All Ass Day

Written by Septia.


“Some luck this is,” Brona mumbled at the sight of her alley — her current -one star accommodations — cleared of the trash bags. It was merely a few trash bags… though to her it had been: bed, sofa, chair, potential clothing store, unlikely supermarket… but, it was mostly just trash. 
	“I av myself some space now, don’t ah?” The woman — clad in enough matte cloth scraps that she took on the guise of a pompom dropped in a sewer — said to herself to cheer up. She sat down her legs spread out triumphantly. The concrete cold on her butt… 
	“S' much worse than I thought, ain't it?”  
	“Look out below,” a voice called out far above. In reflex Brona unfolded a parapluie, moments before a bucketful of brine cascade crashed down. Brona remained safe, though the spirit's surroundings laid stained in the pungent odour of whatever trash water the occupants of the house had discarded, warm enough to form streaks of smog oozing from the walls. 
	“Yeah, Imma av to move.” 


 “Excuse me?” 
	The voice of a boy crept up on Brona, she didn't respond. 
	“Have you by chance already thrown out the garbage, because I realised I may have left something rather important and embarrassing down there,” he coughed and stepped closer, “so if there is anything you can do…” he placed a palm on the tatter clad shoulder, at which Brona finally turned. 
	“I'm not some garbage folk just cause Ah live with trash.” 
	The man stood half a head above her, withdrawing his grasp at her request. Though, remained in place, staring, wide-eyed. 
	Brona sighed. It was customary to stay out of other's affairs, meaning she could sneak by without too much ridicule, though, suppose this was just her luck. 
	“Yeah yeah… go on, I've got all day, why wouldn't I? But Imma not be judged for my fashion, last time I tried to visit one of them fancy clothing store places it didn't end well. And who says I ah can't make my own fashion. I am my own brand, and don't cha start asking about why I got horseshoes around ma-.” 
	“Would you like to spend the night at my place?” 
	"They are ah vital survival tool, on top of being heavy enough to keep me in shape…” Brona continued as if the man wasn't there, though at the end of her sentence, her vehemence…… petered out. 
	The man twiddled his thumbs. “So… is that… a yes, or?” 
	“… yes.” 


~ 1 ~


The apartment was a modest three room; four more than Brona was use to, ever since…… well, since the brief stay at the bakery. There were two, whole, sofas, and presumably, at least one bed somewhere. She marvelled at her surroundings, walking in with soot and gravel covered feet over the steam cleaned carpets. After pinching her cheek, she turned towards the door. 
	“Right, so was the catch?…” she made a vague gesture. 
	“Lucas,” the man said, hanging up his coat. “Well, you could pay me rent if that is what you are after.” 
	Brona glanced down at her grime and whey reeking frame, then back to Lucas with another gesture. 
	He chuckled. “I wasn't expecting that either. But one can dream.” 
	“Once more, why?” 
	“Because you are just that.” 
	Brona's brows furrowed, “rent?” 
	“A dream,” Lucas corrected, joining her in the living room and taking her hands into his. “Maybe I couldn't see you suffering on the streets, maybe I couldn't see someone like you be left out of society, perhaps I couldn't take my eyes off of you but couldn't stand to see the sea of concrete hampering your beauty.” 
	“All those ah kinda the same thing,” Brona interjected. 
	"And, they all share the fact I find you attractive,” Lucas said and gave her a warm smile. 
	Once more, her gaze ventured down her haphazard frame. “You got some kind ‘a trash fetish o' something?” 
	“I lead to keep that a mystery.” 
	A smile creased Brona's lips. “Wha eva floats your blimp.” 
	they remained there; close, near enough to feel together. -Grgllbh- a light rumble interrupting their moment. 
	“Appears I should make preparation for, dinner,” Lucas noted, heading to the kitchen. 
	“How bout a kiss, before that?” 
	He stopped, swallowed, fiddled with his hair, and slowly turned back. 
	“Isn't, I mean, that is going a little fast-.” 
	-Thhnngtwp- to be met by the clutches of a pair of pliable buns, submerging his face.


-Sqfllslarhhs- The confine of moist flesh crinkled over Lucas's face, moulding over his forehead in and spreading a thin film of colon polish over him, sleeking his back hair with the winking pucker engulfed him -Sqrllslsh- 
	Brona — perched at the couch's armrest, pried her cheeks apart and billowing his head to reel into her pucker, till her bottom bumped onto his shoulders with a -Clclptph- clap of bear meat. 
	“Phaa, Imma av to get one win once in a while, an ah trust you more than your cooking,” Brona explained, gyrating her bottom down Luca's shoulders. The irregular cloth straps flung off of her bottom, as petals around a rose-- or befitting the context: a lion's mane — as her pucker warped to contain Lucas's struggles, -Thhffwop- his torso wound in past the brim. 
	“S-stop. w- w-asait Hohokam, hold on, I didn't w-want this, I r-really just care for you I swemmpgghhff-.” His pleads muffled as Brona -Chhrlrlpth- Clenched her cheeks together over his chest. She roamed her palms down her frame, through the curtain of cloth straps a malformed dome peeked through, fished out by her massaging grasp. Her fingers trailed over the protrusions of pantomiming Lucas's fright in a variety of concerned outlines. 
	“Mmgmshn, Shoulda put it together, that if you are brownnosing me this much, you gotta expect to kiss my ass,” Brona huffed out whilst her bottom sunk towards the floor, stomach budging out past her drapes, till it tipped the scales and sent her tumbling into the couch. -Ppfbbrhwth- -Shhwarhth- Tendrils of slick colon lube splattered out of her rear as Lucas wedged out at the compressed stomach, though the pucker eager to gnaw his torso right back in, widening -shhtwkp- and contracting -Shlpts- to swallow up his stomach and siphon his rump past the gravel imprinted buttocks. Brona stabilised herself on all fours, arms barely reaching the couch pillows as her catch bloated her abdomen beyond the heights she'd been so accustomed to. 
	“Smurfs. “Mmfs, see if ya keep being on mmf, good behaviors, wouldn't take long before you are out, mgm,” Brona huffed out, arching herself back and feeling each thrust hoist him in deeper, fidgeting legs succumbing to the throbbing lips and winding catacombs of greasy brawn. “Maybe the next mfms, kiss, coulda even been on the lips,” She huffed out, sinking her arms into her gut to feel the rolling struggles mould at her touch, her brim suckling around Lucas's heels. 

	“But, for now, seems you justify,” she grunted, heaving her stomach forwards with a rolling gurgle of porridge jammed in a washing mash cine -Shghtlsph- “run o' course” -Ghhrslptsh-  “of bad luck,” she heaved and bit her lip. Brona slammed her ass back into the armrest -Ppbbwwnth- -splrlth- A  humid hickey from her twitching pucker imprinted on the khaki leather, the feet devoured by the throbbing bottom, bundling up in the beanbag of a gut heaving down Brona's lap. 
	“Pha Phefh…” she sighed and slumped back in the couch, letting her palms rest on her engorged midriff. 
	“Mfrs, mmwfmaf, psmhssry.” 
	“Yes, ah hear, Gotta admit, you are pretty sweet.” She said between deep breaths, and wiped her brow before laying down, relaxing on the plush, padded squares of leather and stuffing. -Bbwwfrrtp- a rectal belch plumed from her rear fanned into the air by the fluttering cheeks and flailing tatters at her rear. 
	“Perfect place for trash tastes.” 


As Brona relaxed, she pondered on the man, after putting herself in lead of the situation she was in a comfortable place to think, his fate, in her booty… What she wouldn't realise, was that Lucas's oven stood pre-heated in the kitchen, and securely stashed way laid peculiar cook books and teachings tomes from across the sea… books, on the subject of 'The Rapacitor's life'. 


~ ~ Epilogue ~ ~


“I have a comment,” Tia said with a raised arm. 
	Sep peeked back and gave a nod. 
	“How come you added that end bit?" 
	“Thought it'd be nice, she being in the moral right? Or gray?” 
	“I believe that is up for interpretation, isn't it? It's meant as her choice.” 
	"It lacks something cynical, were it not to include it.” 
	“And I think it paints over the morals in stark blacks and whites.” Tia proclaimed. Though, after a moment, peeked over the hill of trash, at a slumbering figure. 
	“Though…,” they said. 
	“Since it is a gift,” Sep continued. 
	They both nodded. 


"Sure this is appropriate?” Sep wondered. 
	“Of course I am, this's how they’d show appreciation.” 
	“Is the shape not in reference to a heart?” 
	Tia wiggled her bare buns in Sep's direction. 
	“Their passion shape is the shape of a butt.” 
	“Well, posterior maybe, though doesn't it mean…” 
	“I suppose,” Tia said, “we could just skip out on smushing our booties in Brona's face as a sign of care, hmm?” 
	Sep peeked at the sleeping figure of shambled rags. 
	“Fine.” 
	-Bbtwwp- The smack of bare flesh against her face sent adrenaline through her spine, reaching towards the sky just to hear the scampering of tiny feet disappearing in the distance. 
	“What shaf hwauh? Who?” 
	Brona grumbled and dried the dust out of her eyes. A light weight in her lap clued her in to the parchment roll, waiting for her. 
	Brow furrowed to a straight line. She unfurled it, mumbling to herself as she began to read. Expression, unchanging. Towards the end, she coiled it together. “You think ridiculing me like this'll improve my mood,” she howled into the night. Once more, the taps of tiny feet scrambled through the trash in the garbage dump, her little benefactors fleeing in fear of restitution. 
	Brona slumped back onto the bags of old pillows. Under her breath, she cursed them, with the dreadful words promising revenge, the curse which said…
	“Because it kinda does.”