Posted by Donnie C. on April 19, 2008 at 18:46 [65.146.216.75]
In Reply to: Melanie's Story (Part 1, repost) posted by Donnie C. on April 19, 2008 at 18:45
“A Public Poop” (continued)
Posted by Melanie on April 15, 1998
(NOTE: This story is continued from a post on 2/7/98, in WSPP Archives #3.)
I was so excited about the load in my panties that I knew I would have to bring myself off, so I turned and started to make my way back to my car. Then I saw something which made me freeze with horror. My heart felt as if it had stopped, my blood seemed to turn to ice, and the load in my pants felt like a lump of wet clay. Across the road, about twenty yards away, a middle-aged woman was talking animatedly to two police officers, a male sergeant and a young WPC, and pointing in my direction. What on earth was I to do? Turn and run for it? Walk on and brazen it out? I decided on the second option. As I neared the spot, I saw the sergeant speak into his radio, then say something to the WPC, who then began to cross the roads on an intercept course.
“Excuse me, madam,” she said, glancing down, “but I’m afraid you really cannot go wandering around the streets like that.” She was about my age, probably fresh out of training. “I’m sorry,” I stammered, my voice shaking, “I’ve had an accident. I just want to get to my car, go home, and clean up.”
“Hmm, two accidents I’d say,” she replied. “Where is your car parked?” I pointed up the road. She shook her head and sighed. “I’m afraid we have a witness who says that she saw you heading in the opposite direction, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I’m afraid your conduct constitutes behaviour liable to cause a breach of the peace. You are not obliged to say anything………”
My mind was in a whirl as she read me my rights. What was to have been an exciting day had turned into a horrible nightmare. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Luckily I was carrying my passport for ID so a trip to the station was not necessary. The formalities done, I was free to go. Although WPC Fiona Mackenzie, as she introduced herself, insisted on walking me to my car, and tried to reassure me as I blubbed.
“You really have been rather silly,” she informed me, “but between you and me this is unlikely to go to court as it was a spur of the moment thing. You may have to come back to the station for a ticking off, though.” I was still sobbing as we reached my car. She glanced inside. “You’re lucky I didn’t see that plastic on the driver’s seat,” she said with a faint smile. She bit her lip. “Delayed shock can be nasty, so wait half an hour or so before you drive off.”
Fiona went back to her duties, and I sat for ten minutes or so before deciding that I just wanted to get out of these clothes and get cleaned up. The whole magic had gone. I headed back along the road and had gone about five miles or so when I suddenly began to sweat and shiver. I felt as weak as a kitten…and horribly, horribly sick!
I searched for a lay-by [rest area] I could remember seeing on the trip out, but I knew I was not going to make it. I could only cup my hand over my mouth as I puked, again and again, directing it down my front and into my lap without taking my eyes off the road. The “P” sign appeared and a minute later I was parked in the lay-by with the windows down. I wet myself again, making a brown puddle on the plastic. I eventually drove the rest of the way home, and was fortunate enough to be able to get into my flat without being seen.
The next week was hell. I had to take sick leave from work, and was hardly sleeping, I was so worried. I wasn’t put out of my misery until the following Saturday. It was about 10.30 when the door intercom buzzed. “H-hello?” I quavered into the grille. “Hello,” a metallic voice answered, “it’s Fiona Mackenzie here.” There was a brief silence while I wondered who this was. “WPC Mackenzie. We, er, met last Saturday.”
My heart leapt. I pushed the button to let her in, probably to arrest me and cart me off in chains, I thought. After a brief pause, there was a rap at the door. I opened it and a girl I’d never seen before in my life stood there. She showed me her ID. I hadn’t recognized her because she was in civvies. She was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with ripped knees, a Guns’n’Roses T-shirt, and a denim jacket, equally faded. She wore her long, dark, wavy hair loose, Alanis Morrissette-style, and she was wearing glasses.
Fiona smiled warmly. “Hello, again. Good news is, there won’t be any charges.” I just buckled with relief, sinking onto the sofa. “However,” she continued, more seriously, “I do have to give you an official warning, that if this sort of thing ever happens again, you will almost certainly go to court. OK?”
I nodded, too emotional to speak. She produced a clipboard from a large shoulderbag. I signed on the dotted line, and Fiona smiled. “Well, that’s that. I am now officially off duty. It’s been a long night.” Now that it was all over, I needed some company. “Would…would you like to stay for a coffee or something?” I asked.
“Oh thanks, that would be great,” she replied. I poured out the coffee, and we chatted. I was surprised how much we had in common, and, I have to say that I found her very attractive. But I wasn’t prepared for what she said next.
“Melanie, “ she began, and hesitated. “Erm, about last Saturday, erm, I, er, can’t help being a little, well, curious.” I stiffened, unsure of what to say. She continued, “I mean…why? I’m not asking as a copper, but as, well, I hope, a friend.” I felt her hand on mine, and our eyes met. At that point, I knew. I just knew.
Our faces grew closer, and we kissed. Well, that was the closest I’ve ever been to spontaneous orgasm! I was tingling from head to foot, and nearly wetting myself. We broke off the kiss and Fiona began to stammer an apology. I silenced her with my lips. This time I did wet myself. I didn’t care about the couch, I just let it happen. I placed her hand on my wet pants, and she moaned and rubbed gently. I was not long in coming!
I eased Fiona’s zipper down, and the scent of her juicy sex filled the room. I put my hand in her pants and rubbed until she came. God, she was some juicer! We then just snuggled up together, licking our fingers. She then told me she needed the toilet, and I suggested she do it in her pants, right there on the couch. She admitted that she had wet her pants in the past week “out of curiosity” and had enjoyed it. Doing it with someone else was a different matter.
She moaned and tried to relax, but it just wouldn’t happen. ”Sorry,” she said, “I’ll just have to use the loo.” I was disappointed, but I let her go. My disappointment was reduced when she came back! Her jeans were soaked! “I couldn’t be bothered to take my pants down.” She smiled; I knelt in front of her and kissed her wet crotch, savouring the sharp smell of pee, mixed with her own scent. Of course she had to get her wet things off, and we made wet love in my bed (I peed again). Unfortunately she had to leave as she was visiting her parents that evening and needed some sleep.
Thursday evening the phone rang. It was Fiona. Both of her flatmates were going away for the weekend, and she wanted me to go and visit on Friday and stay over until Sunday. I couldn’t believe my luck! The next day I was in a dream all day at work, and home-time couldn’t come soon enough. Eventually, bang-on seven o’clock and wearing my pooping clothes, I was at her door. When I went in, I was transfixed. She was wearing a simple orange mini-dress which looked fabulous on her, a long way from the heavy metal outfit. She pulled up the hem of the skirt to reveal her white cotton panties. I dropped to my knees and nuzzled her crotch. I could smell her excitement. Then she gasped, and I heard a hissing sound, and her pants became wet, a pale golden stream splashing down her legs and onto the carpet. I stuck my tongue into the stream to taste the salty golden fluid.
As her pee finally dribbled to a halt, she turned her back and pulled up her skirt again. “I’ve been practicing this,” she said. “Hnnnnn!” To my absolute delight, her panty seat filled with a crackly, squelchy sound, and the smell of poop filled my nose. I moaned, “God, that’s beautiful!” and pressed my fingers onto the hot, squishy lump.
“Do you want to wet?” asked Fiona. I got to my feet. “What do you think?” I smiled.
She knelt in front of me and sniffed at my much-pissed-in, brown-smeared jeans. “Wow,” she said, “these smell…mmmmmm!”
I relaxed my bladder and gasped as the familiar hot wetness soaked down my legs. Fiona was moaning and playing with herself as she rubbed her face over the wet denim. I pushed and blasted off a fart, which made us both laugh, then I began to pump hot, sticky poo into my pants. It was such a nice big load, as I hadn’t pooped since Fiona’s phone call. She reached around and began to squash the poo over my bottom, then she stood up and we kissed.
I reached down behind her and put my hand on her bulging panty seat. She grunted and I felt more poo push out. I squashed it flat, and rubbed it around, feeling it ooze through the cotton and out the sides of her panties. I scooped some up with my fingers and held it up for inspection, before wiping it on my jeans. Fiona got her hands down my jeans (they’re not too tight) and moaned loudly as she pushed her hands into my mess. Then she did something amazing: she put her hand up to her face and licked it with the tip of her tongue. Then she took a bigger lick and pulled a face.
“Yeurrgh!” she exclaimed. “That’s gross, but I just had to try it.” I kissed her again, tasting the filth on her tongue. We eventually went to bed and masturbated each other to orgasm after orgasm, eventually falling asleep still plastered from head to toe. In the morning we both peed and pooped in the bed, before putting all the dirty stuff in the washing machine. We had a long, scented bath together…then back to bed!!
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