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By Lauren McAllister
It was going to be another dull, dull night in my really dull but very cheap apartment. The rats had eaten through the cable wires again so I couldn’t even masturbate to Game of Thrones reruns. It’s the kind of building that junkies won’t live in because they don’t think it’s safe. My apartment/hovel was situated on the eighth floor and the elevator worked even less than most of the tenants. I may have blown the manager a few times when I came up a little short on the rent, but he must have blown the building safety inspector daily to keep that shithole from being condemned. The only thing good about living in such a one bedroom nightmare was I never got the urge to clean it.
To make matters worse, I’d just broken up with my fuck-toothed boyfriend and I was a little melancholy (when I wasn’t jamming a pair of scissors through his eye-sockets in my scrapbook). We’d had a disagreement over whether he should drink gasoline while smoking. I took the affirmative position. Since our little beverage tiff, I’d spent most of my time wanking and crying and burning anything I still had that I knew he treasured. But even setting alight to his Dave Winfield rookie card hadn’t raised my mood substantially. As my mother used to say, there’s nothing like a pint of whiskey and a brand new set of anal beads to cheer a young girl up. She may not have actually said that, but after I’d consumed the whiskey, my memory wasn’t quite functioning at peak performance.
Even as a kid I seemed to like to stick various objects up my bum. In high school, I experimented with a select group of sphincter-stretching vegetables while pleasuring myself (And then I made sure that they were served to my brother for dinner.). Once I got to college, I told all my boyfriends they had to give me anal because I wasn’t on the pill. I was on the pill but I really liked the feeling of being cornholed. I’ve had so much cum shot up my ass; I’m surprised I don’t crap albino turds.
Don’t get me wrong, my vagina has seen its fair share of action. I just like to spread the love around.
The girl at the sex shop was very helpful with my bead selection, though she did express a wee bit of concern that I was being a tiny bit ambitious size-wise. I assured her that even though I was quite compact, I had an ass like the Tardis.
Alas, my brain is not like the Tardis and once I had poured a pint of scotch into it, I was positively reeling. Even removing my clothes presented a considerable challenge while that sozzled, but when you’re on a noble mission like I was, you persevere. Off went the jeans, on onto the bed I flopped. This is where my evening may have taken a turn.
As I began to squoodge the glass balls up into my well-lubricated derriere, my well lubricated head heard the fire alarm start to blast. It had gone off every second day since I’d moved into my palace in the sky so I paid it no mind. Not that I had much of a mind at that moment to pay anything. My genius plan was to just put them in, see how they felt and pull them out again. Later, I would dragoon a couple of my girlfriends into a masturbation party and really put the little darlings to good use. Jam. Jam. Jam. In they went. Oh fuck! I shoved the pull tab up my butt. How was I going to get them out?
I didn’t really have much time to consider my inebriated predicament as a neighbor ran by, smashing on all the doors in the hallway. The fucking building really was on fire! Shit! What to do? Another panicked bang on the door. This was getting serious, so up I jumped.
Mother Fucker!!! I almost dropped to my knees from the staggering ass-pain. I can only imagine how much it would have hurt if I’d been sober. I very gingerly put on a long t-shirt and delicately made my way to the front door. Yikes! There was smoke and panic everywhere (and very few of these people had anything to live for)! The next few minutes, I can only describe as indescribable.
Until you’ve tried walking down eight flights of stairs while all boozed up, with half a pound of big glass balls in your colon, you can’t really appreciate the agony I endured. I’ve walked around “hosting” Ben Wa Balls before but these felt more like cannon balls. Upon reaching the third floor landing, I considered squatting down and trying to shit it all out in front of all the other tenants but I was afraid it would tear my asshole to pieces. So, on I went.
By the time I hobbled out onto the terra firma, I was cross-eyed. Focusing was impossible. Walking was even less so. I just dropped to my knees and prayed for death (or at the very least, for an ass-ectomny). That’s when my luck changed – and I don’t mean for the better. The cutest, buffest paramedic I had ever seen came over to me and asked me if I was in distress. Was I? But what to say?
“Hey dream-cake, I’ll be right as rain, once I take the world’s most painful dump.”
No. Perhaps something a little more ladylike.
“I need to talk to you in private. We need to be very, very private. Do you have an ambulance? Or perhaps a quart of morphine you could give me?”
Prince Charming helped me to my feet. I tried not to scream too much but the pain was blinding. He practically had to carry me over to his emergency vehicle while I wept like Lucille Ball at a funeral.
Once inside his vehicle, he smiled warmly and inquired, “Try and remain calm. Can you describe your pain and its exact location?”
“I can do better than that,” I proffered, “I can tell you what’s causing it.” Any other moment in my life, I would have had far too much foolish dignity to admit the humiliating truth. At this particular second, I couldn’t wait to spill the beads…ah, beans.
“I need you to stick your fingers up my ass and pull out a huge set of anal beads.” I blurted out. My good looking savior was given pause. “There’s also a ring-pull up there somewhere.”
My White Knight did not laugh, he didn’t even smile. He just instructed me to get down on my hands and knees in front of him, in a very respectful manner (I know that doesn’t sound possible, but it was). Schlorp. Josh squirted a mountain of lubricant into his palm and soaked two of his fingers in it. Just the sound of it gave me the steaming collywobbles. I braced myself for the worst.
And that’s exactly what I got. Josh requested I reach back and spread my cheeks apart. Oh my! This emergency medical procedure was beginning to sound a lot like a first date! By now, my butt was stuck way up in the air and my face was smushed into the ambulance mattress. Fuck, I sure hope they wash those things between customers.
“This may hurt a bit,” Josh informed me. He was a very honest man. It felt like a nail bomb has gone off up my ass as Josh penetrated the sphincter.
As my burly paramedic began digitally probing around my anus for submerged sex toys, two things popped into my head. The first was: Gee it’s lucky that embarrassment isn’t a fatal condition. My second wondering regarded his marital status. It’s funny how the female mind works, ain’t it? I certainly didn’t feel a ring on either of the two fingers he had stuck up my petute. Not that his being single was an absolute deal killer. If he was successful in his holy task, I would have let him fuck me every night for a month, regardless.
That’s when Jimmy opened the door to the ambulance.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Shit! Could this thing get anymore mortifying? Apparently it could.
“Hey Jim. I’m trying to locate a pull ring, so I can remove a set of anal beads from this lady (ah…he called me a lady). Can you hold her open as wide as possible so I can use a flashlight?”
What?! My asshole constricted so tight, I’m surprised I didn’t cut off his fingers.
So there I was, with two strange men looking up my stretched-out and brightly illuminated poop cavity. Oh, if only the fellas at work could see me now! Then, I heard the most marvelous words in the universe. “Got it.” Seconds later, the first bead breached the pooey darkness and was pulled to blessed freedom (similar to those poor, trapped miners Chile). As the cataclysmic pressure in my decimated bowel decreased, I began to be overwhelmed by warm feelings towards my fellow man. Well, fellow men.
“Well, I guess you guys will have a great story to tell your wives tonight,” I joked and “fished” at the same time.
They did not bite. They just sweetly informed me that anything that happened on the job was totally confidential. I was so happy I almost offered to blow both of them, but somehow you just don’t feel your sexiest, when you’re in that position.
As Josh cautiously plucked the last bauble from my butt he informed me, “This is probably going to be a little sore for awhile.” He gently patted my ass cheek. “I’m going to give you an anti-inflammatory and some ice to sit on.
“Say, I’m also missing my cell phone, if you want to take another look up there.”
Finally, I got a smile out of those two fuckers. Josh turned me over and kindly slid an icepack under the afflicted area. The way I was lying, my t-shirt was pulled up and my twat was exposed, but I couldn’t care less. Those guys could have swiped their credit cards in it, I was so grateful.
Although I never saw them again, I think about Jim and Josh quite often. There’s a pull ring the size of a Frisbee attached to my beloved beads now and every time someone pulls them out of me, I hearken back to my two chivalrous paramedics as I cum like Linda Blair in the “Exorcist”
Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister