With every passing hour the hurricane warnings became more ominous, so Michael and Amy decided to cut short their seaside vacation and take the first flight home.
Not wanting to surprise their close friend (and currently house-sitter) Beth, they called her cellphone as soon as the decision was made, but no one picked up. They phoned again on the way to the airport, this time trying their home phone as well. Nothing. They tried both phones again just before the plane departed, when the plane landed, and from the taxi home. Again, nothing.
They had been friends with Beth and her husband for years, but now Beth was recovering from divorce and her husband had moved to another state. Beth was brilliant, arty and emotionally high-strung. She always seemed an odd fit with her husband who, though quite successful, had nothing of her emotional and creative intensity.
These days Beth spent most of her time alone, writing furiously in a journal. Michael and Amy assumed it was it was part of healing, but there had always been something a bit vulnerable about Beth, and now they worried at not being able to reach her.
That worry turned to real alarm when, pulling into their driveway, Beth's car was gone and another car was in its place.
"Wait here" said Michael turning to Amy, "If I'm not back in five minutes call the police."
Cellphone in his hand, Michael unlocked the front door, and quietly made his way from room-to-room. The guest-room, where Beth was staying, was empty, the bed partly stripped.
Hearing what sounded like an electric drill from behind the closed door of the master bedroom, Michael silently walked back to the hallway and opened the small, concealed handgun-safe with a press of his thumbprint.
Holding the Sig Saur pointing downward at his side, Michael walked to the master bedroom and silently opened the door.
No one was harming Beth. No one was drilling the wall-safe. Tucking the gun into his back waist-band Michael blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing and smelling.
The stench of shit filled his nostrils as he watched Beth writhing on a large rubber pad draped over the bed with a Hitachi Magic Wand, held in both hands, pressing hard against her loins.
Thick mounding smears of shit covered her breasts, belly, thighs and hands. The magic wand was a mess of brown smudges. The sound he had thought was a drill was instead the thwacking thrum of the vibrator, pressed hard against Beth's shit-covered and excitement-soaked cunt.
Beth's face and lips were marked by thick smears of shit. An exquisitely beautiful, almost angelic smile shown from her face.
As Michael Gathered himself, stepping silently back through the door, he realized with shock his cock was throbbing hard against his pants. But that wasn't all. A warm flood of precum was coursing through his urethra. Strange, he thought, since he had only felt that sensation a couple times before in his life.
As Michael began to shut the door Beth, glancing to her side, caught sight of him in the doorway and suddenly started screaming. As she frantically, and with little success, tried to cover her shit-smeared body with the dangling edge of the pad, her screams turned to a Keening cry.
"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No."
Then she was sobbing convulsively. Michael thought of Amy, still in the car about to call the police. He stepped into the hallway, dialing her number.
"Amy, listen to me. Beth's ok. But it's complicated. No, don't come inside. I'll be out in a bit. I'll explain when I see you."
As he ended the call Beth sat up, clutching the shit stained pad to her body.
Between bursts of tears she managed "What the fuck Michael...you weren't due back for a week... I'll never be able to explain this...You guys are going to hate me forever."
"Beth," Michael said quietly as he moved toward the side of the bed, "You don't need to explain this. Do you think there's anyone honest with themselves who doesn't crave some kind of kink? Most of us just don't act on it if the kink is a bit out-there. The heart has its own reasons. Amy and I adore you. That's never going to change."
"Amy," she said, shaking her head, "Oh my fucking God, please, please, please don't tell Amy"
"Beth" I said now looking at her with an intensity of protective warmth I had seldom felt for anyone "Amy would understand this better than you could possibly imagine."
"No, you're wrong Michael," Beth wailed, "she'll hate me. She'll never forgive this."
"Wait Beth" I said tenderly, holding up both my palms to her. "I want to show you something."
Reaching for my phone I began to dial Amy to tell her I needed her here. But just then I heard her voice outside the doorway.
"What the hell is that smell?" then Amy stepped into the room.
She stared at Beth and the thick smears of shit covering much of her body. She stared at the shit-stained Hitachi Magic Wand at Beth's side. She stared at me, and then back at Beth. As she looked again at Beth all the excitement and adrenaline in her body just melted, and she relaxed as an expression of warmth and tenderness swept over her face.
"I couldn't stay in the car," said Amy.
"I didn't think you'd be home for a week" Beth sobbed.
"Whose car is that in the driveway?" Michael asked.
"It's a loaner. I crashed mine."
Then Amy did something that reminded me why I had married her a decade earlier. She walked over to the side of the bed and sat sideways on the edge, turning to Beth so they were face-to-face. She then took Beth's hands that were thickly-caked with still-moist shit in her own hands. Leaning toward Beth, Amy softly kissed her forehead. Then the two looked in one another's eyes.
