by Penny Birch
It didn’t happen, and as my muscles went slowly limp he began to fuck my head again, slowly. I let him do it, far from comfortable, but eager to please. Besides which I could barely move at all, never mind get up. He kept licking as I sucked, feeding on my pussy even as I fed on his cock. His licking was getting to me too, and I was wondering if I wasn’t going to climax again when he came, full in my mouth, his cock jerking to fill my senses with the taste and texture of his sperm, which I swallowed dutifully.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ I sighed as he pulled his cock free of my mouth. ‘Could you get up, please? You’re squashing me.’
‘Sure,’ he panted, ‘just a moment.’
I waited as he got his breath back, busying myself with licking the last few bubbles of sperm and saliva off the tip of his cock where it hung over my face. The cream can was still touching me, cold where it rested between my bumcheeks. I felt him take hold of it, expecting him either to put it aside or give my pussy a last coating, only to have it pressed lower, to my bumhole.
‘Monty, no,’ I chided, ‘don’t muck about.’
He answered with a schoolboy giggle and I felt the nozzle tip slide into my already slick bumhole.
‘You said you liked enemas,’ he said.
‘No, Monty, not here,’ I said. There was a bubble of panic rising in my throat and no confidence nor command in my voice.
‘One day you’ll thank me for this,’ he said. ‘Think of it, Natasha, an enema, in public. What better way to treat you?’
‘No! Not that, Monty! It’s too rude! I’ll mess myself! No, not up my bum, I need to go! Monty!’
‘Sorry, up it goes.’
‘Bastard! No! Please!’ I screamed, but it was too late, he was pressing.
I trailed off with a choking sob as the cream began to squirt up my bottom, an awful, awful sensation, too awful to allow me to speak. My rectum bulged with it as my mouth and eyes went wide with shock and disgust. He’d jammed the can right in, stretching my poor bumhole to bursting point, just to make sure it all went up. It did too, spurting out into my hole until I could already feel the awful heavy sensation in my gut. Monty just kept giggling, even when I found my voice, cursing him and calling him a bastard as my belly began to swell. I was beating on his fat body with my hands too, and trying to kick with my rolled up legs, but I was helpless and he knew it, taking no notice whatsoever as he creamed my rectum.
He stopped in the end, when I bit his cock, not hard, but enough to make him roll off with a squeal not very different from the ones I’d been making. It was too late though: it was up, and as the cream can squeezed out of my bumhole I found myself clenching my cheeks to stop myself having an immediate accident. I had no idea how much cream was up me, maybe the whole lot. It felt like it anyway, heavy and bloated in my gut, filling me with an awful urgency that set the muscles of my bottom twitching, my pussy too. I could hold it, just, with my anus tight and my thighs pressed together, along with a lot of willpower. It wouldn’t be long though, and I knew I was going to have to do it in the bushes, with him watching. Fortunately there were plenty of tissues in my bag. I reached for it, only for Monty to snatch it.
‘Uh, uh,’ he said, wagging his finger. ‘Not so easy.’
‘What do you mean?’ I demanded.
‘Pull your knickers and trousers up,’ he answered.
‘What? No!’ I exclaimed. ‘Look, Monty, you’ve done me, OK? You’ve had your little joke. Now let me clean up. You can watch if you really have to.’
‘That’s not what I want to see,’ he answered me, ‘or what you really want to happen, and you know it. Now pull them up.’
‘Give me my bag, you utter bastard!’ I swore. ‘Oh God . . .’
It had nearly happened, and it would have gone right into my lowered panties and trousers, but I caught myself in time, panting to regain what was left of my composure. Carefully, with my cheeks held well apart, so I began to shuffle back, sticking my bottom into the bracken. Monty lifted my bag.
‘Up,’ he ordered, ‘or I throw your bag over the cliff.’
‘Don’t be stupid! It’s got everything in it. My money, the car keys, everything!’
‘Then pull up your trousers. Come on. Who knows, you might make it to a loo.’
He was right. If I walked carefully I might just manage to reach the first of the hotels on the seafront, where I could beg the use of a loo. That was better than doing it in the bracken: more private and less messy. Still I hesitated, with the straining feeling in my rectum making me just want to let go and get it over with. I would have done it too, only at that moment a dog appeared among the bracken and I heard a voice calling for it.
I wrenched my panties up on the spot, my trousers too, jiggling frantically to make my top fall over my boobs. I wasn’t fast enough though, and I still had one titty peeping out under my dishevelled bra and my flies wide open when two heads appeared over the top of the bracken, both silver haired and female, each giving me an absolutely filthy glance and turning quickly aside. Monty had got his cock away, and had his back to them, but he saw my blushes, making his grin broader still.
I found I’d decided to try to make the hotel, rather than risk being seen and defying Monty, who was quite likely to carry out his threat, or something equally reckless. After all, this was the man who had spanked my bare bottom in a hotel garden. He had stood up, grinning childishly, beckoning with one finger and taunting me with the bag
‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to make the hotel if it amuses you. Bastard.’
‘Good girl,’ he answered. ‘I knew you’d see sense.’
‘You really are unspeakable,’ I told him as I stood. ‘Ow!’
My bumhole had given a twitch of pain and I doubled up, clutching at myself.
‘Just do it,’ he advised. ‘You like it in public, so you can fill your panties in public.’
‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ I grated.
‘Not as much as you would.’
‘No,’ I answered. ‘I didn’t mean it, not like this! Ow, my poor bum! Anyway, like I said, I needed to go anyway! Come on, Monty, please, let me go in the bushes and keep an eye out for me. You can watch too! Please!’
I was really begging, but I knew I was only making it worse for myself. He was loving every second of it – my desperation, the pain and panic that showed in my face.
‘Uh, uh,’ he said. ‘I know you. If you really don’t want to do it you’ll make the hotel. But you do, don’t you?’
‘No!’ I pleaded.
‘It should be perfect,’ he went on. ‘It’s safe for one thing. Nobody ever got arrested for having an accident in their knickers, did they? Who would think any girl would get off on such a dirty, disgusting thing, especially a stuck-up piece like you?’
I was shaking my head frantically, but I started to walk, slowly, knock-kneed with the pain, down towards the houses, which suddenly seemed an impossible distance away. I could even see the hotel I needed, but it was too far, I was sure. I was never going to make it. I’d do it in my panties, and everyone would see, and Monty would laugh at me, and when he got me alone he’d watch me masturbate over what I’d done, because I’d do that too, I knew I would.
‘Why not just do it?’ Monty urged. ‘Come on, you dirty little bitch. Do it, shit in your fancy knickers!’
‘No!’ I grated. ‘Never!’
‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘Think how nice it would feel, out, filling your lovely clean undies. Silk panties, you said, didn’t you? Big, silk panties, full of shit!’
‘Shut up!’ I yelled.
‘Temper, temper!’ he taunted. ‘People will stare if you shout, and you know what they’ll see, don’t you?’
He was right, because there were plenty of people in view, and more than one of them was looking at us. They were all going to see, and even if I held it they’d know, sniggering over my discomfort, or feeling sorry for me, which was worse in some ways. That was if I held it.
I walked on
, slowly, the tears of consternation welling up in my eyes, the pain in my tummy and around my bumhole growing. It wasn’t constant any more either, but was coming in waves, which I knew was a bad sign, fading and rising, fading and rising, each peak worse than the last as I stumbled on over the grass.
Every step was agony, but I reached the main path, struggling to walk properly, ignoring the odd looks from other people. Monty followed, about ten paces behind, no longer taunting me but with his eyes fixed on my bum. It was as if his gaze was burning into me, but I could picture it myself, my cheeks full in the white trousers, which always made them look fatter and rounder, the outline of my panties showing beneath, taut and clean, snug against my bottom.
Another wave of pain came, forcing me to stop, doubled up. My tears came, rolling down my cheeks from closed eyes, the salty taste strong in my mouth as one reached my lips. I really thought it was going to happen, but I held on, the pain fading as I once more stumbled forwards. A man passing the other way glanced at me, his face showing amusement, derision even, then a woman, pointedly looking away.
I managed five steps, counting every one, then ten, before the pain came again. Again I stopped, clutching at my tummy. I couldn’t make it, I knew I couldn’t, and I sank down to my knees, my bottom stuck out, my head spinning, sobbing aloud, panting. I was going to mess my panties in public, and I couldn’t stop myself, my whole being filling with wonderful, blessed relief as I surrendered control, only for the feeling to die with the pain as my shame for what I had been about to do flooded through me.
I got up, forcing myself, telling myself that if I could only hold back five, maybe six times more I would make it. It was silly, though, ridiculous, and I knew it even as I struggled up, walked a pace and sank back to my knees as an agonising pang went through me. It was hopeless. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have it in me. With a last broken sob I let my bladder go, my pee exploding into my panty crotch an instant before my anus gave and I expelled the full volume of my enema into the seat of my trousers.
I was sobbing, my face pushed down in the grass as I did it, dizzy with shame and misery as my panties filled and overflowed, the mess trickling out and down my legs, over my pussy too, while pee dripped from my fly on to the grass below. Monty, I knew, was watching, and maybe others, but I couldn’t stop it, and it would have been pointless anyway. They’d seen.
Monty had been right, because even as I slowly regained control I found I couldn’t get up. I’d soiled myself in public, and it was unbearably humiliating, worse than I’d ever imagined it would be in my dirtiest fantasy. I was crawling, on all fours, the filthy stain spreading out on the seat of my immaculate white trousers, my panties ruined. Yet I wanted more, the culmination of Monty’s sadistic act, to finish off, when I could have stopped, abandoning the last, tiny piece of my pride.
What was in my panties and trousers was a mixture of piddle and cream, a disgusting, squashy, oozing mess, but there was worse, and it wanted to come out. I could have held, but I didn’t, surrendering instead to the inevitable, bum up, not even bothering to hide it, flaunting it in fact, as I gave in and once more let my bumhole open.
I moaned as I felt it, a great thick piece squashing out against the back of my panties, stretching them, making my trousers bulge out behind. It was going up my crease too, and down over my pussy, but I didn’t care. I was pushing now, lost to every vestige of decency as the dung came out, filling my panty seat, the bulge growing behind me in plain view, the moist, squashy mess oozing from the side of my panties, spreading out over my bumcheeks, squeezing up between them and down, into the welcoming hole of my pussy.
That was the strongest, dirtiest bit, feeling my pussy fill, but it wasn’t the end. I kept pushing, piece after piece, until I could feel the full, horrid, soggy weight behind me. I knew what it must look like, a great sagging bulge over my bottom, making it absolutely obvious what I had done. They’d seen me poo in my panties, maybe half a dozen people, and all I wanted to do was squat there, showing it off to them. Why I didn’t masturbate in it, then and there, I don’t know. I wanted to, but some small part of me was still aware of the consequences of showing sexual pleasure. In the end somebody gasped, maybe in shock, maybe disgust, even sympathy. In any case it broke the spell, and the awful situation I was in came flooding back in a great wave of shame.
I just ran, helter-skelter down the hill with my load squashing in my panties as I went. I didn’t even know where I was going, just away, away from the people who’d seen me, who knew. It was a blur: grass, then a path, railings and a miniature railway, groynes and pebbles, then water as I plunged into the sea, and under, coming up panting and blowing. The shock of the cold hit me, clearing my head, but I was still in a fine state. People were looking at me, most puzzled, some, who’d guessed or seen, smirking or embarrassed, others sympathetic. Finally someone, a middle-aged matron in a one-piece blue swimsuit, decided to help. She came bustling out, holding a huge pink towel.
She treated me like a messy baby, holding the towel up to shelter me and telling me to get out of my dirty things. I did it, with her watching as if my exposure were totally unimportant as I stripped off. My jeans came down easily enough, my panties with them, peeled down under water with the little waves sloshing up to wet my top. Getting them off was harder, as I had to stand, making a fine show of my dirty bottom, if only to her. She kept watching as I struggled to clean myself and get the worst of the mess out of my clothes, tutting occasionally and casting dirty looks back to the people who were watching on the beach. It wasn’t easy, because there was mess in my crease and I had to finger my pussy too, but she waited, very patiently, making sure no one else saw anything at all. I felt pathetically grateful, and more so when she lent me a pair of her daughter’s fluorescent beach shorts and a plastic bag.
That was when Monty appeared, with my bag. Everyone was staring by then, and I just had to get away from there. There was the awful process of making Monty buy me new shorts at a stand, changing into them under the towel with everybody in view looking on and whispering, and then I just ran. I was crying again by the time I reached the car, in a real state, yet still fighting down a desperate urge to masturbate.
I would have done it too, a sneaky one in some back street with my hand down my silly yellow shorts, only I was just too angry with Monty to let him see what he’d done to me. Instead I gave him the full treatment: a lecture on respect and understanding and stop words and everything else I could think of. It was pointless though because, although he looked pretty sullen, he knew, and so did I.
Ten
I got back pretty late on the Sunday night, after dropping Monty off at his house. All in all it had been good, but I’d had my fill of him, at least for the time being. My bum was sore, especially the hole, my boobs too. It was nice to have some marks to remind me of what we’d done, but I needed at least a week without being interfered with to get back to normal.
It wasn’t just my body either. My head didn’t feel straight, what with his ‘It’ game and doing really heavy things to me in public. It wasn’t easy to take and, perhaps more importantly, he never cuddled me afterwards. Percy always does, whatever he does to me and whatever I do to deserve it, and it is very rarely indeed that I’m not back to my usual bubbly self within a matter of minutes.
Both men made a strange contrast to Gabrielle, who was colder still, but so gentle. In fact, if anything, she was too gentle, not really taking charge of me in the way I like, while Monty was too rough, cruel, and not as caring as a good dominant should be. In fact, he wasn’t really caring at all, except when he was worried about scaring me off. Percy was the best, without doubt, but just then Percy was the one I couldn’t have. Not that I’d had Gabrielle, exactly, but she had given me an orgasm.
Sitting alone in my flat, I actually found I was missing Percy rather badly. I’d understood my need for discipline for a good while, and his ability to fulfil it, but until then I hadn’t fully understood how important it was to be c
omforted afterwards. Monty lacked Percy’s confidence, also his skill, and his understanding. In fact, just about everything except the basic desire to punish and humiliate girls.
I was also exhausted, and went to bed with a glass of Armagnac only to wake in the morning with it untouched on my bedside table. I made coffee and poured the Armagnac into it, sipping the hot mixture with a touch of guilty awareness that I was drinking not just first thing in the morning but alone. I felt I needed it though, because in my dreams I’d been back on Beachy Head, running in blind panic with a pound or so of dung swinging in my panties.
The answer was obvious: to come over the experience, which I hadn’t yet done. That was always Percy’s great thing, to overcome an erotic fear by making it a fantasy. Not that what Monty had made me do hadn’t been a fantasy anyway, but I needed that orgasm.
So I closed my eyes and slid further down the bed, letting my mind drift to the feel of hot sun on bare flesh, of hard cocks in my body, or my helpless despair and shame as I was spanked and to the yet stronger emotions of being given an enema in a public place.
I was in one of Percy’s big shirts, and that soon came off, then my panties. With my fingers burrowed in between my pussy lips I thought of how it had felt, on the hillside, crushed beneath Monty’s blubbery bulk as fake cream was forced up my anal passage. With that thought I rolled over, on to my side, sucking a finger and penetrating my bumhole, wiggling it about inside. I went back to the fantasy, thinking of my pain and angry consternation, struggling to hold myself, dizzy and helpless, then at last unable to hold it any more and expelling my enema into my nice clean white trousers. Worse still, on my knees, deliberately filling my panties with poo in front of half a dozen onlookers, or running in blind panic, as I had been in my dream, with it all sloshing and wobbling in my panty pouch, and even cleaning myself in the sea, filthy from the waist down, near nude, with so many people staring. The huge woman treating me like a baby, watching as I peeled down my soiled panties in front of her.
