After Emma stormed out, I had plenty of time alone to mull our fight over. Not much else to do if the white plastic of the lid is your whole field of view. Of course she has a point. I do appreciate her being so invested in granting me my wish. At the same time she should have realised I could not breath under her, right? I asked her to make the toilet experience feel real, but she took it a bit too literal. Clearly I still need to breath! At least she could have taken my comment in a more reasonable way. Ok, to be fair, I could have phrased it better... My only defence is that I was still in shock from almost passing out.
The front door open and close. Emma comes into the room and I hear her undress. The lid opens and I catch glimpse of her, wearing a head-band and a running t-shirt; bottomless. She must have gone running to let off some steam. There is little time to process. She is already turning and sitting, I need to open fast. I find myself between her hot thighs. The smell of sweat is pungent. Small drops are trailing down from her abdomen, coming to rest on her well kept bush. Her crotch is damped with sweat. I feel the warm drops dripping from her thighs on my face. My waiting mouth collects the bitter, salty sweat dropping from her lips. Without a warning she releases a strong but short stream. Thankfully I got the hang of it, as she did not look down once to check how I was doing. She only pronounces two words:
"Toilet paper"
I quickly get to work. Once I stop, she gets up, shuts the lid and leaves. I guess she is still pissed.
##################
I hear Emma's footsteps not long afterwards. The lid raises. She sits down without acknowledging me at all, looks straight ahead and pees a little. This time she doesn't have to say a single word. I start on my toilet paper duty right away, hoping to get out of this silence treatment.
Once I have cleaned her, she doesn't immediately get up. Maybe she is about to apologies for almost killing me? She moves slightly forward and raises the right leg over the other. Her left asscheek pushes hard against the side of my face, blinding me from one eye. I see the right leg raising above me. Her asshole hovers slightly above me, between my nose and my mouth. Emma parts her right arse cheek with one hand and lets out the loudest, longest fart I have ever heard a human produce. I see her stretched asshole gaping and vibrating as the air escapes. This is no gentle breeze or playful trumpet: the hot, wet air hits my skin with force for few seconds. The sticky air finds its way into every corner of my mouth and nose. She clears her throat and stands. I catch the glimpse of a grin as she lowers the lid and leaves.
The cabbage smell is unbelievably intense below the lid. The fart still burns in my nostrils. Did she save it up for this purpose? Was it some kind of punishment? Not very princess like, that is for sure. More like Queen bloody Mary. Maybe I should carry the olive branch and apologise first...
##################
The next time she comes in, she sit down and closes her legs. I am in complete darkness while I hear Emma typing on her phone. It is a deep sensorial experience. Without sight, I can feel the heat emanating from the opening of the vagina, the hairs on her crotch gently brushing on my nose as she breaths. I can feel the vibrations as a couple of little trumpet-like farts shake her buttocks. I hear no giggles accompanying these, as if she was on a normal toilet. Nothing funny or strange about farting on toilets.
The typing sound continues as a warm but tasteless stream slowly fills my mouth. She keeps typing and peeing at intervals for a while. She must have faith in my skills - or decided she does not care- because, again, she doesn't check on me once. After the last little squirt, I starting cleaning, hoping to do a good job in the dark. She stand and moves to close the lid.
"Emma wait!"
She preposterously looks around and speaks in a fake surprised tone.
"Oh! I must be going mad. I hear voices and yet there's nothing but me and a toilet here."
She finally looks straight down into my eyes "And toilets do not talk."
"Ah-ah-ah. You got me. Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be ungrateful. It was sweet of you to worry for me. Conversely, it was unreasonable of me to expect you to realise what was going on in my mouth. You were right, I was wrong. As always. Please forgive me? I swear I won't complain again."
A half smile colours her face but she continues with the charade "I must be strong. I must not give in and listen to the voices. I am all alone in this house. If I begin to talk to the toilet I will surely loose my mind. Thankfully Grace just texted me. After dinner I will see her and have some fun. I feel like I haven't done much for myself this weekend. I guess I'll drink and dance my sorrows away."
She turns at leaves. Clearly she is still pissed. At least she did not slam the lid down. Being able to look at the ceiling is a great improvement on my condition.
##################
In the next hours I hear music, the shower running and I smell cooking. It is a weird exercise to reconstruct images of Emma around the house just from these muffed sounds. I am feeling a bit hungry myself, running on a second-hand meal since the morning. It would probably be a terrible idea to complain about that right now...
The positive side of this is that I do not need to poo. As planned, I will just hold it for the weekend. On the other hand, Emma must have feed me a couple of litres of pee and now I need to let go of some water as well. This is something I sort of plan for. With the limited movement allowed to my restrained right hand I grab the bottle lying next to me. I fumble with it until I can fit my penis into its opening, tilt it so it won't spill and go. A cumbersome procedure but it will do for the weekend. I carefully place it next to me so it doesn't tilt. Nothing else to do but to let my thoughts run while I stare at the ceiling.
Sunlight is fading as I hear steps approaching. They sound different, like... heels? Soon enough Emma's face pops into the white ring of the toilet seat.
"Toilet, toilet on the floor, who's the fairest of them all?"
A little "wow" is all that manages to escape from my mouth. My eyes must be more eloquent than my words because a smile seductively appears on Emma's face, as if saying "That's the reaction I was going for". The makeup is subtle and sober, but she is dressed to kill. A shiny, gold crop-top falls from her shoulder half-way on the arms. It's loose enough that from my privileged prospective I can see the lower side of her boobs and the nipples piercing a little through the fabric. Too warm for a bra, I guess. A couple of inches lower the fabric stops, leaving the belly button free to look out to the world. A pair of shorts jeans rest on her waist.
She turns to the mirror "I am not convinced of the pants though. Let me try something else."
She lowers the shorts, revealing a rather minimal piece of blue lingerie. As she turns to grab something, I see the fabric circling her hips, slimming down in the middle of her back and disappearing in between her generous cheeks. She slide into a beige linen skirt. The outline of the blue lingerie is visible through the half-transparent fabric.
I swallow dry and put on a perplexed face. She gives me a quick look and rolls her eyes. She pretends to talk to herself.
"It's funny how men think they have a say in how we dress. The only important things are that I like how I look and I feel comfortable. They should just appreciate or shut up. Thankfully I don't have a boyfriend complaining about my outfit!"
She turns back to the mirror, huffing and puffing, annoyed by me and by the summer heat.
"Too bad the underwear is so visible through this... I can kill two birds with one stone. I will go commando, looking better and also suffering less this stupid heat wave!"
