Posted by Sherlock on December 20, 1999 at 00:46
This is a fictional story I made up just now, after reading a request by Cory. I was inspired, you could say, by a find I made last week. Keep in mind, I ain't no writer. I am a janitor.
Lynn sped down the interstate, glancing occasionally at her speedometer. She was speeding, she knew, and she was at risk of getting a ticket from one of the ubiquitous State Troopers that seemed to frequent this particular stretch of road, but she did not care. She was having a bad day, one of the worst she could remember in some time.
The day had started well. Lynn was to pick up her car at the repair shop and then do a little shopping before going to her freshly married sister's new house and giving her some decorating advice. She was going to meet a guy from work for drinks that evening. To avoid having to make the extra trip home, Lynn had dressed that morning in what she considered to be her sexiest, though understated dress. Pure white, about knee length, but snug fitting enough to show off her well rounded figure perfectly. She was really hoping to lose some weight some day, but she was barely twenty four years old. What was it her mother hads told her about the "freshman fifteen?" Many girls gaining about fifteen pounds shortly after high school? Maybe Lynn was just a little slow in losing it. It did not seem to hurt her chances with the men, at least not that she could tell.
She had dressed carefully. At one time, she had thought it a joke, her mother chiding her about a particularly short skirt, saying that selecting her panties was a major fashion decision. In fact, that rang true with this dress as well; Lynn had chosen white panties, nice white full cut cotton briefs with flat elastic leg and waist bands to reduce pantylines showing through. Nice white pantyhose and a white slip over a plain white cotton bra; Cinderella dressed in yella... no, dressed in white, except for her highest heels, not white but brown. They went okay with the rest of her clothes, a little high for walking, but Lynn planned on doing little of that today.
With an eye toward losing a little of that "Freshman Fifteen," Lynn had tried a new drug: Xenical. It blocked the absorption of fat. Her doctor was a little disapproving of her using it, saying she was not overweight enough for it (not overweight at all, he had said, eyeing her a little rakishly. What an old fart!). But Lynn was adamant, and he knew what she would just go elsewhere if he didn't give her the prescription. He had mentioned something about side effects, but Lynn was not concerned. She ate low fat foods most of the time already.
So the day had gone. No real breakfast, just a piece of toast with butter and peanut butter, and a glass of juice. Dressed carefully, especially on the lookout for visible pantylines (nothing unless she bent over), then out the door. She caught the bus to the car repair shop, then furrowed her brow prettily as she settled into her seat. A bit of a cramp in her belly. It passed soon enough, and she forgot about it. Bound to have a toilet at the garage where she was picking up her car, she thought.
It was a long bus ride, and at times Lynn was a little uncomfortable. The cramp she had felt earlier had come back a few times, and seemed to have settled into a low grade burning need for a healthy dump. She was a lot more concerned by the fact that her fullness was making her belly sort of push out against her snug fitting dress than anything else. She knew she would be fine once she was able to stand and walk around a little.
At last the bus got to the stop near the garage where her car was. Just as she thought, walking around a little, some fresh air, she felt good as new. She resolved to use the facilities at the garage, and knowing that relief was imminent, she felt better anyway. She strode purposefully into the garage, The mechanic on duty eyed her appreciatively when she walked in, and caught her before she went into the office. "Miss Wainwright, we've got you squared away here," he said.
"What was the problem?" she asked.
"Just a little adjustment to fuel system," he said, tapping the hood of her car. "Nothing to worry about, really."
"Mmmm," said Lynn. Standing in one place, her fullness was returning. She wanted mostly to go to the office and ask the girl working there for the facilities; there was no way she was going to ask this grease smeared leering joker. It would be far too embarassing: "I had this real babe come in today and all she wanted was to take a shit!" She could hear him telling the tales to all his buddies. "Damn, pretty little thing sure stunk up the place." She shuddered at the thought. She was always a little shy about her toiletting anyway; the idea of asking a man for the toilet was unthinkable.
"If I could just have the bill," she said softly, knowing that she would have to pay the girl in the office.
"Hmm, okay," said the mechanic. He selected a clipboard from the wall, got out his pen, and looked it over. Lynn shifted her weight from foot to foot a little, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. He seemed to be enjoying watching her; he kept looking at her above the clipboard. At last he set the clipboard down, jotted something on it and tore the top page off and handed it to her.
"Forget it," he said. "You're a good customer, and this wasn't much of a job. Warm sunny day, give me one of those pretty smiles and we'll call it even."
The compliment caught Lynn off guard, and in spite of herself, she smiled at him.
"Have a nice day, Miss Wainwright!" he said and handed her the keys. Lynn was pleased, both at the compliment and at getting her car fixed for nothing (check that, she thought, one smile!). For a moment she forgot about her need for the toilet. And maybe, under the mechanic's watchful eye, she was a little careless about getting into the low slung sports coupe and revealed a little bit of leg. What of it? She hit the road in fine style, and her car even ran better.
Getting her car back was enough of a thrill that she momentarily forgot about her toilet needs, but within five minutes of setting off for her sister's house, it was back with a vengeance. She hissed in breath occasionally, as the cramps seemed to be coming more frequently and stronger. Her mind drifted back to the fast talk at the end of the Xenical commercial: "...an urgent need for bowel movements and an inability to control them..." Far from unable to control them, Lynn thought, just a somewhat increasingly urgent need for one.
But it was only a forty five minute drive to her sister's new place, and the welcome relief of a nice, private toilet. A place where, even if she did smell up the place a little, she could giggle about it later with her sister. Lynn set her jaw and drove a little faster. On a couple occasions, she felt herself sweating a little, straining to hold it in, despite relaxing her belly muscles and letting her slightly rounded belly push out against the fabric of her dress. She even dug into the waistband of her panties and pantyhose, pulling them out a little for increased relief. It helped a little, but she was certainly looking forward to getting to her sister's place!
Lynn finally rounded the last corner approaching her sister's new house and nearly burst into tears. Two pickup trucks parked in the driveway, sawhorses and power cords spread out in the driveway; obviously some contractors getting a little weekend work. Lynn was fairly squirming in her seat, hoping, praying, that they weren't working on the bathroom. Even if it meant using the bath in the master bedroom, Lynn had to use the toilet far worse than she could ever remember. It was very bad. But she couldn't stand the thought of asking her sister in front of these contractors she didn't even know. And worse yet, the idea of them going in shortly after; she was not going to leave the bathroom in a very pleasant condition!
As it turned out, it was even worse than she hoped. The contractors were working on both bathrooms. Sheila met Lynn on the sidewalk. "Looking HOT, Lynn!" she greeted her witha kiss on the cheek.
"Hi Sheila," said Lynn.
"I hope you don't mind, the contractor wanted to get the painting finished in the bathrooms this weekend so they could tile on Monday."
"Why would I mind?" asked Lynn a little sharply.
"Well, seems like every time you get here first thing you do is head for the toilet. Do you need the bathroom? I can ask the painters to leave.."
"Don't be silly," said Lynn, resigning herself to holding in the straining mass within her a llittle longer. "Let's look at that wallpaper book!"
She lost track of time for a while, looking at wallpaper patterns, evaluating this color or that against Sheila's furniture. By the time it was time for lunch, she had forgotten all about the struggle she had experienced getting there and she ate a healthy lunch of a cheeseburger and fries from the burger stand down the road, topped off with a creamy chocolate shake. She ignored the slightly liquidy rumblings from her tummy, hoping the contractors would be finished before she had to leave. Or maybe she could ask them to let her use...
Not a chance. "...I was painting this broad's house, and her sister shows up and Lord, did she stink up that place. I thought something freakin' died..."
Besides, her need seemed to have subsided a little. She kissed her sister goodbye about three o'clock, and headed back for home. She was a little late for her date, but she had planned for that. She had no need to stop at home to change into her date clothes, so she could just drive straight to the bar and meet her new man friend, if that was what he was.
Lynn was about ten minutes away from her Sheila's house, on the freeway, when the need for a toilet that she had momentarily forgotten about came back magnified. She gasped aloud as she had to clench her buttocks as tightly as she could to keep from releasing her bowels involuntarily in her pants. "Jesus!" she cried inside her car, doubling over as far as her seat belt would allow, barley keeping an eye on the road. She was beyond desperate now, and hurriedly strained her eyes looking down the road for a sign telling how far to the next exit. She was hopping up and down in her seat, opening and closing her legs, whimpering, doing whatever she could to keep her bowels in check. Then she saw it, a blue sign. "Rest Area 2 Miles." Rest Area! That meant bathrooms, that meant toilets, well ventilated toilets, anonymous toilets, toilets where, if they were a little tacky and dirty, at least noone would have stories to tell about her later (at least not by name).
Lynn struggled, drove faster and faster, covering the two miles in far less time that the speed limit allowed, but just as she was considering the exact ramifications of releasing her savage intestinal contents inside her car (inside her panties!), she saw at last the ramp leading to the Rest Area. Her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, Lynn exited the Highway at high speed. She whirred into the parking lot, slammed on her brakes and jumped out of the car. The orange pickup truck in the lot barely registered with her. She bailed out of her car, "Hold it, hold it, hold it," she whispered to herself under her breath. She click clacked down the sidewalk in her heels, and nearly lost her balance as she rounded the corner to the Lady's Room. A simple yellow plastic sawhorse blocking the door. "Closed for Cleaning." She heard a masculine tuneless whistling coming from within the bathroom, and the flush of a toilet. "Oh, no..." she whispered to herself. "I don't know..." A new cramp forced her to clench her bottom cheeks again, but this time she was not entirely certain she had totally succeeded in holding her straining bowels in check. "If I soiled my panties," she thought, but left the thought unfinished as once again she had questionable success in fighting off another cramp. She was afraid to sit in her car now, for fear of soiling her clothes. Besides, what was the point? No way could she hold on to the next rest area, or to get home, or to.... Another cramp! Her bottom felt a little wet now, though from sweat or something else she could not be sure. She walked back to her car and leaned against it, hands on the hood, bent at the waist. Another cramp. She was nearly certain she was soiled now. Her butt itched like crazy, but a simple scratch was bound to smear somethign nasty into the all white ensemble she was wearing. Nobody was parked close to her car.
Another cramp, and Lynn lost control for a moment. In her panic, she was amazed as she let out a long, wet, smelly fart, fully without control. It smelled awful, it burned, and it left her feeling dirty. But her bottom, hot as it felt, was dry. Her panties were not sagging like she expected. Lynn looked around; noone in sight. She backed up to her car and lifted her dress and slip and looked in the mirror. Her panties were clean! As angel white as they had been when she slipped them into place this morning. Lynn let her dress drop. The fart, she knew, was a warning. A shot fired across the bow. A portender of things to come, worse things. How long can it take to clean a bathroom, she wondered. She noticed another woman walking to the ladies room. She simply walked past the plastic sawhorse, and leaned inside. A second later a man left the room and went over to stand next to the orange truck. He lit and smoked a cigarette. Lynn was amazed. Did the other woman ask to use the toilet? Did he let her? Sure enough, he threw the partly smoked butt on the ground and stepped on it as a relieved looking woman walked out of the restroom. "Thank you!" she said loud enough for Lynn to hear. The man went back into the restroom and resumed his tuneless whistling. Lynn fought off another cramp, then another, and made up her mind. She had to get into the toilet, she had to go to the ladies room, or she was going to go to the bathroom in her pants. Click clack, click clack went her heels. Up the sidewalk, playing it in her mind. "Excuse me sir, I need to shit!" No. "Excuse me, I am about to mess my pretty panties!" Not a chance. "Could I trouble you to let me use the facilities?" Yeah, right. She lurked outside the room, then stepped past the sawhorse. She heard the whistling, heard a scraping noise like someone dragging a bucket across a concrete floor. She balled up her nerves, tapped on the door. The whistling stopped. Lynn cleared her throat. Then the whistling resumed. Lynn opened her mouth to call out, when her breath was stolen by a very bad cramp. This time she lot it again, and this time there was no doubt. Something came out, something of undefined state other than gas. Liquid or solid was a question. Into her panties was another question, but her bottom was definitely wet and not with sweat this time, unless she was sweating something very gritty. "I just pooped in my panties," thought Lynn. She raised her hand to knock again, realized she was going to poop herself completely, and just hung her head and walked back to her car. She had some workout clothes in the trunk of her car, including panties. Walking made it a little easier to fight the cramps, but she felt the mess between her bottom cheeks sliding back and forth, and the itch was driving her nuts. She got to her car, in relative privacy, and waited for the next cramp to come. She itched, and she scratched, then looked at her fingers. Nothing on them. She sniffed. Well...
It suddenly occurred to her to hoist her dress and lower her panties. She was in relative privacy, unless someone drove past, and even if they did they would probably not see much. And she had a blanket in her trunk. She hurried to the back of her car, and opened it. As she leaned into her trunk, digging out the blanket, the worst cramp by far hit her. "Oh, No!" she cried, as a sizable mass of warm soft pooped wedged itself firmly into the seat of her panties. With no control, she suddenly bore down and pushed, and was surprised to find herself wetting her panties. "I've wet my pants before," she thought for a moment, then felt a huge semi liquid mess pour out of her bottom into her panties. "I shit my pants," she said quietly, then giggled. Pee continued to pour from her, washing down her white pantyhose clad legs, forming a puddle between her high heeled feet. Another cramp, and the mess in her panties grew. It was up her back now, probably close to filling her panties to the top, and between her legs as well.
Lynn stood next to her car for another ten minutes. By the time the restroom cleaner left, she had fully evacuated the contents of her Xenical stimulated bowels as well as her bladder, into her panties. Her panties were sagging slightly between her legs and in the seat. A grimacing glance in the mirror confirmed her worst fears' a brown wet mark in the back of her dress from the top of her panties to the hemline. She even had soiled the front of her dress.
Lynn wrapped herself in the blanket and walked carefully to the bathroom after the toilet cleaner left. She knew she made a comical sight waddling in her high heels. Anyone looking at her wrapped ina blanket and seeing the way she was walking would have probably assumed she had a large wet load of poop in her panties. They would have been correct.
Lynn walked into the bathroom and hesitated. She lifted her blanket and looked ate herself in the mirror. Dinner plate size soiled spot in the front of her dress, wet brown streaks running down both legs. Turn around, entire back of her dress ruined. Not one to cry over spilt milk, or poop, Lynn simpply waddled into a stall, nice and clean, and full of toilet paper, and proceeded to strip and clean herself up. Aside from a few wet spats of poop hitting the floor as she peeled her panties off her butt, it was remarkably uneventful. For one thing, nobody came in while she was doing her thing. She used an enormous amount of toilet paper, and flushed the toilet probably ten times, but by the time she was done she was clean as could be.
Footnote to the story. She met her date about ten minutes late. He was a little peeved initially, not only at her being late, but she was dressed in a ragged pair of threadbare sweatpants and a t-shirt. Still she was very friendly, much more so than he expected, and after a couple drinks she fairly attacked him, not at all what he had expected. Three hours after they met, he was fully spent, wrung out, wasted, watching her frigging herself madly, cursing himself for not having the energy to join her...
Further footnote; Lynn would be only slightly embarrassed, and secretly pleased, three weeks later when she read a detailed description of her soiled dress, slip and panties on a website she had recently discovered on the Internet!
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