Chapter 5: Pile on
The cafeteria sunlight was a liar. It streamed in through dusty blinds, cutting across a scene of pure, unhinged predation. The smell hit Bambi first—overcooked eggs, stale urine, and that thick, heady cocktail of aged arousal. Her new uniform clung to her, the stains feeling like a second skin of approval.
“There she is! The new relief valve!”
A hand, knuckles swollen with arthritis, clamped onto her wrist. It was Gertrude, her eyes glinting behind bifocals. “Breakfast is served, sweetie. And we’re all so hungry.”
It wasn’t about food. The plastic trays were ignored. Bambi was the main course. They descended like vultures in pastel housecoats and orthopedic shoes.
“My turn, I had her first yesterday!”
“You hogged the mouth, Edna! The rules say rotate!”
There were no rules. Only grasping hands and demanding flesh. Bambi was spun around, her stained dress shoved up to her neck. A cock, thick and gnarled like an old root, was shoved into her cunt from behind before she could even brace herself. At the same time, another pressed against her lips. She opened up, a good aide, and it slid deep, hitting the back of her throat with a practiced, brutal thrust.
This was different from yesterday. It was faster, meaner. There was no playful grope, no cackled praise. This was utilitarian. A granny named Agnes fucked her face with short, jerking motions, her stomach gurgling ominously. “That’s it, girl. Take your breakfast vitamins.”
A hot, sour fart blasted directly into Bambi’s nostrils as Agnes climaxed, the sudden expulsion of gas syncing perfectly with a salty, bitter flood down Bambi’s throat. She gagged, convulsing, but the body behind her held her hips steady, piston-ing relentlessly.
No sooner had Agnes pulled out, sputtering and spent, than another took her place. This one didn’t warn her. A wet, spluttering BRAAAMPF coated Bambi’s entire face as the new granny seated herself, the force of the fart making Bambi’s eyes water. The smell was like rotten cabbage and hard-boiled eggs.
“Oopsie,” the granny crooned, not sorry at all, and shoved herself into Bambi’s mouth.
It became a conveyor belt of degradation. Cocks in her mouth, in her cunt, sometimes two at once from behind, stretching her impossibly. Faces hovered over hers, unleashing gales of intestinal wind as they came, the foul air her only oxygen. She lost count. Ten? Twenty? A body would finish, stumble back, and immediately another would shuffle forward, dropping support hose around ankles, presenting leathery, eager flesh.
Bambi’s stomach, flooded from both ends, revolted. During a particularly deep throatfuck, she vomited. A stream of semi-digested, milky bile erupted around the invading shaft, splashing onto the granny’s belly.
“Ungrateful slut!” the granny shrieked, but she didn’t stop. She fucked through the vomit, her motions becoming even more violent, until she added her own deposit to the mess on Bambi’s face and chest.
The crescendo was a pile. It started with one pushing her onto a sticky linoleum table. Then another climbed on. And another. They formed a groaning, squirming pyramid of wrinkled flesh and pounding hips. Bambi disappeared beneath them. She was a collection of holes, a utility. Pressure from everywhere. The weight was immense, crushing. Sounds muffled into a cacophony of grunts, farts, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of endless, vigorous use. A warm, oceanic pool of release gathered beneath her, soaking her hair, her back.
It ended not with completion, but with sudden, unanimous bodily urgency. A collective gurgle ran through the heap.
“Oh, damn. The prunes.”
“Move, Mabel, I’m gonna burst!”
The pyramid dissolved into a frantic shuffle toward the bathrooms. Bambi slid off the table, a shellacked, trembling mess. She needed a moment. Just a second to breathe. She wobbled towards the ladies’ room, leaving a slick trail on the floor.
The bathroom was a nightmare of pink tile and despair. She barely made it into a stall, collapsing onto the closed toilet lid, head in her hands. The door didn’t lock.
It burst open.
“Occupied!” Bambi squeaked.
Bertha, a mountain of a woman with a wild grey perm, didn’t care. “It’s all occupied, honey. Move over.”
She pushed Bambi forward, forcing her to straddle the porcelain bowl, then sat down hard on Bambi’s lap, pinning her. “Big one coming. Had the triple-bean medley.”
A groan, deep and seismic, rolled out of Bertha. Then the explosion. A torrential, splattering cascade of brown sludge roared into the water—and onto Bambi’s thighs and the back of the toilet seat. The smell was eyewateringly fecal, a dense, physical presence in the small stall.
“Ahhhhh. Blessed relief,” Bertha sighed, pushing harder.
Bambi, delirious, mind utterly broken, acted on instinct. Her hands came up and groped Bertha’s wide, sweating hips. “Y-you’re doing so good,” she slurred, her voice thick with cum and exhaustion. “Such a… a big, healthy one. Really… productive.”
Bertha chuckled, a sound like gravel shifting. “You’re learning, dollface.”
She finished with a few last wet plops, stood, and waddled out without wiping. She left the stall door open.
It was an invitation. A command.
One after another, they filed in. Mabel, Agnes, Gertrude, Edna, a never-ending parade. Each sat on Bambi’s lap, each unloaded their post-breakfast aftermath into the bowl with groans, grunts, and thunderous, varied reports. The water turned a profound, murky brown. The air grew thick and toxic.
And Bambi, her mind in a soft, welcoming haze, praised every one. “Oh, wow.” “That’s incredible.” “You really emptied out.” Her hands roamed their soft, aged backs, encouraging them. This was care. This was her job. The aches, the smells, the utter filth—it was all part of the service.
When the last one had finished, a profound silence fell, broken only by the drip of a leaky faucet.
Bambi looked at the soiled, trembling mess of her own body. Then she looked at the line of them, now watching her, expectant. Their expressions were clear. The job wasn’t done.
Slowly, obediently, she slid off the toilet onto the filthy, damp floor. She crawled to the first in line, Bertha, who turned and presented herself.
There was no hesitation left. Only a dumb, eager devotion. She buried her face in, servicing them each in turn with a diligent tongue, cleaning up the final, messy evidence of their breakfast. The taste was unimaginable, a bitter, earthy punctuation to the morning’s events. She did not gag. She welcomed it. It was all part of the meal.
An hour later, she was back in the hallway, freshly coated in a new layer of filth. The loudspeaker crackled. “Miss Rae to the Sun Room for the morning juice social. Stat.”
Bambi blinked, a slow, happy smile spreading across her sticky face. Juice sounded nice. Everything was soft and good. She shuffled towards the Sun Room, ready to be of service.