Unknown - Bea_s pony

"Amazing," I noted, thinking about the enormous hams I had observed at the end of each of the boy's arms.

"Are the rest rooms messy?" Helen asked him, appearing somewhat leery of having to use them at all.

"Ain't that," he told us. "Just kids get in there sometimes leaving a lot of paper laying around. Can't always watch it. Homer'll set it in order. No point in waiting here," he said. "Go on down."

We walked down and around the house and observed a path running slightly downhill leading to a wooden outdoor privy. There were two doors marked crudely with chalk designating which was for men and which for women.

"Don't pay no attention to them signs," the old man shouted after us. "One's the same as the other."

I looked at Helen and she laughed for the first time that afternoon. We both laughed.

"Do you suppose Homer is still in there?" I asked Helen when we reached the step leading to the doors.

"I don't know," she said, "but I can't wait or I'll pee in my pants. Keep an eye out, Sis," she requested, stepping up onto the platform and walking to the door marked for women. After she had gone inside and closed the door, I debated whether or not to use the other side. I didn't have to go so bad as Helen, but the power of suggestion was working on me.

I decided to wait until Helen came out and use the one properly marked for my own sex. I half expected to find Homer waiting inside the other one anyway, grinning and blushing sweatily, expectantly hoping I would show a bit of pussy.

It seemed Helen was taking an awfully long time in there. Maybe she had cramps as well as a full bladder. The dear girl had a constipation problem since marrying Jack. Too few orgasms will do it to a woman, I thought.

In a moment there came a shriek from inside followed by gasping moans that seemed to die in intensity. I raced up to the door and pushing it open and saw Helen seated on the commode, her head thrown back, and her body racked with what appeared to be the throes of sexual passion.

Looking down at the round opening I could see her pussy clearly. To my amazement huge strings of jism were cascading down out of it into the pit below. What looked like an entire load came out before it ceased dripping.

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "What's happening in here, Helen?" Looking around, I saw no one else was inside. It seemed incredible. I started shaking her. "Helen," I insisted, "what happened?"

"Oh, Bea," she puffed, grabbing my arm for support. "Believe it or not, I just got screwed." She was trying to catch her breath. "And cripes, did it feel good. Phew!"

"But how?" I begged her, "there was no one in here."

"Hand me that paper," she requested, pointing to a small pile of cheap toilet tissues stacked on a shelf.

I handed several to her.

"Thanks," she said, wiping what was left of the load from her cunt. She dropped the papers through the opening and stood up, pulling up her underpants. "Wait until we get back in the car," she whispered.

We walked up the slight incline together and back to the front of the station. Homer was standing there red as a beet and grinning. I noticed his sweat had soaked through his shirt in several places. He reeked of body odor.

The old man came out of the house as we got into the car. "Hope you ladies found things to your liking," he called out to us. Helen waved at him as we pulled out.

"Now tell me, I'm dying of curiosity."

"When I went in there, it looked like an ordinary outhouse," she began. "I went over to the place where you sit and pulled my pants down. I sat up over the hole and began urinating."

"Well," she said, "I had just finished peeing when the fattest, warmest thing you could imagine pushed its way up into me. I didn't know what it was at first, but it sure felt like you know what.

"I looked down through the opening and saw the thing up in me was definitely no imitation. There was a man lying on his back underneath."

"Was it Homer?" I asked.

"I couldn't see his face," she said. "I could just see that part of him that showed through the opening. It was a fat man," she added.

"Then if must have been," I concluded. "That slob. What a way to get a piece of ass!"

"I had no idea how long the thing was he had stuck in me," she continued. "When I looked down, all I could see was like a tree stump stuffed up between the lips. I had the feeling that plenty was in there, though. It was grand. It didn't seem as if he were going to get around to pushing it in and out," she continued.

"He probably couldn't," I suggested. "Not in that awkward position. Undoubtedly it took all his strength just to hold on."

"I couldn't take it," Helen went on, "not just sitting there stuffed like that with nothing happening. I started rotating my bottom, you know. Around the circle, then up, down. Around the circle, then up, down. I didn't know about him, but it was sure working on me."

"I started working that routine harder and faster, and pretty soon I came. I could feel it running down out of me. I noticed then that he was still working up into it as best he could. He hadn't come yet. Before I knew it, I felt a second orgasm building inside me. How many times does that ever happen? You know how the second one can really zap you, so I grit my teeth and hung on."

"When the warm flow of all his come gushed up into me, there was a wrenching spasm in my pelvis. I felt my back arching and my legs go straight. It felt so good I cried out. It must have frightened him because he pulled out suddenly before I had had a chance to come all the way down."

"That must have been when I arrived," I said. "You were still way up there. Too bad," I sympathized with her.

"Yes," she agreed. "Why do some men do that? Jack does that, Bea. You know it? Drop that load and get out fast. That's his motto."

"I wonder how often Homer pulls off that little trick," I chuckled.

We had reached the county road leading to Felt's place. Turning onto it we soon saw it was badly in need of repair. Whatever county funds were earmarked for paving roads must have always found priorities somewhere else. It didn't appear to have been patched in years.

Helen's car was fairly new, and each time a wheel ran into a chuck hole in the road I felt a twinge of guilt for having brought her car there.

"By day's end, you're going to have an old rattletrap for a car," I said rather apologetically.

"If it means finding my pooch, I don't care," she declared.

When it appeared we were close to the general area, I told Helen to slow down in order to read the numbers on the mailboxes. Some boxes carried the names of the tenants as well as the number. Perhaps we would be lucky and see Felt's name on one, I hoped.

Numbers had been placed on the mailboxes in many different ways. No two boxes seemed to use the same decals, paint or reflectors in posting the numbers.

To my delight, I saw Felt's name on a box up ahead. I told Helen to drive alongside the box to check the number just in case there was more than one Felt in the neighborhood. The number checked.

Felt's farm was evidently not close to the county road.

A long, dirt road went off across the fields at a right angle to the county road and must have continued for quite a distance for no buildings were visible on the immediate horizon.

Helen and I turned into the dirt road and bounced along for what seemed like miles before a clump of buildings came into view. As we pulled into the compound, we were surprised at the number of animals to be seen around us.

There were the usual barnyard animals running loose; chickens, ducks, geese, even pigs seemed to be roaming at will. Other animals, mostly dogs it appeared, were cooped up in cages placed in no visible pattern around the area. Several dogs were tied to stakes sunk into the ground. The din was terrible.