Ordure Ordeal Or Toilet Trial

Have you ever thought, "What is the capacity of the human colon?" Its volume? The quantity it can contain? How much it can hold?

I have. Many times. All my reading suggested 2 quarts; that's 4 pints; or almost 2.5 litres; about 3 wine-bottles; maybe 12 cupfuls. Then I'd read about people who had taken 4-quart enemas; a whole gallon. So maybe a human colon can hold more than we normally realise.

Well; that evening I was going to find out but she wasn't ready yet and I wasn't going to rush things. Partly because I didn't want her backing away with alarm but also because I was going to enjoy the run-up, the warm-up, the groundwork, the foundations, the preparations for what I had in mind.

For most of the afternoon, and now it was 6 pm, I'd laced her into her second oldest corset. And she was getting towards the huffing and puffing stage, as her waist looked small enough to grasp in my fingers and thumbs. Still, there was an inch or two to finish her off to my satisfaction. She had been and was still in her most compliant mood. In my arms, after a slow orgasm from my hand and her favourite vibrator, she thought she was ready for all my usual requirements.

"Can I make you very tight, please," I'd pretend-pleaded with her that morning.

"Yes but you have to show me something new to excite me. Yes?" she'd responded.

"Agreed," I said, "but tell me what I'm allowed to do."

"Do as you wish – but surprise me."

"I promise a surprise from what I have planned. Just don't ask until it's happened. OK?" I had insisted.

"OK," she'd agreed.

During the afternoon, between the tight lacing and the occasional glass of white wine, she had another mountainous orgasm followed within a few seconds by a second lesser one. She adored multiple orgasms and had collapsed into my arms again.

"Do anything," she had repeated; so I was going to do just that. It was an outrageous Plan I'd had for years; something so disgraceful that I hadn't described even it to myself. But I knew what I was going to do – and what she would give to my pleasure from her own ordeal. I was torn between dashing on to the final experience or alternatively letting my anticipation build until it became irresistible and inevitable. For her as well as me.

She was enclosed in the second oldest corset just in case my plans went askew and something messy happened. And now she was getting close to the closure of the laces as my erection was becoming uncomfortable with the tension and the explosive pressure inside me. She turned round after the lacing and held my erect "little man," as she called it.

"You're ready now, aren't you?"

"Almost. You go and pee now. Be comfy for the evening," I guided her towards the bathroom. Little did she realise that my Plan required her bladder to be empty. An hour earlier, I'd peed already. All part of The Plan.

While she emptied herself, I prepared my collection of "gear" near the bed and covered it with a big towel. Even handling my "gear" increased my excitement. And I took off my shirt, and was naked.

She came out and stood waiting for me to make the next move. Such compliance! She hadn't always been like this, but today she seemed to want whatever I wanted, even when she didn't know what it might involve. I move her towards the bed and laid her face down. She knew this could be the final lacing, so I kneeled over her thighs and took the laces in my hands. The top and bottom edges were already closed. Exerting my muscles, I crossed over the laces and used them in leverage to almost close her waist. She was 21 inches around her waist, maybe a little more, and I held her there with my fingers almost meeting round the front, under her torso as she lay there breathing carefully with her shoulders heaving slightly. Her eyes were wide open as was her mouth, as she came to realise and remembered the ferocity of a boned-and-laced corset.

I reached over to the low table and brought my little pump-bottle of lubrication. I let a long drop of lube fall down on her anal crack; and she knew what was coming. Usually, she enjoyed a bit of anal but now she twisted her head to one side.

"But I'm not clean. I only peed," she gasped, "remember?"

"Don't worry. I'm not going into you but I'll put something in there. It's part of my Plan for our evening."

She was quiet and I reached over for my pack of bisocodyl suppositories. I had four ready unwrapped from their foil packets. Normally one will clear a rectum. Four will empty a complete colon as far as the cecum: the whole of the large intestine. Her colon. You can see how important it was to know the anatomical limit of a human colon.

I put a latex glove on my right hand. Slowly, so as not to alarm her, I introduced each of the suppositories one at a time and pressed them to four different positions inside her rectum; behind the second sphincter. North, South, East and West so to speak.

I knew that sphincter well. That was where I had often pushed "little man" slowly to get full penetration into her empty bowel. But today she was not empty. I could tell that her rectum was bulging with waste; with faeces, with dung; with crap; with shit; with ordure to give it its literary name. Jonathan Swift of "Gulliver's Travels" fame had written a monogram on "Human ordure botanically considered" in 1733. So I felt to be in good educated company to think of it as ordure. My Plan was going well. I was going to turn her colon-full of ordure into a soft creamy slippery, sludgy, porridge-like torrent; all for my pleasure and what I had in mind to do with it. The more she had in her at the start, the more pleasure I was going to have with her.

I cleaned her anus carefully with a baby-wipe; also there at the side of the bed, among my gear. But then also I placed another blob of lube on my gloved middle finger and smeared it around the rectal opening, without penetrating her. She wriggled a little, as if wondering why I was doing that. I was silent and removed the glove.

Then I turned her over and we began making out. The kissing and the handling, and the little bites. On her breasts, across her throat, in her ears. And she playing with "little man" and pushing my skin back. And tugging at handfuls of hair on my chest, especially when I did something pleasurable for her. A finger into her labia; a little pressure on her clitoris; playing around her vagina. But always careful not to go close to her anus. She took one orgasm from my fingers while I was also sucking her right nipple at the same time. She always likes that.

And so we passed a very pleasurable 30 minutes, until she spoke softly.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

I knew what that meant and dissuaded her, "Not yet. Wait longer and I'll show something new. Hold on for a minute or more. Yes?"

"Mmm. I'll try," she murmured, so I decided to take the next important move.

"Just for a minute, come on top of me. Take me in before you need to go."

A rolled myself over and reached over to my gear, to select a butt plug for myself. She saw and smiled because it was one of my little extra pleasures sometimes. She didn't inspect the butt plug, or else she'd have noticed it was unusual. Sticking out from the 3-inch pierced globe was a semi-flexible clear plastic tube, one-inch in diameter and about 15 inches long, with a smaller globe on the other end; with the tube passing through it. Maybe 2-inches diameter at that end. As she lay there, waiting for her next movements, I slowly pressed the globe into my anus and then fed it up behind my own sphincter. I had practiced this for weeks, so that my muscles were able to slide open to take the big plug. And then it settled into place in my rectum with about 12 inches of the plastic tube resting between my legs.

I pulled her onto me; straddling me, with my erection pointing to the ceiling. Slowly, she raised herself against the added restriction of the tightened corset, and slid down onto me. Then she leaned forward to lie on my chest; another of our favourite positions, so that I can feel her body and play with her waist. This time, I held her tightened waist in my two hands and pulled her down onto me as I pumped back and forth into her juicy vagina.

"I must go now," she said and tried to raise herself but I held onto her waist and prevented her moving away. The corset was my ally, anyway, since it stopped her from moving very much, and certainly prevented her from raising herself. It had been almost 40 minutes for the suppositories to do their work in her.

"Wait," I said, "let me show you this. Just relax down on me."

As she did, I reached down to the tube between my legs and brought the globe end of it close to her bottom. But not so close that it touched. That would have alarmed her.

I spoke softly. "I'm going to put something in you. It'll make you feel good. Just relax and do as I tell you. OK?"

"Mmm. OK," she replied, uncertainly.

With a swift movement but not roughly, I brought the smoothed and rounded globe of the tube up against her anal muscles. Then with a quick twist and a thrust, it pushed easily into her. Two-inches diameter was more than my erection but a little less than some of the toys we had put in her rectum. It slid into her and I held it there.

Then three things all happened at once.

First, she squealed a little and flinched with the suddenness of the penetration, but not from pain or discomfort. Almost immediately, she slumped back down onto my chest to relax once she'd worked out what had happened.

Then the contents of her bowels began to flow down the tube. I could feel the extra weight as I held it into her. And the warmth coming through the plastic wall. She was emptying into the tube and had no control over the flow. It was simply pumping itself out of her.

Finally, it began to fill me and I could feel the pressure building in my groin and up towards my ribs. Within 10 seconds, she had completely filled my rectum, and her ordure was pressing its way through the sigmoid bend of my own colon and up into my descending colon. Only now it was an ascending column of smooth, pulpy, hot, silky and slimy shit beginning to fill my body. Sorry; I mean ordure.

For a minute, her intestines continued to pump their contents into me, and then they slowed. I wanted everything she had. I was bloating and felt a serious urge to empty myself by this time. I could feel my intestine swelling and pressing up against her corset. I could feel the hardness of the busk-pins against my stretching skin. She must have been very, very full. Full of shit. But she wasn't now; she was practically empty. And now it was me who was full of shit.

"Push. Try to get more out. Give me all you have. Squeeze. Squeeze," and I squeezed her waist inside the corset.

"Stay very still now," I instructed her, as I moved to perform a risky little manoeuvre.

Letting go of the plastic tube, I reached round for the corset laces, undid the bow, and began to pull them across in further leverage. As best I could in that lying position, I closed the corset on her. She was tiny. And the last squirt of her dung suddenly forced its way into me.

Quickly I took hold of the tube-globe and pressed it further into her rectum, just to be certain that the corset's pressure didn't push it out of her body. And so we lay there for a time, maybe 5 minutes, with me revelling in the knowledge and the sensations or being filled with her waste; her faeces, her dung; her crap; her shit; her ordure. It also added to mine, since my own bowel had not been emptied for some hours, anyway. My entire lower abdomen was churning and pulsing.

I began to fuck into her again, holding her down with one arm and the tube in place with the other hand. She lay quietly and compliant again, as I worked my way up to my own climax. I knew what was coming more than she realised. Before I got too close, I let go of her body with that arm and released the bow on her corset, which expanded immediately. She took a deep breath and the corset opened further.

My own orgasm was coming. Coming soon. Almost there. And then it came – from the depths of my groin and my spine. I shot my seminal load high into her and then made another effort as well. I pushed within in my intestines, to expel her waste; her faeces, her dung; her crap; her shit; her ordure. Where to? Back into her.

She flinched, "What you doing?" sounding panicky.

"I'm going to give you back what you gave me. Just relax and set's see if it works," I spoke softly.

Little did she realise that I had my own load and I also had liquidised my load because of the four bisocodyls inside her. Her shit was liquidising mine and causing my own bowel to experience strong peristalsis. I began pushing in earnest and squeezing all of her dung back into her. At that stage, with the first shock of the pressure from me, and the volume that came out from me, it must have felt like a solid rod thrusting into her entrails. And so it spread inside her and began to fill her rectum and so onto her sigmoid and up into her colon.

She started to squirm and would have raised herself if I'd let her. I wrapped an arm around her again and pulled her back down onto my chest.

"No. Stay still or else we'll spill it all," this time not so softly. More of an instruction and she knew my tone was different; to be obeyed.

For a full 5 minutes, I pushed my contents into her and I could feel her swelling as I got emptier. She was making little grunting noises all the time. And then...

"Stop now. I'm full. You'll burst me open. Please stop now. Oh. Oh. OH......OH...OOOOOOH I'm bursting," she was wailing.

"You'll not burst. The corset will save you. Now let's get it all back into me. Are you ready to push?" I was speaking softly again.

"I don't know if a can push. I'm so full. Like I'm bursting. Stop now."

"Let's get it back into me. Let me lace your corset a little. That'll help you push. OK?"

"Hmm. Oooooh, I'm so full," she wailed again.

Of course she felt full. I reckoned she must have 5 or 6 pints of our combines dung in her bowel. So I reached round and began to re-tighten the corset as best I could. In fact, I got the waist tight quickly and her bowel-contents began to flow back into me. I could feel the flow and the fullness in my own bottom.

Slowly, she emptied and I got filled, until there was no further transfer and then the really serious question came unspoken to my mind, "How do we take out this tube without splashing or squirting liquid manure – sorry, ordure - all over the bedroom?"

In fact, I'd thought about it before and had a rubber bung among my "gear" on the little table. And also a black towel that I used whenever I went swimming. So I reached over for them and told her what needed to be done to disentangle ourselves.

"Stay still, I'll leave your corset tight so you don't take any more back in. OK?"

"Mmm," she grunted as usual.

Slowly, very slowly, I reached round and began to withdraw her tube and globe. I was hoping that her bowel would not push out any more manure as the globe left her. As it left her, I quickly pushed the bung into her end of the tube. But I was not totally successful in the manoeuvre and a little quantity squeezed out from her anus. I pressed the black towel into her crack and caught everything that made its appearance, and provided her with something to sit on as she shifted sideways off me. By now "little man" was even littler than usual!

And so we finished the session. She sat there on the edge of the bed, on her towel, tightly laced still, while I made my way to the bathroom and pulled out my own anal globe. I can't describe to you the volume and the nature of the slippery, slushy, creamy-brown torrent that jetted out of my bowels. For almost 15 minutes, I sat there and emptied: in a flood at first and then in a trickle. The bowl of the lavatory was half-filled. I guessed almost a gallon; eight pints; four quarts; almost 5 litres.

As I ended my bathroom session, she came to the door and I turned her around to undo the corset. She had her own session sitting to empty. Then we both showered and went to bed for a rest. Later, we spoke about the experience and she blushed. Whether with shame or excitement, I couldn't tell. And then we made love again.

This woman is amazing. He ability and willingness to try new things; her ability to lace to her anatomical limit in the tightest corset; her openness to orgasms. She is amazing. I love an desire her more than I can tell you.

Good old Jonathan Swift. So much a better word for what we had between us. I mean what we shared. What we exchanged. If it had been an ordure ordeal for her, she never said so but the blush must have meant something.