Hey everyone, I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe from COVID-19. I’ve got another little story for you. I wasn’t looking for trouble, but some people really pissed me off at the clinic a week ago. How did that end, you ask? 

Deep inside my ass. 

Previously...I mentioned I felt like I was getting a little too comfortable with anal vore. It was damaging my relationship, but since then my fiance and I have found a sort of equilibrium. Once a week is officially our limit. Sure, I’ve done some risque things in the past on rare occasions when I’m partying or freaked out. But right now I need to clarify a few points, since today’s story might lead some of you to view me in a negative light.

I’ve noticed there are basically two “types'' of AV. 

The first is consen s ual. It involves willing or semi-willing partners being dominated for fun. This is what I do with my fiance. Also that one time I was socially cornered at that fake “masquerade” (read: S&M) party, and that quasi-ill-fated shopping trip where I obtained the Holy Massage Chair. This story isn’t going to be like those ones. At all.  

The second type is basically a nasty form of bullying and kidnapping. It inspires people to seek revenge afterward, because it’s super embarrassing. I only ever did this to Raul and his friends when they mugged me. And Troy when he goaded me super hard at the club. Since then I’ve done some soul searching and come to the conclusion that I need to set clear limits on when and how I’ll do this. Taking a living person, shrinking them down to tiny size, sticking them up my butt, and keeping them inside my rectum (which I poop through) for hours on end if they’re not into anal vore and not attracted to me isn’t lethal thanks to the remote. But it is traumatizing. Raul taught me this. 

So here’s my policy; I will never anal vore an unwilling person unless I’m seriously threatened or the person is bad enough that they truly deserve to be broken. When I say “broken” I mean humiliated so badly that it completely destroys their resistance, morale, and spirit. A broken person is one who won’t come after me later for revenge. This is the only way I can be safe after the fact. So if they don’t deserve to be broken that badly, I won’t do it at all. And I’ll always try to remain anonymous. Women are conditioned to be peaceful, but all ladies fantasize about feeling desired and having some level of influence and power. It would probably shock you nerds how many of us would gladly anal vore someone if we knew for certain we wouldn’t get in trouble, rumors wouldn’t spread, and they’d definitely survive. 

Okay, so, the story.

In this world there are certain people who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re rich and deserve special treatment. They are rude to servers, throw tantrums in stores, cut to the front of lines, demand to see managers, etc. They have a huge sense of entitlement and they’re usually white women called “Karens”. If they’re men they’re called “Terrys”. Karens and Terry’s normally get what they want because people are too timid/polite to refuse them. They react to refusal by making a scene until everyone complies. And they’re usually bigots too. 

I'm 100% filipina by descent. I was raised in the US. I don’t speak tagalog, but my parents were immigrants from Cebu. So I'm brown skinned and viewed as a minority by nasty people like this. My parents may have been uneducated, but my dad worked his ass off in construction to get me into nursing school. It was important to him that *I* have a better life, so I don’t tolerate people speaking ill of him. I also hate Filipinos being referred to as "oriental mexicans''. That's not ok. 

It started out as a normal day. I showed up at the clinic, clocked in, and the duty schedule had me in urgent care. When you work urgent care you develop a robust immune system and take a battery of immunization shots. Even so you have to be careful, especially with COVID-19 spreading everywhere. There are always clueless hypocondriacs who refuse to heed CDC warnings and show up in urgent care at weird hours. They run the risk of infecting others. That’s why we have the screening table and checkpoints. It’s for everyone’s safety. 

Karen and Terry showed up around 3 pm in a sapphire blue Mercedes with no masks on. They’re obviously not in critical condition, but think they might be infected. I caught COVID-19 four months ago and recovered well, so I’m one of the front liners with a buffered immune system who normally interfaces with people like this. My hispanic coworker Jesus greets them. Jesus is a nice guy. He tells them, politely, that if you think you have COVID you should *not* rush to urgent care because you risk infecting other people. You have to call it in. 

Karen and Terry didn’t like to hear this. They threw a tantrum, demanded to be admitted, and asked to speak to our supervisor. When informed that these protocols were for everyone’s protection, Terry did the following;

Said urgent care was full of immigrants who don’t pay taxes, preventing “actual citizens'' from receiving care. Accused Jesus and me of giving preferential treatment to such people because of our ethinicity. Physically forced his way through the checkpoint, into the urgent care lobby, while coughing and not covering his mouth. Karen was right behind him. 

The lobby contained three sick kids, five elderly people with long term disabilities, one girl with a mild bike accident, an African-American boy with food poisoning, and an adult man with stomach pain. Terry barged right up to the reception desk and started going off on Julia, the woman who worked there. She got tough because there were immunocompromised people in the lobby, to which Karen replies that this is a risk all people take when coming to urgent care and it’s not her problem. I’m shocked by this. 

A doctor emerges from the back and tries to calm them, but Terry and Karen continue to get more hysterical. Finally the doctor orders Jesus to put them in a room to shut them up and minimize the risk of exposure. The African-American kid is looking pale and putting on a brave face until we can get him admitted, but we’re full up. I’m feeling bad for him. And then this GOD DAMN SHITSACK touches the immunocompromised little black boy on the head by ruffling his hair on the way into the back hall. Jesus leads them to their room in icy silence, then turns on Terry and demands to know why he did that if he thought he was infected.

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

So it was intentional. I’m standing out in the hall as Jesus closes them up. Some of the staff murmur angrily. They all heard it. Karen throws a new tantrum about 20 minutes later. The doctor sees them 20 minutes after that. Either we don’t have adequate security on staff to deal with them, or their affluence is making management hesitant to order it done because they fear lawsuits. I’m literally brimming with rage as they leave. Tests are scheduled. This is so unprofessional. 

Fast forward several hours to the evening. I get off work, start driving home, and decide to stop at a stripmall to buy takeout Chinese. I’m still thinking about Terry and Karen. I need to vent to my fiance. And then...there it is. The Mercedes. I recognize the license plate number. I was looking at it as they drove away. I decide to sit in my car for a few minutes and see what happens.

They emerge from the Chinese restaurant. No masks on. Laughing and chatting and obviously intoxicated. This is *my* fucking Chinese restaurant. And now I can’t go in because if I have a reasonable cause to suspect a place is infected I have to avoid that place. Not to mention I like the little old couple who run the place. Little and old. The exact sort of people who shouldn’t be exposed. I was so upset. 

I grab the remote out of my purse, pull on a hat, jump out as they get into the Mercedes, walk through the dark parking lot to Karen’s window (which is open), and zap them both from behind. They don’t even see me. I pull my face into my shirt and reach inside the car to grab them both off the seats while they’re stunned. I clench them both in my fist to keep them blind and deaf, and immediately head to the alley between the restaurant and a mattress store. The longer they have the potential to see their surroundings, the greater their chance of identifying me. I’m not going to give them the chance. 

I know this is the part you nerds really like, and I wish I could make this more satisfying, but I didn’t coquette things at all. I was standing in a dark alley and anybody could have come along. I was mad. After picking at them with my fingernails to remove their cellphones I just arch my back, stick my big butt out, pull my tights and thong down just enough, and use my middle finger to roughly pound each of them both up my asshole one after the other. Then I pull up my tights, stand tall to close my cheeks, do a little adjustment dance to situate my clothes, dig a wetwipe out of my purse, clean off my finger, and toss it in a dumpster.

And then I go get Thai. Duck drunken noodles with extra tofu, to be specific. And chicken Panang curry with brown rice for my man. 

I’m hitting pause here. Later on I learned they were both in their late-40’s. They had stepchildren from previous marriages, but no kids living with them. They didn’t go to work. Nobody knew they were missing or went to check on them AT ALL. And to the best of my knowledge after I let them go there was no follow-up. Remember what I said about breaking people? I broke the HELL out of these people. They deserved it. I have absolutely no remorse. 

This was the first time I’ve ever anal vored somebody I truly *loathed*. It’s not the same. Even that indian guy at the mall only did something offensive and disrespectful to *me*, and I liked his smile, so I got even and then we were done. But this was different. These were genuinely bad people who didn’t care about the lives of others and got away with it because society protected them. And now they were at my mercy and unable to bring any sort of threat to bear against me. 

I’ve discovered that...when you truly loathe someone, tormenting them isn’t fun. It is however deeply satisfying. There’s a sense of justice to it. Everyone else I’ve ever anal vored was somebody I wanted to tease and bully. But those words are too playful to describe what I felt for these two. They thought I was some sort of sub-human because I was a minority. I wanted to destroy their pride. To wipe that sense of superiority out of them permanently. I guess on some level they frightened me and made me feel inferior and inadequate, so I needed them to understand that they were now less than me. That I looked down on them. That everything they once based their feelings of superiority on was now worthless. 

When I got home I spoke to my fiance in a low voice and explained what happened. He was pretty freaked out at first. But he agreed to only speak to me in low tones going forward, so my “prisoners” couldn’t clearly make out our voices or what we were saying. We did normal things that night. Ate dinner, did laundry (mostly him), cleaned dishes, watched TV. He got me into this crazy new viking M inecraft game called Valheim with some of his work friends. It was pretty fun. 

But you’re not reading this for my day to day routine. You’re reading this for the dirty stuff, and over the next week there was plenty of that. I’ll give you the highlights to save time;

First off, I’m very regular. Every morning I use the toilet and take a “victory dump” on them. Sometimes they get pushed out with my shit, sometimes they don’t. I don’t usually use such vulgar terms because I’m majorly turned off by the whole scat thing. But I’m going to add some melodrama here because, even though it didn’t do anything for me sexually, I found it very satisfying. I swear every time I had a bowel movement baby Jesus cheered or a fairy was born or something. 

Every time I went number two I could never tell whether I’d actually shit them out or not, so I had to keep a ski-mask next to the toilet. I’d wait until I was totally done, then sit there on my cell phone for about ten minutes playing Pokemon Go. In that time they would extricate themselves from my shit and come up for fresh air. But all they could see apart from the “ring” of light around the toilet bowl overhead was my cunt and anus. Then I’d put on the mask, stand up, fish them out, rinse them off, and immediately stuff them back up my asshole. Then I’d stick the bubble tube up my bum about six inches, to push them in deep. This was all the daylight and fresh air they got. Period.

Second, my fiance and I had sex. Twice. I don’t like anal sex because it hurts, so that wasn’t a thing, but I did ask him to get me from behind hard. That’s very punishing. Afterward I dug out a bullet vibrator on a cord and stuck it up my rear. I left it on low while sitting in the massage chair a few times. On day three they tried to escape while I was at work, and I had to squeeze my pucker closed for hours until they both got exhausted and my internal peristalsis could suck them back in deep. After that I decided to make a policy of inserting the bullet vibrator up my ass whenever I got home, but I’d leave it off most of the time. The remote with the rolling thumb-dial I kept in my waistband. I simply wanted it in there with them, to block attempts at escape and make it clear that I could suddenly turn it on at any moment. Which I did do a number of times. So did my fiance. He developed an odd fascination with sneaking up behind me while I was cooking to suddenly thumb roll it on and off. Initially I got mad at him for this. But then we worked out a system where he’d tap my shoulder to warn me first. 

To prevent escapes after that, I didn’t use the bullet vibrator at work because there’s a chance it might have turned on at the clinic. I don’t need to have to explain to my coworkers what that muffled buzzing sound is and why my ass is vibrating. -_- So I used the anal beads I got during my shopping spree at the mall to keep them in. I spend most of the day on my feet anyway. Gas gets a bit painful at times, but they never could get past them. 

Third, I ate spicy food. Burritos with salsa, drunken noodles, mapo tofu, etc. I did have some stomach distress, but I like the endorphin rush. And they certainly did not. 

Fourth, I worked out. We go to the gym four times a week now. Anal beads are too “filling” to keep inside me when doing a workout, so I switch to a buttplug with a t-bar for this. I’d like to say I did a bunch of crazy exercises to torture them, and I’m sure some of my exercises probably did, but really I just worked out normally and forgot they were in there. There’s probably no greater insult to people who think they’re important than to be disempowered and then ignored. I’m sure that being ignored while up the ass of a woman they considered ethnically “inferior” to themselves was even worse. >) Forgive me a cruel chuckle here. 

Fifth, I sat in the jacuzzi. Twice. For about an hour at a time. Our apartment complex has a pool. Fiance and I went downstairs in our swimsuits and sat around with the bubbles on, watching the stars and talking about stuff. I don’t even know what being deep up my ass is like when I’m sitting in the hot tub. Probably very uncomfortable. I’ve never done it to my man, so I can’t ask him. Maybe I’ll try it out for his birthday or our anniversary or x-mas or something. 

And Sixth, I gave them a talkin’ to. 

I have this...little portable speaker puck that connects to my phone. It’s a few years old, but it works just fine. I use a text to voice app to listen to novels in the car. I recorded a few sentences in a word file, plugged in the puck (in bed one evening), sat on it in my chonies, and played the messages back using an electronic female British voice. Sitting on a speaker, even at low volume, is very audible to anyone in my vaginal or anal cavities. It wasn’t a long lecture. Maybe a single paragraph. 

Eventually, six days later, I got around to letting them go. This had to be done carefully to make sure they couldn’t identify me in any way. It began in the bathroom that morning; after shitting them out I waited my usual ten minutes and then used text-to-voice (while still sitting on the toilet) to order them to take off their clothes or else I’d flush them. Ten minutes later I stand up with my mask on and check to see if they’ve complied. They’re exhausted from treading water, but naked. I fish them back out, wash them off, and drop each of them into one of my socks. Then my feet go in, and I put on my Nikes and a mini-skirt. 

From here it’s a short walk down to the parking lot. I get into the car, go to the YMCA, and take a walk. I can feel the tiny little lumps under the arch of each foot, but they don’t move much. Being trapped under my feet inside my stinky workout shoes is pretty exhausting. It can’t kill you at that size, but it’s not easy. When I reach the park I go into a cinder block bathroom, check to make sure it’s empty, head into the big stall, and get my mask out. Once it’s on I pull my shoes off and remove them from my socks. I stare down at them in my open palm and wait, silently, while they slowly recover. Reacclimating to daylight, fresh air, and not being stepped on takes a while. 

They don’t say anything. They just stare at me in numb silence. This is what a broken person looks like. I remember that look from Raul. I also remember that Terry may have given that kid at the urgent care COVID. My stare is hard. My mouth is drawn. I hold up a notecard to them. It says; “Please apologize for your behavior at the hospital.” 

And they do. Quietly. Submissively. 

I place them on the ground, squat down over them, and pull my thong aside. They cower on the concrete floor beneath my skirt. I flip the notecard over. It says; “Remember this moment. If you behave that way again you will not be found.” 

Then I zap them back to normal size, naked and sprawled on the filthy floor, and quickly walk out. They do not pursue. And now I’m here, writing about it. 

I guess that’s all for now. I hope this satisfies.