Posted by Maria on August 17, 2010 at 10:33 [67.164.145.230]
You've been complaining about the lack of new fiction, so here is my contribution.
In reality, I am a bookish intellectual who stays home reading on most nights. My kinky husband wished I could be like the character Katy, said he knew I had a personality like that, sleeping inside of me.
Every now and then I got bold enough or drunk enough to let her out of Pandora's Box for a little while. But she frightened me so I locked her up again.
Now she lives in my fiction. Most of you would never marry a girl like Katy, but the e-mails I get from you guys tell me that you'd love to meet her.
If you like her, I could dream up some more adventures for her.
KATY THE COUGAR
“I’m just about to shit in my pants,” thought Katy as she looked at her Rolex and noted with chagrin that there were still twenty minutes left to go before this interminable class came to an end.
She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and tried to hold her bowels together. She shifted in her chair. Why not just get up and go to the bathroom? After all, she was taking this class solely for “self-improvement,” not for yet another useless college degree. One thing about being a cardiologist’s trophy wife was that you never had to work for a living. It didn’t matter if she missed a few minutes, did it? Of course not. It was just that she had her nasty old cougar sensibilities attuned to a particular young man across the room and didn’t necessarily want the whole class – including him – to know that she was headed for the little girl’s room to take a dump.
The only reason she’d signed up for this seminar in Euripides’ The Bacchae was because the “Politically Incorrect Grad” website had blogged it as a play about “a bunch of insanely drunk trailer tramps who literally fuck men to death.” Katy had thought that sounded like fun, and she could tell all her friends that she was studying ancient Greek drama, because they were even dumber than she was and would never know the difference. But what Katy had not known was that everything interesting happens off-stage in Greek plays and that Professor Fawcett, who looked like he should have retired a decade ago, could make even orgies sound dull. And now she was within an inch of making a steaming hot load in her undies right here in the classroom, which could be interesting because it would put her in the same league as all those ho’s in the play.
Katy squirmed in her seat. That young man was staring at her again. He was older than the typical 19-year-olds, probably a graduate student in his mid to late twenties. One way or the other, Katy was still a cougar in his little world. He wore black jeans and a grayish sweater with ragged elbows. His hair was dark and longish, his eyes even darker and very soulful. He seemed to know that the cougar was on the prowl. He was smiling.
Of course he was smiling. All the guys were smiling. Since this was supposed to be a play about sleazy drunken women, Katy had sensibly chosen a slinky little black dress so short that it revealed nearly three inches of her white nylon full briefs whenever she was sitting down. Stuffing herself into that tight dress had been no easy task, since her rear end, if not quite as large as Texas, was at the very least somewhat bigger than Nebraska. The way the tight fabric pressed against her Chardonnay-bloated belly with corset-torture intensity was part of the reason she was just about to dump where she sat. Of course her husband knew all about her penchant for visible underwear, since he was a confirmed voyeur whose philosophy of life was, “The shorter the dress, the stiffer the dick.” The first time he ever bought her a drink was because he could see up her skirt. He made a policy of only hiring nurses who dressed in totally see-through hospital scrubs and regarded hand jobs as a perfectly acceptable way of alleviating a patient’s distress. He actively encouraged Katy to romp around town in panty-revealing attire that made Jennifer Tilly in “Bride of Chucky” look like a preacher’s wife by comparison. Trash was cool as long as the trash was expensive. Since the dress had cost more than the entire annual budget for the school’s Comparative Literature department, Katy’s husband would have nothing to complain about
All the same, thought Katy as the young man grinned and her bowels rumbled, perhaps her instincts had been misplaced. Professor Fawcett droned on. Boredom rose like yellow liquid in a urine sample vial. Maybe she should have taken that class in “Post-Feminist Women’s Writing” instead. It was known around campus as “Slut Lit,” and was very popular with male students searching for the Holy Grail of a girl with a two-hundred plus IQ and a zero-minus sense of morality. But that would have required getting up before nine in the morning, a practice which Katy avoided like the plague.
Early or late, the moment had come. Katy could no longer avoid the inevitable. She grabbed her purse but left her school books where they were. As she exited her desk, she remembered to employ a wide-legged stance, spreading her thunderous thighs to give Mr. Dark Eyes the benefit of what her voyeur husband called “the full gusset.”
Then she was out the door, off and running down the hall in search of a bathroom.
Where the hell was the bathroom? She was literally sprinting now. Thank God she was wearing flat shoes.
Had it been a mere matter of urination, Katy would simply have surrendered. Incongruously, she remembered that Christmas party, several years ago. Fat Emily was the sluttiest of her husband’s “see-through nurses,” and the only human being Katy had ever met who actually lived in a trailer park. Unaccustomed to the expensive liquor of rich folks, Fat Emily had gotten sloppy drunk. Then that perverted old lecher, Dr. Adams, had tickled her until she roared with uninhibited laughter as two twin waterfalls of amber surged down the legs of her khaki slacks right in front of everyone. Katy had laughed out loud on several occasions that night as she watched all the men spend the rest of the evening trying unsuccessfully to conceal their hard-ons from their wives. Yes, if she simply had to pee, Katy would gladly have “done a Fat Emily” right on the hallway floor and raised a few kinky campus dicks. But this was different. She didn’t want to disgust anyone.
Ah! There it was! At the end of the hall! Salvation in the form of a restroom!
Yet another incongruous thought rushed through her mind as she remembered her Tibetan housekeeper, Amma, talking about the 49 days that souls spent in the bardo before achieving another incarnation, and it occurred to Katy that if she didn’t reach the toilet in 49 seconds her underwear was about to achieve another incarnation as a bucket of fudge.
She hurried into the bathroom, placed her hand on the door to the toilet stall, pulled it open…..
And then it happened. Suddenly, and without warning, there was a big fat log of poop in her white nylon full briefs.
An unexpected guest!
Katy tentatively touched her rear end. She could feel the substantial bulge that tented her slinky black dress. There would be no going back to class now! Good thing she had brought her purse with her. The silly old professor would doubtless gather up her books and keep them until the next session.
Well, she thought, now that I’ve started, I might as well finish the job. She stood there and pushed until she had completely emptied her bowels into her underwear.
All right, there, I’ve done it. Filled my pants like a baby. Big deal. As long as I can get out of here without anyone seeing me, I really don’t give a damn.
She started to walk across the bathroom floor. Then she paused. What an odd sensation, she thought. Walking around with a pile in my pants. It’s a strange feeling. Almost… erotic.
She took a few more steps. No, she thought. It’s not almost erotic. It’s totally, completely erotic, even downright mind-blowing.
Katy laughed out loud, wondering what it would be like to tell her husband that she’d crapped her panties at school and got all sexually turned on about it. Maybe he would be so shocked that he’d pay attention to her tonight instead of falling fast asleep after a hard day of pounding Fat Emily in the bathroom at work.
Katy walked up to the mirror. She raised her little black dress above her thick thighs and her giant butt. She remembered the days when she’d been a real trophy wife, before her ass got big enough to be legally declared a new continent. She’d been gorgeous then, but now she had to get by on acting like a nasty old cougar who gets her yah-yahs out by having tawdry affairs and violating all possible social taboos.
But this… This was one of the biggest taboos of all! Turning halfway around, she studied herself in the mirror, gazing with fascination at the massive bulge in her enormous white underpants, turning brown now against the angel-white nylon. She wiggled her butt at the mirror, and whispered to herself. “Sexy slut! Oh, what a sexy slut!”
At this moment she could have downed a whole jug of wine and fucked not one but ten men literally to death, like those trash puppies in Euripides’ play. Sluts of the Wine God, yes indeed!
As she wiggled her butt and admired herself in the bathroom mirror, Katy thought about Scotty, the sixteen-year-old son of the attorney who lived next door. Whenever she heard the roar of a buzz-saw guitar and smelled the sweet aroma of Thai stick wafting through the neighborhood, she knew Scotty was home from high school. At such times, she would say to Amma, “Why don’t you take the afternoon off to be with your family, dear?” When the Tibetan was gone, Katy would go into the backyard dressed only in her panties and bra. She would stand there and water the roses. She knew all about the telescope that Scotty kept in his bedroom upstairs
She wondered what Scotty would think if he saw her britches bulging with poop.
She didn’t know is she would show him the goods, but one thing she did know. When her husband and Amma were both out of the house, she was going to fill her pants again. Soon. Very soon. Good thing they didn’t have any children. Rug rats hang around the house and never leave you in peace.
Suddenly the door opened. A young girl with short hair and a nose ring walked in. Her eyes popped out when she saw what she saw.
Katy pulled her dress down. “Stomach flu,” she explained, quickly making her exit into the hallway….
Where she literally bumped right into Mr. Dark Eyes.
Oops!
“You left your books in the room,” said Dark Eyes, presenting her with her things.
“The class is over?”
“You’ve been gone for a while. Didn’t you notice? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Actually… really fine.”
Katy was trying to walk backwards now, so that he wouldn’t see the thick bulge in the back of her tight little dress, trying to create distance so that he wouldn’t smell what she had done.
“Hey, let me walk you to your car.”
Oh great, she thought. He really is into older women. He’s a Cougar Collector. Under any other circumstances, I’d be thrilled. But not now.
“That’s okay. I’m fine. It’s right down there in the parking garage.”
“No, no,” said Dark Eyes. “I insist.”
She walked as if in a trance. Surely he could smell her by now, though he showed no signs of disgust. Instead, he told jokes and laughed. He leaned into her. Before she knew it, he was holding her arm, guiding her down the hall. And she needed guiding. She was walking down a very public hallway with a load of poop bulging in her underwear, and the sheer surrealistic weirdness of it made her head spin, leaving her disoriented, uncertain as to where she was. But even beyond the horror of knowing that this young man must surely realize, very soon now, that his cougar had a pantload, she could not ignore the feeling of absolute, total eroticism that came from walking around with her pants full.
Soon they were in the parking garage, standing next to her Mercedes.
“Bye now. Hey, I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Katy,” she said, wondering how she would maneuver herself into the driver’s seat without exposing her bulging bottom. “And you?”
“Call me Dionysus.”
“What do you mean?” said Katy, confusedly, knowing the name was in the play but not quite remembering all of the Cliff Notes.
Forcefully and with perfect control, Dark Eyes shoved Katy onto the hood of her car. Her cheek touched the cool metal as her hands gripped the hood. She was bent over, giant butt extended to the vast immortal sky.
He lifted her dress all the way to her waist, gingerly touching the bulge.
“What I mean is that you’re just my kind of girl.”
“Slut to the Wine God,” she gasped, her face still against the hood of the Mercedes.
“And that’s how I’m going to treat you,” he said, not pulling her dress down, not seeming to care if there were other people in the parking garage.
Katy didn’t care either. She was still holding her purse. She reached into it, pulled out her cell phone, touched the speed dial to her home.
“Amma? Why don’t you take the afternoon off to be with your family, dear.”
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