18+ only! 100% NSFW! Dedicated to age play, spanking, domestic discipline, corporal punishment, medical fetishism, and, of course, beautiful women in diapers. If you like what you see here, leave a comment or drop me a line at: parkerlongabaugh@yahoo.ca

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Messy Pants Month Continues With Another Great Contribution

(A quick follow-up to our Weather Report Girl post: According to a poster over on Wetset, there's a further laxative/desperation scene in volume eight of the manga... as always, anyone who hooks me with this scene will be rewarded.)

I'm preparing another big post full of stuff from our old friend Dick, but in the meantime, continuing what seems to be our unofficial "messy pants month," here's another great contribution from Raptorwedgie, featuring a fitness instructor caught in an extremely embarrassing position.

RW gave me permission to come up with a little back story, so here we go with a quick diddy I like to call:

Free Sample

     “Free sample, miss?”

     Kim peered over the top of her sunglasses dismissively. The man was short, fat, and balding, and he didn’t look like he had much money. Whatever potential interest Kim may have had in him or his product died before it even began, and she crinkled her nose haughtily. “Not now,” she said curtly, trying to breeze past him. “I’ve got a class to teach.”

     “Then this is exactly what you need,” he said, and Kim was dismayed when he started walking beside her through the lobby of the gym. “This sports drink was designed in concert with some of the most prominent doctors and nutritionists to replenish electrolytes 3% faster than the other leading brand!”
     “I only use all natural products,” she said smugly, trying to brush him off. “Now please…”
     “But that’s the best part!” he enthused, his stubby legs now struggling  to keep up with her as she quickly paced toward the change room, waving the bottle in front of her.  “It’s all natural, low calorie, with no sugar or fats!”
     “Arrrgh!” she fumed, snatching the bottle from his hands. “I’ll take the stupid sample!” She snatched the bottle from his chubby fingers and tore it open, squirting a mouthful between her lips and swallowing. “Happy?” she snapped, pushing into the change room and gratefully leaving him behind.
     Although she was running late and she knew the class would be waiting, Kim refused to rush herself as she undressed. She had, as usual, taken the most conspicuous spot in the change room before she began stripping, slowly and almost teasingly. And why not? She’d worked hard for this body, sweated and pushed herself until she’d built  the most perfect body money could buy. As far as she was concerned she’d earned the stared it got her be it jealous (from the women) or lusty (from the men-- and a few of the women). Wasn’t she just motivating these fat pigs to push themselves that little bit harder? Sure she was! Of course, none of them could ever hope to achieve her level of physical perfection (after all, she thought smugly, some of the credit has to go to genetics) but she could still inspire them to push themselves.
     So she really took her time, stripping down slowly, then simply sitting nude for a couple of minutes while she prepared to slip into her unitard, it’s skin tight  material clinging snugly to her generous curves. Thousands of squats and thrusts had made her butt impossibly round and in the leotard it stuck out behind her outrageously, which was probably why they gave her the 11:00 “Bionic Brazilian Booty Booster" class in the first place.  The whole time she sipped the energy drink, noting how delicious it tasted. She checked its stats and idly looked herself over in the mirror, admiring her perfection.  She almost hated to admit it, but the little troll was right—this stuff was pretty good. Could it really be as healthy as he claimed? I guess we’ll see, she thought to herself, taking another swig as she walked toward her class, working her hips and ass in her tights and reveling in the dirty looks it was earning her from the other women.

     “OK, piggies,” she said, strutting into class nearly 10 minutes late.  “Let’s shake the butter off those buns! Carving curl, twenty reps.” Kim dropped to her mat on her  trim stomach and lead the class, first twenty curls with the right leg, then twenty with the left.
     “Swinging bridge,” she commanded, turning over on her back and thrusting her pelvis into the air. “Raise, swing and squeeze,” she barked, clenching her butt tightly. She let out a shaky breath… nausea was rising in her stomach. “Must be those new supplements,” she thought ruefully, touching her stomach gently. She took another mouthful from her free sample before moving on.
     She shifted onto her hands and knees. “C’mon girls; donkey kick,” she instructed, a little less confidently this time. Her tummy was really starting to flip flop now, her belly gurgling and squishing. She was beginning to worry that she’d overdone it on the fiber-bars this morning. By the time she’d shifted to the left leg, she realized she was getting gassy. With a slight blush, she tightened her backside and forced herself to finish the workout. No big deal, she thought—won’t be the first time I’ve head to hold it in through class.
     “OK, time for some squats,” she said with no small amount of dread. Her stomach was really bubbling now, and she surprised herself by ripping a medium loud fart as she was standing. The music was loud, and she was pretty sure nobody heard it—but some of the girls in the front row were crinkling their noses suspiciously.
     “Let's get a move on,” she said uncertainly after taking another drink (she realized she’d nearly polished off the entire thing). Kim shifted her feet to shoulder length apart. Bending at the waist, she bent slowly at the knees, thrusting her butt out behind her and slowly crouching toward the floor. She clenched her buns and tightened her ring, but the movement was making it difficult to keep herself sealed up. Worse, her belly was doing back flips inside her, occasionally emitting loud gurgles and grumbles like a broken fish tank. She was starting to think she may have under-estimated her gas problem.
     She made it through the first five, but the pressure simply wasn’t abating—if anything, it was just getting worse! Her normally tight and flat little tummy was beginning to pooch out a little. Worse, her guts were gargling and burbling—her insides were stuffed to capacity, and now cramps were starting to settle in. She redoubled her efforts, stiffly tried to keep up with her squats—but on the very next squat, she pushed herself just a little too low, putting just a little too much pressure on her belly. Slowly, she stuck her rump out behind her… and then, just when it was at its furthest, the rotund cheeks of her finely sculpted booty straining against the fabric of her unitard, the spandex molding itself so firmly that anyone behind her could make out each cheek and the crack beneath as clearly as if she were naked…
     BLART! “OOoo!” a short, loud blast came ripping from her rump, this time clearly audible. Kim gave a breathy squeal, her cheeks coloring red. Some of her students were smirking at each other. Kim was mortified, the stench enveloping her—but she pressed on.
     “Let’s step it up, girls,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice. Now that she’d cracked one off, Kim was certain that her discomfort would subside. However, as she started into her second squat, she realized she’d made a grace miscalculation—not only had the crampy, gassy feeling inside not subsided, it had actually gotten worse. As she forced herself into the next squat, she realized, panicked, that she was in for an embarrassing repeat. She was sweating now in a way that had nothing to do with the intensity of the workout…
     BBRRRAAAPPPP! “Oh my!” she said, reddening, positively mortified. To let one rip once in class was normal, even inevitable—to fart twice on two successive squats was just embarrassing! There was no question as to what had happened—this wasn’t just a cute little toot or fluff—it was a full bodied, loud, rich, stinky capital F Fart, loud, obnoxious, and just a little wet. And even worse than the sound was the smell—like a truck full of garbage rotting in the hot sun.
     “Whew! Ms. Thang better watch herself—she’s gonna blow a hole in those tights!” someone remarked out loud. The class roared with laughter, but Kim wasn’t laughing—on top of just ripping ass in front of 20 people, she understand now that these weren’t just gas pains she was having—she turned pale, realizing that she now had to take a major dump—urgently!
     “Class is over!” Kim  barked, turning off the music. “Go home! Get out of here!” her stomach was audibly gurgling now. Clenching her world-class ass, she started baby stepping over to the ladies room, much to the amusement of her students. Most of them had now caught on, and they weren’t willing to disperse until they’d seen this through.
     Kim desperately hurried to the ladies room as fast as her clenched buns would allow. Ordinarily she’d never use a public bathroom for pooping, especially one as heavily trafficked as the gym where she worked. But Kim felt her bowels contracting sharply inside her, the cramped, rolling sensation inside her adding to the heavy weight in her colon, and knew she had no other option. Cursing herself once more for her heavy, fibrous breakfast, she stepped up the pace, beginning to pass gas uncontrollably, ripping out a noisy toot with each step.
     The students parted for her as she ran toward, letting out noisy POOTs and BLARTs with each dainty baby step. Kim smiled: She was actually going to make it!
     She was suddenly attacked by the worst cramp ever, forcing her to double over. Kim gasped, trying to compensate—but she was too late—she felt her back passage open, a warm, mushy mess surging uncontrollably into her tight spandex with a wet, sticky burbling. She could feel it now—the hot, mucky mess, all warm and gooey, plastering her rear end, mushing up her crack and down her thighs.
     The class reacted at once, a collective “Eww!” meeting the sight and sound, then a course of retches and gagging as the stench descended. But Kim wasn’t really paying attention—she clenched and cheeks, trying desperately to keep from further humiliating herself. But another cramp seized her like a fist around her bowels, squeezing an explosion of farts and poop out of her bottom and into her tights with a disgusting cacophony. The seat of her leotard grew more lumpy and distended with every passing moment.
     With the class now openly laughing, Kim began sobbing, vividly aware of the disgusting, mushy pile behind her. “Whew!” she heard some smart ass comment, “somebody’s ass DEFINITELY got a work out today!”
     There was a knock on the far window. Kim looked over; through her tears she spied the little troll from before, smiling devilishly. He held up a big white thing shaped like an hourglass. Kim reddened when she realized it was a diaper.
     He was saying something through the glass. She soon realized it was a huge diaper. “Can I interest you in another free sample?”

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