Wedding Day Massacre

Lucas poured the remainder of his third beer down after shoveling another mouthful of soggy fish into his mouth. His gut was starting to bubble a little as he shifted around in his seat, seeming more fidgety than was typical. He tried to get comfortable but the discomfort wasn’t a matter of position, it seemed to be stewing inside him.

“Fish tastes kinda weird… is anyone else getting that?” Lucas asked.

“I got the chicken,” Alyssa and Sarah replied in stereo. It wasn’t abnormal for them; they were sort of like twins that weren’t related. They both looked similar and had somehow managed to land at the same company beside both Lucas and Keith.

“Tastes okay to me, man,” Keith replied, nearly polishing his plate off.

“Ugh, my stomach feels all fucked up,” Lucas moaned, knowing it might just be the beginning.

“That’s a shame, hope it doesn’t stop you from cashing in on these free drinks,” Sarah said, slurping up another swig of her rum and coke.

“This fuckin’ guy? Yeah right, he drinks like every day. Nothing’s gonna stop him,” Keith said.

Lucas looked down at his phone for about the eleven-hundredth time. He couldn’t stop reading the message over and over. Each time his eyes traced over the words, the contents of his finely pressed pants only further inflated. I wish I was sitting on your hard cock tonight instead, Lucas read the words while imagining Taylor’s voice in his head.

He scrolled back up to the picture she’d sent before the sext. It offered an intimate glimpse of her sultry lady features. The high-definition close-up showed off her perfectly trimmed bush and enticing clit. Everything about the girl made Lucas’s mouth sprout with salivation and his heart pump with forbidden lust.

Little fuckin’ slut, he thought, adjusting his dick in his pants in a manner that was out of view from the rest of the table.

There were multiple snapshots that included Taylor’s ass, tits, and various thongs and lingerie ensembles that he couldn’t help but stare at incessantly. Suddenly, a pop-up on the phone screen censored a picture of her fingers pushing into her pussy with a note that read: “5% Battery.”

“Shit, does anyone have a charger?” Lucas asked.

“Like the car?” Keith inquired confused.

“What? No, like the fuckin’ cord that keeps your phone alive. What’s wrong with you?”

“Yeah, cuz, we all just attend a wedding carrying cords around…” Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Speaking of weddings, Keith, have you booked your ticket to Vegas yet?” Alyssa interjected.

“You know I don’t fly,” he replied.

“Dude, you need to fucking sac-up already, you’re telling me that you’re never gonna get on an airplane EVER?” Lucas asked.

“I’m gonna be super pissed if you don’t go with us. My sister comped us the fucking room, sin city, and you’re not gonna party with us?” Alyssa had a secret crush on him for some time but he was a bit too dimwitted to realize it.

“You guys know I don’t fucking fly, okay?”

“You know, statistically, you’re far more likely to die in a car accident?” Alyssa moaned.

“You say it every time, so yes, I’m aware…”

“Who does that? Who says, I’m afraid of heights so I’m just never gonna fly? You’re like the first person I know,” Lucas said, racking his brain.

“John Madden didn’t fly…” Keith whispered, sheepishly defending himself.

“What did you say?” Sarah asked.

“I SAID, JOHN MADDEN DIDN’T FUCKING FLY, DAMMIT!”

“Bullshit, how the fuck did he get to all those cities for Monday Night Football each week then?!” Lucas was getting fired up too.

“He took the bus…” Keith replied.

“He took the bus my ass,” Lucas rebutted.

“Look it up.”

“Fuck, you’d say anything to justify it.”

“LOOK IT UP! USE YOUR LITTLE PHONE, BEFORE IT DIES, AND LOOK IT UP!” Keith yelled.

“Hey, forget it! We’ll circle back on this. I think Sebastian is gonna say something. Looks like he’s grabbing the microphone,” Alyssa said, pointing up toward the stage.

Lucas’s stomach suddenly started to rumble madly like a brown fountain of highly agitated feces. The sharp stomach pains meant business—he knew he needed to get to the bathroom pronto.

“Ughhh, excuse me, excuse me,” Lucas bellowed, rising up from his chair and weaving his way around the girls. Wet farts that were on the verge of sharts continued to escape him as he bolted toward the restroom.

When Lucas burst inside the can, he was already speedily unbuckling his pants. He stepped through the ajar stall door and took a look at the bowl before crinkling his face in disgust.

“Fuckin’ animals pissing all over the place!” he yelled as liquid started to ooze out from his rectum and saturate his underwear.

He did a Barry Sanders spin move out of the door and dropped his pants as he entered the second stall. Thankfully, that one was cleaner than the first, and it was a good thing because the watery diarrhea shot out from him just as he got over the target.

As his bare butt cheeks contacted the seating, he shivered in repulsion. He typically laid multiple sheets creating a paper barrier before he took a shit in public, but it was either raw dog the seat, or unleash the liquefied turd in his drawers.

The sloppy wave of funk invaded his nasal cavity, causing him to gag. Luckily, no one else was in the shitter to be tortured by it besides him. He kicked the door closed and twisted the handle just in case someone decided to pop in.

With an open bar, he would’ve expected there to be more action in the men’s room but maybe it was because the groom was getting ready to speak. Those who had the ability to hold it were doing so. He pulled out the phone, wanting to review the pictures of his boss’s whore wife as the soft-serve continued to gush out of his rear.

“What a fucking dunce,” he grumbled, annoyed by the mere thought of Sebastian. “You think you’re so smart. But if you’re so smart, why is your trophy wife wrapped around my finger?” he said, zooming in on Taylor’s vaginal lips.

“I already have your wife, next it’ll be your job—ughhh, ughhhh!” Another violent bowel movement interrupted his nefarious thoughts and caused him to cry out. “Uggggghhhh!” he whined, sounding like a bitch version of Master P.

Just as the smell of death was drizzling out of his asshole, a visual of death manifested before his eyes, electronically anyway. Taylor’s snatch vanished and his smartphone screen went black.

“I guess this means no candy crush then…” he grumbled, clenching at his belly as more of the foul brown found its way out of him.