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Anne of Browndale Chapter 2 - A friendship renewed
Anne of Browndale Chapter 2 – A friendship renewed
It was twenty past eleven on a Sunday morning. Anne closed the churchyard gate behind her, content that whatever people thought of her, she’d at least done her duty. Being the rector’s wife wasn’t easy, particularly when people didn’t take to her and were quick to judge, something she’d found out on arriving in Browndale. Her cheery if optimistic “See you later” to the Major’s wife as they’d left church had met with the muttered rejoinder “Not if I can help it!”
Still she’d borne people’s unfriendliness with a good grace and at least shown willing by serving for Archie at the Sung Eucharist. As she filled the cruets in the vestry before the service and tied the girdle to her alb, Archie had come over and whispered:
“Anne, you haven’t been, have you?”
Whatever answer she gave he knew her well enough to know that she’d not ‘been’ – in fact she hadn’t ‘been’ since Thursday. Earlier that morning as they lay in the stillness of their rectory bedroom she’d cut one of those silent but ever so deadly ‘egg sandwich’ farts which had sent Archie dashing to frantically open the window and get dressed. He’d had to take the eight ‘o clock at Willingham Parva and needed to get a move on but Anne’s 6.53am SBD hadn’t exactly been the alarm call he’d wished for. Radio 4 news when the wireless was programmed to come on at seven would have done just fine, thank you. He’d not said a word of reproach but the expression on his face left her in little doubt that he didn’t approve. At least his nose told him from experience that nothing worse than foul air lurked beneath the duvet.
Four and a half hours had passed since then. At least she’d managed to not fart in church, but Anne sensed an increasing fullness in her back passage and knew the “turtle’s head” wasn’t far from emerging. She needed to pee too, having not emptied her bladder for thirteen hours. That wasn’t a personal record by any means and she was used to long holds but there were limits. Doubtful whether she’d make it back to the rectory, Anne headed to some woods just outside the village which were owned by Major and Mrs Hancock. For once she’d have a “country ‘un” – a pleasure she’d rarely been able indulge since her youth, so happily spent in the Norfolk countryside.
Deftly negotiating a stile, Anne made her way into the woods and, twigs crackling beneath her feet, quickly found a clearing. She was ‘touching cloth’ by now and realised that if she didn’t deal with matters quickly she’d shit herself. Needing to poo that bad was the greatest feeling in the world and she longed to savour it but could tell from the sensations ‘down below’ that time wasn’t on her side. Her distended bladder ached too and there was little doubt that it had almost reached its limit.
Having successfully unbuttoned her jeans, Anne discovered that the zip was causing her some trouble, and she knew it served her right for buying cheap jeans. As she struggled with the zip, Anne felt a large spurt of pee escape from her pussy, splashing into her panties. Quickly she stemmed the flow, clamping her well trained sphincter muscles. If she could avoid complete disaster so much the better. Eventually freeing her zip, Anne froze as she felt a turd easing its way out of her bottom into the seat of her panties. Dropping her jeans and easing her panties down, Anne squatted and just gave way to the inevitable. Pee cascaded out of her pussy landing on the woodland floor and splashing her shoes in the process. After a minute of joyous, full throttle peeing, her stream subsided to a trickle before eventually stopping. Now for the serious business. Cutting one of those wonderful eggy farts (she’d not been nicknamed ‘eggy’ in a previous life for nothing) Anne head a familiar crackling noise as a large turd snaked its way out of her bottom and landed on the woodland floor. Another one followed – and another. A couple more farts then followed and finally, two more large turds dropped out. It felt absolutely amazing. Some things were well worth waiting for and this certainly was.
Extracting some tissue paper from her jeans pocket – she always carried some – Anne wiped her pussy and then her bottom. Not very successfully but at least it was an attempt! Surveying the damage to her panties she decided that they were beyond saving and gingerly removed them. If Major Hancock’s wife decided to walk through the woods she’d find a souvenir. At least her jeans would live to see another day if nothing else. So absorbed was she in sorting herself out, that Anne didn’t hear footsteps and was startled when a voice rang out which she knew well but hadn’t heard for many years.
“Well if it isn’t …what a blast from the past!”
Anne looked up and smiling down at her was Sarah Worthington, an old friend from her nursing days on the Urology unit in Newcastle. It took her a few seconds to get over the shock and regain her composure.
“Sarah. Well I never. This is a surprise. Fancy seeing you here. Look, I’m terribly sorry. I was just...”
“Having a shit?”
“Sarah, I can’t apologise enough. Anyhow, what brings you here?”
“Well I’ve just moved into the village as it happens. I’m in Washtub Cottage on Honeysuckle Lane. Still living out of packing cases a bit but I’m gradually getting there. Anyway, what brings you here, Anne?”
“I’m the rector’s wife.”
“You mean you married Archie? I knew you were dating him when he was curate at St Wilfrid’s but I never really thought…”
“I’d marry him? Yes and we’re pretty happy as happy goes. People in this village really don’t like me and Sundays can be rather lonely as he’s out all day either taking services or hospital visiting.”
Sarah pulled a face.
“Doesn’t sound like much cop to me. Look, why don’t you pop home, have a shower, pop some clean clothes on and come over to Washtub Cottage for lunch? One o’clock okay?”
“Sarah, that’s very kind. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Sarah laughed.
“Mind! Why should I mind? I’m just over the moon to have found a friend in this place. It’s a pretty enough village but the people are as cold as charity. It must be twenty years since Newcastle at least if not more.”
“It must be, Sarah. I know old Major was still in Downing Street at the time. Can’t remember whether it was before or after Edwina though.”
“You mean the curried eggs episode?”
“I don’t know about curried eggs. I cut Archie an egg sandwich under the duvet this morning and you should have seen him sprint out of bed, eyes watering and gasping for air.”
Sarah roared with laughter, losing the battle to control her mirth.
“Anne you don’t change do you? Oops I think I’ve wet my panties a little. I am a naughty girl aren’t I? Anyhow, I’ll see you at one o’clock sharp. Don’t be late!”
Later on.
“Well this is a pleasure! Do come in.”
Sarah beamed brightly as she embraced her old friend – now showered, changed and smelling of roses.
“Anne, I’m afraid it’s nothing special – only a beef casserole, some vegetables and bottle of merlot that needs using up. If you’re still hungry afterwards there’s some cheese in the fridge. Take a seat. I’m afraid the house isn’t very elegant just now but I’ll get straight eventually.”
Anne smiled broadly.
“It sounds like a feast fit for a king and knowing you I’m sure you’ll have made enough to feed an army.”
Much as Anne had suspected Sarah had produced one of her legendary meals dispelling any fear that she had the remotest chance of going away hungry.
She could spot a second bottle of merlot too – and a third. This was going to be a serious session.
Sarah loaded Anne’s plate high with casserole and filled her glass.
“Tell me, apart from being the rector’s wife do you do anything here?”
“Well apart from doing a little part time art teaching at the local FE college, not much. That’s only two days a week – Wednesday and Thursday. Archie and I always try to take Monday as our ‘day off’ as he’s so busy on Sundays. Anyway, more to the point, what are you doing these days, Sarah? Surely you’re not retired yet – are you?”
“Not yet. I quit working for the NHS a long time ago because I didn’t like the way things were going and I was sick of working all the hours God sent for what seemed like next to nothing. Nowadays I do a bit of bank nursing in the private sector and it suits me well as the money’s good and I can pick my hours. No antisocial shifts if I don’t want them. I have a little project in mind though which might interest you and with which I could certainly use your help. A little while ago I came into money and bought the old secondary modern school at Drydale Magna off County Hall for a song. I’ve refurbished it and started running residential fitness courses there for adults. Some of the courses are about general fitness and healthy living. Others, however, are geared to helping adults improve their bladder holding abilities.”
Anne’s ears pricked up and, eager not to miss anything, put her fork down.
“Tell me more. This sounds interesting.”
Sarah smiled broadly.
“I thought you’d be interested. Well, I’ve had a couple of small groups in before but I really can’t cope on my own and I desperately need a hand. Ideally I could do with a fitness instructor and I know you’d be perfect for that but I need a good all rounder too. You’d also help with meals, discipline, pastoral care and general good order. Also I’d need you to drive the mini bus occasionally.”
“Discipline? I thought you said the courses were for adults only.”
“They are. The trouble is most of the students are likely to be challenging on account of their lifestyles and backgrounds. I’ve already got bookings from celebrities, politicians, aristocrats and porn stars. All people with big egos who need keeping in their place and I know I can depend on you to be firm but kind and fair too. Depending on who they are and what we're doing with them we’ll be charging between two and three thousand pounds each per course. Even at that price some of them will think it’s just jolly japes but I need someone to reinforce the idea that it’s not a jolly.”
“Well this sounds like a dream come true. I’ve always loved holding and the thought of training other people to become proud holders excites me.”
Sarah beamed broadly.
“You’ve just solved a big problem. I’ve been wondering what to call our holding courses – Proud Holders – that will do fine. I’m not running any courses there for a few weeks and I want to get the place properly sorted. If you’re free on Tuesday, pop round about nine and I’ll run you over there. We’re going to have such fun.”
Anne smiled at her friend.
“You’re on. I’m looking forward to it.”
THE END
It was twenty past eleven on a Sunday morning. Anne closed the churchyard gate behind her, content that whatever people thought of her, she’d at least done her duty. Being the rector’s wife wasn’t easy, particularly when people didn’t take to her and were quick to judge, something she’d found out on arriving in Browndale. Her cheery if optimistic “See you later” to the Major’s wife as they’d left church had met with the muttered rejoinder “Not if I can help it!”
Still she’d borne people’s unfriendliness with a good grace and at least shown willing by serving for Archie at the Sung Eucharist. As she filled the cruets in the vestry before the service and tied the girdle to her alb, Archie had come over and whispered:
“Anne, you haven’t been, have you?”
Whatever answer she gave he knew her well enough to know that she’d not ‘been’ – in fact she hadn’t ‘been’ since Thursday. Earlier that morning as they lay in the stillness of their rectory bedroom she’d cut one of those silent but ever so deadly ‘egg sandwich’ farts which had sent Archie dashing to frantically open the window and get dressed. He’d had to take the eight ‘o clock at Willingham Parva and needed to get a move on but Anne’s 6.53am SBD hadn’t exactly been the alarm call he’d wished for. Radio 4 news when the wireless was programmed to come on at seven would have done just fine, thank you. He’d not said a word of reproach but the expression on his face left her in little doubt that he didn’t approve. At least his nose told him from experience that nothing worse than foul air lurked beneath the duvet.
Four and a half hours had passed since then. At least she’d managed to not fart in church, but Anne sensed an increasing fullness in her back passage and knew the “turtle’s head” wasn’t far from emerging. She needed to pee too, having not emptied her bladder for thirteen hours. That wasn’t a personal record by any means and she was used to long holds but there were limits. Doubtful whether she’d make it back to the rectory, Anne headed to some woods just outside the village which were owned by Major and Mrs Hancock. For once she’d have a “country ‘un” – a pleasure she’d rarely been able indulge since her youth, so happily spent in the Norfolk countryside.
Deftly negotiating a stile, Anne made her way into the woods and, twigs crackling beneath her feet, quickly found a clearing. She was ‘touching cloth’ by now and realised that if she didn’t deal with matters quickly she’d shit herself. Needing to poo that bad was the greatest feeling in the world and she longed to savour it but could tell from the sensations ‘down below’ that time wasn’t on her side. Her distended bladder ached too and there was little doubt that it had almost reached its limit.
Having successfully unbuttoned her jeans, Anne discovered that the zip was causing her some trouble, and she knew it served her right for buying cheap jeans. As she struggled with the zip, Anne felt a large spurt of pee escape from her pussy, splashing into her panties. Quickly she stemmed the flow, clamping her well trained sphincter muscles. If she could avoid complete disaster so much the better. Eventually freeing her zip, Anne froze as she felt a turd easing its way out of her bottom into the seat of her panties. Dropping her jeans and easing her panties down, Anne squatted and just gave way to the inevitable. Pee cascaded out of her pussy landing on the woodland floor and splashing her shoes in the process. After a minute of joyous, full throttle peeing, her stream subsided to a trickle before eventually stopping. Now for the serious business. Cutting one of those wonderful eggy farts (she’d not been nicknamed ‘eggy’ in a previous life for nothing) Anne head a familiar crackling noise as a large turd snaked its way out of her bottom and landed on the woodland floor. Another one followed – and another. A couple more farts then followed and finally, two more large turds dropped out. It felt absolutely amazing. Some things were well worth waiting for and this certainly was.
Extracting some tissue paper from her jeans pocket – she always carried some – Anne wiped her pussy and then her bottom. Not very successfully but at least it was an attempt! Surveying the damage to her panties she decided that they were beyond saving and gingerly removed them. If Major Hancock’s wife decided to walk through the woods she’d find a souvenir. At least her jeans would live to see another day if nothing else. So absorbed was she in sorting herself out, that Anne didn’t hear footsteps and was startled when a voice rang out which she knew well but hadn’t heard for many years.
“Well if it isn’t …what a blast from the past!”
Anne looked up and smiling down at her was Sarah Worthington, an old friend from her nursing days on the Urology unit in Newcastle. It took her a few seconds to get over the shock and regain her composure.
“Sarah. Well I never. This is a surprise. Fancy seeing you here. Look, I’m terribly sorry. I was just...”
“Having a shit?”
“Sarah, I can’t apologise enough. Anyhow, what brings you here?”
“Well I’ve just moved into the village as it happens. I’m in Washtub Cottage on Honeysuckle Lane. Still living out of packing cases a bit but I’m gradually getting there. Anyway, what brings you here, Anne?”
“I’m the rector’s wife.”
“You mean you married Archie? I knew you were dating him when he was curate at St Wilfrid’s but I never really thought…”
“I’d marry him? Yes and we’re pretty happy as happy goes. People in this village really don’t like me and Sundays can be rather lonely as he’s out all day either taking services or hospital visiting.”
Sarah pulled a face.
“Doesn’t sound like much cop to me. Look, why don’t you pop home, have a shower, pop some clean clothes on and come over to Washtub Cottage for lunch? One o’clock okay?”
“Sarah, that’s very kind. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Sarah laughed.
“Mind! Why should I mind? I’m just over the moon to have found a friend in this place. It’s a pretty enough village but the people are as cold as charity. It must be twenty years since Newcastle at least if not more.”
“It must be, Sarah. I know old Major was still in Downing Street at the time. Can’t remember whether it was before or after Edwina though.”
“You mean the curried eggs episode?”
“I don’t know about curried eggs. I cut Archie an egg sandwich under the duvet this morning and you should have seen him sprint out of bed, eyes watering and gasping for air.”
Sarah roared with laughter, losing the battle to control her mirth.
“Anne you don’t change do you? Oops I think I’ve wet my panties a little. I am a naughty girl aren’t I? Anyhow, I’ll see you at one o’clock sharp. Don’t be late!”
Later on.
“Well this is a pleasure! Do come in.”
Sarah beamed brightly as she embraced her old friend – now showered, changed and smelling of roses.
“Anne, I’m afraid it’s nothing special – only a beef casserole, some vegetables and bottle of merlot that needs using up. If you’re still hungry afterwards there’s some cheese in the fridge. Take a seat. I’m afraid the house isn’t very elegant just now but I’ll get straight eventually.”
Anne smiled broadly.
“It sounds like a feast fit for a king and knowing you I’m sure you’ll have made enough to feed an army.”
Much as Anne had suspected Sarah had produced one of her legendary meals dispelling any fear that she had the remotest chance of going away hungry.
She could spot a second bottle of merlot too – and a third. This was going to be a serious session.
Sarah loaded Anne’s plate high with casserole and filled her glass.
“Tell me, apart from being the rector’s wife do you do anything here?”
“Well apart from doing a little part time art teaching at the local FE college, not much. That’s only two days a week – Wednesday and Thursday. Archie and I always try to take Monday as our ‘day off’ as he’s so busy on Sundays. Anyway, more to the point, what are you doing these days, Sarah? Surely you’re not retired yet – are you?”
“Not yet. I quit working for the NHS a long time ago because I didn’t like the way things were going and I was sick of working all the hours God sent for what seemed like next to nothing. Nowadays I do a bit of bank nursing in the private sector and it suits me well as the money’s good and I can pick my hours. No antisocial shifts if I don’t want them. I have a little project in mind though which might interest you and with which I could certainly use your help. A little while ago I came into money and bought the old secondary modern school at Drydale Magna off County Hall for a song. I’ve refurbished it and started running residential fitness courses there for adults. Some of the courses are about general fitness and healthy living. Others, however, are geared to helping adults improve their bladder holding abilities.”
Anne’s ears pricked up and, eager not to miss anything, put her fork down.
“Tell me more. This sounds interesting.”
Sarah smiled broadly.
“I thought you’d be interested. Well, I’ve had a couple of small groups in before but I really can’t cope on my own and I desperately need a hand. Ideally I could do with a fitness instructor and I know you’d be perfect for that but I need a good all rounder too. You’d also help with meals, discipline, pastoral care and general good order. Also I’d need you to drive the mini bus occasionally.”
“Discipline? I thought you said the courses were for adults only.”
“They are. The trouble is most of the students are likely to be challenging on account of their lifestyles and backgrounds. I’ve already got bookings from celebrities, politicians, aristocrats and porn stars. All people with big egos who need keeping in their place and I know I can depend on you to be firm but kind and fair too. Depending on who they are and what we're doing with them we’ll be charging between two and three thousand pounds each per course. Even at that price some of them will think it’s just jolly japes but I need someone to reinforce the idea that it’s not a jolly.”
“Well this sounds like a dream come true. I’ve always loved holding and the thought of training other people to become proud holders excites me.”
Sarah beamed broadly.
“You’ve just solved a big problem. I’ve been wondering what to call our holding courses – Proud Holders – that will do fine. I’m not running any courses there for a few weeks and I want to get the place properly sorted. If you’re free on Tuesday, pop round about nine and I’ll run you over there. We’re going to have such fun.”
Anne smiled at her friend.
“You’re on. I’m looking forward to it.”
THE END
Another great story.
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