“These are our seats,” said Melanie, indicating two empty
spaces. She excused herself
brusquely as she shuffled past audience members who had already taken their
seats. Behind her, her husband
Bruce mumbled apologies to those who moved their knees to one side in order to
let him pass. He took his seat
beside his wife.
“This had better be good,” she
said. “I love Rocky, but this
sounds like being a really boring show.”
Bruce muttered something.
“What?” Melanie demanded
irritably. “Speak up – I
can’t hear you over this racket.”
“I said,” Bruce repeated, his
cheeks flushing red as he raised his voice a little, “that it’s likely to
be very important.”
“Important to scientists, maybe,”
said Melanie. “But is it really
going to affect me? These people
have their heads in the clouds – they’re totally out of touch with real
life.”
Bruce fell silent, not wishing to
antagonise her any further. He
was only glad that he had managed to persuade her to come along.
This was to be a chat show like no other.
Albus Harding, the charismatic nuclear physicist responsible for the
best-selling “Idiot’s Guide to the Universe”, was to make an
announcement on a special edition of Rocky O’Leary’s primetime show.
No other scientist could have attracted the massive media attention
this spawned, and as the cameras rolled and the studio lights came on to
tumultuous applause, Rocky’s teeth gleamed in a winning smile from his plush
burgundy armchair.
“Good evening folks!” he grinned
at the throng. “Ready to see
history made?”
A cheer rose up (although Bruce could
not help hearing Melanie’s cynical snort), and Rocky milked it for all it
was worth.
“I sure am,” he said.
“But I’m as much in the dark as you people – I have no idea what
this announcement is going to be. But we’re about to find out!
Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together for Professor Albus
Harding!”
Another cheer, even louder.
The tall, shaven-headed physicist saluted the audience as he stalked in
from the wings, wearing his trademark green-and-silver robes.
He took his seat opposite Rocky, and crossed his legs neatly.
“Good evening Professor Harding,”
said Rocky.
“Hi Rocky,” said Albus in his
deep, gravelly voice.
“Professor, you’ve been hailed as
‘greater than Einstein’ – how do you respond to that?”
“I generally don’t,” replied
Albus levelly. “We’re pressed
for time, Rocky – if we could get to the subject of the announcement?”
“Certainly, certainly,” said
Rocky, a little taken aback. “Now,
as I understand it, this concerns quarks?”
“Yes it does. All the matter in the universe, as readers of my books will
know, is made up of quarks, leptons and neutrinos.
Neutrinos are stand-alone particles – they are of little consequence
to the average man or woman on the street.
Leptons are more important – they include the electrons that orbit
atoms. Quarks, however, are the
building blocks of the protons and neutrons that you find in an atom’s
nucleus. There are six of them -
Up, Down, Truth, Beauty, Charm and Strange.
Most scientists prefer to call the Truth and Beauty quarks ‘Top’
and ‘Bottom’ respectively, but I like Truth and Beauty.”
The audience was hanging on every
word. No matter that it made no
sense to most of them - it was the deliciously hypnotic quality of the
scientist’s voice that held the attention.
Even Melanie, Bruce was satisfied to notice, was paying attention,
though she still wore a sceptical frown.
“Only the Up and Down quarks,”
continued Albus, “occur in ordinary matter.
The other four are unstable and only exist for a fraction of a second.
They are heavier than the more stable quarks, and they shed that extra
mass when they decay to Up and Down quarks, which have long been assumed to be
the most fundamental particles of all – totally stable.
However I have discovered that this assumption is wrong.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far,”
said Rocky. “I think.
So you’re saying that protons and neutrons themselves could decay?”
“Not at all,” the professor
corrected him gently. “But the
Up and Down quarks within those protons and neutrons will eventually decay
into even smaller quarks that I like to call ‘quarkinos’.
Up until now, no quarkino has ever existed. In five minutes’ time, however, that will change.”
A murmur rose up from the audience.
They had no idea what this revelation would mean to them, but it
sounded important. Bruce, who
knew a little about particle physics, felt a shiver run down his spine.
This was heavy stuff! He
glanced at Melanie, who was busy fixing her make-up with the help of a small
pocket mirror.
“In five minutes?” asked Rocky in
surprise. “How do you know?”
“I have discovered that the universe
has a hadronic chronometer,” said Albus matter-of-factly. “I have long suspected it, as I stated in my ‘Idiot’s
Guide to the Universe’. However
I now have the proof. I now know
the exact age of the universe, and I know that in slightly less than five
minutes, every Up quark and every Down quark in the universe will decay. Each Up quark will become a ‘High’ quarkino, and each
Down quark will become a ‘Low’ quarkino.
A small amount of energy will be released…”
“Assuming this is true,”
interrupted Rocky, frowning, “what will that mean to us?
To humans? To life
itself?”
“Very little,” said Albus.
“The integrity of each atom will be preserved; a neutron will remain
a neutron, and a proton will remain a proton.
No man on this planet will be in the least bit affected.”
“No man?”
Rocky’s mouth curled into a grin.
“So it will affect women?”
If Albus realised that Rocky was
attempting to poke fun at his political incorrectness, he did not show it.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said.
Bruce noted with a certain perverse
pleasure that Melanie was now wearing a rather concerned frown.
Meanwhile, Rocky’s grin had faded rapidly.
“You’re kidding!” he said. “This
quark decay thing will affect women but not men?
In what way? And how?”
“That second question will be easier
to answer than the first,” said Albus.
“It comes about because of the very small impact this change will
have on the element hydrogen and the way it behaves in complex organic
molecules. This in turn has a
small effect on the physical behaviour of certain organic compounds, one of
which is the female sex hormone oestrogen.”
“Now, I’m no chemist...” said
Rocky slowly, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
“Neither am I,” said Albus candidly.
Rocky chuckled, then continued, “but
you say, ‘physical behaviour’... Do
you mean that the chemical properties of these compounds will be unchanged?”
“That is correct,” agreed the
professor. “But the knock-on
effect of this may be both physical and behavioural...”
The audience was getting restless and
uneasy. Particularly the female
part of the audience. An
uncomfortable silence reigned as people began to glance nervously at their
watches. Melanie, however, had
made up her mind about what was happening.
“This is clearly a stunt,” she whispered to Bruce.
“And I think it’s ridiculous, and alarmist.
Can we leave please?”
Bruce held up a placating hand.
“Harding is a serious scientist,” he protested softly.
“I told you this would be important.”
“You say ‘may be’,” said
Rocky. “So you really don’t
know what the effects will be?”
“Oh, I know what some of them will
be,” Albus assured him. “I
just can’t predict all of them.”
“Can you give us an example,
then?” Rocky asked politely.
“Certainly. One major side-effect will be that all women, all over the
world, will completely lose all control over their bowels.”
Rocky gasped in surprise.
A nervous titter arose from the audience, then was stilled.
Bruce’s jaw had dropped; Melanie was looking furious.
But then Rocky burst out laughing.
He clapped his hands and gestured to the professor.
Turning to the audience, he said “Physicist humour, Ladies and
Gentlemen. Let’s hear it for
Professor Harding!”
A few people clapped, a few laughed
with Rocky. But most were still
unhappy. Melanie turned to Bruce
with a ferocious look and said, “This is too much!
I’m going!”
“If you don’t believe him,”
Bruce hissed back, “wouldn’t you like to see him proved wrong in a couple
of minutes?”
Melanie considered this, and stayed
where she was. Pursing her lips,
she stared fixedly at Albus, as if trying to kill him with telepathy.
The professor had leaned back calmly.
Resting his elbows on the sides of his chair, he pressed the tips of
his fingers together. “I wish I were joking,” he said.
“But in just over one minute, half your audience is going to be
running for the exits in a panic.”
Rocky stopped smiling.
He stared at Albus sternly, then he shrugged.
He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket so that he could see his wrist,
and he said matter-of-factly, “Very well, Professor.
One minute, you say? Well,
let’s just see what happens. If
this is your idea of a prank, however, I must say it is in very poor taste.”
Albus did not reply.
He looked at his own watch. “Forty-five
seconds,” he said. “This is
an atomic chronometer, by the way, so I am fairly confident of the accuracy of
my prediction.”
“We shall see,” said Rocky.
“That’s thirty seconds left, by my reckoning.”
Albus nodded. The two men continued to watch their timepieces.
The audience scarcely breathed. All
eyes in the room were cast downwards, staring at wrists.
“Fifteen seconds,” said Albus
quietly.
“And you think this will happen all
over the world at exactly the same time?” asked Rocky.
“It will,” replied Albus.
“In three ... two ... one ... now.”
There was the briefest pause, like the
look of stunned surprise on the face of a man who has been shot, just before
he begins to fall. Beside Bruce,
Melanie gasped in horror. And
then pandemonium broke out all around them.
Albus Harding, looking quite unconcerned, began to sing an old song by
Eighties British band The Smiths. “Panic
on the streets of London,” he intoned in his sombre bass, “Panic on the
streets of Birmingham. I wonder
to myself ... could life ever be sane again?”
Bruce looked in surprise at his wife,
who had half risen from her seat. A
faint odour of excrement reached his nostrils.
“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.
“I’ve … just…” Melanie began
in a panicky tone of voice, and then she shrieked at him, “Don’t just sit
there! Get up!
We have to get out of here!”
Fear gripped her. As Professor Harding had said ‘now’, she had felt her
rectal musculature contract while at the same time her anus involuntarily
dilated. A long pole of poo had
oozed out from her colon and into her panties.
The fact that many of the women around her seemed similarly afflicted
was no comfort to her at all. The
sensation of having a large poo in her panties, pressing against her buttocks,
was utterly disgusting… Well
actually, if she stopped to think about it, the sensation itself was not that
bad, it was the concept that was so abhorrent…
“The Leeds side-streets that you
slip down; I wonder to myself,” sang Albus, “Hopes may rise of the
Grasmere, But Honey Pie, you’re not safe here…”
Bruce got to his feet, only to be
shoved down again by jostling bodies, scrambling to reach the aisles.
He wrinkled up his nose as the smell grew more oppressive.
Jeans- and skirt-clad pairs of buttocks pushed past him at face level,
and he recoiled from the odorous bulges.
But he soon found himself dragged to his feet by his distraught wife. “Come on!” urged Melanie.
“Don’t be so useless!”
“Right-o, dear,” muttered Bruce,
as he climbed to his feet again.
“So you run down, To the safety of
the town,” Albus placidly continued his rendition, “But there’s panic on
the streets of Carlisle…”
“Will you stop singing!” demanded
Rocky O’Leary angrily, thoroughly out of his depth.
“Please, everyone! Calm
down!”
“Dublin, Dundee, Humberside … I
wonder to myself…” sang Albus, before he abruptly stopped. “Observe the chaos induced by fear of the unknown, coupled
with mob psychology. Panic begets
panic. The distressed females
drag their bewildered husbands and boyfriends out into the street in search of
an explanation, a remedy, a source of support … a futile effort.
It will be chaos outside too.”
“Where
the hell’s my studio manager?” shouted Rocky.
“What’s her name?” asked Albus
quietly.
“Huh?”
Rocky glanced at the professor irritably. “Um, Teresa Macdonald.
Uh … oh.”
“She was probably the first into the
toilet,” remarked Albus. He
stretched languidly, leaned back, and took out his palmtop computer.
Melanie had by now reached the aisle,
with Bruce, floundering in her wake, trying very hard to keep up.
He spotted a fairly clear route to a fire exit, and with a lunge
managed to grab his wife’s wrist. “That
way!” he suggested, pointing. “Easier
to get out!”
Melanie tried to shake her hand free.
“I need to get to the toilets!” she shrieked.
“You think you’ll get in?”
He gestured at the crowd in front of her.
“They all have the same idea, you know!”
This had clearly not occurred to
Melanie. Reluctantly she changed
direction and fought her way out of the aisle.
Bruce led her to the exit and they tumbled outside into the warm
September evening. Melanie
straightened her skirt and grimaced as her poo shifted between her buttocks,
moving forward along the gusset of her panties.
“We need to find the nearest toilet,” she said.
The street was in turmoil.
Disarrayed cars blocked the road and the traffic was backing up in all
directions. People scurrying down
pavements, many with a hand cradling the bulge behind them, were slipping in
the faeces of others who had been less scrupulous about where they unloaded.
Bruce surveyed the scene and shrugged
hopelessly. “Any toilet around
here is going to be packed,” he said. “We
should get home – at least we can be sure nobody will be using our own
bathroom.”
“And how do you suppose we’ll get
home?” demanded Melanie. “The
roads are blocked!”
“This one is,” said Bruce.
“But the car park exit is on the other side of the building.
We may get lucky. Come
on.”
Walking rather gingerly, Melanie
followed him towards the ground floor entrance to the multi-storey car park.
Impatient at her slow progress, Bruce turned to face her.
“Why don’t you just dump it out right here?” he asked.
Melanie scowled at him.
“I haven’t become that uncivilised yet,” she said.
“I’m not going to foul the pavement like a dog.”
Bruce shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he muttered.
“But hurry up, will you?”
“Look, have some sympathy, will
you!” she snapped. “How do
you think this feels? It’s the
most humiliating experience!”
“Fine,” said Bruce shortly.
“I just thought we should attempt to beat the rush.”
Melanie sighed. “All right,” she said.
“That makes sense.” She
quickened her pace, trying to ignore the way her poo slapped against her pussy
and buttocks with each step. It
felt warm, sticky, soft… She
shuddered, trying not to think about it.
They reached the car and got in.
A few other cars were leaving at the same time, but the rush that Bruce
feared had clearly not yet started. As
Melanie got in, she screwed up her face in distaste as she sat down, her poo
squishing against her bottom and pussy, and oozing both forwards to her clit
and beyond, and backwards up towards her coccyx.
Bruce lowered all the windows, then he started the car and they set
off, spiralling down the ramp towards the exit.
Out on the street, it was not long
before they hit a traffic jam. Bruce
sighed and put the car into neutral as they came to a halt behind a little
yellow hatchback.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I guess this was a bad idea.”
“Maybe you could take the next left
and get on to Galloway Street,” Melanie suggested.
Bruce arched one eyebrow.
He had expected to suffer a verbal assault on account of his error of
judgment, but his wife seemed curiously calm.
“Good idea,” he said. “Let’s
hope we get there in the next hour.”
Melanie merely nodded in response.
Back in the studio, the audience had
by now all disappeared. Rocky
O’Leary turned on Professor Harding. “This
has to be some kind of trick,” he said angrily.
“I don’t believe in this quark decay thing.”
Albus put away his palmtop and stood
up. “Believe what you like,
Rocky,” he said. “It’s
happened, and it’s going to be a different world now.”
“But how can the only effect of such
a fundamental change in the universe be that women now poop in their
underwear?”
“As I said, there will be other
effects,” said Albus. “Most
will take a little more time to be noticed.
The loss of bowel control in women was just something I realised would
happen right away.”
“But I still don’t understand how
all the Up and Down quarks could decay at once!” Rocky insisted.
“These others you mentioned – the heavier ones that decay more
quickly … do they all decay at once?”
“No,” said Albus.
“So why the Up and Down quarks?”
demanded Rocky, aggrieved.
“Have you got a degree in Nuclear
Physics?” asked Albus.
“Don’t insult me, Professor.
You know perfectly well you can explain it to me in layman’s
terms.”
“All right,” Albus conceded.
“Here’s the thing: this is not an isolated event.
Quarks have been decaying from heavier quarks since the universe began.
The cumulative loss is minuscule, but these events happen every few
hundred years. In the past they
went pretty much unnoticed. Physiological
changes were adapted to and overcome in a few generations.
But the cycle is as regular as clockwork, and I had absolutely no doubt
that it would occur when I said it would.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with some rather important
people.” He bowed curtly, and
left.
At that moment a door opened on the
right-hand side of the studio, and Teresa Macdonald entered, looking rather
sheepish. “Sorry to abandon you
like that,” she said, “but I had a little problem…”
“Yeah, I figured,” said Rocky.
“Did you get it sorted out okay?”
“Um, well no, not exactly,” she
replied.
“No?”
Rocky was surprised. “So
you’ve still got…” He broke
off, unwilling to finish the sentence, and glanced down curiously at her short
skirt.
“Well, the toilets were already full
when I got there,” she explained. “I
tried the upstairs ones, too, but they were full as well. I’ll wait until the place has emptied a bit.”
“But … isn’t it awfully
uncomfortable?” asked Rocky, wrinkling his nose.
“No, not really,” she said
absently. “You get used to
it.”
Rocky shook his head in disbelief as
he walked out of the studio to his dressing room.
Back in Bruce’s car, Melanie was
humming a little tune to herself as they waited in the traffic queue.
“You’re taking this awfully
well,” said Bruce, looking at her askance.
Melanie shrugged. “There’s no point in getting upset about it,” she said.
“I can’t do anything about it until we get home, so why fret?”
Bruce
had to agree that this was logical, though it was not an attitude he would
have expected from his wife. He
decided to drop the subject, preferring to leave well alone.
Melanie glanced down at her skirt.
“Do think this skirt looks okay on me?” she asked.
Bruce stared at her in surprise.
“Yeah, it looks great,” he said.
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she replied with
another small shrug. She started
to toy with her hemline. “Only
I was just thinking maybe my legs would look better in a shorter skirt.”
Bruce’s eyes widened.
He glanced down at her skirt, the hemline of which was currently a
couple of inches above her knees. “Possibly,
possibly,” he conceded, his groin stirring at the thought.
“How much shorter?”
Melanie experimentally lifted her hem
up to reveal more of her legs. She
paused when the hem reached mid-thigh, and smoothed out the skirt.
“How does that look?” she asked.
“It looks great! I’ve always thought you should show off your legs a bit
more.”
Melanie nodded, thoughtfully.
“Okay,” she said.
They finally reached their turn-off,
but had gone only thirty yards or so down it when Melanie told Bruce to pull
over.
“Why, what’s up?” asked Bruce.
“Do you want to empty your panties?”
“No, it just occurred to me that
Chez Lucien is just near here, and it’s suppertime – why don’t we stop
and eat there? I can use their
loo.”
“Great idea!” agreed Bruce.
“It would probably have taken us another hour to get home with all
this traffic.” He pulled over
and parked.
Melanie gingerly got out of the car,
her poo-filled panties clinging to her buttocks and pussy.
She and Bruce walked to the end of the road and turned left towards the
restaurant. When they arrived
there, they found it practically empty. The
waitress welcomed them with a warm smile.
“I’m afraid we haven’t booked
– do you have a table for two?” asked Bruce.
“Yes, certainly,” said the
waitress. “We were busy right
up until about half an hour ago, and then suddenly people started to leave in
a hurry. One group ran out
without paying their bill. Very
strange.”
“And, uh, you weren’t … affected
… in any way at the same time?” inquired Bruce.
“Affected?” asked the waitress in
puzzlement. “In what way?”
Bruce shook his head.
“Never mind,” he said.
They took the seats offered to them,
and Bruce watched his wife in puzzlement as she pulled her napkin out of her
wineglass and placed it across her knees.
“Aren’t you going to the toilet…?” he asked.
“Oh.
Yes,” said Melanie, and she got to her feet and walked off towards
the back of the restaurant, leaving Bruce to pore over the menu.
Less than a minute later she returned.
“There was somebody in there,” she said.
“I’ll try later.”
Bruce opened his mouth to speak, then
he shrugged and closed it again.
Half an hour later, as they were
tucking into their main courses, Melanie put her napkin to one side.
“I have to pee,” she said. “The
toilet should be free by now.”
Bruce nodded, and watched as his wife
walked sedately to the Ladies’. He
took a sip of his wine. Two
minutes later, Melanie returned and sat down.
Bruce watched her for a moment as she resumed eating.
“Success?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she replied
indistinctly.
Bruce smiled. “Good,” he said.
Forty-five minutes later, having paid
their bill, they went back outside and returned to the car. As Melanie got in, Bruce noticed that she lowered herself to
the seat with unwarranted care.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied.
But the whiff of poo was unmistakeable.
“I thought you emptied out your
panties,” said Bruce.
“No.”
She shook her head. “I
only peed. I didn’t think there
was enough toilet paper to effect the kind of clean-up operation I’ll need.
Let’s just get home – I’ll do it there.”
Bruce found this remarkably strange
behaviour for a woman who had earlier been desperate to get to a toilet so she
could empty her panties. Now she
had sat through a car journey and a three-course meal, and was about to
undergo another car journey, all with her panties full of poo.
They drove home without further delay,
the traffic having abated by now. On
the way, Melanie chatted inconsequentially, seemingly oblivious to her messy
situation. Bruce gave up
mentioning it – he decided it was up to her to sort herself out. They reached their house in the suburbs, and Melanie wandered
into the living room, kicking her shoes off as she went.
She picked up the TV guide and sat down on the sofa, putting her feet
up. As she skimmed through the
listings for the evening’s viewing entertainment, she propped up the guide
on her knees, giving Bruce a clear ‘upskirt’ view of her panties, which
were bulging with the poo they contained.
Bruce considered saying something
about cleaning up, but then decided against it.
“I’m going to check e-mail,” he said.
“Okay darling,” said Melanie.
This startled Bruce – his wife had
not called him ‘darling’ for at least five years.
Shaking his head in bewilderment at the changes that had come over
Melanie this evening, he trotted upstairs to his study.
He switched on his computer and checked e-mail, then loaded up his
favourite news homepage. The front page took forever to load, but when it finally
appeared, he saw that the main headline was the breaking story about this
evening’s events. ‘Entire
Female Population Excretes In Unison’, stated one.
‘Albus Harding Predicts Mass-Defecation’, said another.
He read them all. Harding had been right – this had indeed been a global
phenomenon. One unfortunate TV
presenter had apparently not been wearing panties beneath her skirt when the
event occurred, and her poo had splattered on to the floor between her feet
– live on national television. Bruce
chuckled to himself – it would not be long before movie files of that little
incident started appearing on the web.
Returning downstairs, he found Melanie
lying on her back on the sofa, with her legs apart and her hand tucked into
the front of her bulging panties. She
was gasping and moaning as she rubbed at her clitoris, and Bruce stopped at
the doorway, staring goggle-eyed at the amazing sight. Her eyes closed, she did not realise he was there, and since
he did not want the show to end he kept quiet until she climaxed.
Bruce then hid out of sight as she sat up and turned the television on.
At this point he walked around the corner.
“Hi Sweetie,” he said
nonchalantly. “What’s on?”
“Oh, nothing much,” she said,
equally nonchalantly. “Just
thought I’d catch a bit of news.”
Bruce nodded as he came in and sat
down next to her. The news item
was, of course, the mysterious global panty-pooping phenomenon.
A nuclear physicist, Dr Sanjeev Andrahar, was being interviewed.
“It’s absolute nonsense, all this
about the quark decay,” he was saying dismissively.
“What Professor Harding is saying does not make sense.
Up and Down quarks do not decay – that is a fundamental law.”
“And yet,” said the reporter,
“surely a theory stands or falls by its predictive powers – and
Harding’s theory was indeed able to predict tonight’s … uh … strange
event.”
The physicist shrugged.
“How he knew that was going to happen is anybody’s guess.
However, I can assure you it had nothing to do with any quark decay.”
“I’m going to take a shower,”
announced Melanie suddenly. “My
bottom’s beginning to itch.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Bruce,
relieved and yet somehow disappointed that she was finally going to clean
herself up. “See you later
then.”
Melanie went upstairs, and Bruce
channel surfed for a while. Failing
to find anything worth watching, however, he switched off and headed upstairs
himself to see how Melanie was doing. He
was startled to find her showering in her panties.
As she rinsed shampoo out of her hair, she turned around under the
shower head, and Bruce saw that the soaked garment was still full of
excrement, though the poo was by now wet and soggy and leaking out of the
sides.
“Aren’t you going to take those
things off?” he asked her in surprise.
“Of course,” she replied.
“But I might as well rinse them out under the shower.”
“Fair enough,” said Bruce with a
shrug. “Anyway, I’m going to
get ready for bed. Early start
tomorrow.”
Later, when Melanie came to bed, all
clean and naked, they made love for the first time in several months.
To Bruce’s enormous surprise, midway through the experience Melanie
whispered in his ear that she would like to try anal sex again.
They had only tried it once before, back when they were young and
passionate and Melanie was more open to experimentation.
It had not been a success, and she had refused to try it again.
Now, however, Bruce did not need to be
asked twice. He allowed his wife
to turn over and get on all fours, then he lubricated his penis and her anus
with baby oil. Pushing the head
of his erection into her anal sphincter, he was surprised at how easily it
went in – almost as if her muscle had no ‘clench’ response. Soon he was buried to the hilt, his shaft gripped in the
tight, smooth embrace that only anal penetration could achieve.
Melanie, for her part, was unsure why
she had suggested this – she only knew that she was horny and that her anus
for the first time felt like an erogenous zone.
She winced a little as her husband entered her, but it was more of an
instinctive response than a reaction to pain – in fact the sensation of
Bruce’s warm, hard flesh sliding inexorably through her muscular opening
produced a rush like no other. As
he began to slide his erection in and out of her rectum, she felt a glow of
pleasure emanate from her anus, spreading outwards to suffuse her entire body
with sexual heat. Her breath
began to come in gasps and rapid, sonorous exhalations.
Eventually Bruce came … but not
before Melanie had had three orgasms and was close to collapse…
The next morning, Bruce awoke to find
the bed shaking. He turned to his
wife in surprise – she appeared to be masturbating.
“Morning sweetie,” he said.
“Mmmm …. Morning,” she replied.
“Oh darling, hurry up and fuck me.”
Bruce smiled and climbed aboard.
But when he began to slide his morning wood into her vagina, she pushed
him away. “Not there
darling,” she said. She pulled
her knees up to her shoulders and, gripping his shaft, directed him into her
anus. “Ohh, that’s better,”
she said, as he slid into her with little effort.
Bruce was surprised, and pleased to
discover that last night’s anal experience had not been a one-off.
After they had both climaxed, Bruce
got up and dressed quickly. His
morning schedule did not allow for unplanned sex, and he was now running late.
He trotted downstairs, fixed his breakfast and made sandwiches for
lunch, then hurried back upstairs to brush his teeth, comb his hair and shave.
As he entered the bathroom, however, he stopped and frowned, sniffing
the air. He reached into the bath
and pulled back the shower curtain. He
gasped as he saw Melanie’s panties lying in the bottom of the bath, spread
out with a mound of soggy poo still inside them.
He pondered whether he should dump it down the toilet, but then decided
that it was up to Melanie to deal with it.
He shaved, brushed, combed, then went
into the bedroom to bid his wife goodbye.
He found her up and getting dressed.
“Hi darling,” she said. “How
about this skirt?” She was
pulling on a short black skirt that he did not recognise.
Then suddenly he did.
“Hey,” he said, “is that the one I bought you when we were first
dating?”
Melanie nodded and grinned impishly.
“I only wore it once,” she said, “but I thought I might give it
another try today.”
“But … you’re planning on
wearing it to work?” he asked in disbelief.
“Why not?” she giggled.
“It’ll be fun to see the looks on all their faces!”
As she fastened it, he whistled
appreciatively. “Well you’ll
certainly turn heads!” he remarked. The
skirt had been bought for clubbing, not for work – it was barely long enough
to cover her buttocks. Small
wonder she had refused to wear it again after that embarrassing first time…
He recalled the incident well.
Having just bought it in a fashionable clothing shop in the centre of
town, he had persuaded her to change into it in one of the town’s public
toilets. She had emerged looking
sexy but nervous. Outside, the
wind kept whipping the light material about, exposing her white silk panties
every few seconds. Melanie grew
more and more uncomfortable until, when a trio of builders wolf-whistled in
unison after a particularly revealing gust, she turned tail and fled back to
the toilets to change back.
Now, despite her vow never to wear it
again, Melanie seemed to be relishing the prospect.
“Wow,” said Bruce, admiring the
long-forgotten garment, “I wish I could see you wearing it outside.
But I have to leave now.”
“Never mind,” she said.
“Maybe I’ll wear it this weekend for you.”
Bruce beamed. “Have fun at work,” he said.
“I will,” she replied.
“Oh, before you go…”
“Yes?” he said, glancing at his
watch.
“Will you help me with something?”
she asked.
Bruce opened his mouth to say he was
going to be late if he didn’t leave right away, but he thought about how
wonderful his wife was being at the moment, and he said instead, “Of course
sweetie – what can I do?”
She smiled happily.
“Follow me,” she said, and she trotted through to the bathroom.
Bruce went after her, and he raised
his eyebrows when she pulled the shower curtain back and pointed at the
poo-filled panties lying in the bath. “Yes?”
he said uncertainly.
“I know that some time today I’ll
poo in my panties again,” said Melanie.
“But I’m afraid I can’t wait that long.”
She turned her back on her husband and lifted up the back of her skirt.
“Would you be a darling and tip that lot into my panties for me?”
Bruce’s jaw dropped.
Phrases like ‘Are you insane?’ and ‘Why the hell…?’ flashed
through his mind, but it suddenly occurred to him that he was rather aroused
by the thought of his wife constantly having poo in her panties.
“Okay,” he heard himself saying mildly.
He picked up the soaked panties from
the bottom of the bath, and when Melanie pulled out the waistband of her clean
panties, he up-ended the messy pair so that the mass of soggy poo fell wetly
into place, nestling between his wife’s buttocks. She sighed with pleasure, let the waistband go so it snapped
back against her skin, and dropped the skirt so it covered her now-bulging
panties. “That’s better,”
she said, turning around and smiling at her husband.
“Have a nice day at work, darling.”
Bruce took a deep breath.
“Fuck it,” he said. “I’ll
call in sick. You want to go
shopping?”
THE END
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