<< Prev | Comment | Download | Next >>

Vignettes

By El Portero

These are all small vignettes that I have written as a sort of writing exercise, or the failed starts of new stories. In the future some of them may become full-fledged stories, but for now they exist here merely for your mild enjoyment. I will add anything new I have to this page when it is written.

The pressure in her bowels was growing more painful with each passing moment as more and more digestive slop was pumped in from her stomach. Her digestive system didn't know how to handle a meal like this, but it was trying the best it could. She could feel the bulging mass making its way across her gut, like a large bowling ball slowly rolling from one side to the other. There was so much going on inside her. She rubbed her aching gut, unable to soothe it. She tried desperately to open and move her bowels, but nothing would pass. She moaned in agony, wishing for nothing more than an empty belly....

Winona winced in pain as her bowel cramped tightly around the bulky mass lodged in her gut. She could feel it through her flesh, stretched taunt from the massive meals digesting within. It had been 3 agonizing days since she had eaten the strange fruits, her exhausted intestines having to fight every inch of the way. She now regretted having eaten so many of them.

More pain, but no movement. Winona never imagined food could hurt so much. She could feel every other meal she'd eaten after the fruits pushing against the bulky bolus, the pressure building with each passing moment, but still no movement, and no relief. Her large intestine continued to cramp, quivering inside her abdomen.

The indigestible waste had another foot or so to go now, and the heavy meal in Winona's stomach was putting an immense amount of pressure on it. The left side of her belly felt like it was being stabbed with knives, the pain was so great. She needed something, and fast.

Winona climbed out of bed and began walking to the bathroom. Right as she was about to reach the doorway, she slipped on a sock, falling forward. She tried to brace her fall but she wasn't quick enough. She hit the ground, hard, square on her bulging belly.

The floor squeezed every digestive organ, pushing them back into her spine. The pressure hit an excruciatingly painful high. Winona screamed out in pain. She felt the solid mass rocket down her left side and slam into her rectum, lodging in hard. Her small intestine squirmed as it pumped food into the now empty space of her large bowel. The massing rumblings and gurglings echoed from Winona's belly all the way down the hall.

Slowly she got up from the floor, the need to move her bowels so great she could barely move. As everything inside her shifted, she made her way to the bathroom, clenching her asshole as tight as she could. She barely made it to the toilet with enough time to pull down her panties and open her bowels.

The solid mass stretched her anus painfully wide, but finally landed with a resounding splash in the toilet bowl. It was followed by a warm, steady flow of undigested pizza and hamburgers and tacos that had been fermenting inside her bowels for days. Winona breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the pressure in her belly dissipate. That was the last time she was ever going to assume all fruit was good for you....

Everyone always talks about how bad New Jersey smells. Let me tell you something, Jersey is nothing. You ever been in a woman's colon? Now THAT smells! Especially when your companions are week-old Chinese food and rancid pizza. That stuff sits in a woman's bowels for a couple of days and it ferments into something awful. It sort of just churns back on itself, never really going anywhere, just sitting there and rotting in her gut. Produces the most nauseous mixture of gasses that no man should ever have to inhale. But inhale them I had to for almost a week.

So, how exactly did I manage to get myself stuck in a woman's large bowel for a week? Well, it started something like this....

Glutton For Punishment

In...and out. In...and out. In...gurgle, rumble, churn, squirt, squirm, rumble...and out. Four hours she'd been doing this. She was in one of those moods. She knew it wasn't good for her, but the pain felt good. Really good. All her friends had told her she was a glutton for punishment when she started dating Michael, but she hadn't listened. So when she had found him in bed screwing his secretary, it hurt like hell, but it wasn't like she hadn't been warned. Her friends had been right...about two things actually. All these years no one had ever guessed her dark secret, her private ritual of pain and pleasure. As she rubbed her aching gut she could feel the movement of food within, her engorged bowels pushing back against her finger tips. A glutton for punishment, indeed.

Her weapon of choice this time was....

Symptoms

Her stomach groaned from the turmoil within. A big breakfast had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was really regretting it. All the grease from the pounds and pounds of bacon, eggs, sausages, and pancakes was turning rotten as it sat in her engorged gut, churning over on itself. She felt nauseous, but considering what she had paid for this meal, she was not about to regurgitate it without having digested her money's worth.

Her gastric walls contracted again, and she winced in pain as the strained organ fought to break down the heavy meal inside. She was beginning to think that her having swallowed large bites of sausages whole was not a good idea. She could feel them if she pushed on her stomach, although that caused a great deal of pain. They were simply sitting in her gut, resting atop a huge mound of partly-masticated eggs and bacon that refused to digest through all the grease that coated them.

She pulled a bottle of Pepto-Bismo from her purse. It was a huge bottle, containing a quart of the gooey pink liquid. She popped off the top and began chugging it, the cool medicine flowing down her throat. Moments later she could feel it working its way into her stomach, flowing around the food and coating the irritated lining. She felt a cooling sensation in her gut as the medicine worked its magic, but it was offset by the pain she felt pouring this extra mass into her already about-to-pop stomach. She prayed the Pepto-Bismo would soothe her aching belly as she lay down on the couch, rubbing the swollen orb that was her distended belly.

She stared at the taunt surface of her bare abdomen, watching it shake and move as her stomach tried to churn the food within. Even with the medicine having been in her stomach for a half hour now, she had found no relief. Still, the eggs and bacon refused to digest. The groaning protests of her stomach filled the house, moans of an overstuffed organ trying desperately to rid itself of the undigestible mass it had been forced to take on. Finally, it decided it had no choice.

She felt a bulky movement in her stomach that came suddenly and without warning. Her pyloric valve opened wide and her stomach walls cramped hard. She felt solid chunks of food being shoved through the opening and into her small intestine.

Brunettes

Brunettes. I've always preferred brunettes. There's just something about them that will forever trump blondes, and even exotic redheads. And here she was, lying before me, the ultimate dark-haired goddess. My eyes gently swim over her naked form, tracing the smooth curves of her body, over her breasts, her stomach, the perfect crease between her open legs. Her eyes beckon me, and then she speaks her desire in soft whispers that raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Closer. Come closer. Touch me. My body quakes for your touch."

I am drawn to her by a strong force that I have never before known. Slowly I walk toward the bed, my eyes fixated upon her body. Again she calls to me in sweet whispers.

"Do you desire me? Do you still want me?"

My whispers are as soft as hers.

"Yes."

"Then touch me, hold me, rub me."

I am mesmerized by her magnificent figure, more incredible now than I could have ever imagined it beneath her evening dress only hours before. My eyes are drawn to the deep navel resting atop her smooth stomach. My desire draws me there. She knows. She takes the bottle of champagne from beside the bed and pours it into the deep depths of her belly button, the bubbly liquid filling the small chasm and overflowing, spilling down her sides, around the curves of her breasts, between her soft, pink lips.

I crawl from the foot of the bed. She opens her legs wider to accept me.

The Last Bite

One more bite. That's all she had left. Just one teeny little bite. Surely there must be room for it. She looked down at her engorged belly, the massive gut swollen so heavily that her shirt could no longer cover it. Her large oval navel stuck out, quite literally now. It was somewhere around the fortieth hamburger that her usually deep innie had popped out, now protruding almost a full inch. When it had happened, the sound and sensation were so loud and sudden that she had jumped off the couch before promptly being forced back down by the massive bulk digesting inside her.

But that had been at least thirty burgers ago. Now, here she was, staring at the last bite before her. She could feel the immense pressure of the already consumed food pressing outward in all directions from within her tauntly-stretched stomach, and she was beginning to doubt that she could, in fact, finish this last little bit. But ultimately it was desire that won out. The last morsel was chewed and swallowed.

"Ahhh, all done!" she thought.

And all was fine. Until that last bit reached the bottom of her esophagus. Then all hell broke loose.

Her cardiac sphincter spasmed as it tried to loosen and allow the latest piece of food to pass, but the pressure on the other side from the rest of the meal was so great. It fought and fought and fought. And when it eventually won....

"Owww! Owww! Owww! Oh, I feel like I'm going to explode!"

Her stomach rumbled something fierce, visibly quaking her massive gut. It was too full. Way too full. This food had to go somewhere, and the esophagus wasn't about to let it go back up.

She could feel the partially digested food slam against her right side as her stomach pumped it into the small intestine. She cried out in agony as her upper bowel stretched to accommodate the rush of chyme. She clutched her gut and tried to squeeze it into submission, unsuccessful in easing its or her pain. She felt a flood of digestive slop surging throughout her, twisting and turning through every tight loop of intestinal tubing.

Five minutes her stomach spent pumping food into her now aching intestine. When it was over she felt extremely bloated, the entire length of her small intestine crammed with large chunks of undigested burger sludge. She winced as the bowel began trying, unsuccessfully, to break down the mass of food.

"Never again. Never again."

Until the next time....

"Why I Love Thanksgiving"

Across the nation, the tables are set. Heaping banquet tables overflowing with copious amounts of tasty morsels, just waiting for the feast to begin. And around those tables are thousands, millions, of empty, rumbling stomachs in the tight bellies of beautiful women. And when the grand meal finally begins, pound after pound of food is forced down their throats and into those eagerly awaiting bellies. Half-chewed chucks of turkey followed by spoonfuls of stuffing mixed with green bean casserole begin to fill those gastric pits, with cranberry sauce and kernels of corn soon to follow. Mashed potatoes with buttery biscuits accompany yams on their digestive journey. Everything collects and fills those stretching stomachs, digestive juices unable to keep up with the gastronomical onslaught. Mouthful after mouthful is sent down, driven by a subconscious frenzy let loose once a year.

Belts are undone, zippers unzipped. Sparkling cider bubbles amongst the food, collects and forces its way out in uproarious belches. The relief is temporary, as pumpkin pies and cool whip begin their downward descent, filling any miniscule amount of room that might have remained. Chairs are leaned back, moans are let out, bellies are rubbed. The gentle massages carry through the taunt flesh, attempt to ease the aching organ within, but to no avail. Those brave enough to stand up find that the bundled coils of their intestines are no longer there to bear the weight of their enormous meals. Backs arch deeply to compensate for this gluttonous girth. Many cannot take it, and plop down on couches, the vibrations pulsating through the food sloshing within. Stomachs attempt digestion as sleep takes over their minds. Loud noises escape the fleshy mounds, movements visible even from outside. Everything begins to mix together. The turkey breaks down and combines with mashed potatoes that grow mushier with every contraction. Digestive sludge sloshes against stomach walls until the soupy mixture finally gets pumped into their small intestines. At last, relief has come to these sexy, young women. They breath a sigh of relief as the aching subsides. For now.

Over the next day, pound after pound of digested food will coarse through their intestines, burrowing deeper and deeper inside of them, until it finally collects in their large intestines, needing release. It is then that these massive, rectum-pounding logs of leftovers will assert themselves one last time. As bowels quiver and anal sphincters stretch, these ladies will once again regret their over-indulgences. They look down and see the undigested kernels of corn that litter their enormous bowel movements and wonder how they ever handled it all. And as they flush their digestive toils away, so goes the memory of all the pain and agony and indigestion, to once again be repeated each and every year.