The Summons

My name is Nathan. Events portrayed in this story are entirely fictional.

I liked California. I was working for a medium-sized computer repair shop just outside my residential area. I was paid comfortably enough to live in a two-unit townhouse. Several times I'd noticed a tall, moderately tanned, fairly fit blonde woman entering the other townhouse unit. She looked to be in her late thirties, and wore her hair in a long bob; it hung straight down each side of her face to just below her jawline.

When I classified her as 'fit,' I didn't mean skinny. She kind of had the hourglass figure going. Her belly was flat, but more broad than the average woman who might be called 'thin.' There was a good, but not overdone, curve at her hips. Her butt wasn't wide, but the cheeks of it were definitely rounded out, protruding nicely and leaving me to wonder if she had 'junk in the trunk,' to some extent.

When I called her 'tall,' I estimated that she was probably six-foot-two. She did have shapely long legs that I wanted to run my hands all over. She had medium breasts and dark blue eyes. Generally, I liked the following features in a woman: hair style, facial features, eyes, legs, build, tits, and ass. Actually, I really liked the posterior region on my women.

I could appreciate a toned one, but gravitated toward the over-sized variety; to get there, it often meant the ladies weren't exactly skinny, and that was fine.

The neighbor lady and I had not to this point exchanged even pleasantries with each other. Getting home today though, getting dinner in to cook, there came a knock at my door. It was a Friday afternoon, so the work week was done. Making sure the oven was in a 'safe' condition, I turned and stepped over to answer the door.

I opened it, and there she was, in all her long-legged, sexy blonde glory. Steering clear of awkward, I said, "Hi. Something I can do for you?"

"Well. maybe," she replied. "I stopped in down at the "Amped" PC shop. I want to tweak my laptop and set up a new printer. They said they could do it, but pointed me to you. I was told you work there full-time, but chase low-cost jobs on the side?"

"I do," I said. "Dinner is in and cooking, so would it be all right to get that out of the way and stop by in a while when I'm free?"

"That'd be fine. Other than the printer, I just want some software installed on the laptop. I try to do that stuff, bad things happen," she explained.

"All right. I could probably make it in an hour or so," I said.

She stepped back from the door and said she'd see me in a bit, then. I waited another twenty minutes for dinner to get done, ate, did the dishes and freshened up and changed out of my work clothes for shorts and a t-shirt.

Now it was my turn to knock on her door. She opened it in less than fifteen seconds. "Hey," she said. "Follow me to the computer." I stepped in and closed the door behind me, then trailed her up a short flight of stairs to her main living area. Directly across the room were two doors. One was a bedroom. The other was a combination office/ bedroom.

Very near the left-side walls were the bed, the built-in closet, a dresser and TV. The right side of the room contained a desk, on the wall I was currently looking directly at, with a pair of two-drawer file cabinets on the right-side wall. A printer and laptop sat on the desk, at the left and middle, respectively.

I started with the software install for the printer. I chose the option to run the printer wirelessly, and let it communicate via USB before disconnecting permanently after the printer "found" the wireless network. We ran a test document and everything worked as it should. Then I worked through the point-and-click install for Microsoft Office 2010.

Everything went well, and we opened the programs she used often. They were fine. "Thanks," she said. "I know that stuff isn't overly hard, but I'm neither lucky nor talented at it. So how long you been next door?"

"About three months," I said. "Been at my job for 18 months. I saved my pennies for fifteen, because I wanted into a nice, but not ridiculous, place."

"Well, I've been around here for that three months. About that long ago, I bought the entire townhouse," she said, "on the condition that there was a decent tenant renting the other side. I was assured there was, and I agreed not to kick said tenant out."

"So you own the place entirely. That means I guess I'd better at least make your acquaintance and know your name," I said. "I'm Nathan."

"I had you pegged for a geek, but I'm re-evaluating." She stuck out her hand. We shook, and she said, "I'm Amy." We said it was nice to meet each other. Then she said, "I've been a townhouse owner for six years, different places. There's always only one other tenant. That's the way I prefer it. Then I take time to get to know the person, and I don't have the tenanting issues of a regular apartment.

"So I'd like to see you here tomorrow evening. I figure on putting burgers and brats on the grill. We can have dinner and just enjoy the outdoors," Amy suggested.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be here," I agreed. "Around six ok?"

"Yeah, I'll have the grill going by 5:30, it'll heat, we'll cook and eat by like quarter after," she said.

"All right. See you then," I said. "Thanks for the invite. It's nice to know my landlord," I added. I turned and strode away. Around the back of the house there was a very broad expanse of gently sloping grass. There was a group of trees between us and the next property, and our residential street at the front was fairly quiet. It was likely to make a nice evening tomorrow.

Day Two

I killed the day on Saturday with house chores. I mowed my section of lawn at the front. The rear was hired out; it was certainly big enough, and most small outfits charged $40 a cut. There was enough of my rent, Amy could deduct the groundskeeping and make a comfortable chunk.

I cleaned house, did two loads of laundry, took a walk, lifted weights, and caught a movie via Amazon Instant Video to kill a chunk of time in the afternoon before I made my way to Amy's just before six. Sure enough, by about 5:30 I began smelling burning charcoal on the faint breeze that was moving. I knocked at the front and Amy opened up and directed me around back. Five minutes later she appeared with a platter bearing half a dozen raw burgers and that many freshly boiled brats. She laid everything out on the hot grill and dropped the lid.

We pulled up a pair of lawn chairs kitty-corner a few feet from the grill. "I heard you getting all your housekeeping done. Are you the organized type?" Amy asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Have been for years."

"I didn't figure I'd have a problem with you," she declared.

"You won't," I assured her. "I know what it takes, and I've never been disrespectful or lazy regarding my living situation," I added.

"I love that smell," Amy said, speaking of the smell of the grilling food. She looked at me and said, "You do like grilled food."

"Yeah, I answered, "one of my favorite things."

"Anybody who doesn't take that position is nuts," Amy decided, as she got up to turn and check the meat. She arranged things, and then announced that she was going to grab a couple of salads, some chips, and condiments. I remained rooted, with her permission, making sure the grill didn't shoot flames while she was gone.

It took two trips, but she had everything squared away and ready to be served in about five minutes. She took the finished brats off the grill and turned the burgers one more time and closed the lid again. She gave them a few more minutes, checked them with a thermometer. They were ready. Each of us filled a plate and ate in companionable silence.

She served a little ice cream for dessert. We both ended up comfortably full, with plenty of water to aid our digestion. I helped with cleanup where I could, including scraping down the grill. Amy pawned off two brats and a burger to me, along with a little of both salads.

I went to put things away in my fridge, and Amy said, "Hey, come on back over and sit with me out here awhile when you get stuff put away." Who was I to argue, I guess? I completed the fridge run, returning with a six-pack of Heineken.

We ended up sitting outside staring at the expanse of back lawn and having a couple beers each, sucking up two hours of the evening. Amy sat a little slumped, with her long legs stretched out in front of her.

"You have nice legs," I pointed out offhandedly.

"I wondered if I might turn you on a little bit," she admitted. "How old are you, anyhow?" she asked.

"Thirty-three," I replied.

"I'm thirty eight," she returned.

A little idle conversation later, the bugs tried to kill us both. But yet Amy wouldn't let me leave. We went in and up the entry stairs. I parked myself on the couch, to the right of the stairs against a wall. In front of the couch along a half-wall was the TV. The kitchen was to the left of the main living area. Amy made a point of sitting next to me. She swung her legs up and rested her feet on my lap.

"I don't suppose you'd rub my feet?" she questioned.

"Bear in mind, I'm not, and have never claimed to be, a professional," I pointed out.

"I don't want a professional, just a foot rub," she pressed.

"All right." I took one of her feet and gently worked each toe with a couple of fingers. I wrapped my hands around the top of her foot, rubbing the top side and kneading into the bottom with my thumbs. She didn't startle at all. I worked back toward her ankle and heel, gently pushing my fingers along the top and working my thumbs into her heel. I repeated the process with her other foot.

"Wow, that was nice. Many thanks," Amy said. She swung her feet back to the floor. She spread her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. She looked at me. "One good turn deserves another. So come sit over here and I'll work a little magic for you."

I slid over next to her. She spread her legs and said, "No, dummy, park your backside right here," , and patted the couch cushion between them. I moved and carefully sat myself down.

I felt Amy's hands at my shoulders, rubbing. They shifted to moving up and down my back after a few minutes. They returned to my shoulders and kneaded in, more and more deeply, for several minutes. She worked her fingers and palms into my back for a length of time.

"Shit, that's nice," I said quietly. Amy very carefully shifted her hands to work my neck, and she was more careful and decidedly gentle when compared to my other parts. As she let her hands work my shoulders again, I felt Amy wrap her arms around my chest and lean toward me.

Then I heard a long, thumping rumble rolling into the couch cushion. "Yes. Better," Amy said. She massaged me some more. A few minutes later, another long, steady raspberry played against the couch where both of our butts rested. Amy's hands slid down to take mine.

"I want to just sit here with you and let things out. I've got more, and I want to keep going," Amy said quietly. "I'll make you a deal. I won't restrain you, and you just stay put till I'm done."

"I guess," I conceded. To this point, things weren't kinky or anything. And my sense of smell wasn't offended. Amy let her hands roam some more. Enjoying the feel of her touching me, I relaxed.

Minutes passed. Amy worked another long, loud roar into the upholstery. It was impressive in its own way. With my hands in hers again, she leaned toward my left ear, and asked, "Honestly, you doing okay?" Her warm breath was nice on my cheek. She puckered up and gave me a quick, gentle, sucking kiss.

I said, "I'm fine. What you're doing isn't very lady-like."

She laughed. I felt her shaking as she leaned on me. "I guess it isn't. Okay, one more go-round. She sighed, and I felt her relax.

Then her mind shifted gears. "This is going to be different," she decided. She slid back and gracefully disentangled herself from behind me. "Stay. Good boy." She treated me to a cocky smile.

She pulled the curtains across her two adjoining living room windows. She came and stood in front of me and unfastened her jeans. She tugged them down and pulled them off. I was treated to a nice view of a hot-pink bikini bottom and her long legs. My penis woke and responded of its own accord.

Amy peeled the bikini bottom down across her ass cheeks. Literally. She stepped out of it and said, "Hold this, kiddo." I took it. Standing there in front of me, I fully absorbed the very firsthand view of her ass. It was very round. Tanned and smooth. She carefully eased it onto my lap.

A minute later, she let loose a seconds-long gassy rumble. I felt some weak vibrations in my thighs. Amy sat for a couple more minutes. Then she lifted her butt off my lap, but she didn't move any further. The air around us smelled faintly of sulfur.

Holding herself up with one arm, Amy used her other to take each of my hands and clamp them to her waist. She put her hand down again and stayed there, her ass a few inches off my lap.

I suddenly had a minor premonition about what she might do. "Amy, you shouldn't," I said. She was going to put a number two in my lap!?

"That's true," she said, "maybe I shouldn't. Some would argue it's just wrong. But I would like to, and I want to, so I'm going to. We can wash your shorts, man. Don't worry. I'm making the mess, I'll clean it up."

Without further ado, she sighed deeply. Then I heard a soft groan. Unbidden, my eyes locked on her caboose. I noticed a couple of inches of brown sticking out of her anus. Not showing a lot of effort, the turd grew for Amy, sliding out easily after clearing the broad end. She sighed and groaned again, and her log of shit grew some more and dropped free, squarely into my lap.

It was dark, looked a little firm, and had healthy length. A heavy ripe odor slammed into my nose. "Jesus," I said. I felt the weight of it in my lap, and it was body-heat warm, besides. Reaction check; I was pretty sure I wasn't going to puke; it didn't smell that bad; but...my dick was hard, throbbing.

Obviously my sexual center liked what Amy had just done to me. She stood up and wandered into one bedroom. I heard toilet paper unrolling. She was wiping. She returned , walked over, and carefully lifted her gift off my lap as if she did it all the time. She returned to the toilet, and I heard it flush shortly.

Amy came out again. She asked me to lose my shorts. I stepped out of them carefully and held them out. Come to think of it, the laundry facilities were at the bottom of the stairs, in an alcove to the right of the entry door. She disappeared again. I heard the washing machine in a couple of minutes.

She returned. "I can go get you some clean shorts. Tell me where to find them in your place."

All righty then, I supposed. I turned over my keys. My place was a lot like hers, with no stairs and the second bedroom containing the laundry appliances. I told her where my bedroom was, and where to find my clothes.

Then I said, "Tell me your not going to shit on me once I have the clean ones."

"I could pull an encore, but no, I won't. The kinky animal has been satisfied for the time being."

"Thank you for sharing," I said sarcastically. She fired right back. "You'll like it when I share." She stepped over, and blatantly reached toward my groin and groped it gently. "Looks like we have a reaction. I'd say it wasn't as bad as you tried to make me think it was."

She disappeared and returned in three minutes with my clean shorts. I pulled them on and seated myself on the couch again. Amy joined me, settling close again.

"You're not denying I've got the looks," she said, more stated than questioned.

"No, not denying that," I confirmed.

"Well, my opinion is, you're not ugly. So I gave in to an urge, without trying to explain it first. If I had, you probably would have up and left. Come on. 'Hey, Nathan, I'm kinky and I want to shit on you.' Probably not going over well," Amy pointed out.

"So you have...a fetish," I suggested.

"I suppose you could call it that. I do have limits. I don't do blatantly messy stuff or dangerous stuff related to this. Dropping a load in the toilet with a partner in attendance, or taking a dump on a partner, those things are in my wheelhouse. Making a mess after dispensing isn't my thing; forcing that kind of activity or other things that could be called outright gross don't do it for me. I do like mild domination and just a touch of control.

"It was very forward of me to do what I did with you. But I wanted to have it out in the open. It isn't my intention to be mean; I don't get into humiliating people. There are certain aspects of my kinky side that I want to enjoy. That's all. I'm not a porn star for my kink. I do what I do behind closed doors, with the understanding that what happens is between consenting adults and stays between them."

"Most of the boundaries that matter seem well-defined," I said.

"They are. That said, there is one thing I need to tell you. My fetish is my own, but a few years ago, I became friends with a couple of ladies who had parallel interests. One of them is strictly into golden showers, tolerates worship of bodily areas, and would explore the pooping angle with the right person.

"The other lady is very into the defecation end of things. Like me, she doesn't do messy or gross, or outright humiliation. She does a certain amount of control. She's been into the fetish for like fifteen years. She's not an independent professional mistress, but she has the temperament for it. She has done several photo and video shoots for websites that cater to the fetish.

"If you think I lay big turds,this lady will blow your mind. She happens to be heavy, a little round, with a big butt; I'm talking probably twice what I've got. The odd thing is, beyond her size, she's pretty enough. She likes ass worship and face-sitting, and passing gas. She understands that people new to the circle the three of us have might be uncomfortable with her because of her size and her interests, afraid that she would dominate them and have her way whether they liked it or not. She talks really kinky, but she may as well be a professional. She'd take good care of a person she wanted to explore her interests with."

"And I get to know all this because?" I inquired.

"Because the three of us are getting together tomorrow. And you won't have to leave when we do. I didn't guarantee you would be into the things we are, but the others would like to meet you and try a few things. The golden shower lady would like to treat you at least twice. The bigger is better lady would like to let you ride the porcelain with her, and load up your lap, and pass gas with you."

"Jesus, I don't know," I said. "I'm not that comfortable with you, as it stands."

"These ladies will break you in. Even with the limited timeframe--we're thinking three afternoons/evenings to work with you, and continue our working lives--they'll go easy, and they will treat you right. They get it, and they'll take good care of you when the kink happens. They're friendly. You don't have to fear or worry."

"Just for my lack of relations with the ladies in general at this point, I'll meet your friends. But my input has to matter," I said.

"Sure, that's absolutely understandable," Amy agreed. She took my face gently in her hands." Nathan, you have nothing to fear. The ladies are looking to help you enjoy what they do. That's it. You were hung when I shit in your lap. Let things ride with us for a few evenings. Get something out of it for yourself," Amy suggested.

"This just became a summons," I said to her.

"That's probably true," she admitted. "You get the bed in the office, or you have the option to share mine."

I went to grab some essentials from my place, and then I returned and chose option two. Amy's smile and subsequent kiss on the lips, with tongue, made me weak.