Camp Piss Prank, Part 2

            The mess hall tables were pushed into two long rows, one for the boys and another for the girls. At the head of the table were the two giant jugs of Gatorade. Most of the students had already taken seats at the tables, but a few were still pulling more chairs into place. Dr. Poole supervised, holding a big bag of solo cups in her hand.

            “That’s right, lift the chairs! Don’t scrape the floor! Lucy, Dylan! Help put the ice in the jugs please!

            Lucy pulled herself away from the other girls at their table. They were whispering to each other, staring across the mess hall at the boys with predatory, smug grins. It made the boys nervous. They knew there was some sort of trick. All of the boys, that is, except Mark and Dylan, whose eyes kept darting to the switched jugs of Gatorade. They tensed their faces, trying to hold back their own smug, knowing smiles.

            Lucy and Dylan lifted the five pound bags of ice onto the table and unscrewed their Gatorade jugs.

            Lucy’s entire body recoiled like a snake had leapt up at her. Her mouth fell open, and she fought to hold back her supper rising in her throat. The smell of the girls’ collective piss was rotten and vile, It had been fermenting, stewing all last night and all of today in the hot, humid storage closet. Their collective piss-y sin growing more evil, more inhuman, almost radioactive with each minute.

            Lip trembling, Lucy inched back toward the jug of piss, peering at it from over her hunched shoulder like it was a ticking time bomb. It was unmistakable, the rusty orange containing their bladders’ liquid sewage.

            Dylan casually filled the boys’ jug with ice and walked back to his spot at the table.

            Squinting through teary eyes, Lucy gingerly dropped the ice into the girls’ jug. She sniffled and screwed the lid back on.

            Then, she walked, pale, her body swaying like a limp, lifeless ghost toward the rest of the girls. She bent her head toward them, whispering.

            Two dozen eyes bugged out and two dozen heads whipped around to the girls’ jug.          Some of the girls glared across the table at the boys, scanning their faces for guilt. Some of the boys noticed this, but they met their eyes with genuine confusion. Mark and Dylan tried their best to look innocent. Other girls stared into space, their souls escaping their bodies.

            Sandra leaned toward the girls and spat some harsh whispering command, which made all the girls at the table stare at her in shock.

            In response to Sandra, Chelsea immediately stood up and walked away from the table.

            “Come back here, you coward!” Sandra shouted after Chelsea’s towering frame and her wide, swaying hips. But Chelsea ignored her and strutted out of the mess hall.

            “Are we all ready to start?” Dr. Poole asked, clapping her hands together.

            “Dr. Poole, our jug, it’s it’s-“ Nikki stammered, on the verge of tears.

            Dr. Poole arched an eyebrow. “Is something wrong with it?”

            Nikki started nodding, and Dr. Poole pivoted to the male students. “You boys didn’t tamper with it, did you? If you did, you should just come clean now. Our camp security cameras have a clear view of the storage building’s front door. We’ll be able to see any funny business. And any cheaters automatically lose the competition!”

            “What?!”

            “We didn’t do nothing!”

            “They’re lying cause they don’t want to piss outside!”

            The boys started shouting, but, at the same time, the panicked girls tried to shout over them.

            “NONONO! WAIT!!!”

            “THE JUG IS FINE!”

            “NO ONE TAMPERED WITH IT!”

            Dr. Poole stared at them, waiting for the shouting to die down. Then she turned to Nikki.

            “Nikki? Has the jug been tampered with?”

            Nikki shook her head.

            “Then let’s get started!” Dr. Poole said.

            She started filling up solo cups and passing them down the table. Each member of each team would be given a solo cup filled with Gatorade to drink as quickly as possible. Once the cup was empty, resting it upside down on the table signaled to Dr. Poole that they were ready for a new, full cup.

            The girls’ quivering hands clutched their cups at arms. They held their breath, the disgusting acidic stench drifting up from their rotten piss like a haze. Sandra glared down at the swirling rusty orange liquid like it was her lifelong enemy.

            “READY? GO!”

            Nikki tried lifting the cup up to her lips, but her mouth twisted away, fighting her. Her hands shook harder and harder, her body fighting against her commands to drink the horrible liquid.

            SPLASSHH

            Her cup fell out of her hand, soaking her t-shirt and shorts in piss.

            “AAIIIGGGHHH!!” she squawked like a wounded animal. Her white t-shirt clung to her body, clinging to her with piss, her small dark nipples showing through the fabric. Cupping her flat chest in her hands, she sprinted out of the mess hall.

            She was followed by almost all of the other girls, their faces pointed to the ground, sullen and defeated, not even attempting to drink the poison piss. Emma turned her cup upside down, dumping the piss on the floor in a final, bitchy act of defiance.

            The boys, meanwhile, had started of strong, gulping Gatorade, turning their cups upside down, emptying liquid down their throats, but when they noticed their competition was leaving, they let themselves slow down to smug sips. It was obvious to them that the girls’ Gatorade was full of piss. By now they could smell it from the other table.

            Dr. Poole seemed confused, though. Years of allergy infections had left her with barely any sense of smell. She lifted one of the girls’ discarded cups to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes bugged out. A barrette sprung free from her hair and went zooming across the room. She delicately spat the piss back into the cup and set it back down on the table. She coughed, the bacteria laden bitterness clinging to her tongue.

            Only Lucy and Sandra remained at the table. Sandra glared down at her piss cup, muscles in her jaw tensing and pulsing, her whole body immobilized by rage.

            Lucy still held the cup to her puckering lips. Her mouth stretched outward, gingerly kissing the edge of the cup. She took a sip.

            Her body immediately recoiled, convulsing like she had been slapped in the face. Piss droplets sprayed out of her spitting mouth.

            “THERE’S A HAIR!!” she sobbed, clawing at her tongue with her hands. “THERE’S A HAIR!”

            Sandra turned to her, Lucy’s screams waking her from her daze. Sandra took a deep breath through her nose, closed her eyes, and chugged the piss down her throat.

            Everyone froze.

            Sandra slammed the empty cup upside down on the table.

            Sandra’s eyes immediately turned red and bloodshot. She leaned against the table, head forward, forcing the burning liquid waste down her throat, feeling it hit her twisting stomach, the smell of piss filling her nose and mouth, staining her lungs, her soul.

            Ignoring the screaming voice of self-preservation in her brain, she grabbed another of the girls’ cups and upended it, guzzling it slamming it down, and again, and again. She was possessed, a piss drinking machine, brain completely dead except for her burning rage and pride. Piss dribbled down her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out, piss rising up from her twisting stomach, muscles tensing to force it back up her spasming throat, but she swallowed and grabbed another.

            The boys stared, wide-eyed. They were in shock, horrified. A few looked around the table, wondering if they should start drinking Gatorade again because Sandra was moving with such violent, monstrous, piss-gargling speed.

            “Sandra honey, you don’t need to do this…” Dr. Poole said, a nervous smile on her face.

            “SHUT-UURRHHGGHHH!!!” Sandra dry heaved in the middle of her sentence. Her bloodshot eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. Her mouth opened and she doubled over the girl’s table. The muscles in her neck tensed and swelled. Violent redness spread throughout her face. Like someone trying to hold back a cough, she was trying to stop the horrific waves of rotten urine trying to escape her stomach.

            “BBLLEEAAAGGGHHHH!!!” Sandra flopped down on the table, flat across its length, mashing her tits into the wood, hosing the floor with gallons of urine and stomach bile and the swirling chunks of her supper.

            “BBLL-RRRREEEEAAACCHHKK!!!!” she continued. Gripping the edge of the table with her hands, legs swinging off the floor and into the air, she leaned her head over the side and pelted the floor, explosive fermented piss burning its way back up her throat and nose, vomiting with her whole body, the disgusting contents of her stomach flooding the floor so much that the boys at the opposite table had to get up and step away from the slowly spreading liquid.

            They frowned at her. They weren’t cruel enough to cheer on her violent vomiting, but it was hard to feel sorry for her when she intended them to suffer the same fate.

            “KKAUUGHH-Kah-BBLRRKKccHH!!!” With one last coughing, gurgling sputter, Sandra evacuated the last of the vomit and lay in a moaning, panting heap across the table. Her jeans had slid down a few inches and the pink whale tail of her thong underwear pointed toward the sky.

            “Well, Sandra, lets get you to the nurse’s office and get some clean fluids in you…” Dr. Poole said, carefully stepping around the pools of piss and vomit seeping around the floor. She reached down to the empty belt hoops of Sandra’s jeans to lift her up, or rather peel her barely conscious body off the table.

            “So, does this mean we won?” Mark asked.

            Dr. Poole looked away from Sandra to frown at him. “Yes, Mark. I think you can say, you won. Are you happy with yourself?”

            While Dr. Poole was preoccupied, her hands blindly moved to lift Sandra up, but her fingers completely missed her belt hoops. Instead, they gripped her whale tail. And pulled.

            STRETTCCHHHHH

            “OOUUHHHHH!!!” Sandra screamed through an O shaped mouth. Dr. Poole lifted Sandra up in a wedgie with surprising, monstrous strength. Sandra’s hands immediately dove between her legs, clutching at her pussy, her thong slicing up into her, parting her folds, her leg hoops digging into her thighs, the thong slicing at her asshole.

            Dr. Poole stared in complete shock at the student she held in above the table by her stretched, straining panties like a screaming, living yo-yo. Now, the boys were laughing, pulling out their phones and starting to record.

            SNAP

            “AAAIIEEE-!!!”

            THUD

            The panties ripped apart and Sandra crashed face first back into the table, slamming into it with such force that she was immediately knocked unconscious.

            Dr. Pool looked down at Sandra’s twitching form and winced through clenched teeth. The top half of Sandra’s bare ass now stuck out of her low-riding jeans with no thong to protect her asscrack. Then, Dr. Poole noticed the spaghetti strands of Sandra’s panties entangled around her fingers. Her sympathetic wince turning to a grimace of disgust, she flapped her hand around like someone trying to shake off a spiderweb, flinging the remains of Sandra’s panties across the room.

            She bent over, trying to lift Sandra again, this time by looping her arms around her waist.

            She turned to the snickering boys.

            “Can one of you try to be helpful and give me a hand?” she reprimanded them.

To be continued…