Karen and Helen

Fiction by Melanie.

My name is Karen. I’m 28 years old, brown hair, 36-26-38 and I am an Assistant Bank Manager.
When I was 21 I married Steve, a 32 year old engineer, but after 2 years of happy marriage, he died suddenly of a brain haemorrhage. This was when I became close to Helen, his sister’s daughter. She adored her uncle Steve, and when she came to visit me shortly after his funeral, we sat and cried in each other’s arms for hours. As she grew up over the years I was like a big sister to her (I got her to stop calling me ‘Auntie’ Karen eventually) and she is now a tall willowy 16-year-old, a keen athlete, happy, popular - in short, a total credit to her parents. One Sunday, her mother asked me if I would collect her from training at her school. I arrived as they were leaving. I met Helen, and noted that she seemed a bit pale.
“Hi, Helen”, I greeted her, “how was training?”
“Not good”, she replied. “I haven’t been able to ...... well, go for three days, and trying to run today has ....”
She stopped and suddenly clutched at her stomach, wincing. Concerned, I asked her what was wrong.
“God, it’s .....” suddenly she gave a loud fart “hard to keep in ....”.
She was crying now.
I stroked her hair. “Helen, don’t try to keep it in. If it’s coming out, it’s coming out. For heaven’s sake, your clothes will wash.”
Helen moaned loudly, then strained and there was a squelching sound as she pooped in her pants. She strained again, squelch, squelch, squeeeeeeeeeelch! She was sobbing, then she retched and began to puke. I held her hair back as her breakfast splattered onto the ground beside my car. I cuddled her, feeling her tears soaking into my blouse.
She looked up at me, the colour returning to her face.
“Oh Aun ...... Karen, I’m so sorry.” She dissolved into tears again.
“Come on,” I told her, “I’ll take you to my place. We’ll get you cleaned up and your clothes washed. I bet you feel better, eh?”
She nodded and laughed through her tears. At this point I was excited. I thought back to that dreadful time just after the funeral. I woke up one morning feeling so depressed that I just lay and pooped in bed. Then I masturbated furiously, wallowing in my filth, until I had the mother and father of orgasms. From then on, I pooped in bed, in my pants, on the floor, regularly. It got me so turned on. I love it. I love the feel of it, the smell of it, and I even lick my fingers clean. Seeing Helen now was starting to really affect me. I was glad I was wearing black jeans, as I was sure I was juicing a wet patch on them. I felt a further surge of juice as Helen walked to the passenger side and I got a glimpse of her succulent poop bulge in her track bottoms. I groaned inwardly as I imagined kneeling behind her, pulling down the trousers and pressing my lips against the hot lump. I got in the car and opened her door from the inside, after placing a newspaper on her seat. She gingerly sat down, then giggled as the hot mess briefly formed a cushion until she sank through it. My heart was pounding fit to burst, and I think I did a squirt of piss. My pants were definitely wet! I gave Helen a XXX to take the taste out of her mouth, and drove to my flat. During the journey, I was sure Helen was squirming around in the seat, and when I looked at her, I was certain that her face was flushed (no pun intended). Once there, we went quickly inside, where I gave her a poly bag for her clothes, and phoned her parents to let them know where she was. She went into the bathroom and shortly afterwards peeped sheepishly around the door and handed me the bag. I heard the toilet roll holder rattle as she began the wiping, and I began the washing. First I stuck my face into the bag and savoured the aroma. Then, as I put her things in the washer/drier, I got my fingers dirty and, well, let’s just say that she tasted as good as she smelled. After 3 flushes, I heard the shower. Cue for me to unfasten my rapidly moistening jeans and have a little play. I was composing myself on the sofa (and sucking a XXX), when Helen came out of the shower in my bathrobe, brushing her long red-blonde hair. She sat down beside me and I put my arm around her as she snuggled into me. After a while, she asked me if I would be shocked if she told me something. “Of course not, Helen”, I replied.
“It’s just that when my friends talk about boys .......... well ........ I like ...... girls......” her voice tailed away, and she bit her lip. “Oh,” I replied, trying to sound light-hearted, “any girl in particular?” By way of reply, she kissed me. A lingering, smouldering, pants-pissing kiss. It was like an electric shock going through me. I returned her kiss, and our tongues met. I led her to the bedroom and we had sex. Mad, wild, mind-blowing sex. As we lay together afterwards, I said, “God, Helen, that was like ...”, “... shagging your sister?” she giggled. That was about right. A buzzing sound told me that the drier was finished. She dressed, and I took her home. She even gave me a goodbye snog in the car before we got out. I had coffee at her house then went home, feeling elated, and a touch guilty.
At 8 o’clock that same evening, I was getting ready for a good shit in my pants, when the doorbell rang. Puzzled (I wasn’t expecting anyone), I looked through the spy-hole. It was Helen! I nearly did my load right then! I opened the door, and she flung herself at me, locking her lips to mine. Then she guided my hand down to her bum. She had a huge hot lump in her jeans.
“I’m sorry, Karen, I did it again.” She began to rub my hand over her seat. “Squish it, Karen, oh that feels so good!” She was in a cloud of shit fumes, and it drove me wild. I mashed her bulge flat, while she moaned and rubbed up against me. Then her hands were on my backside. “Do it too, Auntie Karen. Please.” I pushed and felt my load squelching out into my pants. I slipped my hands down the back of Helen’s jeans. “Oh yes!” she moaned. My fingers met the warm mess in her pants. I pushed my hands right in, scooped, and spread it up her back, then I began to lick my fingers. “Cool!” she exclaimed, and took a tentative lick. “Mmmmm, that’s good” she murmured, slipping her hands into my pants, while we shared a shitty kiss. She stuck her hands into my load, spreading it around. “It felt so good in the car, Karen, I was so turned on!” She pulled her hands out of my pants and we licked them clean between us. An hour later I had a very shitty bed to sleep in. Helen had to clean up (again!) and go home, but now she often stays the weekend with me. Mmmmmmm.