/lit/ - Literature

Just imagine
you come home from work, a rough day. you hang up your coat and in slinks butterfly, on all fours as she has been all day, caked on make up falling off in bits.
"anon, I need..."
she turns her wide rump to you, pointed up into your face. even clothed it reeks.
"I need..."
she's sweating, and clouds of red collect anywhere her pasty, fishlike skin can be seen. you already know what she needs.
"pls anon"
either she drops her pants or they fall on their own, knowing what must happen. begrudgingly you remove your cock, erect out of a sense of duty more than anything else.
chubby fingers spread the ponderous cheeks, a yellow tinged string of some fluid webs between them, coyly hiding your goal. like the mouth of a hungry baby bird, her anus beckons to you.
you insert your glans and she begins moaning-- not wholly in pleasure-- and you can feel kernels of corn and other detritus grazing your urethra.
faster. harder. can't let it escape. if you pull out now, you'll just have to start over.
you coax the brown beast as butterfly moans louder, squeezing her sagged breasts in vain. just a little more. fingers clenching ass cheeks. minute farts escaping around your shaft. she's muttering something now, but you're. almost.
pushed out by a tidal wave of warm, viscous diarrhea. dangling, stained cock a witness to the tsunami of what once was a family sized portion of El Pollo Loco and drinkable yogurt. she's cumming, rubbing her vagina angrily-- but this is no vaginal orgasm: it is a pleasurable relief centered in the bowels, the fresh snow after an avalanche.
shit continues to pour, now only liquid, from her quivering anus. she thanks you
"thank you anon" fart "oh, thank you so much"
still on hands and knees, she leaves the way she came, leaving shitty cursive all over the wood floor. you proceed to the sink. in the other room you can hear the unmistakable sounds of a keyboard clacking.