Tybear🍼

You groan as your stomach churns, and you grab at your abdomen, digging fingers into the flesh. You really have to go, it's getting dire now, but there's absolutely no way you can go now: you have too many things to attend to on the stove. Plus, you want your hubby's dish to be just perfect; you'd be so upset if his nice congratulatory meal was overcooked or gummy in any way on account of you needing to stop for a simple toilet break, and you couldnt afford to remake anything since he'd be home at 5:10. You were a grown woman capable of holding her bowels; you'd attend to the rest of the meal while it finished cooking in ten minutes, and then you'd escape to the toilet.

While your game plan fills you with inspiration and self-assured confidence at first, it quickly wavers on account of your cramps growing more intense. You groan harder and lean on the stove as a particularly crushing twinge travels through your colon, pushing the mass even closer to your exit. You can feel the walls of your intestines ripple around the bulking mass, your sweaty anus puckering in preparation for passing it.

Perspirstion builds up on your brow, and you have to swallow back a tad bit of nausea. It's getting worse, the urge to go, but this dinner matters more. Your meal has to be just perfect; you want to give him nothing less. You don't want to let him down.

The next wave sends you folding over, gripping the handle of the oven for dear life. Your bowels spasm, making it evidently clear that they'd like you seated on a toilet by the way the mass starts to prod at your sphincter.

You whine as your bowels involuntarily start pushing harder, trying to carry out its instinctual processes of waste disposal. You grip the bar harder and focus everything you've got on sucking the log back in, which has started to poke at the fabric of your white polyester underwear.

With some degree of success, you succeed, and manage to fend off the pushing until the wave subsides. Already your tailbone feels sweaty from the exertion, and if that was the kind of force you were left to fight, then you hoped the food would be done soon. You will your shaking core and legs to make you stand up straight, swallowing the excess saliva.

You lift lids and stir and adjust the temperature as needed, making sure nothing sticks to the bottom and burns and ruins the warm meal your loving husband deserves. You clench and whine some more as the pressure begins building again, gripping the front of your apron and twisting it.

Here it comes, the urge to push and the mounting pressure builds back up again, more forceful than before. You gasp, slamming your legs and involuntarily sticking your butt out as the cheeks start to spread again, this time erupting with a decent bit of the first hard log managing to escape, plopping into your underwear after getting pinched off. It's still connected to the rest of the piece inside your rectum on account of how dry and packed the waste is, so you use that to your advantage, clenching and willing for it to not stretch your underwear beyond just the tip that's pressing into the fabric. This was happening whether you'd like it to or not.

The wave starts back up again, and as you frantically slam the lid back onto the pot to steady yourself against the oven as the load starts slowly easing out more and more, slowly stretching your anus to a size you're sure you've never experienced before. Strong ripples travel up your spine as you gasp again, failing to fight back the rest of the exiting load. You can only stand there in horror as the large log pushes past your cheeks, finally passing the rest of your hole before collecting in the seat of your panties.

Another log starts emerging right behind it, and you decide to succumb to nature, bracing yourself as the next large log starts to pebble out atop the last one. Your anus sputters with trapped gas and softer, newer waste that was trapped behind the old build-up. You groan in relief as your body keeps expelling the waste.

With the worst of it over, you shudder and pant, finally being granted the ability to stand up somewhat straight again. You're pretty sure your panties are ruined at that point on account of all the heavy waste sagging in them, but you did what you had to do.

Dinner is ready in two more minutes. You continue stirring and attending to each pot, eventually flipping each burner off one by one as they come to a rest. Now that you no longer have to worry about dinner potentially being ruined, you can finally leave the kitchen.