Poop Sex Blog

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The bizarre news item reached even Newcastle. Michael Dawkins took one look at the article in the newspaper, then packed his bags and returned to London as quickly as he could. He knew what must have happened - his sister had used the spell book and fallen foul of the consequences. Well at least she was safe, now. But it was imperative that he find out exactly what spells she cast so that he could try to prevent further problems.

He drove to the hospital in which she was being treated, and demanded to see her. The staff were reluctant, but finally he was taken to her doctor, who was only too happy to see Michael.

“This,” said Dr Singh quietly, “is one of the most extraordinary things I have ever seen. You had better sit down.”

“It’s okay,” said Michael grimly, “I am prepared for an extraordinary story. Just tell me what happened.”

“Well, she was brought in here yesterday by police who found her lying in a sewer. You may have read about the…”

“I saw the article.”

“Quite. Well, what the article did not say was that she appeared to be heavily pregnant at the time. Yet when she began to deliver…” Here the doctor paused and wiped his brow unhappily.

“Go on,” prompted Michael.

“She … gave birth to some kind of creature that was made entirely of … well, of excrement!”

“Yikes!” Michael was shocked. “Poor Alison!”

“That’s only the beginning. Within a few minutes she had given birth to thirteen other creatures, all identical to the first. In shape they resembled human babies, but they were able to run around on two legs almost from the second they emerged.”

Michael sank into a chair. “Good Lord, this is worse than I thought. What did you do with these creatures?”

“Oh we decapitated them with the biggest knife we could find,” said Dr Singh cheerfully. “That stopped them moving well enough. Then we chopped them up and flushed them. Oh, except one, which we’ve kept for detailed examination.”

“So, is Alison okay now?” asked Michael.

The doctor shook his head. “A few minutes after the last ‘birth’,” he said, “she defecated, and her stool was similarly imbued with a life of its own. We chopped it up and flushed it, but I’m not convinced we killed it - the pieces were all still wriggling when they disappeared down the pan.” He sighed. “A little over an hour later, she defecated again, and the same thing happened. And an hour after that, and an hour after that. Fortunately she’s quite regular - we know when we need to get back in there and capture her expulsions.” He looked at his watch. “She’s due to defecate again in about thirty-five minutes. Heaven knows where it’s all coming from, and I’ve no idea how we are to stop it.”
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girls lick an eat poo

Alison Dawkins stared out of the car window at the passing beech hedge, trying to make out the identity of the birds on the lake beyond. It was hard to tell at this distance, particularly since she could only see them for a fraction of a second at a time. She had just about decided that they were mallards when a sharp instruction from her brother Michael jolted her from her reverie.

“Quick,” he said, “grab the forty miles per hour sign.”

She bent down and felt around under her seat for the A3-sized placards that he had made up. She pulled them out and flipped through them, looking for the one he wanted.

“Good grief, would you look at this idiot?” growled Michael. “Doesn’t he know what a de-restricted sign means, for heaven’s sake?” He changed down into third gear and cruised up to a few yards behind the bumper of the car in front, edging out towards the middle of the road in the hope that a break in the oncoming traffic would coincide with a long straight stretch. To his delight, after the next corner the road was clear for a couple of hundred yards.

“Okay, here we go,” he said. “Hold up the sign!”

As the car swung out to overtake, Alison pressed her sign against the window, while her brother hooted to get the attention of the other car’s driver. Peeping around the edge of the placard, she saw the elderly gentleman in question start in surprise as he read the message: “THIS IS NOT A 40 LIMIT, YOU IDIOT!”

Leaving the old man spluttering indignantly in his wake, Michael grinned as he quickly roared up to fifty miles per hour then changed up into fourth, still accelerating. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Thanks Ali.”

Alison replaced the signs under her seat and returned to staring out of the window. Her brother glanced across at her. “You okay?” he asked.

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