

“Come on Heather,” said Ron impatiently. “My dad’s waiting.”

“I know,” replied Heather anxiously as she hastily finished fixing her hair. “But I need to go to the loo first.”

“You can go at our house,” said Ron firmly. “Come on – you want to make a good impression don’t you?”

“Yes!” agreed Heather fervently. She hastily assessed the pressure in her bowels, and figured she could easily wait until she got to Ron’s house. “All right – let’s go.”

They went downstairs, where Heather said goodbye to her parents before trotting outside after her boyfriend. As Ron left, Mr Harcourt said to him good-naturedly, “She’s my only child, Ron – make sure she gets back safe and sound – and not too late!”

“I will, Mr Harcourt,” Ron assured him.

Outside, Heather climbed into the back of Mr Patterson’s car, while Ron got into the front. Ron’s father was a stern man, and Heather was a little afraid of him. So was Ron, if truth be told.

“Hello Heather,” said Mr Patterson.

“Good afternoon Mr Patterson,” replied Heather politely.

“Do you like bowling, Heather?” the middle-aged man inquired.

“Um, yes,” said Heather. “Although I’m not very good.”

“Well,” said Mr Patterson, “I thought we’d swing by the house to pick up Ron’s mother and sister, and then we’ll go to the bowling alley. This evening, the two of you can go out to the cinema if you’d like.”

“That’d be great, Dad,” said Ron, and he turned around in his seat to smile at Heather. Heather smiled back.

They arrived at the house and were met by Ron’s amply-proportioned mother and his ten-year-old sister, Lizzie, who was also rather plump. “Hi,” said Lizzie shyly, before bounding off up the stairs and out of sight.

“Do come in,” said Mrs Patterson warmly to Heather. “My, you’re a lovely girl, aren’t you!”

Heather blushed. “Thank you, Mrs Patterson,” she said rather awkwardly.

“Call me Sheila,” said the portly woman with a friendly smile. Then she asked her husband, “Have we got time for a drink, George?”

“Not for me, thanks,” said Mr Patterson, coming in and closing the front door. “But get the kids something.”

“What would you like, dear?” asked Sheila of Heather.

“Um, whatever’s available,” said Heather, not wanting to be difficult. She felt a little intimidated.

“We’ve got coke, lemonade, orange juice, apple juice, and, uh, Ribena I think,” interjected Ron.

“A coke will be just fine,” said Heather.

“I’ll have the same please, Mum,” said Ron.

Mrs Patterson bustled into the kitchen to fetch the drinks, and Ron gestured for Heather to take a seat in the living room. George followed them in.

“So,” he said, “what university are you planning to go to?”

“I’ve applied to Cambridge,” said Heather, “but I don’t know whether my grades will be good enough. I think it’s probably more likely that I’ll get into University College, London, or maybe Bristol.”

“And ... Ron tells me you’re planning to study chemistry?”

Heather nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. And then she blurted out, “I’ve always enjoyed blowing things up!” She began to giggle at her own joke, but fell silent under Mr Patterson’s stony gaze.

“I see,” he said eventually.

Heather felt awful. Why had she said such a thing? The urge to defecate suddenly came upon her more strongly than ever. “Um, could I please use your bathroom?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Mr Patterson. “Top of the stairs, turn left, and it’s the second door on your right.”

Heather practically fled from the room. Upstairs, she dashed into the bathroom and locked the door. Taking a couple of breaths to calm herself down, she began to unbutton her jeans as she lifted up the lid of the toilet.

Immediately she knew she was in trouble. Toilets vary in design from model to model, and some flush more effectively than others. This, she could tell straight away, was likely to be a weak flusher. Since she had not emptied her bowels for several days, she knew that whatever she produced would be big – and would almost certainly get stuck in this toilet bowl. It would take several flushes and a considerable amount of poking and prodding (the thought of which made her retch) to get rid of the huge turd she was about to produce.

Gritting her teeth, she fought the pressure that threatened to force her anus open, and for a full minute she clenched her buttocks tightly against it. Eventually it subsided, as she had known it would, and she made up her mind to wait until they got to the bowling alley. There would be a public toilet there – it would not matter if she blocked up the U-bend.

Flushing the toilet to make it seem as if she had used it, and noting that its flush was indeed pretty pathetic, she washed her hands (out of habit) and returned downstairs. Mrs Patterson was just coming out of the kitchen with the drinks.

“Here you are, dear,” she said, and handed Heather a tall glass full of coca-cola.

Heather thanked her with a smile and took it through to the living room. She sat down next to Ron and smiled at him.

At that moment there came a galumphing sound from the stairs, and Lizzie burst into the room carrying a plastic light-sabre. “I got this for my birthday,” she announced to Heather. “Look!” She pressed a button, and the sabre lit up.

“Very nice!” said Heather, smiling. “Is it from Attack of the Clones?”

Lizzie nodded. “This is Anakin’s light-sabre,” she said. She waved it around as if fighting an invisible opponent.

“Careful with that thing,” warned Sheila from the doorway.

Lizzie giggled and swatted Heather on the arm with the sabre. At least she intended to, but Heather pulled back, and the sabre continued until it hit the glass of coke that Heather was holding.

“Oh!” squeaked Heather as the brown liquid spilled all over her lap. She hurriedly got to her feet.

“Lizzie! Naughty girl!” cried Sheila, and she rushed forward to help Heather. “Oh dear, it’s all over your legs!” she observed. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Heather lamely as Sheila dabbed at her jeans with a tissue.

“Take those jeans off and I’ll stick them in the washing machine,” said Sheila. “Dear me! We’ll have to find you something else to wear for your bowling trip.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Heather quickly, alarmed at the thought of taking off her jeans in front of strangers. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” said Sheila. “It’s the least I can do. We’ll have those jeans washed and dried in a couple of hours. Now come on and slip them off.”

Heather felt close to panic. “May I take them off somewhere more private?” she asked in a whisper, glancing across at Mr Patterson, who was watching her with an air of what could have been anticipation.

“Oh, why certainly,” said Sheila. “Why don’t you go up to Lizzie’s room? Lizzie, since this is your fault, perhaps you can help Heather find something else to wear?”

“Okay,” replied Lizzie with a shrug, and she turned tail and dashed upstairs with a breathless “Come on!” to Heather.

Heather gave an almost pleading look to Ron, but he only shrugged helplessly. Sighing, she followed Lizzie up the stairs, and soon found the young girl’s bedroom. As she entered, Lizzie closed the door behind her.

“Take your jeans off,” Lizzie instructed bluntly.

“Um, do you have something else I could wear instead?” asked Heather politely as she removed her shoes. She was anxious not to get stuck with nothing to wear over her panties.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find something,” said Lizzie. “Take your jeans off first, though, so we can get them in the wash quickly.”

Heather hesitated, then gave in and unbuttoned her jeans. Pulling them off, she rather reluctantly handed them to Lizzie.

“I’ll be right back,” said the little girl, and she disappeared out of the room.

Heather felt exceedingly vulnerable in just her t-shirt, bra, panties and socks, but she did not have to wait long. Less than a minute had passed before Lizzie returned.

“Right,” said Lizzie. “Let’s get you something else to wear.”

“Yes, let’s!” agreed Heather heartily.

“Obviously you can’t wear anything of my mum’s,” said Lizzie, “because she’s much fatter than you. And Dad’s pretty fat too, actually, so none of his trousers would be any good.”

“Perhaps something of Ron’s?” suggested Heather.

“He’s too thin, and too tall,” said Lizzie. “Dad says he doesn’t know where Ron gets it from, because most of our family is quite fat. Anyway, your hips are certainly bigger than Ron’s, and in any case all his trousers would be too long for you. And Gary’s clothes are no good – he’s skinnier than Ron!”

“So where does that leave me?” inquired Heather plaintively. “All your clothes will be too small!”

“That’s true,” agreed Lizzie, her expression thoughtful. “Oh, but wait! You could wear my stretchy skirt!”

“Your stretchy skirt?” echoed Heather.

“Yes, it’s quite small, but it’s stretchy, so it doesn’t matter. It’ll fit you just fine.” She turned and rummaged through her wardrobe. “I’ve had it for ages,” she said. “I really like it, so be careful with it.” She pulled it out and handed it to Heather.

Heather held it up between her thumb and forefinger, regarding it doubtfully. It was red, with pink and green flowers on it, and it had cute pleats around the back. As Lizzie had intimated, the waistband was elasticated, so that it would stretch if required.

“It’s ... tiny!” Heather eventually managed.

“It’s the only thing I’ve got that’ll fit you,” said Lizzie firmly. “Go on – try it on.”

With a worried frown, Heather stepped into the skirt and pulled it up. When it reached her hips, it stuck. Even with the elastication it was obviously far too small for her to wear.

“See?” she said. “It’s too tight.”

“Here, let me have a go,” said Lizzie, and she grabbed hold of both sides of the garment. Pulling it up hard, she puffed and panted for a moment before saying, “You’re not helping! Wiggle your hips a bit so that I can get it further up.”

“It’s no good,” said Heather, as she half-heartedly complied with Lizzie’s instruction.

But bit by bit the skirt was gaining height, and after a little more tugging and wiggling, it slid over the widest part of Heather’s hips.

“There!” exclaimed Lizzie triumphantly. “I told you so.”

Heather hoisted the skirt into a comfortable position, and then she looked down at the hem with a sinking feeling. She stared at Lizzie. “I can’t wear this,” she stated firmly. “It’s far, far too short.”

“I think it goods great!” said Lizzie. “Come and see yourself in the mirror!”

She led Heather out of the room into the hallway, where a full-length mirror was attached to the wall. Heather stood in front of it and shook her head slowly. The skirt was just, and only just, short enough to hide her panties at the front. When she turned, she could see that the pleats at the back were no longer folded, but were flattened out, stretched tightly across her bottom. Her buttocks were peeping below the hemline.

“No way,” she said simply. “I’m not even going to go downstairs like this.”

“Why not?” demanded Lizzie. “It looks brill!”

At that moment Mrs Patterson appeared at the top of the stairs. “Oh my!” she said when she saw Heather.

“I know it’s short, Mum,”, said Lizzie quickly, “but it’s the only thing I’ve got that fits her. Please tell her it’s okay for her to wear it! Please!”

Sheila noticed Heather’s worried expression and smiled sympathetically. “Well, dear, I’ve no objection if you wear that ... and to be honest I rather think that Lizzie may be right – I don’t suppose any of my clothes, or Ron’s, or George’s for that matter, would fit you. I think you may be stuck with that.”

“But...” began Heather desperately. The thought of going out in public in a skirt so short...

“Now that I think of it,” continued Sheila, “well done Lizzie for remembering this skirt. All of your other ones, I imagine, would be too small to fit.”

“But...” said Heather again.

“Of course, if you’d rather not go bowling,” said Sheila, “we could just stay here. If you’re worried about being seen in public like that, I mean.”

Heather felt a flood of relief wash over her. “That would be great,” she said.

“Oh but Mum!” complained Lizzie. “I want to go bowling!”

Sheila smiled again. “Let’s go downstairs, then,” she said, “and tell the others. You might want to put your shoes on though.”

Heather nodded and retrieved her shoes. Once she had put them on, she slowly descended the stairway, her stomach turning cartwheels as she tried to imagine the reactions of Ron and Mr Patterson when they saw her like this. She reached the living room and entered.

Ron’s jaw dropped when he saw her. “My ... God!” he managed.

“Language, Ron,” said Mrs Patterson.

“You look ... fantastic!” added Ron.

“Thanks,” said Heather, “but unfortunately it means we won’t be going bowling. I can’t go out looking like this.”

“You could,” argued Ron, but a warning glance from his mother silenced him.

At that moment Mr Patterson entered, having just come from the kitchen. “I’ve just been on the phone to the bowling alley,” he said in a somewhat disgruntled tone. “I hadn’t realised this, but apparently you have to book a lane twenty-four hours in advance!”

“Oh, well that’s okay,” began Heather, but Mr Patterson was not finished.

“However,” he continued, “I managed to speak to the manager and told him that I had an important guest staying with me.” He grinned. “I employed my best persuasive skills. Eventually they agreed to specially open a lane that they had closed for maintenance. They’re expecting us in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, but Heather says we can’t go,” began Lizzie.

“What?” Mr Patterson turned surprised eyes on Heather, and they almost popped out of his head when he noticed her skirt. “Good grief!” he said. “That’s a bit bloody short! Very nice though. What’s all this about not going?”

“Heather feels her skirt is too short to be seen in public,” said Sheila.

Mr Patterson’s face began to turn red. “But I’ve just pulled out all the stops...”

“It’s okay,” Heather hurriedly interrupted, feeling her stomach tying itself in knots. “I’m quite happy to go.”

“Good!” said Mr Patterson. “Let’s be off, then!”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” asked Sheila in a whisper to Heather as they walked out of the house.

“Yes,” Heather lied. “I mean, Mr Patterson went to all that trouble – I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“Good girl,” said Sheila, and smiled.

They piled into the car, Lizzie sandwiched between Ron and Heather in the back, and set off. Throughout the journey Heather wrung her hands nervously, terrified by the thought of exposing part of her buttocks to all and sundry at the bowling alley. How had she got into this mess?

They arrived and climbed out of the car. Walking indoors, Heather attracted curious glances, but nobody made any lewd comments – probably because of the hulking figure of Mr Patterson walking next to her. They checked in, got their shoes, and found their designated alley.

Heather was third to bowl. She flushed with embarrassment as she carried her ball to the start of the lane, acutely aware of the stares of Ron and George (and, had she but known it, an amused Sheila and a curious Lizzie). She felt very exposed, and in fact she was rather more exposed than she realised – her tiny skirt had ridden up at the back to reveal the lower half of her buttocks, complete with several inches of the back of her white silk panties.

When she bent down to release her ball, the skirt rose still higher. At that point, however, feeling a breeze, she reached back and tugged the hem down as far as it would go. Turning in utter mortification, she saw the Patterson family hurriedly flick their eyes from her to her speeding ball.

“Seven!” exclaimed George. “And the last three are all grouped together. You could get a spare out of this, Heather!”

Feeling shaky and embarrassed, Heather picked up another ball and bowled it at the remaining three pins. As she straightened up, she reached around to pull down her skirt, and found that it had ridden up again, almost as far as the previous time. Trying not to meet the Pattersons’ eyes, she watched her ball as it approached the far end of the lane. It clipped the outer pin, but did not knock down either of the others.

“Oh well,” said Mr Patterson. “Better luck next time.”

Heather was glad to return to her seat. Then she began to feel pressure building to an intense level in her rectum and she whispered to Ron, “I’m going to the loo.”

“But you can’t – not yet,” said Ron. “You won’t make it back in time before your next turn. Wait until after the first game – we’ll probably stop for a drink at that point. Then you can go.”

“All right,” said Heather glumly.

The game seemed to take forever. Lizzie threw a tantrum at one point and had to be consoled, and the conveyor ground to a halt shortly afterwards, requiring a member of staff to come and re-start it. Eventually, however, the game finished with George in first place, Heather second, Ron third, Sheila fourth, and Lizzie last (which she was most unhappy about).

“Right, what does everyone want to drink?” asked George.

They placed their orders, and then Mrs Patterson said, “While you’re getting those, George, I’m going to visit the Little Girls’ Room.”

“Me too,” chimed in Heather, greatly relieved at the thought of finally emptying her bowels.

“Me three,” added Lizzie, and giggled.

Together they trooped off to find the toilet, and when they did, they discovered that it was awash with water. “Oh my goodness!” said Mrs Patterson.

“It’s okay, you can go in,” said an employee who was busily mopping up some of the water. “One of the stalls is out of action though – it flooded. You can use the other one though. Just be careful you don’t slip.”

“I’ll go first,” said Lizzie, and she stepped gingerly across the floor to enter the available cubicle.

Heather and Sheila waited for her to finish, and then Sheila said, “Your turn, dear.”

“Oh, but ... wouldn’t you like to go first?” suggested Heather. The last thing she wanted was to fill the stall with nasty smells immediately prior to Mrs Patterson going in there.

“No ... I have a bit of tummy trouble,” said Sheila. “I’d really rather wait until after you.”

“Oh,” said Heather, downcast. She went into the stall and looked into the bowl. No wonder the other toilet had flooded, she thought – this design looked even worse than the Pattersons’. She sighed heavily. There was nothing for it but to wait until she got home – or at least back to Ron’s house. If necessary she would take a chance with their toilet.

She sat down and peed, then flushed and vacated the stall. Sheila smiled at her, and then entered the cubicle herself. Heather washed her hands, dried them, and went back outside to join the others.

They played two more games, and then left the bowling alley to head back home. Heather was getting thoroughly tired of constantly having to pull down her skirt, but her concern with her appearance was rapidly becoming secondary to her desperation to defecate.

When they got home, Mrs Patterson went through to the kitchen to get the dinner ready while her husband sat down with Ron and Heather in the living room. Very soon, however, Sheila reappeared. “The washing machine’s packed up again,” she said. “Halfway through the cycle, it looks like.”

Mr Patterson cursed. “That’s the last time I’m trusting Tony to a job like that,” he muttered. “I’ll call someone else in the morning.” He looked across at Heather. “Sorry Heather,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wear that skirt home – we’ll drop your jeans off tomorrow when they’re clean and dry.”

Heather quailed at the thought of her parents seeing her in this minuscule skirt, but there was very little she could do about it. “Okay,” she said in a small voice.

Sheila returned to the kitchen, and Heather continued to chat for a while with Ron and his dad. After a while, George picked up a copy of the local newspaper and looked up cinema listings.

“Let’s see what’s showing,” he said, half to himself. “Hmm, not much really, it seems. Spider-Man is still on, if you’re interested.”

“Seen it,” said Ron.

“Ooh!” said George, espying something of interest on the page in front of him.

“What?” inquired Ron.

“The Princess Bride’s on,” said his father.

“Oh! That’s my favourite film!” exclaimed Heather.

“What, on at the cinema?” asked Ron with a frown. “But it’s ages old!”

“No, it’s on television,” said George. He looked at his watch. “It’s just about to start,” he said. “Would you like to watch it?”

“Yes please!” said Heather, forgetting her shyness for a moment.

George chuckled. “It’s one of my favourites too,” he said. “Let’s see now.” He picked up the remote control and switched on the television.

Sheila appeared at the door. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she said, “so don’t get stuck into a film!”

“We can eat in here,” said George. “It’s The Princess Bride!”

Sheila frowned. “All right,” she said. “Ron, could you lay the little tables in here please?”

Ron nodded, then got to his feet and left the room, just as the film was starting. When he returned he glanced down at Heather’s lap, and grinned to himself as he saw the little white triangle of her panties that the skirt completely failed to hide. “That has got to be the shortest skirt ever,” he muttered to her with a wink.

“It’s not funny!” Heather snapped. “I feel totally humiliated, looking like this.”

“Relax,” he said. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks but I don’t feel fantastic. Anyway shut up – I’m missing the film.”

Mrs Patterson brought their food through, and they ate in silence while they watched the movie. Heather found it hard to concentrate – every few minutes the pressure returned, and each time it was more intense than before – soon it was practically intolerable. She found she was sweating with the effort. A couple of times Ron asked her if she was feeling all right, but she merely nodded, tight-lipped, and tried not to squirm.

Towards the end of the film, Sheila got to her feet. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Early start tomorrow.” She picked up her plate and left the room.

Heather looked at her watch in puzzlement. It was only a quarter to eight.

“She works at the hospital,” explained Ron in a whisper. “Nasty hours. She’ll have to get up at four o’clock.”

The movie finished soon afterwards, and with a “Just going to the bathroom!”, Heather rushed out of the room and up the stairs. Her skirt was practically around her waist but she was beyond caring. As she ran, the tip of her turd began to emerge, and she was powerless to prevent it. But it did not matter – she was already at the bathroom door and soon she would be sitting on the toilet, letting it all go.

Except that the bathroom door was locked. Gasping with fear, she tried the handle again.

“I’m having a bath!” came Sheila’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” replied Heather. Desperately she tried to hold on to her poo, to force it back inside, but it was already too far out – an inch had emerged and the rest was slowly, inexorably, extruding from her rectum. As more of it oozed out, her anus distended obscenely to accommodate it. Heather winced as her sphincter complained against the punishment. She whimpered in pain, and then, realising there was only one way to make it stop, she relaxed a little and pushed the poo out a little further. The pain intensified for a brief moment, then subsided as the widest part was completely expelled and, with a rush, a couple more inches slid smoothly out of her colon and into her panties, which began to bulge outwards as the blunt end of the thick, firm pole pressed against the smooth material.

At this point she froze, horrified at what she was doing. She was doing a poo in her panties. This had not happened to her since she was a little girl. Now that she was seventeen, nearly eighteen, such a childish accident was unthinkable. And yet here she was. What on Earth was she going to do?

Maybe there was another toilet in the house. Perhaps Ron’s parents had an en-suite bathroom? Yes, that was probably her best option. But she could hardly walk with a poo half-inside and half-outside her rectum. She would have to finish what she started. But here? Where anybody could find her?

She listened carefully. There were no sounds of movement from downstairs. Some comedy show was now playing on television – she could hear laughter from Ron and George, and more infrequent giggling from Lizzie. Deciding that here she would at least have plenty of warning of someone’s approach, Heather began to push again. Two, three, four more inches descended at a slight angle as she bent her knees slightly to facilitate the expulsion.

At this point Heather realised that her panties were distended practically to the limit of their elasticity. Her poo had not bent or compressed much, and its flattened tip was currently holding her panties away from her buttocks to the extent that there was a considerable gap between her buttocks and the back of her waistband, which was also sagging downward somewhat.

The pressure returned. Despite having expelled several inches of poo, her bowels were not so empty that they had stopped demanding instant defecation. On the contrary, the fact that she was in the middle of passing the giant stool meant that her lower intestine was hell-bent on completing the process. Heather grimaced and pushed some more to obtain relief from the cramp, and quickly reached back to cup the bulging material with her hand. Pushing inward and upward to crush the poo, she succeeded in compressing it without breaking it (and also without getting her hand too messy). Continuing to bear down, she forced the huge turd out of her rectum even as she squished it with her palm. The result was that the sticky substance spread outwards, forming a large, firm wad of crap in the back of her panties, nestling against her buttocks.

Heather paused to take stock. She still felt pretty full, which was amazing considering how much she had already defecated. Her anus was still widely extended, and there was already a sizeable bulge in the back of her panties. She took a couple of deep breaths, and pushed again.

Almost immediately she felt the consistency of her excreta change. It was becoming more lumpy. All at once, she bit her lip in pain as a particularly large lump began to push through her anal sphincter. Grunting audibly as she pushed hard, she felt her anus widen almost as much as it had at the beginning. Then the lump was through, and she stopped for another breath.

A sound from downstairs made her catch her breath. Involuntarily her sphincter clenched, cutting off the flow of poo. She knew there was more to come, but right now she had to act, and act fast. Somebody was coming up the stairs. If it was Ron, that would be embarrassing enough, but if it was his father ... Heather shuddered. She needed to find a refuge. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and recoiled at the sight of the huge bulge in her panties sagging down five or six inches below the hem of her skirt.

Quickly she started walking, or rather waddling, along the hallway towards a door that she guessed led into Mr and Mrs Patterson’s bedroom. If it had an en-suite bathroom, she could hide in there, clean up, and when she explained that she had been unable to use the main bathroom, surely they would understand.

Entering the room as fast as she could safely move without losing anything out of her panties, she looked around and her eyes immediately lit upon a wooden door in the centre of one wall. Hurrying towards it, she opened it and looked inside.

It was a closet. Her heart sank. Then she heard George’s voice. “Heather?”

Her heart now leapt into her mouth. If she hid, they would search for her, and it would be awful to be discovered cowering in a closet. There was nothing for it but to face up to the consequences of her accident. Taking her courage in both hands, she pulled her skirt down in front, and at the back as much as was possible over the bulge, then she walked out of the room as sedately as possible, and met Mr Patterson in the hallway.

“Ah, there you are Heather,” said George. He frowned. “What were you doing in there?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Heather blurted out, “but I couldn’t get into the bathroom because Mrs Patterson’s having a bath, and I thought maybe you might have an en-suite bathroom in your room.”

“Oh. No, I’m sorry, we don’t,” said George, still frowning. “But don’t worry – my wife doesn’t usually take long in the bath – she should be out in ten minutes or so. Can you hold out that long?”

Apparently he had not yet smelled her accident, so she smiled faintly. “I suppose so,” she said.

“Good. Now why don’t you come downstairs and sit down for a few minutes while you’re waiting?”

“Okay,” said Heather, unable to think of anything else to say. She followed Mr Patterson downstairs, but when she reached the door to the living room she said, “Ron, could I speak to you for a moment?”

Ron looked up, nodded, and then got up and came over to where she stood.

“I’ve got a problem!” she hissed.

Ron sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Good grief, what have you...?” he began.

“Hush! I sort of had an accident when I couldn’t get into the bathroom. You have to help me!”

He stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. “Dad,” he said, “I’m just going upstairs with Heather for a bit.”

“All right,” said his father. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Ron took off up the stairs and Heather followed at a more cautious pace. As they entered his bedroom, Ron turned and said in a voice filled with wonder, “So, you had an accident?”

“Yes,” replied Heather with a sigh, closing the door behind her. “I’m sorry. I wanted to go earlier, but ... well ... oh, it’s just hopeless to explain!”

“And Dad didn’t see anything…?”

Heather shook her head. “Not a thing – I was careful not to let him see me from behind. I’m surprised he didn’t smell something, though.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” said Ron dismissively. “Dad suffers from anosmia – it’s a condition which means he has no sense of smell.”

“Really? Well, I’m sorry to hear that … but I suppose it was lucky for me.”

“Can I see?” asked Ron suddenly.

“What? No!” replied Heather with a grimace. “This is embarrassing enough, thank you!”

Ron smiled impishly. “Aww, please?” he said.

Heather had fallen for that cheeky grin weeks ago, but she was not about to let it turn her head now. “Why do you want to see it?” she demanded.

Ron shrugged. “Curiosity, I suppose,” he said.

“Well I’m certainly not about to embarrass myself any more, just to satisfy your curiosity!” snapped Heather.

Ron hastily corrected himself. “Actually,” he said, “it’s kind of ... arousing. I have to admit, the idea of you accidentally ‘going’ in your panties is quite ... quite a turn-on!”

Heather stared at him, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it isn’t working,” she said. “And if you’re trying to make fun of me I’ll…”

“I’m not!” Ron insisted hastily. “Please let me see.”

He seemed so genuinely eager that she relented, and although she felt rather uncomfortable about doing so, she turned around in order that he could see the large bulge in the back of her panties.

“Wow,” he breathed. “That’s quite a sight!”

“You … like it?” asked Heather in bemusement.

“Well … yes!” replied Ron. “You look incredible like that!”

“You’re weird,” said Heather, but she smiled a little. “Is your mum finished in the bathroom yet?”

Ron opened the door and checked. “No,” he said. “She’s still in there. Hey listen, would you mind if I took a picture of you? Like that, I mean, with your panties full of shit.”

“A picture?” Heather shuddered. “No, I don’t think so. What if someone else saw it? I’d rather not be immortalised like this.”

“Aww, please? It’s my own camera – nobody else will see the photos.” He pulled out of his desk drawer a smart-looking digital camera. “Please?”

Heather shook her head in disbelief. “Whatever. If it means so much to you.” She posed for him.

Ron grinned and looked at her through the viewfinder. “You’re too close,” he said. “You’d better get on to the bed. Tell you what – why don’t you get on your hands and knees, with your bottom towards me but looking back at me? Oh, and why don’t you pull your skirt up around your waist?”

Heather grimaced, but reluctantly she complied, presenting her buttocks completely uncovered except by her panties, and those were sagging under the weight of a large mass of sticky poo.

Ron fired off a couple of pictures, but he could resist Heather no longer. He put the camera down on a table by the door, then climbed on to his bed next to his girlfriend. Grinning at her with a twinkle in his eyes, he laid his hand on the bulge in her panties and cupped his palm around it.

“What are you doing?” asked Heather, wide-eyed.

“Oh, nothing,” said Ron, but he gently pressed his palm inward, and the mass of poo was squished a little and spread outwards.

“Stop that,” Heather scolded him.

But Ron did not stop. Instead he began to slide the wad of poo slowly upwards, and then back down, so that its hardening inner surface began to caress Heather’s buttocks and the skin between.

“This is so cool!” he whispered. “Does that feel nice?”

Heather was not about to admit any such thing. “Ron, stop it – please. This is a serious matter. I need to get to the bathroom and empty my panties out. We can fool around after that.”

“But … you’ve no idea how sexy you are with your panties so full of poo!” he exclaimed. “Wow – there’s so much of it! I’m in awe.”

Heather chuckled humourlessly. “There’s more where that came from,” she said. “I didn’t get rid of all of it.”

“Really?” inquired Ron in surprise. “Well, you might as well get rid of the rest now…”

Heather shook her head. “Not until I’m sitting on the loo, thank you very much.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” said Ron, sliding his fingers down her gusset to where he could feel the softness of her labia. He sought the groove between them, and began to caress her where he judged her clitoris was.

“Absolutely not,” said Heather, but she closed her eyes and smiled slightly – Ron had guessed accurately.

Ron now worked one finger inside the material of her panties, and slid it gently into her vagina. With his thumb he continued to caress her clitoris, and she started to moan softly. Wildly aroused, Ron unzipped his jeans with his free hand and took out his erection. Straddling Heather’s left leg, he pulled the gusset of her panties to one side, then he removed his finger from her cunt and replaced it with his penis.

“No!” exclaimed Heather in a hoarse whisper.

“It’s okay!” insisted Ron. “Everyone else is watching television downstairs – we’ll just have to be quiet about it.” He slowly slid his engorged member inside Heather’s vagina, which was already moistened with her own juices.

“Oh God!” whispered Heather.

Ron eased his erection all the way inside her, until the top of his right thigh was pressing against the bulge in her panties. Slowly at first, he began to thrust in and out, and as his pace increased Heather began to utter high-pitched, staccato moans.

“Shh!” said Ron. His thrusting intensified, and then suddenly he climaxed, shooting his sperm deep into his girlfriend. With a happy sigh he gently withdrew, leaving Heather to masturbate herself to a climax.

But as he turned to get himself a tissue from his bedside table, he suddenly noticed Lizzie standing by the door. She had his camera in her hands, and her eyes were wide. Before he could react, she had taken a photo.

Ron uttered a strangled cry. “Give me that!” he yelled.

Heather squeaked in horror as she turned to see the little girl taking a picture of her. Instantly she regretted letting Ron have his way. This was a frightening turn of events!

Lizzie ran out of the door, closely pursued by Ron. Down the stairs he chased her, until she ran giggling into the living room. Heather climbed off the bed, fixed her skirt as best she could, and crept out of the room, but her hopes of sneaking into the bathroom were dashed as she saw that the door was still closed. Carefully she went halfway downstairs, fearful of what might happen between Ron and Lizzie. She did not dare descend all the way in case she met George.

Her luck was out, though. The sound of flushing upstairs was followed soon afterward by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Quickly Heather hurried down the remaining stairs, then she stepped into the living room as she heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind her.

“I’ll buy you an ice cream,” Ron was saying as he caught Lizzie by the arm.

“No! Let go – you’re hurting me!” exclaimed Lizzie in annoyance. “I don’t want ice cream. I want to take more photos of Heather with poo in her knickers.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” growled Ron. He snatched the camera from her and thrust her away from him. She fell backwards, hit her head on the corner of a table, and burst into tears. At this moment George entered the room. Heather hurriedly turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” demanded George furiously.

“Ron just hit me and pushed me over!” wailed Lizzie. “I only wanted to use the camera.”

“I didn’t hit her!” protested Ron. “I just sort of pushed…”

“I’d scarcely have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” growled George. “Ron, go to your room at once! You’re grounded!”

Ron began to object, but he looked at his father’s thunderous expression and fell silent. As he meekly retreated from the room, his father coughed meaningfully and held out his hand for the camera. Ron hesitated, glanced at Heather with a helpless expression, and then handed it over. Heather’s heart sank as she watched him stomp upstairs despondently.

“Here,” said George in a more kindly tone as he helped Lizzie to her feet. “You can have custody of the camera until your brother has learned his lesson.

“Thanks Dad,” said Lizzie, sniffling.

George now turned to Heather with a sigh. “I’m so sorry to ruin your evening like this,” he said. “Of course I’ll take you back home at once.”

“Thanks,” said Heather, her expression troubled.

“Just let me go and say goodnight to my wife.” He left the room and went upstairs.

Heather turned to Lizzie. “Please erase those photos,” she said urgently.

But the little girl shook her head. “No way, I like these photos,” she said. “They’re gross but funny. Can I take some more of you?”

“No!” said Heather firmly.

Lizzie pouted. “I’ll show these ones to my Daddy if you don’t let me take some more,” she said. “And I’ll show them to my friends at school.”

Heather gaped. “Don’t show them to anyone, please!” she exclaimed in a frightened whisper.

“Then you’d better do what I say,” said Lizzie in a matter-of-fact tone.

Heather was wracked by inner turmoil, but she saw the hopelessness of the situation. “Very well,” she said, and she turned around so that Lizzie could take another photo.

“Lift up your skirt,” Lizzie instructed.

Heather hesitated, then pulled the skirt up until it was gathered around her waist. There was a faint click as Lizzie took a photo.

“I want to see inside now,” said Lizzie. “Pull the back of your knickers open.”

“What? No!” protested Heather.

“Fine,” said Lizzie, “I’ll just show these photos to Dad shall I? I think he’ll specially like the ones where Ron’s having sex with you.”

Heather sighed wretchedly and pulled out the waistband at the back of her panties. Lizzie giggled and pointed the camera at the mess within. There was another click.

“Listen,” said Heather, “your dad will be back in a minute. The bathroom’s free now – I need to go and clean up before we go out to the car.”

“Oh no – you’re not allowed to clean up,” said Lizzie firmly. “You can go home as you are.”

“But I’ll get the seat all messy!”

“Don’t worry – Dad won’t smell it, and I’ll clean it up tomorrow,” Lizzie assured her.

A moment later George’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and Heather pulled her skirt back down quickly. She made sure that she was behind him as they made their way out to the car, and she got into the back seat. Lizzie did not object to this, and herself climbed into the passenger seat. Heather grimaced as she lowered her bottom to the seat, feeling her poo squish outwards and forwards along her gusset. She could feel the warm tacky mess cradling her pussy, and the sensation made her shudder.

“Give Heather the front seat,” said George to Lizzie as he got into the driver’s side.

“No! Really, I’m fine back here,” said Heather hastily.

“Suit yourself.” George started the car and they set off.

They had not been going more than two minutes when Lizzie suddenly said, “Dad, can we stop at Shelley’s Shakes?”

George glanced at the time, and then shrugged. “Sure – after we’ve dropped Heather off.”

“But what if Heather wants a milkshake?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” said George.

“I bet she does.” Lizzie turned around in her seat and looked back meaningfully at Heather. “Don’t you want a milkshake Heather?”

Heather certainly did not, but she was only too aware that the little girl held all the cards. “Sure – if that’s all right with you, Mr Patterson.”

“Of course – it’s the least I can do since my son ruined your evening.”

They pulled into the parking lot next to Shelley’s, and Heather gingerly climbed out of the back seat. She was well aware that she had left a bit of a mess on the leather upholstery, but almost all of her poo still seemed to be inside her panties, plastered to her buttocks and pussy.

“There are people in there!” hissed Heather to Lizzie. “They’re going to see me!”

“So?” Lizzie shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

Despondently Heather trooped into the restaurant behind Lizzie and George, and she quickly took a seat near to the door, sitting down before any of the other patrons had time to see her predicament. Once again her excrement squished outwards, coating more of her pussy and working its way between her labia.

“Aren’t you going to come up and pick what you want?” asked George.

“I’ll just have a Supa-Dupa Choco Delight please,” she said.

George nodded and went up to the counter with Lizzie. Once the little girl had picked what she wanted, however, she came and sat down opposite Heather. “This is fun!” she said.

“Not for me,” growled Heather. “I can’t wait to get home and change out of these clothes.”

“You can keep the skirt,” said Lizzie. “It’s a present.”

“Thanks very much,” said Heather sardonically.

“In fact,” said Lizzie, “I think you should wear it every time you come over to our house.”

“Not a chance,” muttered Heather.

“Dad!” said Lizzie in a loud voice. “Come and look at these photos I took!”

Heather felt as if her blood had turned instantly to ice. “Okay, okay! I’ll wear it, I promise!”

“Good.” Lizzie grinned. “I don’t think you should say ‘no’ to me any more.”

George returned with the milkshakes. “There we go – one chocolate, one strawberries and cream, and one portion of Shelley fries for you to share.” He sat down next to Lizzie.

“Aren’t you having anything?” inquired Heather.

“No, no – I have to watch my calories,” said George, somewhat regretfully.

“Heather,” said Lizzie, “could you please go and get me some ketchup for my fries?”

Heather hesitated, and George said, “I’ll get it.”

Lizzie glared at Heather, who gulped. Then she heard herself saying, “No that’s all right, I’ll get it.”

Her heart pounding, Heather got to her feet and edged out from behind the table. Still facing George and forcing a smile, she backed slowly towards the counter. At once gasps rose up all around her, and she quickened her pace. She reached the counter and grabbed a couple of ketchup sachets from a plastic tub, then she trotted quickly back to her table. Sitting down carefully, she nevertheless afforded George an excellent view of the front of her panties, for the skirt had ridden up until it was mostly rucked up around her hips. George smiled at her warmly, assuming her strange behaviour was because she did not want to show him her bottom.

People sitting at nearby tables were by now staring at Heather with a mixture of hostility and revulsion. Several of them moved further away. Heather, her cheeks crimson with humiliation, tried to finish her milkshake as quickly as possible.

“You know, Dad,” said Lizzie suddenly, “it’s a shame Ron and Heather didn’t get a chance to say goodnight to each other.”

“Yes, well, Ron’s got to learn to act his age,” said George. In truth, however, he was beginning to regret having come down so hard on his son in front of the lad’s girlfriend.

“Perhaps Heather could come back to our house and stay the night?” suggested Lizzie. “She could sleep in Gary’s room. Then at least she and Ron could see each other tomorrow morning.”

Heather looked up sharply and shook her head at Lizzie. Then she turned to George, who was regarding her with a querulous look.

“I couldn’t possibly,” she said. “I mean, I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that…”

George shrugged. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “But don’t your parents want you back tonight?”

“Yes!” said Heather, clinging to this lifeline. “They told me not to be out too late.”

“But it’s Saturday night,” argued Lizzie. “Dad, why don’t you lend Heather your phone. She can call her parents … and persuade them.” With that she gave Heather another meaningful stare.

George pulled out his phone. “If you’d like to stay the night, you’re welcome to,” he said. “See what your parents say.”

With a heavy heart, Heather dialled her home number. Lizzie eyed her beadily. When her father answered, Heather said, “Hi Dad.”

“Hi honey, what’s up?”

“I’m just sitting in Shelley’s with Mr Patterson and Ron’s sister. Ron kind of got grounded so our evening was cut short…”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you coming home then?”

“Well … I was planning to. But I’ve just been invited to stay the night over there. I think Ron may just be grounded for the evening, so I’ll be able to see him tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well I don’t see why not, if Mr Patterson doesn’t mind. Is he there right now?”

“Yes, he is.”

“May I have a word with him?”

“Sure.” Heather handed the phone over to George. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Hello Adrian,” said George. “You got the gist? … Yeah, sure, it’s no problem – Heather’s delightful company … great, well, what time do you need her back for tomorrow? Any time? Okay, well I’ll give you a call tomorrow then.” He switched the phone off and pocketed it. “That’s settled then,” he said.

Heather spotted one of the other customers talking to a member of the restaurant staff over the counter, and both men were looking her way. She kicked Lizzie under the table and inclined her head towards the conversing men. Lizzie did not take the point straight away, so Heather said, as brightly as she could manage, “Shall we get going then?”

Lizzie took the hint this time. “Yes, I can’t manage any more of this,” she said. “Let’s go home Dad.”

“Already?” George seemed surprised. “Well, if you like.”

Heather felt a surge of panic as one end of the counter was opened up and a couple of uniformed staff members came out, making their way towards her. She hastily got up from her seat and hurried out of the building, backing out through the door so that George would not see her messy panties.

George and Lizzie soon followed. “What’s the hurry?” George wanted to know.

Heather looked anxiously inside, but the staff members had stopped and were staring at the place where she had been sitting. “The lights in there were flickering and giving me a headache,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Oh – you should have said something,” said George. “We could have got the order to go.”

They all climbed into the car and drove out of the car park. Then George said, “Do you want to stop by your house and get a toothbrush and some night-things?”

“Yes please,” said Heather quickly, before Lizzie could object.

The little girl turned around and glared at her. “Are you sure you want your mum and dad to see you like that?” she asked pointedly.

For a moment Heather assumed that Lizzie was referring to her getting caught by her parents in this state. But then she realised this was a new twist on Lizzie’s blackmail. Slumping in defeat, she said, “Actually Lizzie’s right. I think I’d rather not return home until I’ve got my jeans back. I don’t think they’d be too happy about seeing me in this skirt.”

“Fair enough,” said George. “I think we can find you an unused toothbrush.”

Miserable and uncomfortable, Heather sat in silence for the rest of the way back to the Pattersons’ house. When they arrived, she somehow managed to keep George from seeing her messy state long enough to get upstairs and out of his sight. Lizzie followed her up, and showed her the room belonging to Gary, the Pattersons’ eldest son who had recently moved in with his girlfriend.

“Now when you go to bed,” Lizzie instructed, “take off all of your clothes except for your knickers. Leave all the poo still in there, and get into bed like that.”

“But I’ll make the bed all messy!” objected Heather.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Lizzie. “I’ll wash the sheets tomorrow after you’ve gone home. I know how to use the washing machine,” she added proudly.

Ten minutes later, at Lizzie’s instruction, Heather had said goodnight to George and excused herself, saying she had a headache and would like an early night. Having brushed her teeth and been to the toilet (Lizzie allowed her to pull her panties down in order to pee), she went to her room with Lizzie, then stripped off her outer clothes right in front of the little girl. She felt horribly embarrassed.

“And your bra,” said Lizzie.

Reluctantly Heather removed her bra and folded her arms over her breasts.

Lizzie held up the camera. “Turn around,” she said.

More pictures were taken of Heather’s messy bottom – placing her further under Lizzie’s control, she realised. Then Lizzie asked her to lie down on the bed, with her legs spread wide so the poo could easily be seen nestling around her pussy. This sight, too, was immortalised.

“Look happy,” Lizzie said sternly. “Look like you’re enjoying it.”

Heather felt far from happy, but her forced half-smiles only served to exasperate Lizzie, so eventually she endeavoured to look genuinely thrilled for a couple of shots.

Then Lizzie removed the memory card from the camera. “I’m going to go and put these photos on the computer,” she said. “And I’ll set up a password for my username so Ron can’t get to them. Now make sure you spend the whole night like that, and when you get up in the morning, put on the same clothes you were wearing today. I want to see you at breakfast with your panties still full of all that poo.”

Heather groaned. Would she ever be free of this awful little girl’s blackmail? “Lizzie, it’s all going to be dry and horrible by that time,” she complained. “When are you going to let me empty my panties?”

Lizzie thought for a moment. “All right,” she said. “In the morning, after breakfast, I’ll let you empty them.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Heather with a sigh of relief.

Lizzie left the room, and Heather turned the light out. It was some time before she managed to get to sleep.

In the morning, after a wake-up call from Lizzie, Heather got up, dressed, and went to the bathroom. Her poo was by now quite hard, though it was still tacky to the touch. Her bottom and pussy were itching terribly, however, and she washed them with bits of moistened toilet paper. Then, reluctantly, she pulled her excreta-laden panties back up so that the poo cradled her buttocks and pussy once more. Finally she pulled her skirt down as far as she could, though it was still a long way from covering the huge bulge nestling against her buttocks.

With a heavy sigh, she went downstairs to the kitchen, which doubled up as a breakfast room. Sitting down at the table, she smiled at Ron and George, who both seemed delighted that she was still wearing Lizzie’s little skirt. She was careful not to let George see her from the rear, but there was no fooling Ron. He sniffed the air and looked quizzically at Heather, who shrugged and glanced at Lizzie.

“I thought we might take a trip somewhere today, if everyone is amenable?” suggested George.

“Where to?” asked Ron.

“Well, that’s up to you. Any preferences?”

“The zoo!” exclaimed Lizzie.

“Why don’t we let our guest decide?” said George.

“The zoo sounds fine,” said Heather, knowing better than to cross Lizzie.

“Excellent,” said George. “There’s some rain forecast for this afternoon, but hopefully we’ll be done at the zoo by the time it hits.” He got up to fetch some bread from the fridge.

Lizzie leaned over and whispered to Heather, “Spill something on your t-shirt!”

“What?”

“Spill something on your t-shirt!” insisted Lizzie. “I want you to wear something else to the zoo.”

“Shut up Lizzie, you little shit!” hissed Ron. “I’ve had enough of your mischief!”

“Hush, Ron!” said Heather in a frightened voice as Lizzie opened her mouth to say something loud and incriminating for George’s benefit. “She’s hidden the photos on her computer, and if I don’t do as she says, she’ll show them to your dad.” As Lizzie closed her mouth with a snort, Heather sighed and picked up her glass of orange juice.

“Oh no!” she cried, as she sloshed the contents of the glass over her chest. “How awful!”

“What’s wrong?” asked George, coming over to investigate.

“I’ve gone and spilled orange juice on my t-shirt,” said Heather. “Ron, could I borrow something of yours to wear?”

Lizzie pursed her lips in anger. This was not what she had in mind. “Everything of Ron’s will be too big,” she said. “Why don’t you borrow something of mine?”

George’s eyes widened. “That’s very generous of you, Lizzie,” he said. “Why don’t you take Heather upstairs and pick something for her to wear?”

Heather looked to Ron for support, but he merely shrugged. With a feeling of dread, Heather got up and sidled past George. She made it around the corner and then hurried upstairs, closely followed by Lizzie.

“That was fun!” said Lizzie with a giggle. “Now, come into my room and we’ll pick something for you to wear.”

Heather walked nervously into Lizzie’s bedroom and took off her t-shirt while the little girl rummaged through a drawer. She was dreading what she might have to put on.

“Here,” said Lizzie, after only a moment. “This will be perfect.” She handed Heather a small crop-top.

Heather looked at it sceptically. Made as it was for a pre-pubescent girl, it had no shape whatsoever. “I can’t wear this,” she said wearily, “it won’t even cover my bra.”

“You’ll have to wear it without a bra, then,” said Lizzie.

“Don’t be daft!” said Heather, frightened. “Then everyone will see my boobs!”

“Maybe not,” said Lizzie. “Try it.”

Shaking her head miserably, Heather pulled on the tiny top, and tugged it down as far as it would go. A considerable portion of her bra was still uncovered. “It’s ridiculous!” said Heather. “See? I can’t wear this.”

Lizzie giggled. “It might look better without the bra,” she suggested.

“No!” said Heather.

Lizzie scowled and stamped her foot. “Yes!” she said. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” With each ‘yes’, she stamped her foot again.

“Stop that!” hissed Heather. “All right, all right – I’ll try it without the bra.” She removed the top and the bra, then put the top back on. It covered her nipples and areolas, just, but this left an inch or so of her breasts visible beneath the hem.

Lizzie was all smiles again. “I think it looks neat,” she said. “I want you to go and ask my dad to let you wear it.”

“I can’t!” hissed Heather. “I could get arrested for indecent exposure!”

“It’s no worse than showing your poopy panties out in public,” said Lizzie indifferently.

“I know – I could have got arrested for that too!” said Heather.

“Then you’ll just have to be careful,” said Lizzie.

Sighing wretchedly, Heather trotted back downstairs, the nearly-dry wad of poo in her panties bouncing against her buttocks with each step.

“Mr Patterson?” she said as she entered the kitchen. “This is the only thing of Lizzie’s that I could squeeze into. I know it’s awfully revealing, but I was hoping you might let me wear it anyway.”

“Good God!” exclaimed George, staring at Heather’s partly-exposed breasts. Then he cleared his throat and snapped his eyes back up to her face. “It is rather revealing, isn’t it?” he said. “Perhaps something of Ron’s would be better…”

Relieved, Heather said, “Well if you think that’s best…” Then she heard Lizzie clearing her throat pointedly behind her. “Still, it’s a very cute top – I should really like to wear it. If you forbid me to wear it, of course I won’t, but…”

“It’s not that I’m forbidding you,” said George with a shrug. “I’m just thinking of your own comfort.” His eyes dropped to the lower curves of her breasts. “If it means that much to you, I guess you can wear it.”

With a pretend smile, Heather sat back down at the table and finished her breakfast. George got up from the table first, leaving Heather with just Ron and Lizzie.

“I want to take more photos,” announced Lizzie. “I’ve cleared the memory card so there’s lots of space.”

Ron scowled. “No more photos!” he said.

“Fine,” said Lizzie, pouting. “I’ll just show those other photos to Dad, then, shall I? Or maybe I’ll just email them to all my friends…”

“For heaven’s sake let her take more pictures,” said Heather, shuddering at the thought of the photos being emailed around to the little brothers and sisters of her friends at school.

“Okay,” said Lizzie. “I want to take pictures of Ron having sex with you.”

“You little pervert!” snapped Ron. “Why do you want pictures of that?”

Lizzie shrugged. “I want to see how it works.”

“But now? With Dad upstairs? Are you crazy?”

“We’ll hear him on the stairs long before he comes in here,” said Lizzie.

Ron sighed, and turned to Heather. “It’s up to you,” he said.

Heather’s heart sank, but she nodded. “All right,” she said.

“Good!” said Lizzie, pleased. “Just lie on the table, Heather, and put your legs nice and wide apart so I can see properly.”

Heather was about to ask if she should take her panties off, but then she decided that she would prefer to have as much coverage for her pussy as possible. Her stomach knotting with a mixture of humiliation and anxiety, she cleared a space on the table and then carefully climbed on to it, lying down with her bottom just hanging over the edge.

Ron, aroused despite himself, unzipped his jeans and freed his erection. He pulled Heather’s panties aside…

“Stop!” said Lizzie. She took a photo of Heather’s exposed pussy, with the wad of poo nestling against it. “Okay.”

Ron had to lubricate his penis with his saliva before he could get it into Heather’s vagina, but soon he was buried up to the hilt. Lizzie kept making him stop so she could take another photo, and she made him pull Heather’s panties away from her buttocks so that the whole glorious mass of her poo was visible, just beneath Ron’s half-sunk penis. Finally, at Ron’s insistence, she reluctantly let him fuck Heather properly, until with a groan he came inside her. He withdrew, and Lizzie took a photo of the cum leaking out of Heather’s vagina and dribbling down the huge wad of poo.

As Heather climbed gingerly off the table, she said, “Now can I go and empty my panties?” she said. “You did promise.”

“No I didn’t,” said Lizzie with a grin. “I think you should leave that poo in your panties all day.”

“What? You said I could empty them!” exclaimed Heather.

“Hush!” said Ron nervously.

“I changed my mind,” said Lizzie simply.

“But it’s all dry and hard!” complained Heather. “It’s making me itch!”

Lizzie shrugged. “So?”

“So have a heart!” said Ron angrily. “Why are you being so cruel to her?”

Lizzie stuck out her lower lip, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Heather, afraid the little girl was about to yell for her father, said, “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” asked Lizzie.

“I still need to poo some more,” said Heather. “If you let me empty out my panties now, I promise I’ll do another poo in them later on today.”

Lizzie thought about this, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “But I get to choose when.”

Heather sighed. “All right,” she said.

“Those panties will need washing,” Ron observed.

“No shit,” muttered Heather.

Lizzie burst into a fit of giggles. “But there is!” she said. “There’s lots of shit!”

“Grow up!” said Ron, annoyed.

“What will I do, though?” asked Heather. “I don’t have time to wash my panties and dry them before we go out.”

“You can wear a pair of my panties,” said Lizzie suddenly.

Heather groaned. “I won’t fit into them!” she said.

“You might,” said Ron. “Lizzie’s a pudgy little thing.”

“Hey!” said Lizzie.

“I suppose I might as well,” said Heather quickly, “since everything else I’m wearing is yours.”

“Good,” said Lizzie with a smile.

Heather hurried upstairs to the bathroom, and found it unoccupied. She locked herself in, then she emptied her panties into the toilet and, since her panties were now ruined, dropped those into the bowl as well. Knowing that this was almost certainly going to block the U-bend, she stood ready with the toilet brush, and, as she flushed, she rodded the poo for all she was worth.

The mass of poo, together with her panties, was prodded out of sight, but the level of water in the toilet climbed steadily as more and more water poured into the bowl. As it neared the rim, Heather panicked, dropped to her knees, and thrust her bare arm into the water. Sticking her fist around the U-bend, she pushed hard at the mass of poo and panties. It gave, then disappeared. The water level started to drop.

Grimacing with disgust, Heather got to her feet and hurried over to the basin, where she washed her hand and arm thoroughly with soap and water. Having dried herself, she then commenced the tedious and unpleasant task of removing the dry, crusty poo from her buttocks and pussy. It was not easy.

“Are you all right in there?” came George’s voice.

“Yes, I’m fine!” she squeaked. “Spot of tummy trouble. Um, is it okay if I have a quick shower?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, Heather was clean and feeling a lot better. She borrowed a towel that she hoped was Ron’s, picked up her clothes, and hurried through to Gary’s bedroom. Lizzie was there, with Ron.

“Put these on,” said Lizzie, handing her a small pair of pink panties, around which hopped dozens of cute yellow bunny rabbits.

Heather sighed as she took the panties, and she stepped into them, pulling them up underneath the towel. Fortunately they had plenty of stretch in them, and she could wear them, though they were uncomfortably tight. She put on the little top next, then she took off the towel and pulled on Lizzie’s skirt.

Once everyone was ready, they all got into George’s car, and headed for the zoo. “Shame Sheila’s got to work today,” said George. “She’d have enjoyed this.”

When they got to the zoo, Heather folded her arms across her chest as they queued for tickets and passed through the turnstile. After that, the cool exhibits distracted her from her discomfort and she actually started to enjoy herself, though she could never quite forget that parts of her buttocks and breasts were on continuous display. She wished Lizzie would not keep taking photos of her.

They had lunch in a small picnic area outside the café in the middle of the zoo. Heather was turning plenty of heads, as she had done all morning, and a couple of people fixed stern looks on George, who was apparently allowing his daughter to dress like a slut.

“Pay them no mind, Heather,” said George conspiratorially. “They just wish they looked as good as you.”

Heather smiled weakly, and bent down low over her lunch.

“Can we play on the adventure playground?” asked Lizzie.

“Well you can,” said George, “but Ron and Heather can’t. It’s just for twelves and under, I think.”

“Oh,” said Lizzie, crestfallen.

Heather was relieved. She was not sure what the mischievous young girl had been planning, but she did not like the idea of climbing around on playground equipment with her panties showing and her breasts no doubt popping out every few seconds.

“There’s actually an adventure course for older kids,” said Ron. “Just recently opened up next to the adventure playground. You get a little badge if you can complete the course in under two minutes.”

“Sounds like fun,” said George. “Is Lizzie old enough to go on it?”

“No,” said Ron, grinning at the disgruntled Lizzie. “It’s just for teenagers.”

“I bet Heather finishes it faster than you, Ron,” said Lizzie.

Ron chuckled. “I doubt it.”

Heather bridled at this – she was a good gymnast. Yet the thought of undertaking an adventure course in these clothes kept her from saying anything.

George grinned. “What do you say, Heather? Do you think you can give Ron a run for his money?”

Heather looked across at Lizzie, who nodded meaningfully. “All right,” she said. “I suppose so.”

The course looked simple enough – a zig-zagging run through a series of posts, followed by a climb up a net made of thick ropes, a slide down the other side, a short dash to a set of monkey bars over a muddy pit, then a swing by rope across a pond, a precarious run back across the pond on the top of a narrow log, and a short sprint to the finish line, which was just next to the starting point.

“Want to go first?” asked Ron, but Heather shook her head. She felt a spot of rain on her cheek, and looked upwards – the sky was overcast and becoming ominously dark.

Maureen, the bespectacled lady with the badges, said “Go!” and started her stopwatch. Ron started his run, and seemed to be doing well until he stuck his foot through the mesh of the rope net. But he recovered quickly, and executed the monkey bars portion flawlessly. He swung across the pond without a problem, but on his way back he overbalanced on the narrow log and fell with a splash into the pond, fortunately landing on his feet.

Lizzie and George burst out laughing, and Heather could not resist a smile as Ron tried to climb back on to the log, only to fall off again.

“No badge this time, sorry,” said Maureen, as Ron, his jeans soaked up to his thighs, approached the finish line with a scowl on his face.

“Your turn, Heather,” said Lizzie, getting out her camera.

Heather eyed the camera warily, but she nodded.

“Go!” said Maureen.

Heather ran for the row of vertical posts, and started dashing back and forth between them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lizzie running on ahead, but she ignored the thought of the malicious little girl taking photos of her panties, and concentrated instead on completing the course without error. Learning from Ron’s experience, she took her time climbing the rope net, and thus gave Lizzie plenty of opportunities to photograph her panty-clad bottom.

The tubby little girl had run around in front of her by the time she slid down the slide, and of course another picture was taken as her skirt bunched up around her waist. Then Lizzie ran ahead to the far end of the monkey bars, and now Heather started to panic, realizing what was about to happen.

Sure enough, as she started along the monkey bars, her top rose up almost immediately, exposing her nipples to Lizzie’s camera. The little girl laughed gleefully as she took picture after picture of Heather’s naked breasts and fully exposed panties. As Heather dropped to the ground at the end of the bars, she tugged her top down to cover her nipples, but she saw little point in pulling her skirt down – it would only climb up to her waist again as soon as she started running.

And run she did, right up to the edge of the pond, where she grabbed the rope and swung effortlessly across, landing on her feet on the far side. Then she started back across on top of the log. Unfortunately, when Ron had tried to climb back on to the log, he had got it rather wet, and now it was very slippery. The light drizzle which was now descending from the sky was not helping matters either. Heather tried to tread carefully, but she slipped on the wet surface, and crashed down on to the log with her legs either side of it.

“Ouch!” she cried, as she landed on her pussy. But she was still on the log, so she carefully got herself back on her feet, and managed to make it across to the other side without further mishap. Sprinting to the finish line, she panted breathlessly while she awaited news of her time.

“One minute and forty-eight seconds!” said Maureen. “Well done, young lady, here’s your badge.”

“Um, cover yourself, Heather,” said George.

Heather looked down at her chest, and gasped as she saw that her left nipple was uncovered. Blushing furiously, she pulled her top down again, then took her badge from Maureen, who was smiling politely.

Rain was beginning to come down in earnest, and in large droplets, which were beginning to soak through Heather’s top. “I suppose we’d better head back to the car,” said George.

“But we haven’t seen the penguins yet!” complained Lizzie. “Or the tigers!”

George sighed. “Well, it’s one or the other,” he said. “We don’t have time for both. Which is it to be?”

Lizzie thought for a moment. “Penguins,” she said.

And so, as the rain steadily grew heavier, they hurried to the penguin enclosure, and waited impatiently while Lizzie, for once, took photos of something other than Heather – she was fascinated by the penguins.

Heather, whose top was now soaked through and becoming transparent, nudged Ron. “We have to get out of the rain!” she said.

Ron nodded. “Dad, this isn’t much fun. Can Heather and I go back to the car?”

“We’re all going back,” said George. “Come on Lizzie.”

Lizzie turned, and stared in surprise at Heather’s nipples, which were clearly visible through her soaked top. Quickly, she raised her camera and took a photo. Heather turned in exasperation to George, hoping he would tell Lizzie off, but he was already walking away. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Don’t cover your chest,” said Lizzie. “That’s naughty. And you know what happens to naughty girls.”

With a sigh, Heather dropped her hands to her sides as she turned and followed George. She carefully avoided meeting the eyes of the passers-by who were staring at her visible nipples and exposed panties (her wet skirt was riding high and simply refused to stay down), but it was hard not to hear their comments.

“What a slut…”

“Can you believe the nerve of that girl…?”

“Shameless…”

She was very relieved when they arrived back at the car. She was also shivering.

“Are you all right?” asked George in concern. “You look cold.”

“Well no wonder, Dad,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. “She soaking wet, and look what she’s wearing!”

“Hmm, yes, well we’d better get you home and into some dry clothes,” said George.

Back at the Pattersons’ house, George sent Heather upstairs with Lizzie. “Find her some dry clothes,” he said to his young daughter.

Lizzie grinned as she raced up the stairs in front of Heather. When they were both in Gary’s room, Lizzie closed the door. “Take off your clothes,” she said.

“What are you going to give me to wear instead?” Heather asked.

“I’ll find something,” said Lizzie. “Now hurry up and take those clothes off before you get pneumonia.”

In truth, Heather was glad to take off her wet things. “At least find me a towel so I can get dry,” she said as she pulled her top up over her head.

Lizzie nodded, and hurried from the room. When she returned, ten minutes later, she brought with her a little hand towel. “You can use that,” she said.

“Wow, thanks,” said Heather sarcastically, dabbing at her damp skin with the tiny towel.

“Come on,” said Lizzie. “Skirt and panties off too.”

Heather removed the two garments together, and then dried herself below the waist. Lizzie picked up the wet clothes. “I’ll stick these in the dryer,” she said. “I can’t think of anything else for you to wear so you’ll have to stick with just the towel until these are dry.”

“Maybe I could put on a t-shirt of Gary’s,” Heather suggested.

Lizzie glared at her. “I said, you’ll have to stick with just the towel.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Fine!” she said. As Lizzie went off downstairs, Heather tried to tie the towel around her waist, but although it was just long enough to do so, the width of her hips meant that it splayed wide open below the point where it was tied. She shifted the tie around to the side, so that her hip and part of her left buttock was uncovered instead of her pussy. Now all she needed was another towel to cover her breasts…

Then suddenly she remembered her bra – it was clean and dry, and sitting on the chair on the other side of the bed. She retrieved it, put it on, and smiled with satisfaction as Lizzie came back into the room.

“Oh,” said Lizzie, looking disappointed. “I’d forgotten about your bra.” Then she cocked her head on one side. “But if you’re going to wear a bra, you should really wear panties on your bottom half instead of a towel.

Heather shrugged. “The towel suits me just fine,” she said.

“Just a minute,” said Lizzie, ignoring her. She left the room, and came back a minute later with a pair of white panties. “Put these on,” she said.

Heather pulled the panties on underneath the towel. They were as tight as the pink pair had been – at least as far as the elastic was concerned. There seemed to be a little more give in the actual material, though.

“Now,” said Lizzie. “Do a poo.”

“In these panties?” asked Heather, wrinkling her nose.

“Yes,” said Lizzie firmly. “And turn around – I want to take photos.”

Heather reluctantly turned around and placed her hands on the bed. Spreading her feet apart a little, and bending her knees, she began to strain. For a moment nothing happened, but then she felt her bowels begin to move, and her anus started to open up. A thick lump of poo started pressing against her anal sphincter from within, and she gritted her teeth as she attempted to force it out of her rectum and into her panties.

The door opened. “Hi,” said Ron, entering the room. “Woah! Are you taking a dump in your panties again?”

The surprise caused Heather to clench. “Shh!” she said to Ron. “Go away – and close the door. Make sure your dad doesn’t come up here.”

“But I want to see this!” said Ron, coming further in and closing the door behind him.

“You can stay,” said Lizzie. “Carry on, Heather.”

Heather sighed, and started pushing again. It did not take long for her poo to begin to emerge from her anus. She winced as the ring of muscle was stretched wide, and she pushed as hard as she could so she could be rid of the thing and obtain some relief. The big poo tented her panties away from her buttocks, and the tightness of the material soon resulted in considerable pressure in the opposite direction. Reaching back, Heather squished the emerging poo through her panties with her hand, and kept kneading and crushing it as it continued to slide out of her rectum.

In this manner she expelled two large, firm lumps, after which, fortunately, came some softer poo which she did not need to squish. It simply spread out around the large lump in her panties, oozing up to her waistband and around the sides of her buttocks, and also along her gusset. These panties of Lizzie’s being rather smaller than her own, the bulge in the back looked especially impressive.

She could have stopped at this point, but having prematurely cut off her poo last night, she was stubbornly determined this time to finish what she had started. So she kept pushing, and her gusset bulged downwards as more poo was forced along it from the back. Soon it was creeping up the front of her pussy, over her clit and onwards, until it started to spread out inside the front of her panties. By the time she squeezed out the last little bit, it was almost up to her waistband at the front, and the back of her panties was sagging heavily under the weight of the huge mass of poo she had produced.

“Wow!” exclaimed Ron, his eyes wide.

Lizzie had been taking pictures all the while. “Cool!” she said. “That’s even bigger than yesterday’s. However do you manage to poo so much, Heather?”

“I don’t think it’s bigger,” said Heather testily. “These panties are just smaller.”

“Smaller panties they might be,” said Ron, his eyes still glued to the huge bulge in the material, “but that’s still an awful lot of poo.”

“Yes, well,” said Heather, turning around and folding her arms. “If you’ve taken enough pictures now, Lizzie, perhaps you’d let me go and dump this lot in the toilet?”

“No way!” said Lizzie. She looked at her watch. “Spongebob is about to start, and I don’t want you sneakily emptying your panties while I’m watching it, so you’ll have to come and watch it with me.”

“Like this?” inquired Heather.

“Yes, like that,” said Lizzie.

“But your dad will see all the poo in my panties!” said Heather.

“True,” agreed Ron. “It’s all the way up the front.”

“You’ll have to keep your hands over the front,” said Heather, “and don’t turn your back on him.”

Heather sighed. “That might work,” she admitted. The poo against her buttocks and pussy felt warm and sticky. “All right then.”

She followed Lizzie out of the room, her hands clasped in front of her pussy. Ron brought up the rear, smiling and massaging his crotch as he stared at Heather’s overloaded panties. They were so full that the waistband was being held almost an inch away from the top of Heather’s buttocks – he could see the lumpy brown mass through the gap.

George was channel-surfing as they trooped into the living room. He looked up, then sat bolt upright as he saw Heather wearing just her bra and Lizzie’s skimpy panties. “My word!” he said. “Heather, you’re wearing less and less every time I see you!”

“I’m sorry,” said Heather wretchedly, “but Lizzie wanted me to watch Spongebob with her, and I’ve nothing else to wear until my wet things are dry.”

George chuckled. “Not having much luck on the clothing front, are you?” he said.

“So it seems,” agreed Heather. “Did you manage to find someone to fix the washing machine?”

“Yes,” said George, “but he’s busy today – he can’t make it until Monday afternoon. I’m afraid you’ll just have to take your jeans and t-shirt home and wash them there.”

“Oh,” said Heather, her heart sinking at the thought of wearing Lizzie’s tiny skirt home. There seemed little change of Lizzie allowing her to put her dirty jeans back on. Perhaps she could change in the car on the way.

“I called your father, by the way,” said George. “You’re welcome to spend another night here if you wish. All he asks is that you get to school on time tomorrow morning.”

Heather gulped nervously, noting Lizzie’s expression of glee. “Um, in that case I’ll need to get home in time to change for school.”

George nodded. “Not a problem,” he said. “How about I drop you off at your house at about eight o’clock?”

“That should be fine,” said Heather gratefully.

Lizzie scowled, but merely said, “Can I watch Spongebob, Dad?”

George handed her the remote. “Okay,” he said.

Heather, thinking anxiously about tomorrow morning, heard but did not register the footsteps in the hallway behind her, until it was too late. Then she froze at an unexpected voice: Sheila’s.

“Heather?”

She managed to stop herself from turning around and presenting her bulging panties to George. Instead she backed out of the room and around the corner into the hall, finding herself face to face with Sheila, who was standing there in her nurse’s uniform, frowning.

“Come with me,” she said.

Heather followed her upstairs and into Sheila’s and George’s bedroom.

“What’s going on?” asked Sheila simply.

Heather, horrified at having been caught but somehow almost relieved at the same time, blurted it all out. “I’m sorry!” she wailed. “Lizzie made me do a poo in my panties and she won’t let me empty them out! She took some embarrassing pictures of me and she says she’ll show them to everyone unless I do everything she says!”

“What pictures?” asked Sheila, still frowning.

“She took pictures of me and Ron having…” Heather began, but she could not bring herself to say it.

“Sex?” asked Sheila, her frown deepening.

“Yes,” said Heather miserably, staring at her toes.

“And Lizzie said she would show them to us if you didn’t poop in your panties? I must say I find that rather extraordinary.”

“Well,” said Heather uncomfortably. “There was a little more to it. You see … I’d had an accident. Remember last night when you were in the bathroom and I tried to get in? I was so desperate! I had an accident right there on the landing. Then Ron found me, and he was somehow … aroused … by my accident, and so we, um, made love in his bedroom. And that’s how Lizzie found us, and so she took pictures of Ron having sex with me while I was wearing my messy panties.”

Sheila was now looking positively angry. “So what you’re saying is, you had a particularly nasty and disgusting kind of sex right in front of my ten-year-old daughter!”

“We didn’t mean to!” insisted Heather. “How were we to know she would come in?”

“Why didn’t you just take the camera off her?” asked Sheila.

“Ron tried,” said Heather, “but he ended up hurting Lizzie by mistake, just as your husband came in the room. So Ron got grounded, and Lizzie got custody of the camera.”

“Why didn’t you tell George at that point that Lizzie had been taking naughty photos?”

“We didn’t want to admit to it!” said Heather. “I suppose we still hoped we could talk Lizzie into deleting the photos.”

“And I take it that hasn’t worked?”

“No,” said Heather glumly. “She just keeps taking more and more photos.”

“Oh? Of what?” asked Sheila sharply.

Heather’s stomach knotted. “Um, of me, mainly.”

“What kind of photos? Be honest now – I plan on having a look at these photos myself, so don’t lie to me.”

Heather hung her head. “She took photos of the poo in my panties … and then she made Ron have sex with me again, and she took a bunch more photos then … and then she made me poo in my panties a second time, and she took photos of that … oh, and she took photos of me at the zoo, when my top rode up and exposed my breasts…”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” exclaimed Sheila. “You deliberately had sex in front of Lizzie?”

“She made us!” said Heather.

“Poppycock!” retorted Sheila. “How is it possible that a pair of seventeen-year-olds let themselves be so dominated by a ten-year-old girl? You know what I think?”

“What?” asked Heather sullenly.

“I think you secretly enjoy the predicament. I think you’re getting off on this!”

“That’s not true!” exclaimed Heather hotly, raising her head and looking right into Sheila’s blazing eyes. “That’s not true!”

“Hmm,” said Sheila. “Well if it isn’t, then I must say I find it extraordinary that you and Ron couldn’t between you outwit a ten-year-old.”

Heather shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know – she’s a clever little girl.”

“That she is,” said Sheila. “But even so.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Heather. “Lizzie’s already uploaded some of the photos to her computer.”

Sheila thought for a moment. “You know,” she said, “I’m rather inclined not to do anything at all. You’ve made your bed – now you’ll have to lie in it.”

Heather was shocked. “But surely you can’t condone what she’s done!”

“I don’t,” said Sheila. “Nor do I condone what you and Ron have done. But it’s a little late to worry about protecting Lizzie’s innocence, which is my main concern with this whole sorry affair. No, I’m not going to bail you out of this mess you’ve got yourselves into – it’s up to you and Ron to get those photos back. For heaven’s sake – it’s Ron’s computer as well as Lizzie’s … don’t you think he could find and delete those photos if he wanted to?”

“Lizzie said she had password-locked her username,” said Heather.

Sheila shrugged. “I’m sure there are ways around that. Have you even discussed it with Ron?”

Heather shook her head.

Sheila rolled her eyes. “I suggest you do so.”

“In the meantime,” said Heather, “what am I do to about this?” She gestured to her bulging panties.

“That’s up to you,” said Sheila. “I’d prefer you to clean yourself up – the smell’s awful – but if you do, Lizzie might do something rash with those photos. You’re just going to have to work on that dilemma yourself.”

“So you’re not going to help me at all?” asked Heather.

“Why should I?” said Sheila. “I’m very upset with you, Heather, and with Ron, for corrupting Lizzie’s innocence the way you have – and to be frank I’m glad you’re being punished for it. I’ll deal with Lizzie myself, in my own way, but like I said, it’s up to you and Ron to get those photos back. Now get out of here before you stink up my bedroom any more.”

Morosely, Heather left the room and went back downstairs. Lizzie looked up as she entered the living room, then went back to watching her show. Heather crouched down next to Ron and put her mouth next to his ear.

“I need you to find and delete Lizzie’s photos,” she whispered. “You’re good with computers – surely you can do that!”

“If she’s password-protected her account,” he whispered back, “I can’t do anything unless she’s logged in. I could delete the entire account, but then she’d lose everything. She’d raise hell over that.”

“Just do it!” whispered Heather. “I’ll grab the camera.”

Ron nodded, and slipped out of his armchair. Lizzie glanced up as he left the room, but did not seem concerned. Heather noted that the camera was perched on the arm of the sofa next to Lizzie, and tried to think of a way to get hold of it.

She crossed the room, taking care to keep her hands clasped over her panties as she passed George, and then she crouched down next to Lizzie. She whispered in the little girl’s ear, “Lizzie – how am I supposed to sit down at dinner this evening without making a mess? And your mum’s home – don’t you think she’ll smell something?”

Lizzie nodded reluctantly. Then she turned to whisper back, “If Mum does smell something, say you just had an accident. Then you can clean up. But not before! And don’t worry about the dining chairs – they’re easy to clean.”

Heather remained in this position until the end of the show. Then she said, “Do you think my clothes are dry yet?”

Lizzie cocked her head. “I can still hear the dryer going,” she said. “Shouldn’t be long, though. Where’s Ron?”

“No idea,” Heather lied.

Frowning slightly, Lizzie looked towards the door, and Heather took the opportunity to grab the camera. As Lizzie got to her feet and trotted out of the room, Heather popped the memory card out of its slot, and then palmed it, replacing the camera on the arm of the sofa. She got to her feet, turning to face George as she did so.

“Well,” she said, “I’m just going to see what Ron and Lizzie are up to.”

George nodded, and looked at her curiously as she sidled past him towards the door. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No – nothing,” she said quickly, backing out of the room. Then she turned and hurried up the stairs.

She found Lizzie and Ron in Ron’s room. Ron was smiling with satisfaction, while Lizzie was looking furious.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself logged in like that,” said Ron. “A silly mistake. Now I’ve deleted all of your photos, and emptied the trash so you can’t get them back.”

Lizzie looked as if she would choke with all the things she wanted to say, but then she gasped and ran from the room.

“She’s remembered the camera,” said Ron. “Did you manage to delete the photos on it?”

“No, but I got the memory card,” said Heather, holding it up.

“Excellent,” said Ron, taking it from her. He pocketed it. “Now Lizzie doesn’t have anything on us, and you can stop doing everything she says.”

A minute later, Lizzie burst into the room, holding the camera and looking furious. “Where’s the memory card?” she demanded.

“It’s safe,” said Ron. “Until I get a chance to delete the photos on it.”

“You give it back!” yelled Lizzie. “Or I’ll tell Mum and Dad you two were having sex!”

“I’ll just say you’re making it up,” said Ron with a shrug. “They know you’re a little liar.”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, have it your way,” she said. “By tomorrow morning, everyone at school will have seen those photos.”

“What, the ones I deleted?” asked Ron, amused. “Or the ones in the memory card which you don’t have?”

“The ones I emailed to Sally!” Lizzie shot back. “And … a few of my other friends!”

Ron and Heather both gasped. “What?” said Ron.

“I was worried you might delete the entire hard drive,” said Lizzie. “So I emailed all the pictures to my friends this afternoon. And I’m not telling you who they all are, so there!”

“I could find out easily enough,” growled Ron, turning back to the computer. He opened up Microsoft Outlook and clicked on “Sent Items”. The folder was empty. “Clever!” he admitted grudgingly.

Lizzie looked inordinately pleased with herself. “I thought of everything!” she said proudly.

“You mean, all of your friends have seen me and Ron…” Heather began, appalled at the prospect.

“Not yet,” said Lizzie. “I password-locked the photos so nobody can see them until I give them the password.”

“Is that possible?” asked Heather.

Ron nodded. “What, did you zip them or something?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I stuck them in Word files and then password-locked the Word files.”

“Oh!” said Ron. “That’s a neat idea.”

“Never mind whether it’s a neat idea!” said Heather. “We have to get those photos back!”

Ron shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid we’re out of options,” he said. “It’s up to Lizzie.”

Lizzie laughed and bounced on the spot triumphantly. “Now give me back the memory card!” she said. “Or I call all my friends and give them the password!”

Ron sighed and fished the memory card out of his pocket. He gave it to Lizzie, who giggled as she pushed it back into the camera. “Now close the door,” she said. “I want to take more photos of the two of you having sex. Both naked.”

Heather sighed, closed the door, and took off her bra.

Fifteen minutes and forty-seven photos later, Lizzie ushered the two of them out of the room so she could upload the pictures and email them to her friends. She would not let Heather put her bra back on. “You can go and put on the clothes in the dryer,” she said.

So Heather hurried back to Gary’s room with her hands over her breasts while Ron retrieved her newly dried clothes. As Heather pulled on her top, Ron said, “Getting your skirt back on without making a mess is going to be tricky.”

“Yes,” said Heather. “I’ll need your help.”

Somehow they managed to get the skirt up over Heather’s panties, though the bulge became rather flattened as a result of the skirt’s tight fit, and Heather felt more poo being pushed forward along her gusset.

Ron smiled at her. “You do look incredibly sexy, you know,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Heather, half-smiling in response. “I don’t feel sexy, though.”

Lizzie entered the room and grinned. “I’ve had an idea,” she said.

Ron looked wary. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I think Heather should come to supper naked,” said Lizzie.

Heather’s eyes widened. “How on Earth would I justify that?” she demanded.

Lizzie shrugged. “You’ll think of something,” she said. “At least you won’t have to wear your poopy panties.”

Heather latched on to this. “You mean I can go and empty them out now?”

“No!” said Lizzie. “Just take them off carefully and leave them on the floor. You can put them back on after supper.”

“Ugh,” said Heather. “That’ll be pleasant.”

“Ron,” said Lizzie, “I want you to show me those websites which you never let me see.”

“What?” said Ron. “There’s a good reason I don’t let you see those websites! You’re too young!”

“But I want to see them!” said Lizzie fiercely. “And if you don’t show them to me right now, I’ll call my friends and give them that password!”

“All right,” said Ron grumpily.

“What websites?” asked Heather.

“Never mind,” said Ron. “I suppose you should stay here, unless you’d rather go downstairs and hang out with Mum and Dad.”

“I’ll stay here,” said Heather.

“No,” said Lizzie with a wicked grin, “I want you to go and hang out with Mum and Dad.”

Heather groaned, and shuffled dejectedly out of the room. Downstairs, she spotted George in the living room, but decided to go and talk to Sheila in the kitchen. “Hello Mrs Patterson,” she said in a dispirited voice.

“Hello Heather,” said Mrs Patterson stiffly. “I see … or rather ‘smell’ … that you did not manage to retrieve the photos.”

“We did!” said Heather. “I managed to get the memory card, and Ron managed to delete the photos from Lizzie’s hard drive.”

Sheila stopped chopping vegetables. “So why are you still wearing those messy knickers?”

“Because Lizzie emailed the photos to all her friends!” said Heather.

“Oh my!” said Sheila. “How cunning of her.”

“She password-locked them so that her friends wouldn’t see anything, but if I refuse to do anything she wants, she says she’ll call her friends and give them the password.”

Sheila sighed. “Well then, I suppose you’re a bit stuck,” she said.

“Can’t you do something to help?” pleaded Heather. “I’ll be at Lizzie’s mercy forever otherwise!”

“Well it seems to me that you have two choices,” said Sheila. “Either, as you say, you allow yourself to be at Lizzie’s mercy indefinitely, or you call her bluff and refuse to do anything more for her, and accept the consequences.”

“But she says she’ll make sure everyone at school sees the photos!” said Heather.

“Then … oh dear.”

“Good God!” exclaimed George from behind Heather.

Heather whirled around. “Mr Patterson!” she squeaked.

“What the hell is going on?” George demanded.

“Lizzie’s got Heather over a barrel with some compromising photos,” said Sheila smoothly. “And it seems she finds it amusing to have Heather go to the toilet in her panties, and then leave it there.”

“That little tyke!” said George. “Good thing I have no sense of smell! So how long have you been … like that?”

“Since just after we got back from the zoo. But last night … when we went to Shelley’s Shakes – my panties were full of poo then, too.”

“Great Scott!” said George. “No wonder you were in such a hurry to leave.” He turned to Sheila. “What are we going to do about Lizzie?”

Sheila shrugged. “I’ve told Heather it’s up to her and Ron to figure it out. If the two of them can’t outwit a ten-year-old…”

“But we tried!” said Heather. “And failed! Now Lizzie’s friends all have the photos!”

“What exactly is in these photos?” asked George.

“Heather and Ron having sex while Heather’s panties are full of poo,” said Sheila. “For starters.”

“Oh heavens!” said George. “Their parents will kill us! We have to stop this, Sheila!”

“How?” asked Sheila. “If we try to browbeat her, she’ll give her friends that password out of spite. You know what she can be like.”

“What password?” asked George.

“Lizzie password-locked the photos to prevent her friends from seeing them,” explained Heather.

“Oh – well that’s a mercy, at least,” said George. Then he turned back to Sheila. “So how do you suggest we prevent Lizzie from giving out that password?”

“Keep her happy,” said Sheila. “But I for one am not going to tell Heather to continue obeying Lizzie’s every command. That’s for Heather to decide.”

George shook his head slowly. “We could try reasoning with Lizzie,” he suggested. “Maybe offer her something in return for going to her friends’ houses and deleting all the photos…”

“A reasonable suggestion,” said Sheila. “But how would we know she had done it? She might say she had deleted them, when she actually hadn’t.”

“We could go with her,” said George.

“We wouldn’t know if she had given us every name on her distribution list,” said Sheila.

George sighed. “So what you’re saying is, the photos are out there and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Only obtain Lizzie’s promise that she won’t give out the password – and trust her to keep her word.”

“Well if that’s the best we can do … how do we get her to make that promise?”

“I don’t know. Offer her something.

“She’s been after a new bike,” mused George.

“Wait!” said Sheila, slapping her forehead. “Do you realise what we’re saying? We’re talking about sending Lizzie a message that we’ll do just about anything to prevent her from giving out that password! Do you really want to give her that kind of power over us?”

“Oh!” said George. “Heavens, no.”

“We must pretend we know nothing about it,” said Sheila. “Ron and Heather started all this – it’s up to them, not us, to work out a deal with Lizzie.”

Heather’s heart sank. She had been feeling more and more optimistic as Ron’s parents talked, but now she felt she was back to square one. “She wants me to come to dinner naked,” she said dolefully.

“Good Lord,” said George. “How does she think we’ll react to that?”

“We must react normally,” said Sheila firmly. “We must appear to be shocked. We’ll tell Heather off and send her upstairs to put some clothes on.”

George nodded. “Righto,” he said.

“Now,” said Sheila to Heather, “let’s say I’ve just caught you with your panties full of poo. Since we don’t want Lizzie to think that George and I know about her little blackmail game, you must tell Lizzie that you told me you had an accident. Tell her also that I told you to go and clean up.”

“Okay,” said Heather, relieved. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

She turned, went back upstairs, and stuck her head into Ron’s bedroom. Ron looked up guiltily, switching sessions on his computer screen as he did so, but then he relaxed. “Hi,” he said.

“Lizzie, your mum smelled my poo and I told her I had an accident,” said Heather. “She told me to go and change.”

“Oh,” said Lizzie. “Well, take off your panties, but leave the poo in them. Then clean up.”

Heather sighed – she had been hoping to get rid of the poo. But she nodded. “All right,” she said.

As she headed off to the bathroom, Lizzie said, “Ron, why do so many of these women have no hair? On their private bits I mean.”

“They shave,” said Ron shortly.

“Why?” asked Lizzie.

“Presumably because they think it looks nicer,” he said, feeling terribly uncomfortable with talking about these things with Lizzie. He had deliberately stayed away from the more explicit porn sites on his favourites list – he had no wish to explain to Lizzie his interest in Japanese tentacle porn, for example – but so far Lizzie had been satisfied with cheerleader sluts and naughty schoolgirls.

“Oh,” said Lizzie. “Do you think it looks nicer?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Ron.

Lizzie nodded. “These sites are pretty boring. Don’t you go to sites that show men and women having sex?”

“No,” said Ron, his cheeks reddening. “I don’t like those sites.”

“Why not?” asked Lizzie in surprise.

“I don’t enjoy seeing naked men,” said Ron.

“Oh,” said Lizzie. “Well I want to see that stuff. Click on that link.”

“Which link?” he asked warily.

“That one.” She pointed to a thumbnailed picture of a young woman sucking on a penis.

“Ugh – no,” said Ron. “I don’t want to see pictures of women giving … I mean, women sucking … doing that, I mean.”

“Why do they do that?” asked Lizzie.

“Because the men like it, I suppose,” said Ron.

“Oh,” said Lizzie. “Anyway I want to play Tetris now.”

“Be my guest!” said Ron, getting up eagerly from the computer chair. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” said Lizzie, settling herself into the chair. “Go and tell Heather to shave. I think you’re right – it does look nicer.”

Ron’s groin stirred at this. For a while he had been considering asking Heather to shave off her pubic hair, but so far he had not found the courage to broach the subject. Now, however, he had the perfect excuse. He left the room and knocked on the bathroom door. “Heather?” he said. “Can I come in?”

“No,” said Heather from within. “I’m washing my nether regions.”

“Lizzie wants you to shave your pubic hair,” said Ron.

“What?”

“All of it. She’s decided she likes the look of a shaved pussy better than a … a hairy one.”

Heather scowled at the door. “I don’t have a ladies’ razor here,” she said.

“I’m sure Mum must have one,” said Ron.

Heather looked around, and soon enough found what she needed. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll be a while, though – I might as well do my legs and … and so on, while I’m at it.”

“Okay,” said Ron with a smile. “I’ll see you later then.”

Heather sighed and started to run herself a bath.

At a little after six o’clock, the Pattersons sat themselves down around their dining table. A moment later, Heather entered the room, naked, with her hands clasped across her newly-shaved pussy. Lizzie giggled. Ron could not help grinning at the sight of Heather’s naked breasts. George and Sheila contrived to look surprised and shocked.

As Heather sat down, Sheila cleared her throat. “Um, aren’t you a trifle underdressed, dear?”

Heather was blushing to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“Well, do you have an explanation for coming to dinner without a stitch of clothing?” asked Sheila.

Heather looked up, confused. She had been expecting Sheila to tell her off and sent her upstairs to put some clothes on. She had not prepared an explanation. “Um,” she floundered, “well, I … I was … the only clothes I have to wear are Lizzie’s … and … and they’re awfully tight and uncomfortable … and … well, everyone here has seen so much of me already, I … I didn’t think it would make much difference if I was completely naked.”

“She has a point,” said George. “That skirt of Lizzie’s is so short you can see her…”

But Sheila cut him off. “Don’t you have a bra?” she asked. “I know that your jeans and t-shirt both had drinks spilled on them, and your panties – well, let’s not mention what happened to them – but as far as I am aware, nothing untoward has happened to your bra, has it?”

“Um, I suppose not,” said Heather, staring down at her hands. “It seemed silly to wear just that and nothing else, though…”

“Silly or not,” said Sheila, “I do think you could have made an effort. Now go and put your bra on, there’s a good girl, and wrap a towel around your waist to cover your bottom half.”

“Okay,” said Heather in a small voice. She got up and hurried out of the room, all eyes on her naked buttocks.

“Can I go and help her?” asked Lizzie.

“I think she can probably manage by herself,” said Sheila.

“But I could find her a towel!” said Lizzie. “What if she picks yours or Dad’s?”

“All right,” said Sheila. “Find her one from the airing cupboard.”

Lizzie dashed from the table, ran upstairs, and flung open the airing cupboard. She grabbed a small hand towel and ran through to Gary’s bedroom, where she found Heather just fastening her bra. “Here,” said Lizzie. “Tie this around your waist.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of towel your mum had in mind,” said Heather, but she took it and put it around her waist. It was shorter than the hand towel she had worn earlier, however, and she could not tie it. “It’s not big enough,” she said. “I’ll use this one instead.” She picked up the other hand towel, which was still lying on the bed.

“Okay,” said Lizzie, “but you have to fold it in half before you put it around you.”

“But then it won’t cover me!” said Heather, annoyed.

Lizzie grinned. “Yes it will, a bit,” she said.

“How about if I just fold the top three inches over?” suggested Heather, and she demonstrated.

“Six inches,” said Lizzie.

“That would be nearly half,” said Heather. “How about four inches?”

“Five,” said Lizzie, grinning. “And don’t say four-and-a-half.”

Heather sighed and folded over what she guessed was a little under five inches. “Okay?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Lizzie. “Let me get a ruler.” She hurried out of the room, and returned a moment later with a bright green six-inch plastic ruler. She carefully measured the folded material. “That’s less than four inches!” she accused Heather.

“All right, all right,” said Heather grumpily. She had underestimated how long an inch really was. She added another inch to the fold. “Better?”

Lizzie measured again, and nodded. “Okay,” she said.

Heather wrapped the towel around her waist again, but with the fold it was too difficult to tie. “Do you have a safety pin?” she asked.

“I know where Mum keeps them,” said Lizzie, and she dashed off again.

When she returned with a safety pin, Heather pinned the two ends of the towel together, then rotated the towel until the pin was above her left hip. Reaching behind her, she grimaced as she felt her buttocks peeping below the towel. Fortunately, her pussy was just barely covered. “Come on, then,” she said, “or the food will get cold.”

They returned to the dinner table. If Sheila or George noticed that steps had been taken to shorten the towel, neither said anything.

After dinner they watched television until Sheila announced that it was time for her to go to bed. “Make sure you’re in bed by nine o’clock,” she said to Lizzie.

As soon as Sheila had gone upstairs, Lizzie turned to Heather. “Go and put your poopy panties back on,” she said. “Leave the towel upstairs.”

Heather sighed, got to her feet, and trudged upstairs. She could hear Sheila taking a bath. In Gary’s bedroom she unclipped the safety pin, dropped the towel on the floor, and fetched her poo-filled panties. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she stepped into them and pulled them up slowly and carefully, making sure not to get poo-streaks on her legs. As the poo contacted her buttocks, and the ridge of poo along her gusset pressed between her shaven labia, she shuddered with revulsion. The poo was cold, though still sticky.

Returning downstairs, she tried not to meet George’s eyes, and kept her front towards him with her hands over her panties, despite the fact that he knew her panties were full of poo. Lizzie grinned and picked up her camera. George, seeing this, cleared his throat. “Um, I’m going upstairs to read,” he said. “You kids have fun. Bed by nine, though, Lizzie.”

“Okay Dad,” said Lizzie.

As soon as her father was out of earshot, Lizzie said, “Okay Heather, take off your bra.”

Heather reluctantly unclasped and removed her bra. “I guess you have just over an hour,” she said. “Tomorrow morning I’m going home, and all this will have to end.”

“Oh, but you’ll come over here next weekend, won’t you?” asked Lizzie.

Heather shook her head. “No way. Next weekend, Ron can come to my house.”

“Hmm,” said Lizzie. “What a pity. I suppose I’ll just have to spend next weekend on the phone with my friends.” Then, in case she had not made herself clear enough, she added, “And tell them some passwords!”

“Oh great,” Heather groaned. “All right Lizzie, I’ll come back here next weekend – if my parents let me.”

“They’d better!” said Lizzie. “And when you come over, I want you to wear a really short skirt – one that shows your panties.”

“But why?” asked Heather plaintively. “Why is that important to you?”

“Because it’s funny to see you all embarrassed because you’re not properly covered up,” said Lizzie candidly. “Now lie down – I want to take more pictures of Ron having sex with you.”

Heather lay down carefully on the floor and spread her legs. Ron unzipped and lay down on top of her. “Sorry about this,” he muttered.

“Oh don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it,” said Heather.

“Well, I am,” he admitted. He pulled her gusset aside and guided his erection to her vaginal opening. “And I’m sorry about that, too.”

Heather smiled up at him. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, and then she gasped as he entered her. “It’s not like I don’t enjoy the sex,” she whispered. “Or even having sex with my panties full of poo. I just wish your sister weren’t watching and taking photos.”

“Let’s just try to forget she’s there, shall we?” said Ron, thrusting deep inside her. “Let’s just do this for us, you know?”

“Okay,” she murmured, and she pressed her lips to his.

For a full minute they entwined their tongues together, their excitement building as Ron’s thrusting intensified. Then Heather pushed Ron to one side, and they rolled over together, until Heather was on top, straddling her boyfriend. As she eased herself up and down on his erection, he cradled her bulging panties in his hands, and began to massage the sticky mass, which had by now warmed to the temperature of her skin. The sensation of the squishy poo sliding and oozing over her buttocks was new to Heather, and not at all unpleasant. She gasped and moaned as Ron, rubbing more vigorously, gathered handfuls of poo that had squished out of the sides of her panties. He mashed the poo directly into her buttocks, coating them all over with a thick brown layer of shit, and then he slid his hands inside the back of her panties and squeezed her buttocks. One finger of his left hand sought and found her anus, and she gasped as he pushed the finger deep into her rectum.

“Eww!” said Lizzie, spoiling the moment. “Did you just stick your finger up Heather’s bottom, Ron?”

“Go away,” said Ron crossly, embarrassed but reluctant to remove his finger.

“Pull Heather’s panties to the side so I can see your finger going in. I want to take a photo,” said Lizzie.

Ron complied, rather sourly, but Heather kissed him deeply to reawaken his enthusiasm. “Never mind her,” she whispered. “Just fuck me, Ron, as hard as you like.”

That was all Ron needed to reach his climax. He spasmed and shuddered, spurting his semen deep inside Heather, who sighed happily as she lay down on top of him and stroked his hair.

“That was great!” said Lizzie. “I got a lot more photos. I’ll go and upload them and then send them to my friends.”

“I need to clean up now,” said Heather. “I’ll make a mess everywhere if I don’t.”

Lizzie nodded. “All right,” she said. “But I want you to save all the poo you can, and put it in another pair of panties that I’ll give you. I want to make sure you go to bed with poo in your panties.”

Heather got carefully to her feet. She looked down and saw that Ron’s groin was rather messy. “Looks like we should both take a shower,” she said. “Is your mother out of the bathroom yet, I wonder?”

“I’ll check,” said Lizzie. She trotted out of the room, and then returned. “Yes, the bathroom’s free.”

It was a lengthy clean-up. Heather managed to salvage a fair amount of poo by scraping out her panties and gathering chunks that were stuck to her bottom. She worked all of this poo into a large ball, which she placed into the back of a pair of pale pink panties that Lizzie had tossed into the room. When she was completely clean, she dried herself off … and then pulled on the pink panties, grimacing as the ball of poo squished against her buttocks.

It was now Lizzie’s bedtime, which George enforced with a stern “Lizzie!” Heather and Ron were relieved to be rid of her, but in truth they were so tired that they did not stay up long before calling it a night themselves. Heather climbed carefully into bed, managing not to soil the sheets, and it was not long before she was fast asleep.

The following morning, Lizzie awoke Heather at seven o’clock. “Breakfast!” she said. “Come as you are – don’t put on a bra.

Heather washed her face, then went downstairs in just her panties, which were sagging modestly under the weight of the ball of poo within. When she sat down, the ball squished against her buttocks, but for some reason this made her smile rather than shudder – perhaps it was the memory of last night’s messy but exhilarating love-making session with Ron.

George’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw that Heather was wearing only her panties. “Couldn’t you have worn a bra?” he asked her, then, catching Lizzie’s eye, he added, more sternly, “That’s just not decent, young lady!”

“I’m sorry, Mr Patterson,” said Heather wearily. “But I couldn’t find it when I got up.”

“Oh,” said George, nonplussed. “Well, what will you be wearing when I take you home?”

“Lizzie’s little skirt, I suppose,” said Heather. “And her little top. And these panties.”

George nodded, and spent the next twenty minutes looking everywhere but at Heather’s chest. After breakfast, Heather went upstairs to put on Lizzie’s skirt and top. Ron helped with the skirt, and then he kissed her again. “Thanks for last night,” he said.

She smiled back at him, and was about to reply, when Lizzie entered. “I bet you could do another poo now,” she said. “Why don’t you try?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Lizzie, I’m about to go home to my father. I already have poo in my panties. What more do you want?”

“More poo!” said Lizzie, stamping her foot.

With a sigh, Heather pulled up her skirt and then bent over the bed. Lizzie quickly switched the camera on, and pointed it at Heather’s tight-fitting panties, which already looked as if they contained a large, flattened orange. Heather strained, and her anus slowly opened up. A thick column of poo oozed out of her rectum, and pushed against the roundish wad in her panties.

“Ron, get on the bed,” said Lizzie, suddenly remembering a picture on one of Ron’s websites. “Heather, I want you to suck his thingy while you’re doing your poo.”

Heather raised an eyebrow, but as Ron positioned himself on the bed in front of her, and freed his erection, she obediently took it into her mouth. Sucking on it and sliding it in and out of her mouth, she continued to push more poo into her panties while Lizzie took photo after photo. Soon her panties were bulging hugely, but she continued to suck Ron’s penis until, with a loud moan, he climaxed into her mouth.

Lizzie giggled. “Ron, you do make the funniest faces when you do that,” she said.

Ron blushed and frowned with embarrassment. “Come on Heather,” he said. “Dad’ll be nearly ready to take you home.”

Heather stood up, wiped her mouth, and tugged her skirt down as far as it would go. A full three inches of bulging pink cotton hung below the hemline. “All right,” she said, tugging on the skimpy top. She picked up a plastic bag into which she had placed her jeans, t-shirt, bra and messy panties. “My parents are going to kill me,” she muttered.

“Try not to let them see your poopy panties,” said Lizzie. “Or they might not let you come back next weekend.”

“I’ll try,” said Heather fervently.

Downstairs, she managed to get herself into George’s car without revealing to him that she was still wearing poo-filled panties. She tucked one leg beneath her bottom and contrived to balance on it, so that she would not squish the poo out of her panties and foul the upholstery. As she put her seatbelt on, George climbed into the other side. “All right!” he said. “Let’s get you home. I do hope you’ll have time to get ready for school.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Heather. “It’s only five minutes away from my house.”

As they drove, Heather felt her panic levels rising. What was she thinking, going home dressed like this? She would be grounded forever!

George pulled into her driveway and stopped the car. Then he got out and walked up to the front door. It took Heather a little longer to get out – she was still trying not to get poo everywhere. As she closed the door, George was ringing the doorbell for the second time. She joined him on the doorstep.

The door opened. “Goodness me!” said her father.

“I’m so sorry about her clothes,” apologised George. “She had a bit of an accident with her own clothes, so we had to give her some of Lizzie’s. They were the only ones that fit, believe it or not.”

Steve Harcourt stared in disbelief at Heather, who quailed and dropped her eyes to the ground. “Hurry up and get inside!” said Steve. “And go and change for school! I’d like a few words alone with Mr Patterson!”

Heather pushed past him and hurried up the stairs, hoping to move quickly enough so that he would not smell her poo. Shutting herself in her bedroom, she stripped off her clothes and put her poo-filled panties in a plastic bag, which she tied tightly so that the smell would be contained. Running through to the bathroom, she locked the door and hastily washed her buttocks and pussy.

Having dried herself with a towel, she quickly brushed her teeth, then hurried back to her bedroom and put on some clean underwear and her school uniform – a white blouse, a blue pleated skirt, white socks, and shiny black shoes. As she was brushing her hair, her father entered the room.

“Ah good,” he said. “We’ll be leaving in two minutes. I had a nice little chat with Mr Patterson – I must say it’s most bizarre that only his ten-year-old daughter had clothes to fit you…”

“And they didn’t even fit!” said Heather.

“Well quite,” said Steve. “Still, as George, uh, Mr Patterson explained, he and his wife are both rather larger than you, and Ron’s rather thinner, so none of their trousers would have fit you. I asked him why you couldn’t have worn a t-shirt, and he raised the rather good point that any of their t-shirts would have completely covered your skirt – which would have looked, if anything, even worse … it would have looked as if you weren’t wearing anything under it.”

“Yes,” sighed Heather. “Well, it’s nice to be back in my own clothes.” She put down her hairbrush.

Steve nodded. “Are you ready then?”

“Yup!” said Heather. “Just let me grab my books.”

She picked up a bag full of books, then, on an impulse, she picked up the bag containing her poo-filled panties. Perhaps, she thought to herself with a smile, she could poke a hole in it later, and then squeeze out the contents into the panties she was currently wearing.

The thought made her all shivery!


THE END
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