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Days in Rodanthe Pt. 05

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Note – There are full names in this segment, but they are fictional and random, and only used to maintain a degree of realism.

In the last chapter, my parents and brother had just walked in on me and my topless girlfriend as we were lounging around my dorm room. I had just spent the most insane, depraved, and thrilling week of my life with her.


“Hello! Za’ana St. Pierre…very pleased to meet you!” My tan, Middle Eastern- descended, exotic girlfriend said in her sexy Russian-Quebec accent, feigning demure embarrassment, as she held a blanket against her bare chest, covering her tits. Her sun-streaked dark hair was in disarray as she extended her other hand outward for my father to shake. Her nails still glistened with the purple metallic polish I had painted on the night before. She spoke pleasantly to my stunned parents and brother as they shook hands. The visitors then backpedaled towards the door, announcing that they would wait outside. My brother’s mouth hung open in a stupor and my mom had turned three shades of red.

I did my best to run a brush through my girlfriend’s hair as she slid on a bra, sweater and jeans over that beautiful body. Upon our clothed reassembly with my parents, Za’ana sat next to me on the bed, latched on to my arm gently with both hands and discussed how ‘supportive’ I was and she ‘fell for’ me while she was on the dangerous undercover assignment in Rodanthe. She of course left out the facts that she was a dominant, sadistic coprophile and had me desperately pussy whipped within days. As if in a job interview, she briefly recounted her young life as an orphan in a Soviet border town, her eventual adoption by the St. Pierre family in Quebec, Royal military service, and new citizenship here. She frequently mentioned church and her parochial school education, since she suspected my old fashioned parents would be concerned about their son dating a non-Caucasian woman nine years older.

My parents did freak out, but over the phone the next day. My lame ass dad even said he first thought she was an ‘escort’, I believe, because she would normally be out of my league. I calmed them down, pointing out that it was no longer the dark ages when they grew up and people from different backgrounds were allowed to date. Also, having a serious, long distance girlfriend had improved my grades. To my surprise, Za’ana was invited to dinner at my parents’ house two weekends later. She accepted and drove in from New York. My two older brothers were there as well and obviously impressed, giving me fist bumps when we were alone for a moment for ‘nailing such a hot babe’ as they said. They also related my younger brother Josh’s story of the parental interruption in my dorm room that had ‘girl’s underwear all over the desk’ and reeked of sex ‘like a locker room’. He had also witnessed Za’ana wince as she sat down and quietly complain about how I had been ‘too rough’ on her butthole, a fabricated remark she intentionally made just loud enough for him to hear when my parents weren’t close by.

Despite my newfound status as a ruthless sodomizer among my siblings, I was nervous the whole time that the façade would fall and my girlfriend would boast about the degrading things I did and how cute I looked in a garter belt and lipstick. But Za’ana was charming and attentive, and even insisted on playing the antiquated female role and helped my mom and sister-in-law with serving us males dessert and washing the dishes. The weekend went smoothly, but of course she slept in the basement guest room.

As Za’ana packed to leave my house, we were alone downstairs for a few minutes and she playfully rubbed her fragrant, recently worn panties under my nose, then kissed me forcefully, with a generous flood of her saliva. Suddenly she slipped her hand down the front my jeans and inside my boxers, grabbing my nuts, harshly squeezing them.

“Who are you, Robert?” she asked quietly into my ear, then probed it with her warm, wet tongue as I spoke.

“Za’ana’a sick, masturbating, shit eating, prancing panty bitch,” I replied with a low volume, keeping it short. I couldn’t believe I was saying those things in my own house, but her tongue felt so good.

“And who…” She quietly grunted with a clenched jaw, jerking her nut-clenching hand downward painfully with each word she spoke. “are…these…the…property…of?”

“Vous, mon bel amant,” I said, ‘You, my beautiful lover’, as my face grew warm from the pain in my groin. I had signed up for beginning French this semester before I even knew if I would see her again. It was a gamble that was finally paying off, I realized as she released her grip, but bit my earlobe harshly .

“Good answer, Rob my sweetie,” she whispered, kissing my cheek, smiling. She spent several seconds facing me, massaging my cock nearly hard as I stood transfixed by her stunning brown eyes. “I’ll text you the address,” she said, pulling her hand out and referring bahis siteleri to our plans to meet the following Saturday morning at a motel she chose, roughly halfway between New York and my school.


The next Wednesday I got the text from her, with a code at the end – FBFC. It meant Full Bladder, Full Colon. Since this was a brief rendezvous, I was hoping she would just want simple, no scat, non-sissy fucking like we did in my dorm, with her on top, riding my dick, tossing her long dark hair around, tits bouncing. Sure, she would face sit, fart, insult, pinch, bite my lips and nipples, spit on and slap my face, cock and nuts. But, it was worth it after she had her final orgasms and we had shared our last snowball or creampie kiss and she would hum melodically and mumble about her ‘nice guy Rob’ and snuggle up to me before falling asleep in my arms. However, the code at the end of that text left no doubt as to what mood she was in this week.

The air was still cool at sunrise the next cloudy Saturday morning as I threw my gym bag into the truck for the drive east toward the motel in the Pocono mountains. The place Za’ana selected for our weekend must have been a cheesy dive, as it was on the internet maps but didn’t have a website. The trees were beginning to display a touch of green, I noticed as I took the ramp onto the highway. Suddenly her ring tone echoed through the dirty cab of my pickup.

“Hi Sweetie!” she said cheerfully. We chatted for a minute or so then her attitude quickly changed.

“Now Robert, I wish for you to shit your pants.”

“Um, okay.” I said, thinking she was referring to something later at the motel.

“Right now!”


“You are required to have full bowels!” she yelled rapidly in her accent. “Did you disappoint me already, you fucking bastard? Turn around and go back to your damned school!”

“No! I’m full! I can…”

“Good! Keep driving and fill your fucking pants with your stinking merde, every morsel! When you are done, stop and take a picture down the back and send it to me. Then you enjoy your nasty shit for the rest of the drive!” She disconnected.

I thought for a moment. Luckily I had already stopped for gas and coffee. My boxers could be replaced but my jeans would need a serious washing, and they were the only pair of pants I brought besides sweats, as this was just a one night trip. So, to please my psycho girlfriend, I adjusted the seatbelt, raised my ass and began to squeeze out the mass of huge, thick turds that had been begging for escape the last couple hours. I felt every inch of progress, as the warm crap crept down to my nuts and slid up my crack, nearly to the top. An open window kept the stink to a minimum. After a couple exits, I was done pushing it out. I pulled off on a side road and managed to take a photo of my shit-smeared butt, getting strange looks from a guy walking by, and nearly dropping the phone down my pants in the process. I sent it, triple checking the address to make sure I wasn’t sending it to one of my friends by mistake. Za’ana’s only response was ‘hurry th fck up’. Once underway again, I tried to ignore the annoying mess in my jeans, concentrating on the road, and not attracting the attention of any cops. It looked like there was going to be more sex with the kinky brunette in a motel shower stall, as this seemed to be a repeat of our final night on St. Martin, where we both filled our pants, slathered it all over, then fucked into the wee hours on the secluded rocky beach. I texted her to find out which room we were staying in, as I sure as hell didn’t want to go into the motel office to ask with my pants full of shit, but got no response. As I kept driving, the sun gradually warmed the air and the skies cleared.

As time passed I got nervous as to what awaited me. She could still be in Manhattan for all I knew, and the whole trip could have been one of her tricks. I really began to panic as I reached the motel. It was closed. A 1950’s relic, it sat on a hillside in a grove of trees off the main road a few hundred yards from the Interstate. The sign was blank, the shrubbery was overgrown , dead weeds extended from cracks in the driveway, and a chain had been strung from three wood posts across the entrance. As I slowed and pulled in to call her, I was relieved as I saw the chain was unhooked on one side, and Za’ana’s silver SUV was parked next to the office.

Surrounded mostly by forest, it was another secluded spot. The motel had what was formerly a café with a faux stone façade in front and a few long, single story buildings arranged in a square horseshoe pattern, their orange and brown paint peeling and faded. Two old semi-trailers and an elongated green dumpster sat parked by the far side of the fenced-in swimming pool, which sat in the center of the courtyard. Its crooked sign warning about the lack of a lifeguard was no longer necessary. Visible next door was a huge pile of dirt canlı bahis siteleri in front of an old-style gas station, possibly having its fuel tanks removed to satisfy an environmental law.

Za’ana stepped out of the side door to the café, looking serious, her hair gathered tightly behind her head. Even with no makeup, she looked awesome in tight black yoga pants, and a lightweight yellow jacket, open to reveal a cropped white tank top beneath. Instead of coming toward me, she jogged over to the entrance, butt cheeks bouncing, and pulled the chain tight between the poles, padlocking it. I guess she didn’t want us to be interrupted, but I still wasn’t sure if we were trespassing or not.

The beautiful woman walked toward my truck, not smiling. She seemed to anticipate my first question as she spoke into the open driver’s side window.

“My brothers own this. They are waiting on the zoning to tear it down and put in a fuel and convenience mega store. You’re fucking late!”

I wasn’t expecting a big sloppy kiss, since my pants were filled with pungent, squishy turds, but she at least could say hello. Actually I was a few minutes early, but I wasn’t about to argue, considering the mood she was in. I had come to learn the worse the temperament, the hornier she was. I parked my truck near hers and felt the mush in my pants shift as I stomped on the parking brake.

“Get out and stand here,” she commanded, pointing to a spot between the two trucks. Her nails were painted a dark red.

I did as she asked, and felt the mashed crap shift around my in boxers as I gingerly slid out of the cab. We were outside and semi-exposed, at least to someone driving slowly by and nosy enough to look up and over to the motel courtyard.

“Oh! You fucking stink!” she fanned the air in front of her face as I got closer. “Squat down, you disgusting bastard!” she demanded, her gorgeous eyes wide with maniacal excitement. Those big brown eyes melted me into a submissive zombie every time.

I squatted and the crap spread even further across my cheeks as I flexed at the waist. She continued to face me, and I was looking right at her crotch. Her yoga pants displayed a mouth-watering, deep camel toe. My dick began to expand in the cooled mess between my legs. I was hoping for an order to kiss or lick her bronzed body somewhere, or even more so, that I would soon be wearing and tasting her shit.

“Do you like these?” Za’ana asked about the tight pants, her tone a little more relaxed. “I feel naked. I wore no underwear, like a whore on the street, just for you.” She pulled one side of the black stretchy material down her hip as proof. Her bare skin was smooth and beautiful. Her vocal tone was finally turning flirtatious.

Suddenly her stunning ass was in my face as she spun around. I moaned with pleasure as she teasingly rubbed her soft, black-clad cheeks all over my face harshly.

“You like? Huh? Beg for my gas!” she demanded, then spoke something in Russian.

“Please fart into my nose, please!” I begged as my dick continued to grow. Per her prior instructions, I was always to stick my nose right on her hole, with my mouth covered by my hand to get the most intense effect from her intestinal by-products. She slid her waistband down to her thighs, bent forward, and I buried my face between her awesome, soft, jiggling cheeks. Moments later a series of staccato bursts began and her putrid scent overwhelmed my nose. Even after living with my own stink the last hour and a half, hers was much worse. Several seconds long, it smelled like greasy, rotted potatoes. I inhaled at a rapid and shallow pace, to numb my olfactory senses faster. Without thinking, and habitually after our last sex in the dorm where my hands could roam freely, I placed my palm on one of her bare cheeks and squeezed, just for a moment.

Dashing my hopes of an order to kiss and lick her flexing hole, she grazed my nose as she quickly pulled the waistband up, re-covering her beautiful ass and spinning around to face me.

“Oh, how cute, you fondled my derriere!” She said in a strange, sarcastic tone, then flexed her lips and spat onto my cheek as looked up at her. I guessed the dripping saliva would have to be considered my kiss hello.

Za’ana then pulled a white plastic trash bag out of her jacket, and laid it flat on the faded asphalt. “Stand on this and slowly remove your pants and box-zerrs.”

I arose, stepped over and began to strip in the morning sunlight. Soon I surrendered my shoes, socks, jeans and shirt to her and stood naked, dick nearly hard, boxers at my feet, crumpled and filled with shit. Luckily the weather had warmed up. It was beginning to look like another typical date with my girlfriend, with me naked, outdoors, and coated in feces. Za’ana put my jeans, which luckily escaped most of the mudslide, into yet another trash bag.

“We can find a Laundromat around here and…”

“Did I tell you canlı bahis to speak? Shut your stupid cock sucking mouth! Don’t make a sound or step off that bag or I will go back to New York!” She slapped my cheek and spat in my eye.

I stood silently, her saliva sliding off my stinging face. She was in the worst mood I think I had ever seen. Even still, she was so beautiful. I was mesmerized just watching her as she slid her jacket off and hung it on my truck’s side mirror. Her cropped tank top showed off her still-tanned shoulders, and perfect stomach. The loose, white shirt seemed a couple sizes too large, however, and frequently revealed the sides and triangular upper edges of a neon green bra.

My enjoyment of the view was interrupted when, to my surprise, she reached behind her back with both hands and released her bra hooks. Za’ana then slid the straps down each arm, then yanked it out of the front of her top.

The white tank now revealed a nice side shot beneath her arms and allowed her tits an unrestricted jiggle.

“What are you looking at, you disgusting bastard?” She yelled. “Eyes to the ground, you shit-eating bitch!” She mumbled something and held the bra in my face. “Put this on, you like it so much! I see I’m going to start having to buy two sets of underwear every time. One for each of us!”

Not happy that I was doing this outside, I hooked the stretchy band around my stomach and spun it around, sliding it up my ribcage until I could slip my arms in the straps, the empty, hemispherical B cups hovering over my pectorals. It was uncomfortably tight. Za’ana hadn’t previously given me any to wear that had actually been hers; this band size was much smaller.

The beautiful brunette reached into my truck cab and grabbed my gym bag, then tossed it, my removed clothes, and the trash bag of dirtied jeans into the back of her Tahoe, then locked it with a beep. My concern over having no access to my wallet, phone, keys or any clothes was compounded as she retrieved a pair of latex gloves from her hanging jacket and slipped them on. Usually she had no qualms about getting crap all over herself and everything else, so I wondered what was next.

I was expecting an invitation into one of the rooms, but guessed wrong. For the next several minutes, my girlfriend, groaning about the smell, occupied herself with scraping most of the sticky shit off my legs, ass, crotch and balls, and gathering it into my plaid boxers, literally transforming them into a sack of shit. The view of her flailing tits was terrific as I looked down her tank top. I saw an occasional nipple as she squatted and busied herself below my waist. I stepped out of the boxers carefully at her command and then received another familiar one.

“On your knees!”

I dropped down onto the asphalt, cushioned only by the garbage bag, which had been scraped semi-clean as well. I followed a set of strange instructions, and ended up wearing the boxers upside down on my head, completely covering it. My wrists passed through the leg holes, one hand covering my eyes, the other my mouth, elbows up and out to the side. The pile of crap was now like a stinking hat inside my underwear.

“Don’t move, shithead!” she said, laughing and commenting in some language.

I then heard my old nemesis, a roll of clear packaging tape. My girlfriend wrapped the tape repeatedly and at different angles around my head, neck, chin and wrists, so my hands were held in place, my elbows still out to the side. Za’ana laughed as she rubbed the boxers around my head, smearing the mass of cooled shit inside around in my hair, over the backs of my hands and sides of my face. I could of course see nothing, and had to smell my own stink. At least the fly of the boxers was open for my nose. I felt Za’ana stick a latex covered finger into each nostril to make sure it was clear. I wasn’t able to see or really speak, but at least she didn’t want me to suffocate.

Incorrectly expecting to be led into a room again, I got up off my knees and was tugged by my semi- hard dick from between the parked vehicles and led away from the buildings. A gallery of spectators could be watching now and I wouldn’t know. I had been unable to see during some of our previous adventures, but only temporarily due to sperm, crap or puke on my face. Being blindfolded was new and a little scary, because it could be a long while before I was allowed to remove it. I felt stupid, exposed, and helpless. Despite my predicament, the touch and individual attention from her was wonderful and it was this mix of feelings that was so intoxicating. Barefoot, I stepped gingerly on the cracked asphalt, fearing broken glass. Continuing to have my stretched meat used like a short leash, we passed through the squeaking gate of the chain link fence that surrounded the swimming pool.

“Time for a swim!” Za’ana said cheerfully.

I had glanced at the disused pool on my way into the motel, and it was partially filled with nasty, stagnant green water and I hoped she wasn’t serious. She impatiently guided me along the concrete deck and we walked down the four steps into the shallow end. Then I felt her grip change on my semi-hard cock.

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