This is a new story which I have posted elsewhere too. I hope you enjoy it but if bodily functions aren't your thing you may prefer to give it a miss.
*****
It was twenty past eleven on a Sunday morning. Anne closed the churchyard gate behind her, content that whatever people thought of her, she'd at least done her duty. Being the rector's wife wasn't easy, particularly when people didn't take to her and were quick to judge, something she'd found out on arriving in Browndale. Her cheery if optimistic "See you later" to the Major's wife as they'd left church had met with the muttered rejoinder "Not if I can help it!"
Still she'd borne people's unfriendliness with a good grace and at least shown willing by serving for Archie at the Sung Eucharist. As she filled the cruets in the vestry before the service tied the girdle to her alb, Archie had come over and whispered:
"Anne, you haven't been, have you?"
Whatever answer she gave he knew her well enough to know that she'd not 'been' – in fact she hadn't 'been' since Thursday. Earlier that morning as they'd lay in the stillness of their rectory bedroom she'd cut one of those silent but ever so deadly 'egg sandwich' farts which had sent Archie dashing to frantically open the window and get dressed. He'd had to take the eight 'o clock at Willingham Parva and needed to get a move on but Anne's 6.53am SBD hadn't exactly been the alarm call he'd wished for. Radio 4 news when the wireless was programmed to come on at seven would have done just fine, thank you. He'd not said a word of reproach but the expression on his face left her in little doubt that he didn't approve. At least his nose told him from experience that nothing worse than foul air lurked beneath the duvet.
Four and a half hours had passed since then. At least she'd managed to not fart in church, but Anne sensed an increasing fullness in her back passage and knew the "turtle's head" wasn't far from emerging. She needed to pee too, having not emptied her bladder for thirteen hours. That wasn't a personal record by any means and she was used to long holds but there were limits. Doubtful whether she'd make it back to the rectory, Anne headed to some woods just outside the village which were owned by Major and Mrs Hancock. For once she'd have a "country 'un" – a pleasure she'd rarely been able indulge since her youth, so happily spent in the Norfolk countryside.
Deftly negotiating a stile, Anne made her way into the woods and, twigs crackling beneath her feet, quickly found a clearing. She was 'touching cloth' by now and realised that if she didn't deal with matters quickly she'd shit herself. Needing to poo that bad was the greatest feeling in the world and she longed to savour it but could tell from the sensations 'down below' that time wasn't on her side. Her distended bladder ached too and there was little doubt that it had almost reached its limit.
Having successfully unbuttoned her jeans, Anne discovered that the zip was causing her some trouble, and she knew it served her right for buying cheap jeans. As she struggled with the zip, Anne felt a large spurt of pee escape from her pussy, splashing into her panties. Quickly she stemmed the flow, clamping her well trained sphincter muscles. If she could avoid complete disaster so much the better. Eventually freeing her zip, Anne froze as she felt a turd easing its way out of her bottom into the seat of her panties. Dropping her jeans and easing her panties down, Anne squatted and just gave way to the inevitable. Pee cascaded out of her pussy landing on the woodland floor and splashing her shoes in the process. After a minute of joyous, full throttle peeing, her stream subsided to a trickle before eventually stopping. Now for the serious business. Cutting one of those wonderful eggy farts (she'd not been nicknamed 'eggy' in a previous life for nothing) Anne head a familiar crackling noise as a large turd snaked its way out of her bottom and landed on the woodland floor. Another one followed – and another. A couple more farts then followed and finally, two more large turds dropped out. It felt absolutely amazing. Some things were well worth waiting for and this certainly was.
Extracting some tissue paper from her jeans pocket – she always carried some – Anne wiped her pussy and then her bottom. Not very successfully but at least it was an attempt! Surveying the damage to her panties she decided that they were beyond saving and gingerly removed them. If Major Hancock's wife decided to walk through the woods she'd find a souvenir. At least her jeans would live to see another day if nothing else. So absorbed was she in sorting herself out, that Anne didn't hear footsteps and was startled when a voice rang out which she knew well but hadn't heard for many years.
"Well if it isn't ...what a blast from the past!"
Anne looked up and smiling down at her was Sarah Worthington, an old friend from her nursing days on the Urology unit in Newcastle. It took her a few seconds to get over the shock and regain her composure.
"Sarah. Well I never. This is a surprise. Fancy seeing you here. Look, I'm terribly sorry. I was just..."
"Having a shit?"
"Sarah, I can't apologise enough. Anyhow, what brings you here?"
"Well I've just moved into the village as it happens. I'm in Washtub Cottage on Honeysuckle Lane. Still living out of packing cases a bit but I'm gradually getting there. Anyway, what brings you here, Anne?"
"I'm the rector's wife."
