I didn't know what to say.She set a faster gait on the way back to the car. I didn't know it then, but she was in a hurry to get back to the books. I objected, telling her that it was late. "You can use the shower first. We'll get up early and you'll feel refreshed," I said.Megan started to say something, but smiled and headed for the bathroom, refraining from making another remark about my orders. She wasn't in the bathroom long. "All yours," she said when she came out, dressed for bed and drying her hair with a towel. I didn't stay under the water long either. When I went into the bedroom I discovered that she had added a blanket to the bed. She was wearing the same T-shirt that had gotten me into trouble with Kelley."Roll over and I'll give you a back rub," I offered."Are you going to massage my feet?" she teased as she rolled onto her tummy."This is not a massage. It's a back rub," I said, as I inserted my hand under her hair to start with her neck. Her hair was still damp. I. They stayed like it for long seconds, her awaiting his ride which she partly wanted and partly dreaded. However, to her amazement a strange sensation began deep in her belly, a filling stretching feeling. Stiff though he appeared to be, he was pissing emptying his bladder deep up into her, it was a strange feeling, she felt bloated, the fat phallus making a tight seal, so the bladder-full was rapidly swelling her belly, not leaking away, stretching and washing her guts the pain increasing with every drip, every splash, every dribble, and this fire hose of a tool was passing copious amounts. She began to scream, the pain near unbearable as the fill increased, and the pressure mounted. She was aware of the men laughing, her belly distended like a pregnant woman, or a balloon and it had the Irishman hopping from foot to foot with his glee, loving her distress, with his own not inconsiderable prick in hand, stiff and threatening. Her eyes wild and panicking now, fixed on Tim her husband.
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