Sadie is pretty used to the two hour bus ride across town to get home from work. She usually listens to music and scrolls social media, trying to look unapproachable enough that no one will speak to her. It’s not that bad, really, and she can’t afford a car
Today, though, it’s a lot more uncomfortable than normal. She’s been feeling bloated all day, and it’s just seemed to get worse since she sat down on the bus, her stomach gurgling with built up gas. It’s barely twenty minutes in when the pressure gets bad enough that she can’t hold back a long fart. It’s silent, thankfully, but the smell is terrible. She tries to surreptitiously crack open the window: if anything, the pressure in her guts has only gotten worse, and she’s pretty sure that won’t be her only burst of flatulence.
Her stomach hurts so much. It’s not even five minutes before she’s pushing out another fart, desperate for some relief. The person sitting across the aisle from her sniffs and looks around, frowning. Sadie shifts in her seat and farts again, putting a hand on her stomach as it gurgles.
The pressure builds further, and she starts to push again before abruptly realizing that something much more solid than gas is pressing at her hole. She barely manages to clench in time, grinding her butt into the bus seat. She still has an hour and a half left, and she has to shit, now.
It feels like all the pressure in her guts has suddenly moved downward as she cramps horribly. She puts a hand beneath her and rocks against it, biting her lip as she tries desperately not to lose control. She makes it five minutes before another fart bubbles out of her, staining her underwear. The person across the aisle gives her a look and moves to a different part of the bus.
Despite her best efforts, little toots of gas keep bubbling out of her, each bringing a little more mess with it than the last. She’s still got more than an hour left when the first log starts pushing out properly, and she clenches as hard as she cn, barely managing to suck it back in.
She’s digging the nails of one hand into her leg as hard as she can, fighting the unbearable pressure in her stomach and trying not to attract any more attention to herself as she turtleheads. She’s still got more than 45 minutes left when the first log pushes out far enough that she can’t get it back in. Even pressing with her hand isn’t enough to stop it: it slowly mushes against the barrier of her pants and underwear, sliding further and further out despite her best efforts to stop it.
She takes her hand out from beneath herself, gripping the seat instead. She can’t handle having to feel the bulge growing beneath her, knowing that it will be obvious as soon as she stands.
The first log finally breaks off, followed by a long expulsion of gas. She manages to clench closed before more mess can come out, and she manages to hold it back for almost ten minutes before a torrent of bubbly mush explodes out of her, squishing up the back of her shirt. She’s lost all control and it just keeps pushing out of her; it can’t be more than a minute or two really, but it feels like a small eternity of cramping and shitting
Her stomach has visibly deflated by the time she’s done, although it’s still gurgling unpleasantly.
She’s sitting in her mess, still twenty minutes from home, when a large group of people get on the bus. It goes from being nearly empty to being full, including someone sitting right next to her. The uptick in anxiety is all her stomach needs to start cramping urgently again.
She can’t even squirm, aggressively aware of the man sitting next to her; if she moves, the smell of her poop will certainly intensify noticeably, and he’s bound to associate that with her shifting. There’s no initial gas this time, just another log of poop pushing insistently at her hole.
There’s less than ten minutes to her stop when it starts pushing out properly, and the rest of the ride is spent in frozen, miserable acceptance as she slowly poops herself again, several logs coming out as she fights them every step of the way. She nearly misses her stop, caught in the horror of the feeling.
She gives a little push as she taps the person next to her to let them know she needs off: she’s just hoping to not be actively pooping when she gets up, but of course this causes not only the rest of the log to push out but also a loud bubbly fart. The man looks at her in disgust as he stands to get out of her way, and it feels like everyone in the bus is staring at her as she waddles to the door.
Her tight, light colored jeans are no doubt showing off her accident in a very obvious way. Even once she’s off the bus, it feels like there must be eyes on her everywhere. She has to walk through a busy area of town to get home, and her stomach is still cramping, causing her to let out bubbly farts as she hurries toward home, feeling the large mess shifting against her bottom with every step
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