Days in Rodanthe Pt. 06
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In the last chapter, I had spent a humiliating, painful and emotional morning with my beautiful, captivating girlfriend. I went to her, even though she may be a criminal. Despite her moments of cruelty, I was upset when she threatened to leave abruptly and tearfully begged her to stay; I am so hopelessly possessed. Now I was dressed like a nearly naked girl, dick hard, prancing across a closed motel parking lot to find out what further surprises awaited me.
As I stepped outside into the sunlight I saw no power equipment was waiting, a good sign. The curtains moved in the room my girlfriend occupied, no doubt she was checking on my compliance. As I began to skip and flail my arms and make limp wrist gestures, a couple loud semi-trucks rumbled by the motel entrance, gearing down for the interstate ramp ahead. Hopefully none of the drivers would look over and notice me, cock hard, prancing around in nothing but heels and a very short nightgown.
As I flitted along, stiff meat and balls dancing, I looked around and saw nothing but the thick forest that surrounded the derelict motel, and wondered if Constance was still stalking us. I doubted it; she had more than enough video already to blackmail me into doing her dirty work forever, and this dump in the Poconos was not an exotic destination like the Caribbean. I had e-mailed her everything I knew so far, and the blonde agent was pleased to hear that Za’ana wanted me to come live with her in Manhattan this summer. I tried not to think about all that, I just wanted to be with and please my crazy girlfriend.
The orange door to my destination was ajar, its plywood veneer split from age. The room, like the other, was furnished in antiques from the seventies. The drapes were shut but all the lights were on. Two unmade beds sat against the side wall, which was covered in cheap wood grain paneling. Za’ana was stunning as usual, lying on her side on the bare mattress, dressed kind of like a cocktail waitress in a cropped white peasant blouse and a short black skirt. Also in white, high platform shoes were strapped to her feet and a wide headband held her long, wavy, raven hair off her gorgeous face. The outfit showed off her tan shoulders, midsection and legs. My dick twitched just from looking at her. I couldn’t believe I had been having sex, however twisted, with this beauty. The scent of her perfume was heavy in the air. Her eyes, accented by full makeup, flashed as she spoke.
“Lie down, you fucking disgusting sissy masturbator!” She yelled indignantly, as if I had known in advance what her demands would be. Her improved mood during lunch had eroded quickly.
She stood and had me lie on the center of the bed face up, arms stretched completely out to the side. My hands overhung each edge of the mattress.
Continuing her recent fascination with tools, she picked up a pair of flush-cutting pliers. My dread of more blade play diminished when she grabbed a spool of white lamp cord that had been out of sight on the floor. “I wasn’t planning on this, but you seem to have a problem controlling your hands today, you nasty cocksucker! I’ll deal with your lack of control of your penis later.”
As I was being restrained, it was awesome seeing her cleavage and watching her braless tits undulate within the gauzy white top that was sheer enough to just barely reveal her areolas. Za’ana tied each of my wrists to the bed frame below and snipped off the excess wire. I could move, but only slightly.
She stood and looked up and down the bed for several seconds, then seemed to have flash of inspiration. Whatever it was could not have been good for me.
She began by looping the electric cord in a full circle around my sack, then pulling both ends lengthwise up my stomach under the nightgown and then out the arm holes to my shoulders. They were then anchored on my upper arm near my pits. If I moved one arm or the other more than a couple inches, the tension transferred down to my scrotum, yanking my balls uncomfortably upward. She then positioned my legs, thighs parted just enough to give her knee room to pummel my lassoed nuts. Knots graced both my ankles as each foot, still jammed into a high-heeled pump, was tied down like my wrists.
“Good. Now you can’t fuck things up.”
So, there I laid, nearly immobile, wearing some teenage girl’s discarded slumber party attire, hard dick upright. My girlfriend slapped my stiff meat back and forth several times and then my face twice, spitting on my cheek afterward.
“Do you like my nightgown?” she asked, referring to the pastel yellow cotton that covered my chest
“Yes, of course,” I replied; I did feel pretty nasty wearing it. “Is it really yours?” I asked, my face stinging.
“It was my sister’s, then mine. We slept many summer nights in it, developing breasts and dreaming of future boyfriends. Years later I ruined the matching panty when I filled it with shit, masturbating while home alone during my first leave from bahis siteleri the army.” She smiled at the memory. “Are you ready for your surprise, bitch?”
“Yes.” I had no idea what she had in mind, as her onion-scented saliva drained down my cheek. She repeated her question, insisting I beg for her gift, which I did while the image of her soiling herself occupied my thoughts. Then she spoke.
“Good! He’s been in the restaurant all morning, and now he’s waiting in the bathroom,” she said, smiling with the same smug expression she had in St. Martin when I was led to believe she was going to fuck someone else right in front of me.
No! My stomach soured. I hoped this day would never come. She brought a guy with her, and they were going to screw on the other bed while I laid here in a baby doll outfit, bound by lamp cord, dick involuntarily hard because she would insist I see everything. Her guest had probably been watching me take her abuse all morning, the reason for the boxer blindfold. Tears began to pool in my eyes. At least I had been able to have some awesome sex with her alone before she started blatantly fucking other guys. Maybe she had been doing other men all along. Hell, she could have been married with kids for all I knew. Constance was right, I was a stupid looser. My mind raced, my stomach in knots.
“You will love this!” she continued, stepping over to check her face and hair in the dresser mirror, then reach into her top and tug on her nipples. She grabbed a wooden chair, apparently confiscated from the diner, and placed it next to the bed near my hip.
Confused, I had no idea what the chair was for. Za’ana crawled onto the other bed and paused in a doggie position, resulting in a great cleavage view, but I almost didn’t care about that visual as she called out in French to the waiting male in the bathroom, saying something about ‘wanting inside her pussy’.
There was no response, and she called out again. She made a quizzical grunt and arose. I watched her hips sway in the skirt as she stepped across the room. Hips that some undeserving bastard was going to grasp as he fucked my girlfriend any minute now.
Za’ana opened the bathroom door, and spoke again in French. Oddly, it sounded like she said ‘Hello Mr. Stew Pot, thank you for waiting.’ Suddenly a horrific sewer stink slammed into my nose. I realized she had fooled me for the second time today. My girlfriend emerged alone, hands in oven mitts, carrying a large high-sided aluminum pot, battered from years of use in the adjacent café. It had dents in the side that resembled a face, ergo ‘his’ name. Although this putrid guest was much better than having another guy in the room, from the careful way she was carrying it, I got the impression the vessel was at least half full. An occasional wisp of steam drifted from within. I guessed she had added warm enema soup to the café menu. A metal handle poked out of the top at an angle. She set the pot on the chair, tossed the mitts, then climbed onto the bed and squatted, straddling my waist, facing me. I could now see she wore sheer white lace panties, the variety that had no extra layer in the crotch, and I now had a terrific view of her hairless pussy lips. She was smiling broadly, almost as if on a perch, due to the two high platform shoes that showed off her painted red toenails. The stench in the air was overwhelming, burning my nostrils. I suppressed gags as best I could.
“I have always wanted to try this!” There was a sparkle in her gorgeous dark eyes. “Robert, you are such a sick, perverted, shit-eating bastard, I knew you would love it!” She reached out to her side and stirred the contents around slowly. “Since our return from St. Martin, I have emptied my bowels into plastic bags each time and placed them in my freezer. I brought them in a cooler and they have been simmering in the restaurant kitchen all morning.” She looked me in the eye with a devious twinkle. “There were eighteen bags in all. Your mother’s eggplant parmesan and apple pie are in here somewhere,” she said, referring to remnants of the meatless dinner at my parent’s house. “I added number nineteen, fresh this morning.” The grinning, obsessed brunette raised the handle, which was not a spoon but a large, commercial kitchen-sized ladle, and tilted it to show me. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Shiny, mocha-colored sludge dripped from its overflowing edges.
With her other hand, Za’ana reached beneath the waistband of the skirt and grasped the panties and pulled the white lace tight up into the divide between her labia then jolted her hips, dragging the material across her expanding clit. She moaned and closed her eyes for a few seconds. The brunette’s flat, sculpted stomach flexed as her breathing grew deeper.
“Yes it’s beautiful,” I replied. “May I please have some of your delicious warm shit? Please?” I begged, even before she got a chance to prompt me. “I love my surprise! You know how much I love your bowels. Please?”
My throbbing canlı bahis siteleri dick head had worked its way under the black skirt and bumped into her lace covered ass crack as I squirmed around. She hummed a pleased note and reached down and back between her thighs and stroked my meat for several seconds while she told me what a disgusting pervert I was. Her stiffened nipples, jolting along with her arm movement, lurked up above. I wanted to reach up pull the top down and suck them, but of course I couldn’t since I was tied down.
Readying my stomach for the discomfort and nausea that would certainly accompany being filled with three weeks’ worth of my girlfriend’s turds, I was surprised when Za’ana straightened up, leaned backwards slightly, and lifted a ladleful upward and pulled the gathered, elastic neck of her top open. She poured the sepia mush all over her chest, moaning loudly and looking up at the ceiling. The contents flowed down her cleavage and juice leaked out the bottom hem and formed several rivers down her stomach. The thin white material of the peasant blouse instantly turned a chocolate brown wherever the shit-tinted liquid traveled.
“Isn’t this glorious?” she asked, not waiting for my answer as a second ladleful, brimming with more fecal stew, descended down her torso. Instead of withdrawing the utensil, she held it under the material, harshly digging at her nipple with its metal edge for several seconds, then erratically repeating on the other tit while moaning and gasping.
Although some solid blobs had escaped and made brown trails down her stomach, Za’ana now had a large roll of crap just below her tits. As she began to caress her body and randomly smear the feces, it yielded more brown, watery liquid, which it cascaded over my lover’s long, almost trembling fingers before it dripped onto my stomach. Another two nipple-flicking scoops, frantically massaged across her chest, left her with an irregular but thick coating from navel to collarbone. The material of the blouse clung tightly to the uneven bulges of shit packed inside it.
I begged again for her to share a scoop with me, then held my mouth open, craving the bitter taste. The stinking excrement had been deep inside her and I was honored that she was sharing it with me, and flattered by the effort she made to accumulate so much of it. I thanked her gushingly as a fetid, full ladle hovered over my face, drops hitting my cheeks and open jaw.
“Beg for it, you disgusting bastard!”
I whined a few syllables and saw the ladle raise up and turn over before a deluge of very warm, mushy, sharp tasting excrement fell into my mouth with a splat, much of it landing on my cheeks. I was half full, but not for long as another scoop filled my oral cavity completely and overflowed down my chin and neck. I could feel random lumps of turd against my tongue and gums, and gritty bits of undigested food cling to my cheeks. I moaned with pleasure and my cock throbbed with joy.
Za’ana leaned forward from her squatting position and rested on her knees, then on all fours, looking at me with those incredible big brown eyes, her hair falling forward and landing in the feces coating my face. The yellow nightgown had become pushed up to my chest, and I felt liquid from her mush-plastered torso drip onto my stomach.
“Isn’t it delicious?”
I hummed a positive tone as her shiny, mocha tinted, glazed fingers held my jaw and her glistening, long pointed tongue plunged into my full mouth. My girlfriend moaned loudly as she slurped the turd stew out of my mouth and let it drain from hers as our tongues flailed chaotically around. I could even hear the sprayed shit juice rain on the mattress beside my ear. The putrid stink had become the only atmosphere, and registered with every breath. After a minute or so, the beautiful brunette pulled her face away, everything below her eyes smeared with brown gunk. She was smiling broadly, the recesses of her teeth a chocolate hue. Suddenly she snorted, and clear rivers of viscous snot flowed out of both nostrils. She captured them with a brown-smudged finger, and lowered the strings toward my mouth. I slurped them loudly past my lips as my exotic girlfriend smiled.
Her expression changed quickly as she slapped me several times with alternating hands, creating an airborne brown mist. “You sick bastard! I suppose you think you get to fuck now! Beg to penetrate me! Beg!”
As my face throbbed, I whined pathetically multiple times for permission to have my cock inside her and how badly I wanted her since the day I met her. Za’ana crawled backwards and spat coughed up blobs of beige phlegm onto the nightgown and my stomach. She reached back to her butt and yanked the lace panties aside, apparently just enough for her to slide my stiff meat into her tight, pre-lubed asshole. Most porn videos feature anal as a grand finale; my girlfriend frequently seemed to consider it foreplay.
I moaned loudly as her slick ring of canlı bahis tight muscle surrounded my grateful cock. She shifted her hips around, breathing more rapidly, crap coated, stiffened nipples fighting against the now dark-colored fabric of the blouse. Za’ana had only begun to ride up and down a few strokes when she reached over for the ladle, and upended a dripping scoop into her waiting mouth as she faced the ceiling. She didn’t seem to be swallowing, and pushed most of it back out with her tongue, letting it cascade off her jaw. A spray of dark blobs took flight as her head made quick animalistic side-to-side motions as she practically growled with satisfaction. She used the ladle three more times, her trembling hand inaccurate at best, covering her lower face, neck and chest with the dark, runny excrement. Her hair below her ears had formed numerous slimy ribbons where it was matted together and clung to her neck and shoulders.
Continuing to grunt and ride my stiff meat, she looked down at me with satisfaction, like a bizarre Amazonian warrior, covered in shit from eyes to navel. “You nasty bastard!” she said through a moan, and next an airborne wave of shit stew splashed onto my chest as she flung a full ladleful at me.
The liquefied crap warmed my skin beneath the pale yellow cotton. Corn kernels, nut fragments and bits of vegetables clung to the surface along with various sized small turds. Za’ana kept riding me, occasionally reaching back to tug the panties out of the way, then, re-smearing the load of mushy shit all over her flat stomach and tits, pinching her nipples. Her slick sphincter seemed to have an awesome death grip on my cock as she slid up and down, mumbling rhythmically.
The exotic beauty gathered the black skirt against her torso, then grasped a fistful of the lace panties and yanked upward violently. The brunette woman moaned and gasped as she slowly massaged her clit through the material with a brown-coated finger, its nail packed with feces. Another finger joined the first and slid under the waistband of the panties, and she began to rub herself vigorously. I had a terrific view of her beautiful pussy and sculpted, tensing body as she looked at the ceiling, shit-coated mouth open. I felt her rectum clinch on my happy cock as she orgasmed for several seconds, crying out with short little squeals and a final, loud, guttural outcry. Her jolting body flung dozens of shit lumps into the air.
Winded, Za’ana pulled up, leaving my cock, stained only slightly brown so far, to throb and point at the ceiling. I could feel another load beginning to accumulate, but didn’t want to ask permission to shoot just yet. To my surprise she stood on the bed, her arms extended upwards and palms pressed against the white, texture painted ceiling for balance on the unstable mattress. The lower hem of the black skirt, which was now mottled with brown patches, slid down to cover her once again. I watched her feet with their red toenails in the platform shoes, which had several sepia trails of crap crisscrossing them, walk backwards. The diamond pattern of the worn, cream-colored mattress was emphasized as brown liquid filled the valleys between the tufts.
“Thank you for letting me penetrate you. It felt awesome as always.” I said.
My stunning girlfriend stood over me. The white peasant blouse was now almost completely stained brown. Her body upper body was heavily smeared with caked shit, its gloss fading in places as it cooled and dried somewhat. Occasionally a piece of turd would fall to the bed, next to her shoes.
I looked up and into her eyes, as I knew where at least one of those shoes was headed. Sure enough, her thigh swung backwards and she paused, knowing I wanted to get the pain over with.
“Beg for it!”
“Please kick my nuts.” I said weakly. Now she had me begging for her abuse. “Kick them hard.”
Her tits shook as her shoe made contact. I grunted loudly as my sack, still sore from the gravel projectiles and compression in the vise, registered the pain, which was worsened by my convulsing and twisting. The lamp cord was still tied around them and tightened with my movements. My chest heaved as I watched her step toward my face, arms still extended, leaving brown handprints on the ceiling.
Za’ana rubbed one of the shoes around on my chest, tugging on the lamp cord that was looped around my nuts. I cried out as the pain, which had just begun to subside, again radiated up into my lower body. She then gathered some of the shit off the nightgown and onto the shoe.
“Lick it off, you nasty pervert!”
I extended my tongue and licked sepia goop off the toe and sole. Usually the commands involving her feet were not during sex. I would sand the calloused skin off or give her a foot rub and pedicure, although she did have me suck her sweaty, long toes once after we took a run at the dorm.
After I was done cleaning the dark mush and two corn kernels off her shoe, she mashed it against my jaw, forcing my head to the side. I had a view only of the feces-splattered mattress and the wall beyond.
“What are you, Robert?” She asked through gritted teeth. Za’ana pumped her foot up and down slightly with each word.
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