“As you may recall,” said Buford, “I took an old champagne cork then and plugged the stem into the hose and gave the cap a few good whacks with a mallet to seat the cork firmly in place. You didn’t need anything crawling up your ass in the meantime.”
Tiffany blushed as she recalled how, despite her best efforts to suppress the unladylike sounds, Buford had made her grunt and snort each time he had whacked the cork. He had stopped only when the thick mushroom cap was nestled snugly between her rear cheeks. He had paused then to admire his handiwork, for the mushroom cap and Tiffany’s rear cheeks had dovetailed so nicely that they hid the ungainly hose from view.