It had been two weeks since Rachel’s
adventure with the tryllogs, and since then she had not seen a sign of them.
She was beginning to think they had left her alone for good, which (she
was surprised to find) gave her a little pang of ruefulness.
There had also been no sign of Steve – either he had got lost on
another timeline or he had gone back to his own time … either way, Rachel did
not miss him in the slightest.
School was going reasonably well.
So far she had not got into trouble on account of her attire, and this
led her to increasing feats of exhibitionism.
Every day her skirts were shorter than the day before; every day her tops
were more revealing. She had long
since stopped bothering to wear a bra. Her
teachers never complained about her clothing, and even the principal, Mr
Taggart, failed to comment on her microskirt, though it was then riding high
with its hem a quarter of an inch higher than the lower curve of her buttocks. Since he was so tall, and therefore looking down upon her,
Taggart had quite possibly failed to see that so much of Rachel’s legs (and
part of her bottom) was showing, but in any case, Rachel resolved to go still
further in her attempts to discover where the line was drawn, or if in fact
there was a line at all.
Rachel had now been fucked many times
– she felt as if she must have been screwed by nearly every boy in the school
by now. Every lunchtime the toilets
were packed with horny teenaged boys wanting to get their cocks inside her, and
she was only too happy to oblige. Except
that the novelty was beginning to wear off a little now, and she found that she
was missing something…
More and more her thoughts turned to the
adventure she had had with the tryllogs. Her
fantasies these days mostly consisted of re-living her rape by the creatures,
and that delicious feeling of helplessness as her naked body was pinned down,
her limbs bound fast, while her cunt and anus were ravaged by long, slimy
tentacles… There was something
raw and sexual about their inhumanity, their utter disregard for her well-being,
their intense focus on sexually abusing her body.
A new weekend came around, and Rachel
had made up her mind. She was going
to return to the Marks and Spencer store where two weeks ago she had encountered
a vast throng of tryllogs. Hopefully
at least some of them would still be there.
Donning a tiny cut-off tank top and an even tinier skirt that she had
judiciously edited with a pair of scissors, she left the house (taking care to
avoid her mother on the way out) and caught a bus to the town centre.
She entered the shop cautiously, dodged
a couple of sales assistants, picked up a blue miniskirt, and hurried to the
changing rooms. The assistant there
smiled at her and said “Go right in.” Rachel
did so, and found that the cubicle she wanted was empty.
She entered, closed the curtain, then chuckled to herself as she noticed
that a sheet of cardboard had been taped over the hole in the wall through which
she had crawled a fortnight ago. Dropping
the blue skirt on the floor, she quickly removed the cardboard and pulled
herself through the hole and into the crawlspace on the other side.
It was a simple matter to retrace her
steps of two weeks ago, and a minute later she was peering through the
semi-darkness of the basement, making her way towards the passage in which
thousands of tryllogs had been ‘roosting’ the last time she had been here.
Yet now, as she entered the passage and felt around with her hands, it
seemed as if all the creatures had gone. Crestfallen,
Rachel advanced down the passage, running her hands along the walls in the hope
of encountering one that for some reason had stayed behind.
But she had no such luck, and soon she
reached the end of the passage; sooner than she had expected, in fact, for she
found herself dropping off the edge into the sewer beyond.
Cursing herself for having made the same mistake twice, she got to her
feet and rubbed at her jarred back, wincing as she did so.
She prayed she had not damaged anything.
Paddling through ankle-deep water,
Rachel continued down the tunnel, knowing she would soon come to a ladder
leading up to the road. However,
when she reached it she decided against climbing it – the middle of the road
was not a sensible place to emerge from a manhole.
Instead she carried on, hoping that the next ladder might lead up to a
more conveniently situated manhole.
But before she reached it, she froze at
the sound of another set of footsteps paddling through the tunnel.
In a trembling voice she said, “Hello?”
The footsteps stopped for a moment, then
came on faster. No voice replied to
her. Then suddenly Rachel found
herself caught about the waist, spun around, and thrown down to the floor.
She screamed in fright as she felt her panties being pulled down roughly.
Then her legs were forced open, and she felt something semi-squishy yet
firm plunge between the lips of her pussy and on into her vagina.
A terrible smell of poo filled her
nostrils. “Who are you?” she
cried, fearful for her life. “Please,
say something.”
But her attacker made no reply – he
just continued fucking her for a couple of minutes before finally climaxing in
silence. Rachel felt the penis
within her expand for a moment, and then an impossibly voluminous surge of fluid
was pumped deep into her womb, filling her up.
The penis withdrew, and Rachel sighed with relief.
Her ordeal, however, was only just
beginning. The unseen,
vile-smelling rapist now plunged its still-rigid member into her anus, which
yielded after a moment’s brief resistance.
Rachel groaned as she felt her rectum filled to capacity, and gritted her
teeth against the violent thrusting that ensued.
A couple of minutes later, another huge surge of liquid flooded into her
body, this time pouring deep into her bowels.
Then the penis withdrew once more, and her attacker released her.
Rather shakily, Rachel got to her feet,
only to hear the sound of receding footsteps splashing through the water ahead
of her. Walking somewhat stiffly,
she continued down the tunnel, looking for the next ladder.
Soon she found one, and wearily she began to ascend.
At the top, she pushed the manhole cover to one side and peered out
cautiously. She was in luck this time – the hole was in the middle of a
narrow, deserted alley. Rachel
quickly got out and replaced the manhole cover.
Pulling her microskirt into its most
decent position (which wasn’t very), she noticed that she seemed to have
something brown and nasty smeared over the backs of her legs. Indeed, as further investigation revealed, she seemed to have
brown stuff smeared all down her back, and the back of her skirt.
She was both disgusted and intrigued by this: the substance appeared to
be nothing more and nothing less than actual poo.
With the help of some rainwater that she
found in an open dustbin at the end of the alley, Rachel managed to clean
herself up a bit. She still smelled
rather bad, but she was at least in a state where she could venture out on to
the streets once again. This she
did, and it was not long before she was boarding a bus and heading home.
The bus was fairly crowded.
Rachel sat at the back, where for the most part people stayed well clear
of her, sniffing and wrinkling their noses as they caught a whiff of her scent.
Rachel ignored them, her attention focused on her bowels, which were
feeling incredibly full. She began
to wish she had defecated in the alley – the pressure on her anus was rapidly
becoming intolerable. She squirmed
in her seat, trying to relieve the pain, but it all became too much to bear with
a suddenness that made her gasp in shock. Before
she could even rise from her seat, her anus relaxed and diarrhoea flooded out of
her rectum. Her panties were almost
instantaneously filled and began to overflow, and liquid poo poured from around
the sides of her gusset, channelled along the seat by her legs.
Amongst the liquid gushing from her anus
were several small, soft, torpedo-shaped pieces of poo, which remained in her
panties after the liquid diarrhoea had mostly drained out.
All this happened in a matter of a couple of seconds, after which Rachel
sprang to her feet in horror and embarrassment, amid cries of shock and disgust
from the nearest of her fellow passengers.
She hurried down the aisle to the front of the bus and begged the driver
to let her out which, once he saw her condition, he did.
She had alighted outside a row of houses
that flanked a golf course, which was on the other side of the road.
Just next to her some tall grass was growing at the foot of a wire fence
– she pulled some up and used it to wipe the poo off her legs.
Then she froze in surprise; she had just felt something moving inside her
panties. It was the more solid
turds that had slid out of her anus along with her diarrhoea.
There were several of them – perhaps three or four – and they all
seemed to be wriggling about. Rachel
found the sensation delicious, and she stayed where she was, leaning against the
fence, savouring the feeling of having these squirming objects writhing in her
panties.
The tip of one of the turds found her
vaginal opening, and it began to push its way inside. Rachel parted her legs to allow it easier access, and moaned
aloud as it slid into her cunt and slithered deep inside her body.
One after another, the remaining turds followed the first, and Rachel
smiled to herself as she realised her belly was now looking several months
pregnant. Her panties were now
empty, but they were sticky with smeared poo, and clung wetly to her pussy and
buttocks.
Rachel began to walk again, her skirt
immediately starting to ride up her thighs with each step.
She allowed it to climb, resolving not to halt its progress until she
turned into her own road, which was still half a mile away.
Soon her hemline was halfway up her crotch, and her brown, poo-soaked
panties were on full display, though she passed only a couple of people on the
way home.
Back at her house, Rachel sneaked up to
her room without her mother seeing her, and stripped off her messy clothes.
She took them into the bathroom, locked the door, then proceeded to wash
her clothes and herself. She did not attempt to extricate the poo from her cunt.
By the time she had finished her bath,
her belly had grown considerably. She
now looked eight months along, and she knew she would not be able to hide this
from her mother. Having let out the
bath water, she returned to her room and climbed into bed. If her mother came looking for her, she would pretend to be
feeling unwell.
Ten minutes later, her belly was huge
– she looked as if she were about to give birth to twins or triplets.
And then a pain shot through her groin – she was startled but realised
it must be a contraction. Half a minute later there came another one, followed quickly
by another. Rachel assumed the
position in which she had seen women on television giving birth, and began to
push.
She winced as her vaginal opening
dilated to an unprecedented diameter. With
a protracted grunt that was more like a groan, she bore down with gritted teeth,
tears springing to her eyes as she forced … something … out of her birth
canal and on to the bed. Soon
enough the worst was over, and with a rush of brown fluid, there emerged from
her cunt a baby-shaped object that smelled powerfully of, and indeed looked
like, poo.
Rachel lay back, exhausted, while the
poo baby waved its little limbs in the air helplessly. Except it was not quite helpless… A few seconds later, it had got on to its hands and knees and
was crawling up the bed, on to her belly, making for her breast.
It fastened its mouth to her nipple and Rachel’s nostrils were filled
with its foul odour. Yet she was fascinated by this creature, which logically
should not exist. It was her baby,
and it was made of poo … she found this concept rather erotic. As the disgusting little thing suckled at her breast, she
found herself smiling, cradling it in her arms, and rocking it from side to
side.
Then another contraction hit – and it
suddenly struck Rachel that her belly was still pretty large.
Gritting her teeth again, she began to push once more.
Another brown head slowly emerged … and a couple of minutes later
another poo baby was spilling out on to the bed.
After a few moments, it too climbed up her body, and it fixed itself to
her other nipple.
But still she was bulging.
More contractions came, and another baby was born.
And, a few minutes after that, yet another.
This, fortunately, appeared to be the last – her belly was a reasonable
size and she felt almost normal again. By
now she was letting her progeny take turns at her breasts.
Those that were not suckling were climbing all over her, smearing her
with wet and sticky poo.
Now something else occurred to her –
her bowels felt full again. She had
not noticed the growing discomfort before, as she had had other things to think
about, but now she felt she needed to poo again. She was just about to get up off her bed when suddenly her
anus opened involuntarily and half a dozen small, slithery turds slid out of her
rectum in quick succession. They
wriggled about on the sheet, then turned and began to locomote, earthworm-like,
towards her pussy.
Rachel did not move, and simply smiled
to herself as she felt the first of them slip between her labia and enter her
rather stretched cunt. The others
followed in rapid succession, until the last of them was buried deep inside her
womb. Then, thoroughly worn out,
Rachel flopped back into her pillow and fell asleep.
When she awoke it was to find herself
being fucked. Startled, she opened
her eyes to see a brown monstrous visage staring down into her face, drooling
liquid poo on to her cheek. As she
opened her mouth in horror, some poo actually dripped on to her tongue and slid
to the back of her throat. Rachel
was about to scream but she checked herself in time.
A glance around the room told her that her babies had grown very rapidly
– they were now about five feet in height and possessed impressive-looking
penises, which they were busy masturbating while watching their brother screw
their mother.
There was something so raw, so
primitive, so animal-like about the poo creature on top of her that Rachel found
it quite exciting that it had mounted her in her sleep.
She raised her legs and wrapped them around the creature’s back.
Soon it climaxed without a word, and she felt its seed pour into her
abdomen like water from a hose. It
withdrew, still dribbling diarrhoea from its huge penis, and two other poo
creatures climbed on to the bed. One
lay down next to her, while the other one picked her up as though she were a
doll and placed her on top of its brother.
Then it lay on top of her, and Rachel found herself sandwiched between
the two of them. She gasped as the
one beneath her began to push the tip of its penis against her anus, and winced
as it slid in deep. Then the other
one slid itself easily into her cunt, and both started to thrust rhythmically
inside her.
Rachel’s eyes closed as she gave
herself up to the delicious sensations sweeping through her body.
She felt her own orgasm fast approaching, and with a loud moan she
climaxed amid shudders of ecstasy. Her
monstrous lovers followed suit a moment later, and she felt her bowels fill with
a vast quantity of diarrhoea, which stayed in her colon as the creature withdrew
and her anus closed after it. Her
womb and vagina, already full to the limit with poo, could not take the load
currently being pumped into it, and a torrent of diarrhoea poured out on to her
bed. She slid off the creature
which had just pulled out of her anus, and squelched into a pool of lumpy brown
fluid.
Covered from face to toes in smeared poo
already, Rachel nevertheless reached down to scoop up handfuls of the liquid poo
from between her legs, pouring it over her breasts and enlarged belly, which she
now noticed was as huge as it had ever been.
She decided she liked the look of herself pregnant.
And she liked being screwed by these well-hung, silent monsters which
through no benevolence of their own thoroughly indulged her taste for scat.
She turned herself over and got up on to
her hands and knees. Her bowels
were over-full and complaining, but she decided to hold on to their contents for
a little longer if she could. She
arched her back, her belly dragging in the pool of diarrhoea as a consequence,
and a moment later smiled as one of the poo creatures mounted her, plunging its
erection deep into her rectum. This
made her wince in pain – there was no room for this! – but she merely bit
her lip and tried to relax as the creature fucked her. When it came, the pressure inside became so great that the
creature’s penis was forced out of Rachel’s anus and most of its load
sprayed over her back.
Rachel could not hold it in any longer.
With a sigh of relief, she allowed her anus to relax and a torrent of
diarrhoea flooded out, adding to the extensive pool covering her bed.
As the last of it poured out, five or six more solid turds popped out,
landing with a succession of splashes in the middle of the pool. Rachel turned herself over with some difficulty and sat down
at one end of the pool, just in front of her pillow, watching the turds wriggle
and squirm around in the muck, looking for her vagina.
But Rachel’s vagina was soon otherwise
engaged. More contractions came and
she began to give birth once again. By
now, she noticed, some of her poo children were huge – perhaps seven feet tall
– and they were all (judging by the inclination of their sexual organs) horny
as hell. But for the moment the
object of their desire was unavailable as baby after baby emerged into the pool
of diarrhoea.
Then, at some unspoken decision they
made between them, all the adult monsters gathered around Rachel’s bed and
began to masturbate. As she was
giving birth to the fourth baby in her new litter, the adults all climaxed in
quick succession, and Rachel found herself deluged in diarrhoea – her hair,
face, breasts, arms, belly, pussy and legs were all drenched in the foul
excrement.
The smell, needless to say, was
terrible. And this is what finally
led to disaster – for as Rachel’s seventh poo baby emerged from her by now
well-stretched cunt, her mother suddenly opened the door to her room and
entered, saying “Whatever is that smell??”
And then of course she screamed at the
sight which greeted her eyes. Rachel
gasped in panic and her cheeks flushed in horror and embarrassment.
However was she going to explain this?
Mrs Owen made as if to back out of the
room, but one of the poo monsters was too quick for her – it reached out and
grabbed her arm, pulling her into the room.
The other monsters turned to look, and a couple of them advanced on her
with outstretched arms.
“Oh no!
Get out of here Mum!” Rachel cried in alarm.
But Mrs Owen was pulled to the floor,
screaming and struggling. Her long
blue dress was quickly torn from her body, and her bra and panties were ripped
off. The tallest monster then
settled down on top of her, forcing her legs apart and thrusting its huge tool
into her naked cunt. Rachel
grimaced at the sounds of her mother’s screams.
“Mum, stop it! Screaming isn’t going to do any good – I don’t think
they can hear you and they certainly don’t care.
We’ll have to think our way out of this.”
Mrs Owen stopped screaming.
“What the hell are these things?” she demanded in a near-hysterical
voice.
“I’ve no idea Mum – I got raped by
one and I’ve been giving birth to them ever since.”
“Oh my God! Are they … made of poo?” inquired Mrs Owen in disbelief.
“Looks like it,” said Rachel with a
sigh.
Then the creature fucking Mrs Owen shot
its load deep into her body, and as it climbed off her, another took its place.
Rachel, meanwhile, was still giving birth while her babies suckled on her
breasts. Then one of the monsters scooped up in its hands the writhing
turds that had been unable to enter Rachel.
It took them over to where Mrs Owen was lying, and placed them on the
floor between her legs. When the
monster currently fucking her finally pulled out, the little turds slithered,
one by one, into Mrs Owen’s vagina.
“Can you reach your phone?” asked
Mrs Owen.
Rachel glanced across at her bedside
table. “I think so,” she said.
“Good.
Knock the handset off the cradle and dial 999,” said her mother.
“If you can, shout our address into the mouthpiece.”
Rachel was impressed – she had not
thought of this tactic … but then, she had not previously been looking for a
means of escape. Still, even an
adventure as erotic as this had to come to an end eventually. With a sudden movement, she hauled herself to the edge of her
bed, reached over, and knocked the handset off the hook.
Dialling 999, she retrieved the phone and put it to her ear.
The monsters did not try to stop her.
Obviously they had no idea what she was doing.
“Erm, police and ambulance!” she
hissed into the phone in response to a query by the operator.
Then, “My mother and I are being attacked in our home by … horrible
men. Please come quickly!”
She gave her address.
Shortly after this, her ninth and final
baby was born, and her captors began fucking her again.
At one point, both Rachel and her mother were both being screwed by two
monsters, their anuses and vaginas violated by enormous cocks made of poo.
Mrs Owen was crying but she had stopped bothering to try to resist.
By the time they heard the front door
open and the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Rachel was pregnant and bulging
again, though not so much as her mother, who was staring in panic at her rotund
abdomen even as one of the monsters ejaculated more diarrhoea into her cunt.
Two policemen appeared at the door,
holding their noses. “What the
fuck?” said one.
The response of the poo monsters was
immediate. Sensing danger, they
immediately rushed on the policemen with arms outstretched.
The first officer went down, yelling blue murder, under their onslaught,
while the second bolted back down the stairs.
Shouts were heard outside and the front door slammed.
The poo creatures all ran out of the room and headed downstairs, leaving
Rachel and her mother alone with the infants.
“Quickly Rachel!” hissed Mrs Owen.
“Out of the window!”
Rachel nodded and threw off the babies
sucking on her nipples. She quickly
opened the window and climbed out, naked as she was and covered in poo.
She stepped on to the roof of the porch and then turned around to lower
herself over the edge. Her mother followed, and a couple of paramedics ran over to
them.
“What on Earth’s been happening in
there?” demanded one of them.
Rachel and her mother tried to explain
as they were led into the back of the ambulance, but in truth neither of them
could adequately explain it themselves. They
were taken to hospital, where they showered and were put into beds in a small
ward. There they were visited by an
Indian doctor whom Rachel had met before: Dr Singh.
“Back so soon?” inquired the doctor.
“Pregnant with poo this time I see?”
“Yes,” admitted Rachel, rather
embarrassed. “How did you
know?”
“Oh, this kind of thing happens all
the time around here,” explained the doctor, rolling his eyes.
“When did you last defecate?”
“Um, a while ago. Nearly an hour maybe.”
“Ah – well I shall fetch you a
bedpan. Let me know as soon as you
defecate, or when you begin to feel contractions.”
He then turned his attention to Rachel’s mother.
In due course, Rachel both defecated and
gave birth; Dr Singh dealt with her progeny mercilessly both times.
Then he gave them both a thorough douching and had them cleaned them up.
“Now,” he said to Mrs Owen.
“I’m prepared to discharge you, but you must take care to follow my
instructions very carefully.”
Rachel’s mother nodded and listened.
“First, we shall wait until both of
you have defecated once again – which will be in fifteen minutes time.
You must then get dressed and catch a bus to this address…”
He handed her a card. “There
is a young man living there who will, he claims, be able to help you. His name is Michael Dawkins.
I have just called him and he is expecting you.
Now, if he does not manage to cure you within one hour (or, to be more
accurate, one hour and three minutes, if you follow the pattern of a previous
patient) of your defecation, you will defecate again.
It is very important that you do not allow the excreta thus produced to
enter your vagina. If the hour is
approaching, sit on the toilet and get off it as soon as you have defecated. You understand?”
Mrs Owen nodded again.
Dr Singh smiled and then turned to Rachel.
“And try, please try, not to get yourself into a similar situation
again.”
“I’ll try,” said Rachel.
“But, um, we have no clothes… How
are we going to get dressed?”
Dr Singh’s face fell.
“A good point,” he said. “Very
well, we’ll get some proper robes for you and I’ll have an ambulance take
you there.”
“Thank you,” said Rachel gratefully.
Twenty minutes later they were entering
an ambulance, wearing their hospital robes.
Siren blaring, the vehicle headed away from the hospital and within half
an hour they were pulling up outside a smallish semi-detached house.
The driver came around to open the back door for them, and he led them to
the front door where he pressed the doorbell.
The door opened and a young man peered
out. “Come in, come in,” he
said. “My name’s Michael.
Follow me.”
Rachel and her mother entered the house
and the ambulance driver returned to his vehicle to wait for them.
Michael led them into the living room and gestured for them to sit on the
sofa, which they did.
“Okay,” he said, “could you tell
me your story please?”
Rachel blushed in shame, and related her
bizarre tale, though she left out certain important details such as the fact
that she had been in the sewer and that she had encouraged the poo creatures to
have sex with her. She merely said
that one of the creatures had attacked her in her room.
“Hmm,” said Michael.
“It must have got out of the sewer system and come looking for a new
host. Very well, I think I can
remember the proper spells…”
“Spells?” inquired Mrs Owen.
“Ah, yes.”
Michael coughed nervously. “Mrs
Owen, you may have realised that your strange experiences do not fall within the
bounds of what you might call logical scientific reality.
In fact, the creatures to which Rachel gave birth are the constructs of a
rather unfortunate magic spell that went wrong.
I, however, can fix it. I
simply need to cast a few spells to remove the sentience from your, um, poo.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs Owen looked alarmed.
“Magic?”
Michael sighed. “Yes, I know,” he said.
“It’s impossible, magic doesn’t exist, et cetera.
Yet here you are, with a problem that science cannot and will not
recognise. You can either accept my
help, or you can go home and try to deal with it yourselves.”
Mrs Owen looked troubled, but eventually
she said, “I’ll go first then.”
Michael smiled. “Good. Now if
you could just take off your shoes and come through to the kitchen…”
Rachel watched in curiosity as her
mother kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into the kitchen, which had a
linoleum floor. Michael gestured
for her to step inside a circle he had drawn on the floor, and Mrs Owen rather
hesitantly did so.
“Oh!” she said in surprise.
“It’s wet.”
“It’s sugar solution,” explained
Michael. “It conducts the magic.
Stay still now.” He began to read some strange-sounding words from a piece of
paper.
Rachel waited with baited breath for
something magical to happen. She
was rather disappointed when Michael said, “Right, that’s it.
You’re cured as well as I can cure you.
Unfortunately you’ll still poo quite often, but at least the poo
won’t have a mind of its own.”
Mrs Owen grimaced.
“Well, thanks,” she said. “I
think I need to go now actually. May
I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.
Upstairs, first on the right.”
When her mother had gone upstairs,
Rachel entered the kitchen having taken off her shoes. “You know,” she said to Michael, “I’ll kind of miss
those creatures. Maybe you could
cast just a small spell on me? You
know, so that the creatures grew a little more slowly perhaps…”
Michael stared at her, then he shook his
head. “Oh no,” he said.
“I don’t want your mum coming back here all pissed off because
you’re not cured.”
Rachel pouted, then she sighed and
stepped into the circle. Michael
cast the spell, and Rachel was cured. She
smiled half-heartedly at her mother, who had just reappeared.
“No luck,” said Mrs Owen.
“I guess it’ll come when it comes.”
“Now,” said Michael to the two of
them, “there are often side-effects with my spells.
Usually they are pretty minor compared with the problem the spell cured,
but even so it’s something you should be aware of.”
“Now you tell us!” exclaimed Mrs
Owen.
Michael shrugged. “I’m sure you wouldn’t rather keep giving birth to
sentient poo monsters,” he said.
“That’s true I suppose,” admitted
Mrs Owen.
She and Rachel left the house, and got
back into the ambulance, which was still there.
As it drove them towards their home, Rachel suddenly gasped.
“What’s the matter?” asked her
mother.
“Um, a poo just came out,” said
Rachel, rather embarrassed.
“Couldn’t you stop it?” inquired
Mrs Owen in alarm.
“No – it just came out suddenly.
I didn’t have any warning and I didn’t have time to stop it.”
This worried Mrs Owen, and her fears
were not allayed when she herself defecated into her robe. “Great,” she muttered.
“We’re going to have to start timing ourselves and make sure we get
to the bathroom on time.”
Rachel nodded. “Some cure,” she said.
When they got home, the ambulance driver
waited until they had changed out of their robes and Mrs Owen, now dressed in
her own dressing gown, had returned them to him. He wrinkled up his nose at the smell of the garments, but did
not comment on them. Mrs Owen
smiled weakly at him, then retreated inside, rather embarrassed.
The poo monsters were all gone, and a
police officer was waiting for them in the living room.
He explained that the monsters had been ‘destroyed’, and that he
would be in touch to take statements from them.
He then bade them good-day, and left.
Rachel, having cleaned herself up, put
on a t-shirt, a pair of white cotton panties, a short pleated skirt, and a pair
of sandals. As she tip-toed
gingerly out of her bedroom (there was still poo everywhere) she met her mother,
who was just coming out of the bathroom.
“I think,” said Mrs Owen ruefully,
“that we’ll need some more toilet paper.
Would you mind running out to the store and getting some?”
“Sure,” said Rachel.
She trotted downstairs and fetched a five pound note from the tin in the
kitchen, then left the house and walked briskly towards the local convenience
store. There, she smiled at an old
man who had just glanced down from the top shelf of the magazine racks.
His eyes widened as they took in her short skirt, and he smiled back
toothlessly.
Rachel walked down the aisle towards
where the toilet paper was kept, and was amused to see that it was on the bottom
shelf, near the floor. Glancing
surreptitiously behind her to make sure the old man was watching, she bent
suddenly at the waist to pick up a pack of four rolls.
Her skirt rode up over her hips, and she knew she was showing her panties
to the man.
But then her anus opened unbidden and a
long, soft poo rushed out into her panties.
It curled up around her buttocks, forming a huge bulge which caused her
panties to sag. Before Rachel could
straighten up, another poo, even longer, had also shot out of her rectum.
This one piled into the first and pushed her panties well away from her
skin, causing a couple of small pieces of poo to break off and drop to the
floor.
Rachel stood up quickly and turned
around, her cheeks turning bright red. The
old man was gaping in astonishment. But
then a broad grin broke out over his wrinkled face and he gave her a big thumbs
up. Rachel, clutching the five
pound note in one hand and the toilet paper in the other, was unsure of what to
do. Her panties were sinking lower
and lower about her thighs, and she had to spread her feet in order to stop her
underwear dropping to her ankles.
Then she noticed something rather
strange. With the volume of poo
that she had just generated, she would have expected the smell to be awful.
But, oddly, she could not smell a thing.
Either she had lost her sense of smell, or something very strange was
going on.
Making up her mind, she tucked the
toilet rolls under her right arm and transferred the money from her left hand to
her right. She reached behind her
with her now-free left hand, lifted the back of her skirt, and grabbed the top
of her panties to stop them falling down. Then
she waddled carefully to the checkout, blushing even brighter as she passed the
old man and saw him wink at her.
“Are you all right?” asked the
checkout girl. She could only see
Rachel from the waist up, fortunately, but Rachel still looked awkward.
“Yeah I’m fine,” replied Rachel,
handing the girl the money and the toilet paper.
The girl processed the transaction and
handed Rachel some coins.
“Um, could I have a bag please?”
asked Rachel.
The girl nodded and put the toilet rolls
in a polythene bag. Rachel dropped
the coins in there too, then picked up the bag by its handles.
“Thanks,” she said.
Rachel then waddled out of the shop,
dropping poo behind her as she went. By
the time she had gone twenty yards, so much had fallen out of her panties that
she figured she could safely let go of her underwear. She did so, allowing her skirt to drop back down.
Then she froze at the sound of a wolf whistle behind her.
She whirled around to see four small boys sitting on top of a fence next
to the shop. They looked about
eleven or twelve years old.
“You’ve crapped yourself!”
exclaimed one of them in delight. His
friends were, apparently, lost for words, staring in shock and surprise at
Rachel’s skirt.
“Shut up!” Rachel hissed back.
Then she turned and ran down the street, back towards her house.
She hurried indoors as quickly as she could, then climbed the stairs to
the bathroom.
During the extensive clean-up, she came
to the conclusion that indeed her poo seemed to have become odourless.
This extraordinary discovery, she realised, could prove extremely useful.
The first thing people noticed, generally, about a public ‘accident’
was the smell. If she could at
least conceal the sight of poo from anyone in whose company she defecated, she
might just get away with such an accident.
One worrying thing, however, was the
length of time between her last two inadvertent defecations. It had been less than half an hour from the accident in the
ambulance to the accident in the shop. The
spell’s side effect, it seemed, had been to increase the rate of her poo
production. This, Rachel thought to
herself with a secret smile, could prove interesting.
“Mum?” she said, having finished her
clean-up and gone through to her bedroom, where her mother was scooping piles of
diarrhoea from the bed into a bucket. “Have
you … had any other accidents since the one in the ambulance?”
Mrs Owen shook her head.
“No … why, have you?”
“Yes.
In the store,” said Rachel.
Her mother gasped.
“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed.
“Are you all right? What
happened?”
“Oh I got out of there okay.
But they’ll be a bit upset when they see the mess I’ve made on their
floor. But you know what, Mum?
The funny thing is, it didn’t smell at all.”
“Oh?”
Mrs Owen shrugged. “Well,
some are smellier than others.”
“No,” said Rachel, “I don’t mean
it didn’t smell too bad. It
didn’t smell at all! Not even
when I sniffed it up close.”
“Really?
Well, next time it happens to me, I’ll see if mine smells.”
“I suggest,” advised Rachel, “that
you go and sit on the toilet now. It
was less than half an hour between my accidents, and your next one could well
catch you out. I’ll take over
here.”
Her mother nodded.
“Okay,” she said, and she got up and headed for the bathroom.
A series of splashes five minutes later
were audible even in Rachel’s room. She
smiled to herself and stopped scooping poo.
Outside the bathroom door, she said, “How is it Mum?”
“Oh my God!” came her mother’s
muffled exclamation.
“What?” asked Rachel in concern.
She pushed the door open and entered, ignoring her mother’s strangled
cry of embarrassment.
“Don’t come in!” squeaked Mrs Owen
in horror. “Oh … oh!”
Her face turned crimson.
Rachel was staring into the toilet bowl.
“You made all that?” she asked in disbelief.
Wordlessly, her mother nodded.
The toilet bowl was almost full of poo, which lay in a heap of long,
soft, snakelike pieces piled on top of each other almost as high as the seat.
The smell was awful.
“I guess that odourless thing only
applies to me, then,” said Rachel.
“But what am I going to do?” asked
Mrs Owen in desperation. “If I
poo like this at work, how will I get rid of it all?
I can’t flush this – the toilet will overflow.”
“Maybe we can rod it down.
You know, with something flexible,” suggested Rachel.
Mrs Owen looked doubtful.
“Well, I’ll try,” she said.
“Okay,” said Rachel.
“I’ll get back to work on my bedroom.
Oh incidentally, did you make a note of the time?”
“Yes,” said her mother.
“It was fifty-three minutes and twenty seconds since the ambulance
accident.”
“I forgot to make a note of the time
in the store,” admitted Rachel. “I’ll
make sure I do so next time.”
She got her chance sooner than she had
expected. No sooner had she resumed
scooping poo from her bed, she felt a rush of poo into her panties.
She took off her skirt quickly so as not to get it messy, then continued
scooping. She quite liked the
feeling of having her panties full of poo, and in this room, which was messy
already, it scarcely mattered if she dropped poo on the floor.
She glanced at her watch and made a mental note of the time.
Twenty minutes later, her mother entered
the room. “Oh my goodness!” she
said, staring at Rachel’s bulging panties.
“It caught me by surprise,” said
Rachel, embarrassed. “I’ll
clean it up later – there doesn’t seem much point just yet.
Did you manage to empty the toilet?”
“Um, yes,” said Mrs Owen, wrenching
her eyes from her daughter’s bottom. “I
used a bucket to get most of it out, and flushed the rest using the brush to rod
it at the same time. Then I flushed
the rest bit by bit.”
“Well done,” said Rachel.
“Um, I think we’re going to have to throw out this mattress, Mum.
It’s beyond cleaning I think.”
Mrs Owen nodded. “That’s okay,” she said.
“But under the circumstances I don’t feel I dare leave the house.
However are we going to buy anything?”
“I think,” said Rachel, “that we
need to call Jeff.”
Her mother rolled her eyes.
“Oh God, not Jeff!”
“Come on, Mum, you know he’d do
anything for you.”
“Yes, but then I’d feel like I owed
him something!” complained Mrs Owen.
“Well, you would,” Rachel pointed
out. “But maybe you can come to
an agreement.”
“What, prostitute myself for his
help?” demanded Mrs Owen indignantly.
“You’ve been screwed by worse things
than Jeff today,” Rachel reminded her.
“Ugh!”
Mrs Owen shuddered. “Yes,
but that wasn’t my idea.”
“Anyway I’m sure Jeff would settle
for less,” said Rachel. “Perhaps
you could just let him cop a feel and see you naked.”
Her mother sighed.
“All right all right,” she said.
“I suppose our situation is desperate.”
She went downstairs to make a phone call.
A couple of minutes later, Rachel’s
anus opened again and her already-full panties were pushed down to her knees as
three foot-long turds charged out of her rectum in quick succession.
Rachel glanced at her watch – it had been twenty-four minutes.
She pulled her panties back up, the mountain of poo contained within them
squishing delightfully against her pussy and bottom.
Ten minutes later Jeff arrived.
Jeff, the unemployed. Jeff,
the unwashed. Jeff, the
unattractive and desperate. Jeff,
the undeniably sweet, but horny as hell. Rachel
heard him ascend the stairs and for a moment considered hiding her condition,
but then decided she didn’t really care if Jeff saw her like this.
“Good Lord, whatever is this?” was
Jeff’s startled comment as he stopped dead in the doorway to Rachel’s room.
He was staring at Rachel’s massively-bulging panties that sagged low
enough to reveal an inch of buttock cleavage.
“Hi Jeff,” said Rachel brightly.
“We kind of need your help.”
“So Angie … I mean your mother, told
me,” replied Jeff. “Um, this is
pretty weird you know?”
“You think we don’t know that?”
said Mrs Owen from behind Jeff. “The
question is, are you willing to help us? We
daren’t leave the house to go shopping.”
“Well,” said Jeff doubtfully, “I
can do that … but it looks like you’ll need a lot of help… I’m not sure I have time…”
“I’ll make it worth your while, of
course,” said Mrs Owen.
Jeff looked hopeful.
“Oh?” he said as casually as he could.
“Perhaps you’d like to stay over
tonight?” she suggested.
Jeff grinned. “It’d be my pleasure to help you ladies out.”
Two hours later, Jeff had brought them a
new mattress and was scrubbing Rachel’s carpet. The dirty sheets had been thrown out, and with the exception
of a strong, lingering odour, Rachel’s room was almost back to normal.
Mrs Owen had spent most of the time flushing poo, which she was producing
in vast quantities every fifty-three minutes and twenty-seconds.
Rachel, on the other hand, was discovering that she could not rely on the
regularity of her accidents. So far
the intervals between them had been twenty-four minutes, nineteen minutes,
thirty-six minutes, twenty-five minutes, eight minutes, and twenty-two minutes.
School, she realised, was going to be a big problem.
But it was one she was looking forward
to enormously.
“But you can’t possibly go to
school!” exclaimed her mother in dismay on Monday morning. “I’ll call you in sick – surely you have a good enough
reason!”
“I really don’t want to miss a day
so soon after starting there, Mum,” said Rachel.
“I don’t feel ill, in any case, so it would be dishonest to call in
sick. I’ll just explain to my
teachers that I will need to leave the classroom at periodic intervals.”
“But you don’t even know what those
intervals are!” wailed Mrs Owen.
“Your mother’s right, Rachel,”
Jeff ventured.
“Shut up Jeff,” said Rachel shortly.
“Okay,” mumbled Jeff.
“The intervals seem to have stabilised
at around twenty-five minutes,” said Rachel.
“I should be okay if I stick to that.”
“Well I’m not taking you,” said
Mrs Owen firmly. “I daren’t.”
“Jeff’ll take me, won’t you
Jeff?”
“If it’s okay with your mother.”
“Please Mum?” Rachel pleaded.
Mrs Owen sighed. “Oh very well. Go
on then. I’ll write you a
note.” She picked up a pad and a
pen and began scribbling.
Rachel smiled. “Thanks Mum. Have
you called in sick yourself?” she asked.
Mrs Owen bit her lip nervously.
“I can’t,” she said. “Margaret’s
off – they can’t do without me today.”
“So what are you going to do?” asked
Rachel in surprise.
“I’ll just have to watch the time
closely,” said Mrs Owen with a shrug. “And
I’ll take the necessary tools to get rid of … what I produce.”
“Well, be careful,” said Rachel.
“Jeff, are you ready to take me?”
Jeff nodded, and together they went out
to his car. Once they were on their
way and out of sight of the house, Rachel slipped off her jeans and pulled a
skirt out of her bag.
“What are you doing?” asked Jeff.
“Mum doesn’t like me to wear short
skirts to school,” said Rachel. “But
you don’t mind, do you?”
“Um, no, I suppose not,” said Jeff,
his eyes flicking back and forth between the road and Rachel’s panties.
“Good.”
Rachel pulled on her skirt, which was a strip of black material
cannibalised from an old t-shirt she had been given when she was eight.
It was too small to wear as a t-shirt now, but it was stretchy enough to
cling to her hips, and she had cut the bottom four inches off to use as a
miniskirt.
“You call that a skirt?” demanded
Jeff incredulously.
Rachel grinned, admiring the garment.
The waistband of her panties were peeking over the top of the skirt, and
the hem fell short of her crotch by a couple of inches.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s obscene!” exclaimed Jeff.
“It’s indecent! It’s … it’s … I LOVE IT!”
Rachel laughed and removed her bra from
under her skimpy top.
By the time they reached the school, it
had been twenty-one minutes since her last defecation and she was getting
anxious. Once inside, she rushed
into the toilet, pulled up her skirt, pulled down her panties, and sat down.
Ten minutes later, a column of poo thundered out of her anus.
She wiped, flushed, flushed again, pulled up her panties, rearranged her
skirt to cover most of her panties, and headed out to her first lesson.
Wolf whistles greeted her late entrance
to the classroom. The teacher, Mr
Brent, stared at her. “A trifle
under-dressed aren’t we?” he said.
“No,” said Rachel, to laughs and
applause from her classmates. Then
she handed him the note. “I’ll
have to run out in twenty minutes’ time,” she said.
Mr Brent read the note, then nodded in
puzzlement. “Very well,” he
said. “Take your seat.”
Rachel did so. Sitting down caused her skirt to bunch up around the upper
part of her hips, so that she was sitting on nothing but her panties.
She did not mind this a bit, and lapped up the attention she received.
Twenty minutes later she put up her hand.
“Mr Brent?”
“Yes, just go,” he said.
Rachel got up and ran out of the room,
forgetting that her skirt was completely failing to cover her bottom.
Cheers and applause followed her progress and she smiled.
Once in the toilets, she had to wait no more than thirty seconds before
her poo decided to make an appearance. “Whew,
that was close!” she muttered.
Back in the classroom (with her skirt
fixed as well as it could be), Rachel sat down once again. The rest of the lesson dragged a bit, but she kept a close
eye on her watch. Shortly before
the end of the lesson, she was debating whether to leave early. It was nearing twenty minutes, but the bell would be going
very shortly.
And then the matter was decided for her.
Without warning (as always), a pile of soft turd filled her panties.
She suppressed a gasp, then smiled to herself. Well, there was nothing she could do about it now.
Fortunately there was no smell emanating from her panties, so it was
conceivable that nobody would notice. So
she continued to sit there until the bell rang, ending the lesson.
Getting to her feet carefully, Rachel pulled the back of her skirt down
to cover as much of the bulge as possible.
Leaving her desk, she walked sedately
behind her classmates towards the door. She
could feel her bulge sagging. Though
she did not know it, her panties were drooping three or four inches below the
back of her skirt, the material stained brown by the poo within.
This was not lost on the many whose glances were attracted initially by
the shortness of her skirt, though she made it to the toilets without actually
hearing any of their comments.
She washed out her panties as thoroughly
as she could, then wrung them as dry as possible and put them on again.
They were still damp, but she did not have the option of going without
panties – her skirt was just too short. Adjusting
the skirt once again to cover most of her panties, she headed off to her next
class.
“What the heck do you call that?”
demanded Mr Wilmington, the history teacher, pointing at Rachel’s skirt.
“It’s a nanoskirt,” replied
Rachel. “They’re all the rage
now.”
“Right, well I’m not having you
sitting at the back getting fondled for the next forty-five minutes,” he said
firmly. “You’ll sit up here at
the front where I can keep an eye on you.”
Rachel’s heart sank.
If she had an accident at the front of the class she would have little
chance of keeping it a secret. “Okay
sir,” she said dully. “Oh – I
may have to slip out in about twenty minutes though.”
She handed him her note, which he read with a frown.
Finally he nodded and waved her to her place.
Ten minutes later, Rachel’s panties
filled up again. A cold sweat broke
out on her brow. There was a lot
this time – more than usual – and if she was not careful it would spill on
to the floor. She slowly lifted her
bottom up a little off her seat and eased herself backwards, settling down as
she did so. The poo got squished
further forward in her panties and oozed between her labia.
But how was she to get to the toilet?
If she stood up now, her poo-filled panties would be on display for all
to see. Her only option was to try
and sit it out. Thank heaven it
didn’t smell!
After another eighteen minutes, however,
another rush of poo poured out of her rectum.
As soon as she felt it come, she lifted her bottom off the seat so that
the poo wouldn’t pour out of the back so much.
This only worked up to a point; there was so much of it that it began to
pour out of the leg-holes, forming piles on her seat. And still some came out of the back. She grabbed a handful of the spilled poo and brought it
around to the front, where she pulled open the front of her panties and dropped
the poo inside. After repeated
trips, she succeeded in retrieving all the spillage.
All of the poo was now inside her panties, stuffed in the front and back
and lying along the gusset. Whether
it would stay there when she stood up, of course, was another matter.
She glanced to her right, and noticed
with embarrassment that a boy named Grant was watching her with a mixture of
amusement and puzzlement. With an
expression of pleading, Rachel put a finger to her lips.
Grant nodded affably, but jerked his thumb backwards.
Rachel glanced back, and saw an entire row of grinning boys (and a couple
of disgusted girls) staring at the back of her panties.
She groaned in defeat.
Then, five minutes before the end of the
lesson, the inevitable happened. “Sir?
I think Rachel’s had an accident,” said one of the girls.
“What?
Really?” Mr Wilmington
stopped writing on the whiteboard and came over to investigate.
“Hell’s teeth, girl, weren’t you supposed to flee the classroom to
prevent this from happening?”
“Yes,” said Rachel, in as controlled
a voice as she could manage. “But
this happened sooner than I expected, and I didn’t have any warning.”
“Well why didn’t you say
something?” he demanded. “Go on
– go and clean yourself up.”
Jeers and cheers rang out as she got to
her feet, feeling humiliated and embarrassed.
There was no point in trying to cover herself with her skirt, so she left
it bunched around her waist and concentrated on trying to hold up her panties
and avoid spilling any on the floor. She
had no chance. Large lumps fell out
of the leg holes, leaving brown streaks down her legs, as she waddled towards
the door with her left hand holding up the front of her panties and her right
hand holding on to the back. Mr
Wilmington held the door open for her, and she exited with some relief.
The rest of the day passed in much the
same way. Two of her other lessons
went by without any public accidents – she managed to get to the toilets on
time, every time. The other four,
however, proved messy occasions. Twice
she had to make humiliating exits halfway through the lesson – the other times
she managed to sit it out until the end.
At lunchtime she expected to be fucked
by her regular band of gangbangers, but they seemed more interested in watching
her shit in her panties, which, in due course, she did.
The boys then stripped her and covered her in her own poo, then they left
her alone to clean herself up.
At the end of the day, Jeff came to pick
her up. She got into the car and
smiled at him. “Hi Jeff,” she
said.
“Hi – how was your day?” he asked.
“Great!” she replied.
“Went off exactly as I had hoped.
Couldn’t have been more fun.”
“Fun?” he inquired.
Then he thought better of it. “Never
mind.”
“I wonder how Mum’s getting on,”
said Rachel.
“She’s at home,” said Jeff.
“She came home early from work after a rather embarrassing accident.”
Rachel was instantly curious.
“Really? What happened?”
“She was fine until a couple of the
directors asked her to go on a site visit.
She asked how long it would take to get there. They told her twenty minutes.
They wanted to leave right away. She
had about twenty-seven minutes before her next … ‘dump’, so she agreed to
go. Unfortunately they got stuck in
traffic didn’t they? With two
minutes to go, they were still on the motorway. She asked them to pull over because she wasn’t feeling
well, but they just said they’d be there soon.
Poor Angie … she was getting frantic.
Eventually, with thirty seconds to go, she screamed at them to stop or
she was going to be sick in the car. Well
at that point they got the message and pulled over, but none too quickly … I
think they had been in the outside lane and all three lanes were pretty
congested. When they eventually
stopped, she had like two seconds left. She
was just getting out of the car when it all flooded out … masses of it.
Made a right mess of the car, and her clothes of course.”
“Wow,” Rachel breathed, trying to
imagine the scene. “What did the
directors do?”
“Oh they were pretty good about it, as
you can imagine. Took the next
exit, then dropped her off and told her to go home – by taxi.
She thinks she’s going to get the sack over it.”
“Crumbs,” Rachel said, then she fell
silent as she changed back into her jeans and put her bra back on.
Back at the house, Rachel found her
mother in tears. “Oh Mum, I’m
sorry,” she said.
“Not your fault,” said Mrs Owen,
blowing her nose into a tissue. “Come
on, we’re going back to the hospital.”
“What for?” asked Rachel in
surprise.
“We can’t go on like this!
We need medical help.”
“Well okay,” said Rachel, “but let
me go to the loo first – I could dump at any time.”
She went upstairs to the bathroom and
sat down on the toilet. Ten minutes
later she defecated, then she wiped and flushed.
She rejoined her mother downstairs, and the two of them left the house
and got in the car. The journey to
the hospital took less than fifteen minutes, and both Rachel and her mother were
still clean when they got there. Inside,
they asked for Dr Singh.
He appeared promptly.
“Ah yes,” he said upon seeing them. “Did
you see Mr Dawkins?”
“We did,” said Mrs Owen, “and he
cured us – partly. Unfortunately
as a side-effect we are now both pooing excessively.
We keep having accidents and something has to be done. I can’t take this much longer!”
Her voice was climbing higher and higher as she spoke, and Rachel saw she
was on the verge of hysterics.
Dr Singh also realised this.
“All right,” he said soothingly.
“Let’s go to my consulting room and we’ll discuss options.”
Rachel and her mother followed him to
his room, and all three sat down. Rachel
glanced at her watch – it had been seventeen minutes since her last poo.
Should she go and sit on the toilet?
“Now,” said Dr Singh, “from
previous work I have done on this kind of symptom, I fear the problem itself is
untreatable at its root. But,” he
added quickly as Mrs Owen’s face began to crumple, “we do have something
rather revolutionary here at this hospital which I think you might benefit
from.”
“What’s that?” asked Rachel, her
interest aroused.
“Incontinence Panties,” replied the
doctor. He pulled open a drawer and
took out a plastic-wrapped package. He
opened it and withdrew a pair of white women’s panties.
They were an unremarkable pair of briefs except that they were shiny and
smooth-looking. He handed them to Mrs Owen, who turned them over curiously in
her hands.
“These are supposed to help with
incontinence?” asked Mrs Owen doubtfully.
“They act as a diaper, nothing
more,” said Dr Singh. “But
because of the extraordinary material from which they are made, their capacity
is potentially enormous. The
material can be stretched to twenty times its size and still remain impermeable
even to water. The secret is in the
molecular weave … there are no fibres in the material – it is entirely a
molecular lattice. I forget the
name of the polymer, but its properties are remarkable.
The waist and leg-holes are, actually, elasticated, with a sticky-but-dry
seal which will cling to your skin. Once
you are wearing those panties, trust me, nothing gets out. If you have an accident, simply wait until you can get to a
toilet, then empty out the panties. They
even wipe clean – just a tissue will do.”
“This sounds excellent!” exclaimed
Rachel. “Oh Mum, I can’t wait
to try them!”
Mrs Owen nodded grudgingly.
“If they’re as good as you say they are, then I’d love to have a
pair. How much are they?”
Dr Singh grinned. “If you’ll sign up for the clinical trial, you can have
them for free,” he said. “We
may ask you to take part in a documentary about them, but I’m sure we can
blank out your faces if you wish.”
Mrs Owen looked rather unhappy about
this. “And if we bought them?”
she inquired.
Dr Singh shrugged.
“Well,” he said, “they are prototypes, so I don’t imagine we
would sell them. If we did, it
would be for about five thousand pounds per pair.”
“Five thou…” began Mrs Owen, then
she stopped. “Where do we
sign?” she asked.
Fortunately the hospital possessed
several pairs, of differing sizes, and Rachel found a pair that fitted very
nicely. She was surprised at how
brief they were – she would have expected enormous ‘drawers’ such as her
grandmother wore. But these were no
bigger than the cotton panties she was currently wearing.
On the way home, Rachel defecated into
her new panties. She did not
mention this to her mother, but subtly wriggled in her seat, working the poo
into all her crevices. Throughout
the rest of the day, at home, she defecated several more times without emptying
them, so that by the time she went to bed the panties were bulging obscenely,
sagging to mid thigh at the back. But
still they held, and did not leak a drop even though Rachel had twice peed into
them as well. The mixture of urine
and poo was beautifully slushy and squishy, and Rachel was reluctant to lose it,
but before bed she figured she ought to get rid of it all. The past couple of nights had proved that her frequent
defecations did not stop during sleep – both on Sunday morning and this
morning she had awoken to find her entire pelvic region buried under a mountain
of poo. Therefore she emptied out
and wiped her panties, flushing the contents away bit by bit, until finally she
donned the panties again and went to bed.
The following morning, her panties were
stretched to outrageous proportions. She
spread her legs and wriggled around, grinding her pussy into the poo and trying
to force some into her vagina. There
was very little more erotic, she thought to herself, than having a cunt full of
poo.
Having emptied out her panties again and
eaten breakfast, she was driven to school once again by Jeff.
This time the skirt into which she changed was almost decent – it
covered her buttocks, but only just. A
single ‘accident’ would cause the bulging panties to sag below the level of
the hemline, and she was planning to hold a lot more poo in there than one
accident would generate!
As she walked into her first class with
her panties already full of poo, and sat down to feel that poo squishing
deliciously between her buttocks and labia, Rachel sighed happily.
Life, she thought to herself, could not possibly get any better than
this.