Your girlfriend is desperate for the toilet
I (girl) wrote a more kinky version than this which i'm a bit shy to share but this is an AI-edited version so it is more tamed and cheesy.
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You've always loved pampering your girlfriend—big meals, breakfast in bed, the works. One morning you wake up to her letting out a rather stinky fart, the kind you've learned to recognize as a "pre-poop" warning. You reach over and gently massage her belly. She moans, half-asleep, and pushes your hand away with a grumble. You smile. She's backed up.
So you get up and make her a sumptuous breakfast: . You give her a sly look and say, "I added a little kick to your breakfast." She raises an eyebrow, understands immediately—laxatives—and gives you the eye. Then she drinks the whole glass.
An hour later, a low rumble rolls through her gut. She presses a hand to her belly, rubbing small circles, trying not to let you see. You're at the grocery store together when she suddenly stops in the cereal aisle.
"We need to go home," she says quietly.
"You okay?"
"Now." She squirms, crossing her legs. Her cheeks flush.
You drive home. She fidgets the whole way, thighs pressed together, gripping the door handle. The moment you're through the front door, she makes a beeline for the bathroom—but you gently catch her wrist, spin her around, and pin her against the hallway wall with a playful grin. You kiss her, your body close enough that she could feel the warmth of you. She kisses back, but then breaks away, breathless.
"I really have to go," she whispers.
"I know," you murmur. You kiss her again. She shifts her weight, and right there against your thigh, a small, embarrassed fart escapes her. She groans and hides her face in your shoulder. "You're terrible."
"I'm affectionate," you correct. You kiss her deeper, taking her breath away, and with one hand you reach inside her pants and meander toward her anus. She farts onto your finger, and then you felt something turtlenecking from her opening anus.
You let her go. She practically falls into the bathroom. You hear the toilet lid clatter, then a long, relieved sigh, followed by unmistakable sounds of release—wet, thick and soft. You lean against the doorframe and wait.
When she's done, you hear the flush. Then silence.
"You okay in there?" you ask.
"...Yes." Pause. "No. I made a mess."
You open the door. She's sitting on the toilet, looking exhausted and slightly mortified. The seat and a bit of the floor need some cleaning. You grab wipes and paper towels without a word, clean up, and bring her fresh underwear and sweats. You help her stand, wipe her down gently, and flush again.
"Shower?" you ask.
She nods.
You undress together, step into the warm spray, and she leans into you under the water. You soap her back, her belly, her thighs. You have sex with her.
"You planned this, didn't you?"
"Planned to take care of you," you say, kissing her wet hair.
Afterward, you towel her off, carry her to bed, and tuck her in. She's clean, light, deeply relieved—and smiling.