The follow-through filled his Y-fronts immediately and carried on going, his clown trousers soon brimming too and the pressure forcing the hot cack up through the sealed plastic sheeting into his heavy plate armour and finding its deserved release through the gaps.
Her bodice sprang open, a button pinging off an exposed heating pipe, the pressure of her heaving bosom simply too much to be contained by that delicate satin garment. The boobs thus exposed, he could scarcely be forgiven for succumbing to his excitement, although it was generally agreed later that he should at least have got the old chap out before it gooped into his vicuña-acrylic mix Y-fronts.
As he blew his nose hard with frustration, a tiny and unsatisfying amount of the thick catarrh blocking his airway was dislodged, while the pressure made the suppurating boil on his naked left shoulder burst open anew and release its infected cells into the air to share with the other guests just as the antipasti was served.
It was a cock, yes, yet it seemed not to have an opening at the end. Come to think of it, it seemed not to have any veins either. She had seen smooth ones before, sure, but they usually still had that big vein down the underside. This one didn’t even ha- oh – wait. She’d been here before. This thing – it was the size of a cock, yes – a big one at that – but it wasn’t made of human flesh. She looked down to where it didn’t meet the groin of a man (or woman). It stood alone. Well, it laid alone. And it wasn’t really the colour of human flesh, or at least not of anyone she’d been intimate with. And, far from having veins protruding from the surface, if anything it had crevices across it, perhaps where the surface had been smooth under pressure but had then fractured somewhat when released. Released from what, though? Something about the same width as a cock. She couldn’t figu- agh! She gagged and leaned back. The smell… wow, yep, there it was. It was the smell of poo. She was looking at a poo.
“Oooh, yeah!” she said eagerly as though she’d been offered a sumptuous doughnut, but the only thing she’d been offered was a turgid stonker, and the only thing sumptuous about it was the way it pressed against her boundaries as it slid with increasing rapidity in and out of her twunge.