Jump to content
Existing user? Sign In

Sign In



Sign Up

The Golden Ratio: Six Girls, One Bathroom


Recommended Posts

  • Replies 85
  • Created
  • Last Reply

Top Posters In This Topic

Top Posters In This Topic

Popular Posts

So, this is a story idea that's been floating around in my head for a while now. I want to write this as a warts-and-all, no-holds-barred depiction of student life in the UK. As a result there absolut

Chapter Six The Club "There are places I'll remember, All my life, though some have changed" - The Beatles In the dream, Amira was on the toilet.  Except it wasn’t the toilet i

Chapter 7 Willow "When I see stars, That's all they are" - fun.   They left the house at precisely thirty-seven minutes past Ten, which Chloe didn't think was bad going for a g

Here we are! Final chapter of part one. In the next part the desperation/accidents can really begin. Enjoy!

Chapter 8
Secret

"It only takes one tree
To make a thousand matches
It only takes one match
To burn a thousand trees"

- Stereophonics

By the time they got home, Sophie's need to have a poo had been forgotten, but her need to drink wine had not. She seemed to perk up the moment they walked in the door, dashing to the kitchen grab a bottle of red and offering everyone a glass. Everyone accepted except for Abigail, who claimed not to be a wine person, and Chloe, who felt quite certainly that she'd drunk enough for one night. In place of the wine, Sophie insisted that they each took a can of her cold Dr Pepper, which went down surprisingly well once the fizz had fizzled out. 

They sat together back in the living room for a couple of hours. Sophie put her drum and bass music back on after a few minutes, and the conversation quickly returned to the pace it had been before they left. Chloe, for her part, saw it as an opportunity to learn a bit more about her new housemates. She found out that Carmen's family were from Seville, that (outrageously) Abbie had never been on a rollercoaster and that Molly had gone to Reading Festival in 2019 just to see Foo Fighters and then gotten so drunk that she'd passed out and missed most of their set. With the peak of her drunkenness feeling like it was in the past- thanks to the fresh air from the walk- it felt like a good time to make conversation. 

Their chats were supplemented with regular trips to the bathroom to empty six bladders that seemed to fill up faster than rainwater tanks in a storm. Chloe found herself going to the loo every half an hour, both alarmed and amused by how quickly she was getting desperate for a wee. Usually Amira would accompany her on these expeditions, but sometimes Carmen or Sophie would tag along too. Abbie and Molly seemed to prefer going alone, and nobody minded leaving them be when they had to use the bathroom, which was frequent. It was on one of those toilet visits that Chloe asked Amira a question she'd had on her mind for a while. 

"So, I don't want to be, y'know, insensitive or anything, but I always thought all Muslims didn't drink". 

Amira laughed her ever-pure laugh again. "Most people think that. It's a personal choice, really. A lot of Muslims, like my parents, are super against alcohol. But then a lot of us see it differently. That's kind of all it is". 

Chloe was on the toilet at the time, releasing her five-hundredth wee of the night into the bowl. Amira was leaning against the wall again, waiting as patiently as she could for the blonde girl to be finished. 

"So what would happen if your parents found out about you getting smashed tonight?"

"I don't want to find out," Amira said seriously, "now hurry up before I wee myself all over the floor". That marked the end of the conversation. 

Soon after, Chloe was really starting to feel the impact of the night. Her eyes were struggling to stay awake and, worst of all, her head was beginning to seriously hurt. She told the others this, when she could stand it no longer, and decided to call it a night. 

"Do you have any painkillers?" Abbie asked, looking concerned. Chloe thought for a second and then shook her head. 

"Good ones? Nah". 

"There's some in my room, in a box at the bottom of my cupboard. Door's unlocked. Help yourself". 

Chloe thanked her gratefully and headed out of the room, debating a trip to the bathroom to try and make sure she was empty before bed, but deciding that the effort wasn't exactly appealing. On her tired legs, the journey up to Abigail's attic bedroom felt like climbing the steps of a bell tower. On the landing she passed her own bedroom, then Molly's, door still wide open; Amira's, Carmen's, with a red bracelet hanging from the doorknob. Then it was onto the second set of stairs, this one even steeper and narrower than the last. At the top stood a white door left just a crack open. There, feeling relieved to be on flatter ground once again, Chloe pushed through it and into Abbie's room. 

The bright light inside left nothing to the imagination, and Chloe's first thought was that the room was not at all what she had expected. While the overwhelming majority of her interactions with Abbie that day had consisted of biting sarcasm or ironic laughter, the place where the girl lived was light, even a little bit childlike. A pea-green throw over the double bed matched the pillowcases. There was a rug in the centre of the wooden floor, a half-open closet and a desk like the one in Chloe's room. On the desk were family photos, bottles of perfume and absolutely nothing related to university. In one corner, on a small table, sat a glowing tank of water. Chloe was drawn to it like a moth to a lamp; inside, a handful of golden fish swam happily in and out of the rocks. 

It took a few seconds for her to remember why she was there. She dragged herself away from gazing at the fish and headed towards the closet, which looked identical to Chloe's except for the fact that it was far fuller. Flicking through the clothes revealed a very un-Abbie selection, at least to her mind: dresses, skirts, nothing that looked much like the dungarees she'd worn that day. It looked like she had a more girlish side after all. Chloe found vests, belts, tights, at least half of it in green... but no painkillers. Quickly, she got frustrated. Where were they? There was no good reason for Abbie to lie, and yet there was nothing in here that even looked like it might contain any sort of medication. Then, head aching worse than ever, she remembered what the girl had said- it was in a box right at the bottom. Of course! She scolded herself for being so stupid and squatted down to examine the base of the closet. 

Reaching in, fumbling in the darkness, her hand touched something soft and plastic. It didn't feel much like a box at all, but she closed her fingers around it anyway and pulled. The object came out easily and she held it in both hands without thinking. It was about the size of a laptop, but softer and thicker, and it was indeed wrapped in a thin plastic packaging. She blinked at it. For a second she wasn't sure what she was looking at. A mixture of darkness and drunkenness made reading the branding difficult, but there was no mistaking the logo at the top. She'd seen it before, in TV adverts, at pharmacies or on the internet: TenaThat was more than enough for Chloe. She hastily replaced the package, hoping that Abbie wouldn't notice that it'd been tampered with. And yet... why send her up here, to her room, if something so private was so readily on display? Had Abbie wanted her to find it? No- that was insane. 

Before the temptation to take the package back and read exactly what it was became too strong, her eyes fell upon the small box tucked away against one inside wall of the closet. Chloe extracted it and took it over to the bed to sort through. When she sat down, an unexpected noise took her by surprise- a definite crinkling sound from beneath. She froze up. Waited. Shifted her weight, and there it was again: the same noise, quiet but certainly real. Another bounce on the bed confirmed it. There was some kind of plastic cover beneath the mattress. No amount of booze in the world could change the fact that Chloe was smart enough to know exactly what she was discovering about Abigail tonight. 

Another throbbing pain in her head reminded her why she'd come up here in the first place. She'd invaded Abigail's privacy long enough, and now she needed to open the box, get the drugs and get out of there. There were drugs inside, alright, but it took Chloe about three seconds to deduce that none of them were ibuprofen. There was what looked exactly like marijuana, a small bag of white powder and another plastic zip-up holding five identical brown pills, as well as a few objects she didn't recognise. Staring in disbelief at this Class-A combination, Chloe finally understood. She gently lay the open box down by the side of her bed and stood up. The green, the fish tank, the girly clothes- all of it was starting to make sense now. A closer examination of the photographs on the desk confirmed her suspicions. She saw a few faces multiple times- what she guessed were parents, siblings, maybe cousins. Not only were none of them Abigail, but all of them were white. And there, in just one of the photos, was a young girl with a toothy grin sitting between what looked like her mum and dad. The picture had to be at least ten years old, but that kid had most certainly grown up to be the girl who owned the drugs on the bed, the girl to whom the Tena products belonged... the girl sitting downstairs right now drinking wine.

This wasn't Abigail's room at all. 

Chloe felt her chest tighten. She hurried back towards the open box, locked it back tight and replaced it exactly as she had found it. Feeling like a criminal fleeing the scene, she took a few seconds to try and make sure that the room looked as it had before she'd entered, even adjusting the angle of the cupboard doors slightly. By the time she slipped out of the room, the Ibuprofen was completely forgotten. Instead, panicking irrationally that someone might catch her, she raced down the stairs and back onto the first floor landing. The air was marginally easier to breathe down there. Her relief, though, was cut short by the sound of creaking footsteps. 

Amira was coming up the stairs, grasping the bannister tightly as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. She broke into a tired smile when she saw Chloe, half-lidded eyes retaining almost all of their sparkle despite her exhaustion. 

"I think it's sleepy time for me," she slurred, pulling Chloe into a hug. For a second she leant her head heavily on Chloe's shoulder, but Chloe hugged her back, grateful for a reason not to think about what she'd just found. 

"Me too, mate," Chloe said, "I should probably brush my teeth but I really can't be arsed". Amira chucked, and Chloe felt her forehead bounce against her neck with the motion. 

"One night off won't make them fall out," Amira said. She uprighted herself out of the hug, overbalanced and just about caught herself on the railing. There, Chloe flattened herself against the wall to make room for the other girl to squeeze past her. 

"Night, mate," Chloe called as she disappeared. 

Amira didn't even look back as she stumbled into her bedroom. "Sleep well," she mumbled. The door shut behind her. 

When she was gone, Chloe headed to bed as well, feeling even more overcome by tiredness and intoxication. Locking her door from the inside, she kicked off her shoes and started to undress. One by one, every article of clothing met the same fate: joining a pile on the floor that became the first blot on what had only been a tidy room for the best part of twelve hours. Last came the bra and matching panties, which she knew would need to go in the wash to ensure that the few pee stains she'd accumulated over the course of the night would come out. For a moment she could only gaze in the mirror, examining her naked body. She knew she'd never be happy with what she saw, no matter how much weight she lost or how big her breasts grew. But for now, in her drunkenness, she thought for the first time in a long time that it wasn't half bad. 

The last rational part of her mind left put a blunt end to those thoughts. This was not the time for introspection. Instead, she flicked off the light and climbed into bed, feeling safer under the thick duvet. She could still hear the bass of Sophie's music from downstairs. Sophie. The poor girl had only lived there a few days and already Chloe had accidentally uncovered what she imagined was a very intimate and embarrassing secret. An immense sense of guilt refused to go away- she'd invaded her friend's privacy and now she could never un-see it. 

But her tiredness was stronger than her guilt, and within a few moments she was lost in a sleep as deep as an ocean. 

Link to comment

Time for Part 2 to begin! This is going to be a huge shift in the series as we move away from set-up and into the bulk of the story. Chloe was the perfect character to introduce us to the series because she's basically me if I was a cis woman, but from now on we'll get to explore all the characters in (hopefully) equal depth. Thanks again to everyone who's left any feedback so far, and especially to those of you who read every chapter, it still blows my mind that people enjoy it so much. Let's go!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2
Half a Dozen Mornings

"And I'm looking in the mirror all the time
Wondering what she don't see in me"

- Rick Springfield

"We all know that crude affection
Stokes the fires of your self-worth"

- Felix Hagan and the Family

Chapter One
Minor Victory

"Suddenly between sheets and eyelids
I am reminded why I don't do this"

- The Format

 

Sophie's eyes opened all at once. The room was flooded with light, illuminated better by the sun than any bulb could ever manage, and scarily silent. For a few seconds she couldn't understand why she wasn't in her bed at home- but then her senses set in, and she remembered that she lived here now, in this attic with a single window and a two-floor climb down to the only exit. There were no signs, yet, of the hangover that she knew was going to hit her... probably in the next few minutes.

Sophie knew this routine well after countless mornings after: phone, purse, keys. Priority number one was to check she still had all three, then she could relax. Except you can't relax for too long, 'cause soon you'll be emptying your guts out one end or the other, she reminded herself. A glance at her desk showed that the latter two items were exactly where she'd left them. She remembered going out on a walk the previous night, and something to do with a park, but they must've used someone else's keys to get back in. Abbie's, she thought. Her phone sat in the same spot she'd kept it for years- between the pillow and the edge of the bed. A quick check told her that it was almost half past ten, which, judging by the blue sky outside, was more or less what she'd expected. 

As soon as she was awake enough, Sophie realised that her bladder felt heavy and full to the brim. This was usually a very good sign. Rolling over as much as she dared, she reached out with one arm and gingerly felt the sheets with the back of her hand. 

Bone dry. 

In that moment she could've punched the air, elated to realise that she'd gone five nights without an accident since arriving at the start of the week. Thinking back, it was hard to remember the last time she'd had five dry nights in a row. She'd been sure that last night would be the one where it all came crashing down, sure that the alcohol would do her in, but no. She'd woken up in time again. 

And, by the feel of it, she'd woken up just in time. Another ten minutes of booze-induced slumber would certainly have proven too long, and then the plastic mattress cover she'd told herself was only for emergencies would've gotten a real soaking. She knew that this wasn't permanent, wasn't foolish enough to even hope that she was magically mended. At some point she would have to face the stark reality of the walk downstairs clutching a bundle of soaked bedding for the washing machine. But not today, she thought triumphantly. 

That triumph was short-lived when another aching pain struck out from her bladder. On a better morning she'd lie in bed until she felt awake, maybe even go back to sleep for a few hours. Try as she might, though, that clearly wouldn't be an option now- at least not unless she wanted this to be the first morning she'd ever wet the bed while awake. Still waking up, she ran two fingers up her neat labia. They came away wet. Sophie held them up to her fingers and sniffed. Warm, clear... definitely pee, despite what she'd hoped. She hadn't wet the bed, but that didn't mean her tightly-clenched muscles had been completely impenetrable. Well, she supposed, you can't win them all

All the more reason to get a move on, then. She leapt out of bed as fast as her groggy bones would allow, still buzzing despite her urgent situation from the victory of her dry night. It wasn't just her bladder feeling bloated, either; the queasiness in her belly that always followed a heavy night was starting to set in. Even then she took a moment to glance in her bedroom mirror. As naked as the day she was born, just like she had slept every night for six or seven years... but she couldn't look much more different. The puppy fat she'd had in her younger years was gone and she'd sprouted up a good foot (or two). Then there were her breasts, hanging there uselessly, at least to her eyes. They were big enough, but she still wished they'd be a little more even- and yet beggars couldn't be choosers, and Sophie had always felt that with a bum like hers she was certainly a beggar- no matter how many people told her otherwise. 

Still, no time for that now. Sophie needed to get to the bathroom sharpish, and she knew she had to account for the long walk. Looking around her room, though, she couldn't see any clothes. What was she supposed to make of that? Had she drunkenly packed them away before crawling into bed? Were they under the bed? If so there was no chance she'd be able to retrieve them without the constriction of her bladder causing a flood. Thinking for too long was dangerous under this kind of time pressure. She opened her closet, ignoring the part of her brain that wondered aimlessly if it had been more open than she'd left it yesterday, and reached in. The first thing she found was a slightly oversized t-shirt she sometimes liked to use in lieu of pyjamas. She pulled it out and held it up, a thin, pea-green thing that needed an iron. It barely covered her pussy and definitely didn't cover her bum, but desperate times called for desperate measures- it would have to do. 

For a brief, mad moment, she considered unpacking one of the Tena pull-ups in the bottom of the closet and slipping into it. She dismissed the lazy thought almost immediately, for two reasons: first, the pain in her bladder told her that this was a wee of a magnitude that the pull-up probably wouldn't contain. Secondly, though, and more importantly, those pull-ups were for emergencies only. This didn't qualify as an emergency, since she was confident she could still make it if she acted fast. The more she wasted these, the faster she'd have to face the humiliating prospect of going to buy more. So she abandoned the pull-up idea and pulled on the t-shirt. It was worse than she'd expected: when she stood up straight, everything below the waist was clearly visible and her hard little nipples poked through the cloth. A rumble in her belly told her that there was no more time to waste upstairs. She wasn't particularly worried about being seen half-nude. They still had all year to live together- the girls were going to have to deal with her bits. 

Her bum was clenched tightly as she began her descent down the first set of stairs, litres of pee sloshing every which way in her bladder. Each step was like a battering ram inside her sphincter, trying to break through, but she held firm. She passed Carmen's room, Amira's, Molly's, then Chloe's. All four doors were closed. That didn't tell her if they were awake or not, but she had to hope nobody was in the bathroom when she got downstairs, or she'd be in serious trouble. The second flight of steps was even tricker than the last. Sophie badly wanted to fart, but didn't dare risk it. She'd had her fair share of little sharting accidents in the past, especially after a big night, and with nothing covering her bottoms she knew it would be too dangerous to let one rip here. 

It was a relief to feel her bare feet hit the bottom of the stairs, but nothing compared to the kinds of relief she was seeking. The wide-open living room door gave her a sneak peek of the mess they'd have to clear up later: bottles strewn over the coffee table, a half-rolled joint, forgotten jackets on the seats. She couldn't dwell on that now. Instead, Sophie staggered down the corridor towards the only bathroom. In her head, she said a tiny prayer to whatever Gods might be listening that she'd round the corner to the sight of an open door. Since she was a kid being potty-trained, she'd been taught to listen to your body. Well, she was listening to her body now, and it was telling her that she would have an accident if she wasn't sat on the loo within the next thirty seconds. 

Mercifully, she was met with a wide-open door and nothing between her and the dim bathroom. The kitchen, like everywhere else in the house apart from the bedrooms, was empty. Here there was more stuff that was going to need tidying before the day was up, and yet again she ignored it out of necessity. Blonde hair flowing messily behind her head, Sophie hobbled in. Before she sat down, though, she paused to do something she would never normally bother with- she shut the door all the way. She'd had enough morning-after bathroom experiences to know that this had the potential to be loud and she didn't want to wake anyone up. 

Thighs pressed tightly together, she sat quickly and finally released the hold she'd barely been maintaining on her bladder. Urine streamed hotly out of her and tinkled into the water below, echoing self-consciously. She moaned in relief, hearing for the first time the throaty voice she'd been left with overnight. Her eyes rolled back, blinked, then closed completely, soaking in the luscious pleasure of her bladder emptying at last. They opened to the sight of herself in the long mirror, looking every bit as fresh out of bed as she felt. Sophie opened her thighs, enjoying the sight of her privates gushing like a faucet between those pale thighs. If she pushed a little harder, the stream intensified, and when she relaxed it returned to the more leisurely pace. 

When, sooner than she'd expected, the tap finally ran dry, she bore down to try and start cleansing herself at the other end. Her belly felt full, but she knew that it wouldn't stay that way for long. It started with a fierce fart, rumbling like thunder below her. Boyfriends she'd had in the past had sometimes expressed surprise (or even mild disgust) that a fart like that could come out of someone so thin and pretty, and she'd always laughed and told them that it was only the tip of the iceberg. That was one of the things she found easier about being with women- they were never shocked to find out that she pooped, and they usually still wanted to do her afterwards. She'd always been a gassy girl, and there didn't seem to be a lot she could do about it. 

Gas, though, seemed to be all she had this morning. Sophie frowned and sat up a little straighter. No matter how hard she pushed, no solids seemed likely to make an appearance down there, and the nauseous pain in her belly didn't want to quieten. In fact, it felt like she was feeling more ill. She tore away a strip of toilet paper and wiped, just to check. It came away a swampy brown colour, but certainly not the deep shade it would be if there was any poo ready to come out. In spite of her gassiness, she didn't need to shit. Which could only mean-

It came over her suddenly: the realisation that she was going to be sick. Sophie whirled around, kneeled over the bowl and grimaced in preparation.

This wasn't her first rodeo.

But it's still gonna suck, her brain said quietly. 

Link to comment

Chapter Two
Phone Call

"I'm flipping with a coin
That's got a tail on either side"

- The Feeling

 

If Chloe could pick any way to wake up with a hangover, a phone call from her mother would have been incredibly low down on her list. 

For a brief moment, the line between sleep and waking blurred precariously. She'd been dreaming something bizarre, although the details were already hazy in her memory. In the dream, Chloe had been back in Southampton. But Amira had been there, and Abigail, and (for some reason) one of the boys she'd dated in her last year of college. The four of them had been out in the city, sitting- in all places- in the Subway store near the train station, surrounded by faces she didn't recognise. Chloe's dreams were always like this: weird combinations of people and places that didn't make a jot of sense, but never grew outlandish enough to snap her out of it. When loud, beeping music started playing as if blasted from the clouds themselves, fading in and building like an avalanche, Chloe didn't question it. It was the kind of thing that happened all the time in her sleeping mind. 

Suddenly, through the crowd, another face appeared between shoulder-blades and tangles of locks. It was a pale, thin face, framed by platinum blonde hair. Round eyes looked straight at Chloe. She knew this face, although she'd only known it for less than a day.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" said dream-Sophie. 

The music crescendoed, erupting into drums and synthesisers and bass guitar. The dream evaporating, her eyes snapped open. There she was, of course, in a sweaty bed somewhere in Fallowfield, two-hundred miles from home. She identified the song immediately now. It was hard not to, seeing as not a month had gone by without Chloe hearing it since it had been released well over a decade ago- The Feeling's Love it When You Call, the track that had been the ringtone her phone used for her mum for years. Chloe groaned rather outwardly. She loved her mum very much, of course, but she was barely awake, hungover and disorientated. It wasn't the ideal time for a conversation kicked off by loud rock music. And she really needed a poo. 

Even after the wildest of nights, it was extremely rare for Chloe to wake up and immediately realise she had to go to the toilet. Usually, the urge would come on around half an hour after getting up, and even then it was almost never an emergency, and she would have plenty of time to get to the bathroom at her own pace. When she was safely sat on the porcelain throne, her morning-after dumps were reliably enormous... but not often desperate. This morning was one of those dreaded occasions where she instead knew right from the get-go that she needed to get to the loo as soon as possible. Her bowels felt full and heavy as stone, cramping uncomfortably. Her natural reflexes kicked in and she clenched her bum a little tighter. This really was a bad time for a social call. 

Nonetheless, she didn't want to keep the woman waiting, so she reached for her phone. It was the only real source of light in an otherwise-dim room, proudly displaying her wallpaper- a photo of herself standing in front of the Giraffes at Chessington World of Adventures- and the time, which was exactly ten-thirty in the morning. Hoping that nobody had been stirred by her ringtone, she swiped across and held it up to her ear, propping herself up on one aching elbow.

"Hi, mum," she said, trying to hide the tiredness from her voice.

"Morning! Big night?" her mum said cheerfully. Knowing her, she'd been awake for at least four hours, and it showed in her tone. 

Chloe stifled a yawn with her free hand. "Yeah, it was good. Nothing too crazy". This, at least, wasn't exactly a lie. There had been no hard drugs, no sex and nobody had cried (at least, as far as she remembered). To her that constituted a relatively ordinary evening.

Already, she was in a hurry to get to the crux of the conversation. The position she was in, lying on her side with her legs folded behind her, only intensified her need to poop. It was too quiet for her mum to detect, but Chloe could hear the way her belly gurgled ominously beneath the duvet. She just about felt it vibrating inside of her. In Chloe's experience, that tended to mean something dangerous was brewing. The painful sensation was growing steadily. Instinctively, her hand fell away from her mouth and snaked underneath the covers, sliding over her bare thigh and resting on her right buttcheek. Ever since she was a little girl, this had been Chloe's go-to technique for helping to hold in an urgent poo. Her slender fingers spread across the cheek, with her thumb resting shy of her hip and her pinky finger slotting just inside the crack, and started to rhythmically squeeze and release. At first, the massage was slow, calm... but she knew that wouldn't last long. 

"Good, good," her mum replied, one of her favourite phrases that really didn't mean anything, "got any plans for the day?"

Chloe searched her brains for a decent answer. Did she have any plans for the day? Nothing came to mind. Usually after drinking a lot her plans for the day boiled down to recover. That was unlikely to satisfy a single mother who worked as a schoolteacher and hadn't been to a party since the nineties, however.

"Oh, you know, just settling-in stuff," Chloe managed eventually. 

"You could go to the library? Get a head-start on studying?"

"Yeah, maybe". Chloe didn't see the point in explaining to her mum that going to the library on the second day of term- a Sunday, no less- was just about the last thing she wanted to do, even if she wasn't hungover to high hell. She was starting to get frustrated now. It was unfair, she knew- her mum didn't have any reason to know that Chloe had just woken up, or that she urgently wanted a poo, but she had always needed to feel annoyed at someone when the stress was building up. Her right hand was still squeezing her buttock, but it had sped up to walking pace without her consent, and her toes had started their usual desperate wiggling. Her bowels weren't letting up. The coffee and booze from yesterday were surely the culprits. They wanted out. 

"Anyway," her mum continued, "it's Grandma's birthday next week, so remember to post her something". 

Chloe swore in her head. She'd completely forgotten, although that was mainly because she usually just jumped on Moonpig a few days in advance and ordered some flowers and a card. No time to think about that now, anyway. It would have to wait until a moment, hopefully in the not-so-distant future, when she wasn't dying to have a crap. "Yeah, I'll get her something," she said dismissively. 

"So, how's the room?"

"Uh, it's nice," Chloe said, eyes still half-closed, "smaller than the room last year, but a bit bigger than my one at home". 

"Is it warm enough?" she asked. Such a mum question, Chloe thought.

"Yeah, it's got a decent radiator". That was true, too; Chloe had left the heating on a little too high the previous night, hence the sweaty damp of her sheets that she knew she'd have to wash later. 

"And what about the other girls, are they nice?"

"I think so," she said, "we all got on really well last night". By now the hand holding her bum wasn't squeezing so much as it was frantically flapping, trying anything to relieve some of the pressure. She felt a sudden compulsion to fart that she knew would not be held back. She paused her desperate squishing, used the hand to spread her cheeks apart and let it rip, a muffled, gassy sound that she really hoped her mum couldn't hear. The hot, smelly air blew past her fingers and warmed her skin. Then it was back to the squeezing, a fleshy clapping noise beneath the blankets. 

Chloe couldn't remember needing to go this badly in years, nor could she recall the last time an urge had overwhelmed her so quickly. While she usually didn't have too long between the first signs of needing a wee and reaching the point of desperation, Chloe was usually afforded a lot more time to find a toilet when she had to go number two. Even some of her closer calls had taken place hours after she first realised she had to have a poo. This morning, though, she'd barely been awake for one minute and already felt like she was approaching an accident.

It reminded her, rather worryingly, of the only time she'd messed herself in her teenage years. That had also been a chemical-induced nightmare, but those chemicals had been laxatives rather than spirits. After almost a week of sitting, straining and producing no more than a couple of hard little pebbles, her mum had brightly suggested that she try Ex-Lax. The first dosage had done, at least to Chloe's mind, the sum total of absolutely nothing. The morning after taking it, she still couldn't poop and was still in pain. So, in her frustration, she'd taken the same amount again before school that day, reasoning that nothing could be worse than the constipation she'd endured. She had been wrong. 

Both doses had hit her all at once right at the end of the day, as they were standing behind their chairs waiting for the teacher to dismiss them from their final class. She'd been struck with the most intense stomach cramps she'd ever experienced, coupled with a weak feeling in her knees and the sudden understanding of what was about to happen. In denial, she'd turned and fled from the room, ignoring her teacher's confused calls, and hurried down the stairs so fast it was a miracle she didn't trip. Just a few feet from the bathroom door, Chloe had shit herself so completely that there had been a small stain left on the carpet that, to her knowledge, was still there to this day. She'd gotten away with that accident by hiding out in the bathroom until all the kids had gone home, leaving her ruined underwear in the bowl, wiping down her legs as well as possible with loo roll and walking for an hour to get home, careful to steer well wide of anyone who might smell her shame on her skin. By the time she'd gotten back to her empty house, she was on the verge of a second accident. 

Now, lying there naked in the overheated bedroom, Chloe didn't feel very far at all away from the feelings she'd known that day. She looked down, by now completely tuning out what her mum was saying. Until then, Chloe hadn't realised how heavily she was breathing. Her chest heaved, breasts bouncing, nipples erect and prickly. She felt another fart come on and had no choice but to let it happen. It was completely silent. Nothing but hot air. Again, it warmed her pinky on the way out. Chloe did something she'd never do in front of another person- she held up the little finger to her nose and sniffed. It was undeniably the smell of a fart that would be followed very shortly by something solid, just as the lack of noise had made her suspect. 

But that had been Chloe's big mistake. In removing her hand from her bum, even for just a brief moment, she'd removed the stimulus that was helping her hold. In the absence of the constant, frenetic squeezing and releasing, there was nothing stopping her bowels from making their move. 

Chloe's eyes went wide when she felt the first log start to move towards the exit. It was like a bowling ball was dropping down her insides, knocking at the back door. Her tight anus began to stretch in anticipation. Her hand flew down towards her cheek and started squeezing again, this time harder and faster than before, but it was too late. The damage had been done. She dared to cautiously probe her hole with one finger and detected something hard and thick just beneath the surface. If she didn't act fast, she'd be poking out within seconds. 

"Chloe? Are you there?"

Chloe blinked. In her desperation she'd completely forgotten about her mum. 

"Yeah, mum, sorry. Listen, can I call you back? I'm bursting for the loo," she said, not seeing the point in wasting time trying to think up a fake excuse. 

"Oh, of course! When you've got to go, hey?"

"Thanks mum, talk soon!" Chloe wasted no time in hanging up the phone, cheeks burning. She got out of bed as fast as she dared, looking around for clothes that she wouldn't have to squeeze into. Jeans were out of the question- too tight. Jiggling on the spot to keep everything held in place as long as she could, she went to her cupboard and dug out her favourite pair of grey sweatpants. They were lazy pants, lounging-around-the-house pants. Perfect. Chloe slipped into them, feeling those dreadfully familiar cramps once more. The room stunk of farts already. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, a messy-haired girl with nothing at all covering her top half, boobs on full display. It would have to do. 

Still clutching her bum in desperation, Chloe opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. 

 

Link to comment

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.

×
×
  • Create New...