Anne had higher standards than the trashcan or ground and she would uphold those standards. Anne full of hope walked toward the port o’ potty to get a porcelain cure for her burning asshole. Full of joy she reached for the door until a voice stopped her “back of the line lady.” The man talking to her pointed to the back of a long line. Anne bowed her head in sadness and slumped to the back of the line. At the back of the line she could barley see the port o’ potty. “This is ridiculous, how can such a large beach only have one small bathroom?” she groaned to herself. She was snatched out of her situation by a little kid tugging at her leg that clearly needed to go. She sighed and let the kid go in front of her, her morality getting the better of her.
Anne’s stomach hated her so much. The person behind could almost hear the groaning escaping her stomach. Anne no longer felt farts behind her asshole, but a river of liquid shit waiting to explode. The line was not moving quickly at all. Anne gripped her stomach in pain. Her beautiful ass that was so admired by the men at this beach had become a ticking time bomb. Sweat dripped down her face. She hated taking steps, she was using all of her energy to hold in the hellish contents of her bowels and each step endangered that control. After what seemed like hours she was finally in front of the stall door. It opened and the little kid she let cut her in line gleefully skipped out. Annie walked towards that beautiful white toilet, but it might as well have been miles away. Her stomach kept churning loudly and silent wet farts kept escaping her ass.
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