sewage shot from the toilet. Chunks of excrement, used toilet paper and urine sailed toward Marla. Arms up defensively, mouth open, she screamed. Shit and piss-saturated toilet water entered her wide open mouth.
When Peter’s upchucking had finished, Marla stood before him looking like a female mud-wrestler, and began throwing up. When she was done, she stared at him as raw sewage leaked from her body.
“You like sewage?” she asked, a wicked grin creeping over her face. “I’ll give you sewage, you bastard!” With those last remarks, so uncharacteristic of her, Marla quickly turned and departed from the lavatory.
* * *
Peter was pleased with himself. To see his bitch of a mother, the overly clean and pretentious woman, covered in human slop was worth the year of punishment. If only he’d had a camera.
* * *
Two weeks later, during the early morning hours, his mother returned. She burst into the stall, and before Peter could react, she threw a powdery substance, like chimney soot, on him.
Pain, like a thousand stinging wasps, exploded over Peter’s body. He cried out in his mind. No longer caring if his mother lived or died, he attempted to spring at her. Nothing happened. He tried lunging repeatedly, wanting to clamp his plastic teeth down on her flesh like a hungry crocodile, but he couldn’t move. The bitch was clever. She’d done something to him, rendering him useless.
“Don’t even think about moving, Peter,” she said, a hint of glee in her voice. “I’ve paralyzed you.”
Next, she performed—without the use of a spell—the most horrifying act Peter had ever witnessed. He wished with all his heart that he could close his eyes and sever his tongue, but neither happened.
His mother spun around, yanked down her dress, then panties and planted her bottom on the seat. "I ate something special for you my dear.”
Peter’s mind swirled, his soul begging to be released from this prison. But he could only watch in horror. He now knew that if he had indeed lost it, he was still in no way as far gone as his mother.
He heard her grunting with exertion as her by-product plopped into his mouth. His mind gagged, the retching as real as his mind could muster. He tasted her, her excrement as well as her being. What made her who she was. The mind-gagging continued and then he saw the stream. A golden, salty liquid streaming into his gullet. His mind and soul exploded. Madness enveloped him like a python, squeezing tight.
Luckily for him, she was a fast shitter, not one to sit and linger while reading a magazine. She wiped her bottom, pulled up her panties and dress, and then turned around to face him.
“Take that you little shit,” she told him, then reached into the bowl and plucked out her turd. She held it before her, and with her free, cleaner hand, withdrew a small glass bottle with a blue liquid inside. She popped the lid and poured the liquid over the turd.
Peter felt his mind begin to stretch like a long rubber band. His insides were being pulled and before he knew it, he was flying through the air in the form of mist toward his mother’s feces.
Marla dropped the turd, and Peter felt himself falling. He belly-flopped into the water. Looking up, he saw his mother standing over the toilet. Her left hand was smeared with pieces of what he now was. What had she done? He watched her reach over the toilet as if to throw up, but instead pushed the toilet’s handle. The outside world spun, his mother's wicked face becoming a blur, and then he was gone.
* * *
Marla turned around and patted her stomach where her unborn child lay. “I hope you treat me better than that one, Little Billy. I can’t have another potty mouth in the family.
And with that, Marla went home.
STD
Brian awoke in a stranger’s bed, his bladder ready to burst. Glancing to his right, he saw the sleeping form of a female. He wasn’t sure who she was or where he was, but after a moment, he
When Peter’s upchucking had finished, Marla stood before him looking like a female mud-wrestler, and began throwing up. When she was done, she stared at him as raw sewage leaked from her body.
“You like sewage?” she asked, a wicked grin creeping over her face. “I’ll give you sewage, you bastard!” With those last remarks, so uncharacteristic of her, Marla quickly turned and departed from the lavatory.
* * *
Peter was pleased with himself. To see his bitch of a mother, the overly clean and pretentious woman, covered in human slop was worth the year of punishment. If only he’d had a camera.
* * *
Two weeks later, during the early morning hours, his mother returned. She burst into the stall, and before Peter could react, she threw a powdery substance, like chimney soot, on him.
Pain, like a thousand stinging wasps, exploded over Peter’s body. He cried out in his mind. No longer caring if his mother lived or died, he attempted to spring at her. Nothing happened. He tried lunging repeatedly, wanting to clamp his plastic teeth down on her flesh like a hungry crocodile, but he couldn’t move. The bitch was clever. She’d done something to him, rendering him useless.
“Don’t even think about moving, Peter,” she said, a hint of glee in her voice. “I’ve paralyzed you.”
Next, she performed—without the use of a spell—the most horrifying act Peter had ever witnessed. He wished with all his heart that he could close his eyes and sever his tongue, but neither happened.
His mother spun around, yanked down her dress, then panties and planted her bottom on the seat. "I ate something special for you my dear.”
Peter’s mind swirled, his soul begging to be released from this prison. But he could only watch in horror. He now knew that if he had indeed lost it, he was still in no way as far gone as his mother.
He heard her grunting with exertion as her by-product plopped into his mouth. His mind gagged, the retching as real as his mind could muster. He tasted her, her excrement as well as her being. What made her who she was. The mind-gagging continued and then he saw the stream. A golden, salty liquid streaming into his gullet. His mind and soul exploded. Madness enveloped him like a python, squeezing tight.
Luckily for him, she was a fast shitter, not one to sit and linger while reading a magazine. She wiped her bottom, pulled up her panties and dress, and then turned around to face him.
“Take that you little shit,” she told him, then reached into the bowl and plucked out her turd. She held it before her, and with her free, cleaner hand, withdrew a small glass bottle with a blue liquid inside. She popped the lid and poured the liquid over the turd.
Peter felt his mind begin to stretch like a long rubber band. His insides were being pulled and before he knew it, he was flying through the air in the form of mist toward his mother’s feces.
Marla dropped the turd, and Peter felt himself falling. He belly-flopped into the water. Looking up, he saw his mother standing over the toilet. Her left hand was smeared with pieces of what he now was. What had she done? He watched her reach over the toilet as if to throw up, but instead pushed the toilet’s handle. The outside world spun, his mother's wicked face becoming a blur, and then he was gone.
* * *
Marla turned around and patted her stomach where her unborn child lay. “I hope you treat me better than that one, Little Billy. I can’t have another potty mouth in the family.
And with that, Marla went home.
STD
Brian awoke in a stranger’s bed, his bladder ready to burst. Glancing to his right, he saw the sleeping form of a female. He wasn’t sure who she was or where he was, but after a moment, he
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