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Views: 564 Created: 2007.07.12 Updated: 2007.07.12

Graduate School Games - Chapter 1

Book 4 - Part 3

Finally I stopped pumping in and out, and buried my dick as deep as it would go inside her. She glanced back at me with a mischievous grin on her face, looked up, and observed, "Your bag is still a third full. If you'll let me up, I'm gonna close the clamp to let you rest, put a plug up my butt, and come back to strap the crotch harness around my hips so I can fuck you for real while the last of the solution is going into your greedy guts." I eased my detumescing penis from her stretched puckerhole, and watched her come around to stop my inflow for a few minutes. Then I got to watch the delightful, opulent sway of her derriere as she ran to get a big plug up her tush so she wouldn't lose the slimy, briny load I'd pumped into her.

Returning, I felt her loosen the excruciatingly tight straps around my thighs, then heard her snapping them around her hips and thighs so that the dildo nozzle was secured to her body. "I'm gonna fuck you now, Paul(a), and I'm gonna fuck you good." I felt the dildo moving in and out of me, stirring the gallon of solution I'd already absorbed, stroking my prostate exquisitely, in a way that soon made me hard as steel once more. Finally, I felt her pace speed up, and with a howl, she said, "I'm gonna cum inside your ass," just as she opened the clamp to let the last two quarts of the fluid flow into me. By this time, I had my arms and chest and belly flat to the bed so I could rub my bursting erection against the sheets; as the last of the effervescent solution chugged into my tummy, pushing aside everything in its path and turning my guts to mush, I let out a scream of ecstasy, squirting a copious load of semen all over Karen's clean sheets. She kept pumping in and out of me even after I came, explaining, "Gotta get that stirred up so you'll have an easier time expelling it whenever I get good and ready to let you expel." She closed the clamps and detached the lead from the dildo nozzle from the main hose, resting her crotch on my ass so the full length of the ersatz phallus was still buried deep inside my protesting bung.

"How would it feel to sleep with all that stuff locked inside me?" I wondered aloud.

"I'm game if you are. I'll go get another buttplug." She scampered away, directing me to hold the nozzle inside my ass, and returned in a moment with a giant plug about four inches wide at the base. After lubing it thoroughly with the aloe cream, she eased the dildo nozzle out of my rear and began pushing the monster up my hole.

"God, it feels like you'll rip me apart with that thing--it may be too big."

"Nonsense. Just spread your asscheeks wide as you can get them, and I'll keep pushing until it pops inside you."

I took her at her word, and spread my fannycakes so far apart I thought the skin between them would crack. Finally, the plug seated with a loud pop, accompanied by the worst stretching pain I've ever felt; my sphincter worked convulsively, trying to push the monster out, but it wasn't going anywhere. I realized I could relax then, and contemplated my middle, which was swollen six inches past my normal waistline. "I wonder which of us will feel more crampy in the morning-- you, with your bellyful of urine and come--or me, with an even bigger bellyful of steamy water, club soda, aphrodisiac, and salt."

"Probably a toss-up, although I must not have more than a pint of fluid in my guts, if you don't count the couple of loads of sperm you've pumped up my ass." She took me tenderly into her arms, then noted, in an alarmed tone of voice, "You're shaking, baby. Let's get covered up so neither of us catches a chill." We crawled under the covers, with me lying on my left side, Karen behind me spoon style. The last thing I remember is her rubbing my belly as I drifted off to sleep.

When I awakened, I was lying on my back, and Karen had her slick vagina poised over my nose. "Smell how hot I am for you," she demanded. The secretions that dripped from her open labia had an almost feral smell, and I lapped eagerly at her honeypot before teasing at her clitoris with my tongue. "Oh--oh--oh--ooh--ooh--ooh," she grunted, as I brought her to shattering orgasm after shattering orgasm. Just as quickly, she moved off my face to impale herself on my suddenly- erect penis, and ululated shrilly, "Fuck me--fuck me--FUCK ME!!" Having little choice in the matter, I gave a mighty thrust with my hips, sending her once more over the edge as her slick hot sheath rippled mightily around my shaft. I realized with a start that I was still holding the six quarts of solution she'd pumped into me with the dildo nozzle in the wee hours of the morning, and I suspected that she was still holding her briny purge as well. I snaked one hand underneath her opulent rear to check the seat of the buttplug, and--bullseye!--discovered it still lodged in her rectum. I gave a mighty heave with my hips, sending my dick into her as deep as possible, at the same time pressing the plug even deeper into her ass. Her vaginal muscles clamped hard on my penis, and I could feel the electric thrill beginning deep in my belly.

"If you keep your pussy snapping like that," I warned, "I'm going to come any minute."

"Do it, baby--it's all right. Come on inside me where it's safe and warm and get yours; I'm getting to be a fucked-out mess." She clamped her twat muscles especially hard; with a bellow, I let go and shot my sperm deep into her belly, humping hard with my hips to force every last drop through the head of my dick and into her body. She wailed in another series of climaxes, came down hard one last time, and slumped over me, breathless, breasts heaving, our chests glued together with sweat. "How are you holding out under the club soda?" she inquired, gently rubbing my distended middle affectionately.

"I feel plenty full. What about the bellyful of brine and cum you've got locked inside? It must be starting to really irritate your innards."

"You might say that; let's go empty so we can grab a really binding breakfast and get filled up again." She jumped up, took my hand, and led me at a breakneck pace to her bathroom. Once we got there, she squatted over the toilet, directing, "Come over here and eat my pussy while I release this load of semen and urine you pumped up my ass early this morning." She grunted to remove her plug, handed it to me, and ordered, "Lick it off, slave," which I did, nearly gagging at the taste of my own piss. "I'm having trouble expelling," she complained. "Can you soap up a finger and stimulate my bung with it for a minute?" I ran to the sink, rubbed some hand soap into my hands under the tap, and came back to the john. Back in my kneeling position, I wormed a soapy finger into her nether eye, pumped it in and out (which triggered more orgasms on her part), and then pulled it out of her ass with a pop. Her release was almost instantaneous; with a huge fart, the contents of her colon exploded into the stool. After a couple of grunts and several more farts, she was empty; my tongue on her clit had also caused her to shake in orgasm several times. Rising, she presented her spattered butt to my face, and directed, "You may wipe me now." I cleansed her rear carefully, wiping every exposed inch with bath tissue, then wetting a washcloth in warm water and squirting liquid soap on it, I scrubbed her backside thoroughly, although not without succumbing to the temptation to thrust a soapy corner of the washcloth into her bottom hole with the middle finger of my right hand.

"Your bottom ought to be fresh as a daisy now," I quipped.

"Yes, and I'll probably shit my pants from the soap in my asshole, some hours down the road. Bend over so I can get your plug out." She began to tug at it, then realized that pulling too hard on it might not be the safest course. "You'll need to relax a lot, so that your sphincters can open up naturally. The last thing I want to do is tear your rectal walls. Sit on the toilet and rub your stomach while I load a bowl." I began to knead my distended middle, praying that Karen would hurry, as I figured a few hits of kind bud would help me relax to the point that I could pass the huge plug and wouldn't risk tearing my sphincter. The load of solution, mostly water with the exception of the quart of club soda, mainly made me feel bloated and distended, but not particularly crampy, and therein lay the problem. I kept kneading my big belly, hoping that I'd hear some rumbling sounds indicative of my colon wanting to push out the fluid that Karen had pumped in during the wee hours of the morning. As I sat and contemplated this, she returned with a loaded bowl. "I'm sorry, baby--I spilled some on the coffee table and had to pick it up. I'm really worried that I might have done permanent damage to your rectal sphincters by insisting on a plug that big." A worried look crossed her face, and I could see the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes.

"Light that bowl and hand it to me, then get on your knees in front of me so I can hug you, sweetheart." I took a big hit, coughing because I'd inhaled too much; I felt the muscles in my colon contract when I coughed, and I observed, "I think this bowl will help, but not quite in the way you expected." After she took a second hit, I took a huge one, tried valiantly to hold it, then coughed continuously when I felt it expand in my lungs. That did the trick; I felt the plug pop out of my rear (it still smarted on its exit, but I didn't think I detected any flesh being torn) and the six quarts of solution began farting and sputtering out of my dilated bunghole. "Worked like a charm," I commented as I handed Karen the bowl. I clutched my belly as the cramps caused by the dissolution of gas pockets in my colon began to come in waves, so Karen laid the bowl aside and fellated me until I was empty, finally sliding a hand under my damp rear to fingerfuck my anus while I shot an amazing burst of come down her throat. I reached under me, fished the plug out of the toilet, and flung it and the dirty water across the room.

Coming up for air, she kissed me, then opened her mouth so I could taste my own ejaculate; she moved her mouth away for a second, and I could see her throat working, swallowing the rest of my load. Then she kissed me again. "Remind me not to try that monster plug again unless I have some really expansive pot in the house. I was really desperately afraid that I'd done you a permanent injury." She circled my waist with loving arms, and asked, "How you do feel, hon?"

"Refreshed but ravenous," I complained. "What's for breakfast?"

"I took a big container of homemade chili con carne out of the freezer while I was looking for something to clean up the spilled kind bud with. I put it in the microwave to thaw, and took out some extra-large eggs to warm to room temperature. I figured we'd do a California-style breakfast: scrambled eggs with chili on top."

"Sounds delicious--and filling."

"Yes, and my chili is five-alarm stuff; it will make you fart like crazy, and your farts will burn. That way, I can pump anything up your ass that I want to, because you'll be so happy to get relief from all the gas pains you're going to suffer."

"Gee, thanks. I guess I have absolutely no choice in the matter."

"None at all. But look on the bright side; we'll be eating each other's assholes in preparation for the post-chili lavages, and I know how much you like having me fart in your face and stick my tongue up your butt."

"True--what'll we do until breakfast is ready."

"Suppositories and tampons, then a nice brisk walk in the neighborhood."

"Lead on," I answered, bending over to let her root around my back passage in a pretense of cleaning me off; I felt the slippery object enter my rear, then the insertion of what I thought was a super maxi tampon. Wiping the excess grease off my rear with a paper towel, she slapped me sharply on the ass so I'd get busy and do her.

Feeling vengeful after the giant butt plug caper, I took a jar of Vicks out of the medicine cabinet, inserted the middle finger of my right hand into the fiery grease, and thrust it without warning into her bung. "Owww--why did you do that?" she sniffed, but I just as deftly withdrew the finger and slid a suppository up her moon, topping it off with my finger lubed with not Vaseline or K-Y but shampoo. "You're gonna make me have an accident while we're on our walk, aren't you? Why are you so mean to me?" She cradled her middle in both hands, smarting from the fire down below.

As I wiped the excess grease off her butt, I replied, "Just a kinky payback for almost wrecking me with that oversized plug, darlin'. You know I'm not really mad at you, but I thought it would be fun to torment you for a while." Slapping her tush in return, I began to hurry to her bedroom for comfortable clothes. "Last one out the door is a big poopie-butt."

"What a novel expression to be using in this household," she groaned, following me quickly.

We were about four blocks away from the house when Karen stopped suddenly, clutched her middle, and exclaimed, "Damn you, Paul! I feel like I'm about to shit my pants." She bent over, holding her stomach as if in agony.

"It can't be cramps from the suppositories already, can it?" As I said this, a sudden cramp shot through my belly. "Uh, Karen, was it your intention that we just use regular suppositories before this walk?"

"Yeah." A look of consternation crossed her features. "Ohmigod! I dug out the jar of triple- strength colon blasters by mistake. And here I was all set to bitch you out for using Vicks and shampoo instead of a more neutral lubricant." By this time, she was bent to her knees, and I was soon kneeling right beside her, trying desperately to keep from soiling myself.

I looked around, noting that there was a big stand of trees off to our right; although most of the leaves were changing color and starting to fall, there was a clump of evergreens right in the middle. "Over there," I pointed. "Let's pick up a bunch of these leaves to use as asswipe, then go hide in the pines and do our business." Seeing Karen's reluctance to rise and follow me, I asked, "Or did you already do your business?"

"No--I just don't think I can make it all the way over there without help. I can't walk very well holding my asscheeks together; can you shield me, like walk behind me?"

"I live to follow your bounteous tushie, sniff your farts, and clean your heinie with my dog's tongue," I remarked, chuckling. "Come on."

We hobbled over to the edge of the trees, and I picked up an armload of big leaves before we beelined into the pines. Grunting, Karen bent over, squatting like a monkey, and whisked down her jogging pants and panties in one swoop. Instantly, a fetid mass shot from her bottom, and I handed over half the pile of leaves I had collected as I dropped my sweats and jockey shorts just as quickly, watching the sky spin overhead as everything left in my colon shot out of me at once. I steadied myself in my squat with my right hand as I brushed the excrement off my rear end with some of the leaves I'd collected. "How're you doing over there, hon? Even though we're well hidden, we should keep an eye out for passing cars. Coalville frowns on people's bare asses hanging out in public, especially the weekend after Hallowe'en."

"I'm almost out of leaves, and I'm afraid I'll ruin my panties on the walk back to my place."

"If I cover for you, take `em off and put `em in your pocket. We'll wash our joggers sometime later in the day. I don't want to ruin my jockies either; they're a new pair."

She sat in the grass and squirmed her sweatpants off her ankles, then deftly pulled her panties off, pulling one leg of the sweats back on as soon as she'd gotten a leg out of the panties. It took her all of thirty seconds to do this, and she scootched her rear against the grass in a last futile attempt to wipe herself.

Then she came over to my side to obscure the roadside view of what I was doing; I did the same trick with my butt in the grass before pulling my sweats back up. Karen stood up, offered me her hand, and I rose, taking her into my arms. "That was quick thinking, Paul. I still can't believe there was any shit left in our colons after the monster dump last night and the offbeat enemas of the wee hours."

"But surely you must realize that some fluid is always absorbed into the walls of the colon; if there's anything left in there, a morning application of a triple-strength suppository will shake it loose within minutes." I patted her butt as we made our way back to her little house. "As a nurse, you don't need me to explain such simple matters of body chemistry to you. But I do think my remark before we dressed for this walk was unfortunate, because it looks like we're a pair of poopie-butts."

"Four of them in fact, since buttocks always travel in pairs." She giggled when I groaned at her amendment, then grabbed my left buttcheek hard and held on just like I was doing with her right cheek. Thus we came around the last corner to her driveway, where Tricia's TransAm sat parked. "I'm surprised to see her up and around from the orgy so soon. What time is it, Paul?"

I glanced at my watch: "About ten-thirty. You're right--it's kind of early to see anyone stirring from an orgy that was slated to last until around six a.m." We practically flew the last few yards to her front door. Inside, Trish and Andy sat on the couch with long faces and tear-reddened eyes.

"What's wrong?" Karen asked frantically.

"It's Rima," Andrea sobbed. "We'd all been having a great time at the orgy, and I was the life of the party because everyone wanted my tiny fists up their asses. I must have gotten thirty people off, and used up half a box of exam gloves; in fact, I think I'm developing carpal tunnel syndrome. Things were going pretty mellow until three or four bikers from another club crashed the party."

Tricia took up the story: "One of them noticed the jars of lube and exam gloves and enema equipment lying around, and asked Rima what kind of party this was. When she told him it was an orgy hosted by nursing students and psych majors with a theme of water sports and anal sex, the biker, a huge, ugly dude with scars all over his face and tattoos everywhere you could see, told her he wanted a private party with her, that he'd take her for a ride on his hawg. Rima didn't like his looks or his vibes, but when she tried to walk away, he grabbed her arm, threw her over his shoulder, and walked off with her. When one of our sweet little hippie biker poets tried to intervene, another member of the gang pulled a .357 magnum out of his leather jacket and shot him in the kneecap. Now little Joey, that angel, will never walk again."

"The worst part is that, not only did it wreck a perfectly lovely orgy," Andy put in, "but we were all worried sick about Rima. After we took Joey to the emergency room at Memorial, we stayed with him a while to make sure they were taking good care of him and to find out if one of us could stay with him and try to cheer him up. Then, as we were leaving the emergency room area, an ambulance came screaming into the emergency room parking area. The patient they brought in on a gurney was Rima."

"Since Rima has no next-of-kin in the area, and since Andrea's her roommate, they talked to us for a minute. It seems that this biker thought it would be cool to do some extreme enema action with Rima, so he lubed up a garden hose, stuck it up her ass, and turned the water on full. His bros held her down until the water pressure ruptured her colon." Trish shivered as she wrapped up the account: "Rima was white as a sheet when they brought her in. They brought her into surgery, and Andrea has to get back there with her insurance information. We all need to pray for dear, sweet Rima. The emergency room doctor said she had a fifty-fifty chance of surviving, but it's likely she'll be wearing a colostomy bag for about six months." She began to weep convulsively, joined this time by not only Andrea, but by Karen and me.

"We'll have to get over to see her as soon as they let her have visitors," Karen remarked, once she'd recovered from the first wave of tears. "Do the police have any line on the bikers who did this to her?"

"Well," Andrea began, "we all saw them when they showed up at the orgy. After I take Rima's insurance information to the hospital, we're supposed to go to the police station to look through the mug shots. The officer in charge did say that several members of the club have long rap sheets for domestic assault, battery, and other violent offenses."

Tricia had a sudden flash: "I think I've seen the guy who dragged Rima off; he was on Unsolved Mysteries or America's Most Wanted or something. Shit! Where's John Walsh when you need him?"

"I agree with Trish," Andy observed. "That guy did look awfully familiar--you can't forget a face like that--ugly as homemade sin. He had so many scars all over his face and scalp and neck it looked like he'd run headfirst into every broken beer bottle in every bar fight in the continental U.S. And the tattoos--swastikas and scorpions and snakes and cobwebs and spiders and racist slogans." A sudden dawning came into her eyes, "You guys don't think he grabbed Rima because she's part Asian, do you?"

"It's a possibility," I put in. "I think it's a reliable bet that this guy is associated with either the Klan, the Aryan Nation, or some other white supremacist group." I looked at Karen, and asked, "Did you see what I did with that copy of the latest issue of KlanWatch from the Southern Poverty Law Center? I know I brought it over here with my stuff when you first picked me up the beginning of break."

"It should be in the magazine rack, along with that copy of Enema Erotica." This drew a chuckle all around.

"Strange bedfellows, I guess," and my remark caused another ripple of laughter. I hunted through the rack, found the magazine, and flipped through to the back, where hate group attacks for the publication period were listed state by state. In the Illinois section, I read a brief piece about a group of Aryan nation bikers from the Anna/Jonesboro area who FBI agents now believed to be responsible for a number of random attacks on Asian-Americans throughout Southern Illinois. At the end of the entry was a note: SEE COVER STORY. I flipped back to the front of the magazine, and there, staring me in the face, was the most scarred-up, tattooed, plug-ugly biker I'd ever laid eyes on. I handed the magazine to Trish and Andy. "Could this be the guy?"

"That's him," they said in unison. "Can't forget a face like that in a million years." Andrea looked up at me, "Can I take this with me when we go to the police station?"

"Sure, as long as I get it back. If those guys recognize any cars from the orgy, you two and everyone you associate with could be in danger."

"Be careful," Karen added, and we walked them to the door, joining in a group hug and a silent prayer before they left for the hospital and cop shop.

"Brrrr!" Karen shivered. "Poor Rima! And poor Joey! He's a sweet young man who wouldn't hurt a fly." A flash of remembrance came into her eyes. "Breakfast? Was it breakfast I was thinking of?"

"I wonder if it was Rima and Andy sniffing the air when we came back from our walk." I looked at her, let that sink in, then added, "I don't know about you, but I think a shower and a change of clothes are in order. If you'll take off your sweats, I'll throw both pairs in the washer."

"Oh, shit. I forgot that we must smell like campers who've been too long in the woods." She shucked out of her sweats, threw them at me, and turned to present me with her opulent buttocks. "How bad does my ass look, anyway?"

"I dunno," I said, pulling down my sweats and presenting her with mine. "How do I look?"

"Shower," we both shouted in unison. I threw both pairs of sweats in the washer and loaded the detergent, but didn't start it right away. Karen had gone ahead of me into the bathroom; she already had fresh towels stacked near the tub and the shower was running. Sliding in beside her, I said, "Let's try to avoid those triple-strength suppositories unless we really need them badly. We took a big chance combining them with Fleet enemas before the fiber orgy last night--I'm surprised the tampons held those gut-busters back."

"Yeah, I wonder why they were so ineffective this morning." She scrubbed my back, taking extra care to get my anal region and anus squeaky clean, then turned so I could perform the same service for her. "I guess we'll never know," she concluded, in reference to the tampons.

When we got out of the shower, we discovered the reason for our emergency on the walk, for lying on the edge of the bathroom sink were the two supermaxi tampons, wrappers torn open but still in their wrappers. "I guess they work better if you remember to insert `em, huh, Karen?" She just nodded sheepishly, grabbed a terrycloth robe, and went out to start breakfast. I stayed in the bathroom for a few extra minutes, until a shout from Karen brought me racing into the living room, still clad only in my birthday suit. "What's wrong?" I gasped. She had a petrified look on her face, and she nodded toward the living room.

Seated on the couch were three bikers, the one in the middle being the same plug-ugly featured on the cover of this month's KlanWatch. "Sorry about your little gook friend," he said in a whiskey rasp. He got up, strode into the kitchen, slapped Karen hard on the ass, and inquired, "Did ya miss me when I was in the joint, baby?"

"I don't even know who you are," Karen protested. "And I don't understand why you're here. What gook friend?"

"Don't play dumb with me. That slant I gave the garden hose enema to after we broke up your pals' orgy last night. That gook." Looking at his misbegotten buddies, he drawled, "Chalk one up for the steamroller. One gook down--two billion to go."

Karen was about to correct him about Rima's condition when I warned her with a look. Instead, she moved over to a kitchen drawer where she kept her meat cleaver and butcher knives. I looked away, focusing my attention on the racist biker desperado instead.

"What are you staring at, hippie boy? Ain't you never seen a real American before?"

"Oh, I've seen plenty of real Americans. Our friend Rima was a real American; she was decorated for gallantry at the Grenada invasion. But I suppose there's no way you'd know that."

"Huh?" He looked quizzically at me, just as Karen pulled a .380 autoload from her knife drawer and put a round in the base of his spine. Before the two goons on the couch could draw, she had them covered.

"I suggest you get your buddy to the emergency room pronto, if you don't want to see him die. He'll probably never walk again, and it's likely he'll never rape a woman again, so his life is pretty much over anyway." They tried to stare her down, but she simply opened the safety on the pistol and said, "Get out of here--now!!!"

Like rats deserting a foundered ship, they ran out the door, not even checking to see that three police cars had pulled up in the driveway. They were taken into custody, and their buddy was loaded into an ambulance that had been dispatched with the police cars. Apparently Trish and Rima had driven by on their return from the police station, saw the hawgs out front, and called 911. We learned this when they pulled into the driveway just as the police cars and ambulance were leaving.

By this time, I'd managed to throw on a robe, so I let them in while Karen began scrambling eggs. "Good thing I took out extra eggs to warm up--I had a feeling we'd have guests for brunch."

"Nice work, crimestoppers," I said to the chubby brunette and the petite redhead. "Hope you guys like scrambled eggs and chili, because Karen is whipping up a big mess of it."

"Sounds delicious," Andy enthused, while Trish only grunted, "Chili gives me gas."

"Why don't you load a bowl?" Karen requested, stirring the eggs in a big skillet. "And bring me first hit, okay?"

I felt like the shuttle smoker as I passed the bowl around, took it over to Karen when her turn came up, and sat back on the couch while Andy and Trish filled in the back story. Apparently, the police were already enroute to the last known residence of the three bikers when our friends had gone in to show them the KlanWatch magazine and find the ringleader's photo in the mug book. The desk sergeant gave them the same advice I'd given them before they left, so they drove back by the house, saw the hawgs in the yard, and called 911 on Andy's cell phone.

"How's it feel to be a bona fide hero?" I asked as I passed the bowl to Trish.

"Not bad--oh shit, I've gotta call my connection. She was gonna drop by this afternoon with an ounce of Northern Lights for me, and there's a good chance the police will be by to ask me a few more questions."

"Here, Tricia my dear," said Andy, handing her the cell phone.

"Or if you want privacy, Trish," Karen stated, "you can grab the cordless in the bedroom."

"This is fine--it'll be a quick advisory, without going into the whole gnarly story."

By the time Trish finished her call, breakfast was ready; stoned as we were, we inhaled it, and sat around the table afterwards rubbing our stomachs and passing another bowl around. "Karen," Trish asked, "do you and Paul have plans for the afternoon?"

"Yes--go back to bed and finish what we were about to start when all hell broke loose when we got back from our walk." Regretting the edge that had crept into her voice, Karen said, in a softer tone, "We just wanted to spend the day alone. I promise we'll be more sociable during the week."

"No big deal--I just wondered if you two wanted to go hear the band playing at the Hangar 9 tonight. It's Schwag, a Dead cover band. I thought it might be fun."

"Much as I love Dead songs, Paul and I really do have some detailed plans for the rest of the day. But do something for me, Trish?"

"What's that?"

"Call the hospital and find out when Rima can have visitors--then call us and let us know."

"Sure thing--you folks want help with dishes before we leave?"

Karen grinned and looked at me; I pointed, "Dishwasher rules!"

Another group hug at the door, and they went off to pursue their Sunday plans.

"Too much excitement," Karen griped. "Between the near-disasterous walk and the violence attached to the orgy and our visit from the Jackson County Hate Squad, I'm exhausted. I still want to get down and kinky for the rest of the day, but at this point, all I really want to do is lie in bed and hold you and fart a lot when that chili starts to work." She stroked my right thigh, her hand inching closer and closer to my slumbering dick. "Can you handle that much excitement for the next couple of hours?"

"It sounds perfect to me. Should I start the dishwasher?"

"Not enough stuff in it yet. Come on." She took my hand and led me back into her bedroom.

Lying in bed, we were floating in space, holding each other tenderly as the chili we'd had for breakfast began to percolate in our bellies. A thought struck me, and I asked Karen, "When were you planning to take that home pregnancy test?"

"I've got to wait for at least 48 hours; I'll probably do it after class tomorrow. You aren't having second thoughts, are you?"

"Absolutely not. I'm just kind of excited and anxious, wanting this to be true, because I really want us to have a child and stay together and raise it and love and support each other." I was lying with my arms around her spoon-style, on my left side, and I began to rub her tummy as I said this. "I can't wait to see the changes the pregnancy will bring to your body; I think pregnant women are so sexy." I pressed into the soft flesh of her middle then, asking, "Do you think that chili will start working anytime soon?"

In reply, she only uttered a loud fart, causing us both to burst out laughing. "If you keep kneading my belly that way, it's bound to work." I relented, but she replied, "I didn't say to stop; I like you playing with my fat gut. It makes me feel safe and protected, and it helps my digestion." Shivering as I once again began rubbing the delicious curve of her middle, she added, "It also feels sexy; if you slip your fingers down to my pussy, you'll see what I mean."

"Are you sure that isn't mainly because my hard dick is pressing into the crack of your ass?" I rubbed my woodie along her crack to demonstrate.

"That might be part of it, but I really like the tummy action, too." She sighed as I pressed harder into her abdomen, cutting loose with a chain of farts indicative that the chili was wreaking havoc in her colon. "I haven't heard you fart yet, Paul. Don't be bashful, okay? I hope it's not that you didn't like my chili."

"No, but my tum is feeling neglected. I'm going to flip over on my left side and ask you to rub me for a while." I pivoted away from her.

"With pleasure," she replied, kneading my flesh vigorously. I could hear and feel the spicy breakfast gurgling and percolating in my colon, and suddenly I cut loose with a huge fart; the smell was so intense it burned our eyes. "I can see my cooking has had the desired effect on you," she commented, kneading me with greater force, grabbing and squeezing my middle until I felt half loved to death. "I think that, in a few minutes, we should do an around-the-world sixty- nine. Does that sound like fun?"

"Only if it ends in us fucking or filling each other's guts until we scream and then fucking while we're holding all that lovely water." I gurgled contentedly, a shiver running through me at the thought of further such kinky enjoyment.

"Naturally. My thought, after the mutual analingus, was for us to back into each other with the double-header, really stir our guts up, which entails pumping air into each other's asses as the dildo goes in and out, and then enjoying that delicious crampy pain as the water starts to dissipate the air in our colons." I could feel her hand trembling against my midsection as she said this.

"You really are a poet, hon. I'm getting closer to coming just from hearing you describe what's going to happen." I flipped over onto my back, directing, "Come straddle me with your ass over my face. I want to lick your big butt until you shake in ecstasy." She moved to position herself thusly, and I licked each cheek of her rear, gently nipping at the soft flesh, homing in with my tongue to flick it lightly against the tight star of her sphincter. Holding her buttocks apart with both hands, I began to insinuate my tongue into her rear, pointing it to penetrate her with it like it was a miniature penis. Her moans of arousal were music to my ears, and I felt her performing similar offices at my fundament.

As her tongue penetrated my anus, I could feel the preejaculate weeping steadily from my penis, so I sped up my tongue action, intent on driving her to orgasm. Soon enough, she began to shake with passion, gasps escaping her lips, just as I felt my burning seed rush through my testes to spurt out of my dick in a slimy puddle on my belly. In the next instant, Karen farted long and loud, and I followed closely behind, my sphincter feeling open and energized. She collapsed on the length of my body, both of us giggling as we emitted long, wet-sounding flatulence. "Was it good for you?" I asked facetiously.

She shifted on the bed to regard me with an expression she'd earlier described as "bathroom eyes." "On to the next phase, dear. After those farts, my stomach is starting to hurt from the spiciness of the chili. Sometimes I do get carried away when I make it, and today I put extra chili powder in." She took my hand and all but dragged me into our favorite party room. Digging through the cabinets, she produced two 3.8 quart clear hospital style bags with marked increments on the sides. "Fill these half-full of steaming warm water. I remembered something I needed in the kitchen. I'll be back in a minute." I watched the saucy sway of her big bottom, then fell to my task.

Five minutes later, she came back with a measuring cup in one hand, and a bottle filled with a black substance in the other. "I looked through the pantry, and I found out that I had a bottle of blackstrap molasses. I'm going to put a half-cup into each of our enemas, and see just what the effects are like."

"I'm scared," I said, in a whiny, little boy, voice.

"So am I, but let's be brave and take our medicine. Do you remember that scene in Dickens's David Copperfield? When the headmaster at the orphanage school dosed the boys with a combination of treacle and blackstrap molasses?"

"Sure do--I always wondered why they got so sick, and why they didn't feel like eating for the rest of the day."

"I brought a spoon so we can taste this stuff. Ready?"

"I guess." She brought a spoonful of the viscous black concoction to my lips. I licked it up, held it in my mouth, and worked hard to swallow it. "It's kind of sweet and salty, too. Sure has an intense molasses taste."

She sampled a spoonful. "Yeah--not something I could get hooked on, I don't believe." She poured half a cup of the substance into a measuring cup, poured it into one bag of water, then ran steaming water to rinse the rest of the dose from the cup into the bag, repeating this action until the cup was clear of the viscous fluid. Then she performed the same office with the other bag, directing me to top off the first bag from the bathtub taps. When I hung it on the curtain rod, she gave me the second bag to top off, then directed me to burp the air from both bags. Reaching into a drawer, she brought out two hospital style peartip nozzles. "These are the biggest size I could find, at a medical supply store I visited with Trish and Rima and Andrea a couple of years ago. The tips are an inch and a half wide, so they should stay in us with no problems. Help me attach them to our hoses and we'll get started."

Karen held her arms out to me, and when I went to her, wrapped me in the warmest of all possible hugs. "Just remember, we can call a halt to this if it gets too painful. Let's use `fire' as our safeword, okay?" As I nodded, she slipped her left hand down my back and probed my behind to see if my anus was open enough for the big nozzles, so I did the same with her backside. "I guess we'll have to put a bit of lube on those nozzles, but I don't want to use too much; no point having them blow out of our butts when the cramps start to hit." Leading me to her oversized tub, she directed, "Let's lie on our left sides; that way the solution can penetrate us better. We'll switch off, so each of us gets a turn getting their tummy rubbed as this brutal stuff flows into us."

We inserted each other's nozzles, opened the clamps, and Karen lay down on her left side, with me positioned similarly behind her rear, my arms around her waist and my right hand automatically going to her abdomen. Within seconds, I felt a burning sensation in my anus, and I asked Karen, "Is this stuff supposed to burn like it does?"

"I noticed that, too. Let me see what I remember from my pharmacology courses." She whimpered as I rubbed her belly gently, then spoke again, "Now I remember--one of the components of blackstrap molasses is sulfur. That must be the burn we're feeling." She hiccuped, feeling the fiery stuff penetrate her deeper, and said, "I guess in this case, `fire' is a very appropriate safeword."

"I'd say," caressing her breasts with my left hand while rubbing her middle with my right. "I wonder how much has flowed into us now."

"You can stop rubbing me for a minute and check." She began rubbing her own distending stomach as I stood to take a look.

"Looks like about a quart apiece. Do you want to switch positions and massage my gut for awhile?"

"Sure, lover." She stood, assisted me in lying on my left side, then lay behind me in the tub, also on her left side. Her hand felt so good against my crampy tummy; although I felt like I might die at any moment, her soothing touch was reassuring. "If we live through this, I'll have to consult my home remedy formula; I think I exceeded the recipe."

"Now she tells me," I groused, feeling the cramps begin to shoot through my middle like a knife. "`Fire'," I moaned. "I feel like I'm going to explode if any more of this goes inside me. It hurts worse than anything you've ever drained into my guts." Immediately, she closed my clamp and eased the big nozzle out of my rear; before I could even lever myself up to hop to the toilet, the solution and the contents of my colon exploded out of me, spattering against the far end of the tub. "Sorry, hon. I'll help you clean it up."

"It's okay," she cooed, as my shattering explosion slowed to a trickle. "I'm going to pull my nozzle and do the same thing. I'll go ahead and drain these bags; I don't think we'll want any more blackstrap molasses in our middles today." Soon, I heard the rest of the solution running into the tub, splashing us with its diluted stickiness, as Karen farted hard and exploded her load in the tub. We lay on our sides, face-to-face, and rested for a few minutes before she started the shower. "It's important that we rinse these bags out thoroughly as we shower, because we'll definitely want to rinse the remainder of the molasses out of our bowels, or we'll be feeling lousy the rest of the day and probably tomorrow, too."

"You're right. I definitely don't want to be walking around with shitty underwear tomorrow, or be too sick to eat." I felt a wave of nausea at the thought of food. "Hon, sorry to ask you this, but would you mind if I threw up in here, since we're going to clean the tub and shower thoroughly anyway?" I could barely keep from retching as I made this request.

"Not at all--I'm about to barf, too." We got on our knees, fannies touching, and performed the technicolor yawn in stereo, our guts feeling as if they were being torn out and heaved up with the rest of the contents of our alimentary canals.

"Kind of a waste of good chili and eggs," I said apologetically.

"It's okay. When we finish our rinses, I'm going to make us some sharp cheddar toasted sandwiches on really low fiber bread; we'll eat `em until we have bellyaches from being full. Then I'll pull some prime rib from the freezer and we'll eat it this evening. We've got to eat everything we can to plug ourselves up." She directed the spray at the pile of vomitus on the tub floor, pushing the chunky stuff down the oversized drain. "In fact, when we dry off and before we start our rinses, I'm going to call Tricia and see if she can run in to the lab and get a couple gallon jugs of barium solution. You do know about barium enemas, don't you?"

"I know that the inflatable nozzle nozzle was designed to help gastroenterology patients retain Barium enemas. And I've heard that they're excruciatingly painful."

"That's mostly from the fullness and pressure, plus the retention while the patient is getting X- rays of his or her GI tract. The point is that they leave a person constipated for up to a week running. I think they'll be just the ticket for counteracting the effects of the blackstrap molasses." She hugged me, worming a soapy finger into my rear as I performed this office for her. Without disengaging us, she stood on tiptoe and lowered her vaginal slit over my awakening erection. Since we already had the bags rinsed and filled, we stood under the warm spray, limbs entwined, fingers rooting in each other's assholes, and fucked vertically until we both gasped in ecstatic climaxes.