Female Desperation And Wetting Story December 16, 2007

 

 

 

 

 

Another Story I Have Come Across Enjoy The Female Desperation And Wetting

It happened while I was walking through the city center with a girlfriend during a nice, but not too hot summer day in August. We had been visiting some friends and decided to walk back to her place where I had left my car (we had gone to our friends by bus, since parking is just next to impossible in the city center). On the way home, we had got something to drink at a nice terrace at the market square (too expensive for the service, of course) and now we crossed a beautiful park area, with the usual lawns, pools, ducks and children running around. It was then that she turned to me and said: “Shit, I should have gone to the bathroom at that place on the market”. Of course I casually remarked: “Well, this place isn’t exactly fitted for a pee, is it?” while looking around and seeing everybody running around with no sheltered spot anywhere near. She nodded and added: “Still, I’ve to go *bad*. Where is the nearest pub?” Unfortunately for her, the closest place where we could possibly find a public bathroom was the market place, fifteen minutes behind us. Stupid cities with all action concentrated in one place and the rest being only offices and houses. And parks of course.

We decided to go on and try to reach her house, which was still ten minutes or so to go. After one more minute of walking, she suddenly went off the path and crossed the lawn towards a few bushes. “Sorry, I’ll try it here. I *really* need to pee”, she said. Looking for a spot where she could successfully squat down without being noticed, she almost ran around the bushes only to find a children’s playground at the other side. Rather angry she came back to me. “Grrr who has designed this park. They should force him to wet his pants,” she mumbled, and I could notice that she crossed her thighs under her wide skirt.

I wanted to try something. “Well, maybe this park was designed by a woman, you know. Back in the fifties or so, when almost every woman still wore skirts. Like you do now.” She lifted her eyebrows and looked at me. “What’s that to do with the absence of public toilets where they should be?”, she asked. Then the suddenly understood and frowned. “Oh yeah, well, you mean…”. I shrugged. “Yes. Nobody will notice. I will, but I don’t mind at all. Just go ahead, there’s nobody close and no one approaching right now.”

She sighed and looked down to her white summer skirt that reached down to just below her knees. She couldn’t help still crossing her thighs and now even pressing her hands in her crotch. “I don’t have much choice, do I? Jesus, if I don’t do it myself, I will be wet within a minute anyway. Shit. What a stupid move of me.” That said, she left the path and walked onto the grass. She looked aside, to me again, and slightly pulled up her skirt. “Do you think I can squat without people noticing?” Before I could answer, a bunch of yelling children came in from the opposite corner of the park and my friend shook her head herself. “Nope. Forget about that. Damned, I’ll look like a three-year-old girl.”

Then she stepped out of her slippers, walked for a meter on bare feet through the grass, stopped, and parted her legs a little. Her wide skirt effectively hid this pose and from a distance of more than ten meters nobody would see anything strange. To cover her up even more, I decided to go down on one knee and started to re-tie my shoelace. It appeared that she now was waiting for me to finish with my unwilling shoe lace. “Go ahead”, I said. “Just enjoy it.” She looked at me with a mix of embarassment and a smile. “Please, don’t tell anybody, okay?” I nodded. She cleared her throat. “Alright then. Shit. Shit. Shit.” Her hands grabbed her skirt, shook it loosely over her legs, and I noticed that she casually reached through her skirt to the waistband of her panties to pull them up firmly. Looking around to the people, she pulled the skirt away from the front of her panties, let it carefully fall down again, reached behind her to check that her skirt was not hanging between her legs, and then spread her legs a little more. “Okay. There we go, for god’s sake.”

She looked to her crotch and breathed deeply. Then she slowly released her muscles. I saw her pull her belly a bit inward and bite her lip when her pee flowed into her panties. She let her breath escape through her teeth and obviously felt foolish. But the relief was so big that it took over within seconds. Together with a quite satisfied expression on her face, the pee started to drip down between her legs. It became a stream, and then an even bigger stream. When she was in full swing, she giggled and looked foolishly at me. “Now, how do I look like? Wrong! Eighteen years older!” Still peeing, she casually looked around and saw nobody nearer than fifty meters. Casually she put a hand in her skirt’s left pocket. “Well, after all, this isn’t so bad. It is only my panties. And it is a warm day, anyway.” She looked to the sky. “Besides, it is not an unpleasant feeling.” Rapidly correcting herself, se added: “That is, now my panties are wet, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I rose to my two feet again and told her I thought it indeed didn’t matter at all. I also told her that I really liked seeing her standing with her legs a bit apart, wearing a skirt, and thoroughly wetting her panties. She looked away and blushed. “Really? Well, at least that will keep you from making fun out of me.”

Then the stream died away and she quickly bend her knees, crossed her thighs and in this half-squatting position she squeezed her panties as well as she could. A last gush of pee trickled onto the ground. She straightened her back again, turned around, picked up her slippers and continued her walk on the path with me. On the way back, we didn’t talk anymore about what happened, and she only three times grabbed her skirt to make sure it didn’t touch her panties.

Within ten minutes we reached her home. While I sat down and picked up a hifi magazine, she went upstairs and I expected to hear her rumbling about in the bathroom. To my amazement I heard her coming back down within half a minute. When I looked up from the magazine, she stood right in front of me, legs slightly apart, wearing a very short white sports skirt instead of her long one. She said nothing, just looked at me. I stared to her in disbelief. We were friends, but had no relation. I had seen her in short skirts before, but never so clearly challenging. “Still wearing the same panties?”, I asked, knowing that she just had not had the time to change them and dry herself. In answer she came closer and just said: “Look for yourself.” Putting down my magazine, I reached for the hem of her skirt and slowly I lifted it with both hands. It reveiled light-blue plain panties, just below her waist, sporting a dark stain centered in her crotch and spreading around for about fifteen centimeters, While she still stood there, I got out of the chair and lifted up her skirt from behind. Same story. I just said “Wow!”.

Then she turned around and told me to follow while she entered the garden. Arrived there, she squatted down and clearly made preparations to pee her panties again. Now I couldn’t hold myself any longer. “Please, stop it for a moment. Can I join you?” Playing she was shocked, she looked up to me. “Just join me? Right as you stand there? C’me on, you won’t get away with a soaked pair of jeans.” But she rose to her feet and directed me into the house again. “Wait here. I’ll get you what you need.” Hurrying up the stairs, she clearly showed her wet panties under her skirt. Almost as if I knew what was coming, I started to take off my shoes, socks, and jeans. Just as I put them on a chair, now only being dressed in a shirt and my underwear, reveiling an undeniable bulge in my pants, she dashed down again and gigglingly handed me one of her tiny skirts. It was a very simple model, just a band of fabric of about thirty centimeters with an elastic waistband. I slipped it on. The skirt covered my underwear enough to be useful, and since it was all but tight, my bulge dissapeared completely. My girlfriend circled me and giggled again. “It does not fit you. You have no hips, and those furry legs really seem silly. Still, it will do.” She entered the garden again and I followed her like in a dream.

Arrived where she wanted to be, she turned and took my hands in hers. Standing about a meter from eachother, we spread our legs, wider this time, and waited. I felt a great urge to pee, but wanted to see her reaction. After ten seconds, she said: “Well, now you know how it feels, standing in the open and knowing that someone watches you while you are going to pee your panties.” I smiled. “Are you ready? I am.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.” She winked with her left eye. “Now?” As an answer I looked down towards my skirt, held my breath, and carefully let go some pee. I felt my underwear eagerly absorb it as it touched the fabric. I peed some more. Then I looked my friend straight into her eyes and told her I’d wet myself. Quickly she lifted my skirt with her right hand and checked. When she saw the stained front of my pants, she smiled and let the skirt fall down again. Then she put both her arms in her sides and threw her long hair over her shoulder with a rapid head movement. She looked down to her own skirt and I heard a soft, hissing sound. While she carefully peed her panties again, I lifted her skirt for the second time and watched the pee as it surged through the fabric, making the blue panties seem like interwoven with silver threads in the bright sunlight. The stream soon soaked the panties again, and finding no way out, gradually trickled down onto the ground.

With a groan, I let myself go, and soon my whole crotch felt warm and moist, while a steady stream flowed from under my skirt between my legs onto the grass. Now my girlfriend suddenly reached under my arms forward to my skirt, lifted it above my waist, and thereby pushing my arms higher, so that I lifted her skirt altogether as well. For one second, she gazed at my underwear, showing a completely stained front and a big bulge with pee flowing around it. Then, she came closer, and pushed her crotch against mine. Her hands let go of my skirt and grabbed my ass, pulling my wet underwear tightly against her wet panties. I still peed, and she must have felt that. She peed as well, and I sure as hell felt that. While still peeing, she started to move rhythmically with her hips, and I could nothing but follow her lambada. We stood there for thirty seconds, peeing our panties and firmly pushing our crotches together. We didn’t kiss. Then I felt another function taking over in my abdomen. I started to push back harder, and she immediately reacted. It took us five more seconds to reach the point of no return. She closed her eyes and groaned. I slipped my hands under her skirt and firmly squeezed her wet buttocks. Then I came. My friend let out a high-pitched squeek and shuddered over all her body. She
took fifteen seconds to complete the orgasm.

We held each other for quite a time. Then, we stepped back a little, so that our skirts fell down properly. We both did not feel at all like taking them off or changing our underwear. Instead, she entered the house to make some tea and I sat down on a garden chair, careful to pull up my skirt first. Amazingly, the front of my skirt still was still completely unstained. We sat there, drinking tea and casually letting something find its way out, for the rest of the day, until sunset forced us inside to prevent our bladders from catching cold. Because, as she said, it was nice to wet yourself when you could get away with it so easily, but sadly that was not always the case. I could nothing but agree.

Concert Washout - a Story

 

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, and Accidental & Deliberate Wetting. A recent forum post asked about early experiences so perhaps I should tell about mine. I never had any problems when I was younger; as far as I can remember I never wet my knickers or my bed until my late teens, although I can recall several incidents involving friends. In most cases they wet themselves laughing, probably the main cause of accidents for teenage girls. In my case I was a poised and confident student of 19 when I first experienced the thrill and embarassment of weeing myself, though as two of my friends also soaked their pants at the same time we had a good laugh about it. The three of us had gone to an open air pop concert in the country on a gloriously hot summer day. Of course, there were the usual chemical toilets, which we risked using during the morning but which were increasingly foul later in the day. Anway, we found ourselves a pleasant place on the hillside with a good view of the stage but away from the main crush. We danced a lot and drank large bottles of Pepsi or water as we rested, sprawled out on the grass. By mid–afternoon we all needed to wee but as girls do, kept putting it off. As we sat down to rest after a particularly wild dance I noticed Carrie holding herself between her legs as we lay panting for breath on the grass. She saw me looking, announcing to us all that she had almost peed her knickers during the last dance and was so desperate she wasn’t sure she could reach the loo even if there wasn’t a queue. There was, as we could see from where we sat. We would also have to pick up all our gear and push through a crowd to get there.Rosie admitted that she too badly needed to wee as did I, suddenly becoming nervous about what might happen if I didn’t go off to the toilets very soon. I belatedly realised that I was in some danger of a rather embarassing accident, but then grown women didn’t wet themselves, did they? Apparently they did, and sometimes deliberately as well. Carrie looked at the queues then looked at us, saying, “I’ll never make it through that lot. I’ll pee myself before I’m halfway there anyway so I’m just going to sit here and do it in my knickers – its warm and they’ll soon dry! I looked at Rosie who was picking up her things ready to head for the toilets. We both looked at Carrie who had pulled her skirt back and was sitting with her knees up and legs slightly apart. We could clearly see her blue knickers which suddenly darkened as she just sat there and wet them, a stream of wee running down the slope in front of her. We were speechless but the sight of Carrie just letting go made us both more aware of our own need. “God, that feels better,“she announced. “ Well come on, surely you two have wet your knickers before – it’s easier than the trek to those smelly old porta–loos. “I have not,“I growled, “I haven’t wet myself as far back as I can remember and I don’t intend to do it now,“though with an increasing suspicion that I was in a situation where it might just happen. Rosie just grinned and said it wouldn’t be her first accident and at least this time she was wearing a skirt. Apparently she had wet herself some weeks earlier when walking home rather drunk from a friends party. The need to pee had just crept up on her and before she realised what was happening she had soaked her pants and jeans, much to the amusement of her mother who had been waiting up for her.We sat there giggling like kids at the story. Even Rosie was laughing about it till she stopped suddenly and clasped herself between her legs. “Don’t make me laugh anymore or I’ll wet myself again.” she spluttered. To which Carrie responded that if it was that bad it would be running down her legs long before she reached a toilet, reminding her of the long queues. Rosie looked across to the nearest lines and then looked back at Carrie. “You’re right” she grinned with a resigned sigh, “If I’m going to wet my pants I might as well do it here as there. At least it will only be you two who know about it, and Carrie’s pants are wet anyway!” With that she sat down on the slope, skirt pulled clear as Carrie had done, legs drawn up and apart with her knickers clearly visible. She sat there for a while, staring across to the stage. “I can’t do it,” she moaned, “I’m bursting but I can’t let go.” Carrie looked at her. “That happens to me sometimes. Just relax and think about sitting on the loo, then just let it flow.” I began to wonder at that point just how often Carrie wet herself rather than use a toilet.Rosie sat there, eyes closed. Then she stiffened and I watched fascinated as a jet of pee spurted through her pants. She relaxed a moment and then the flood came. A torrent soaked her pink cotton knickers and trickled down the slope away from her before soaking into the ground. She seemed to wee for ages and I watched, intrigued by the sight of my friend sitting there wetting her knickers. “Oh God that feels better,” murmered Rosie, “What a relief. Oh its hot and it tickles. Its running up my bum!” The flow died away and she pulled some tissues from her bag and mopped her thighs. “You’re right, “ she said, “I would never have hung on till I reached the loo. That’s so much better, even if I have got a wet bum.“They both looked at me. Despite the pain in my bladder I backed off doing what the others had done – I was just too embarrassed. Before we could talk any longer a new group began to play. My bursting bladder had me dancing anyway so I jumped up, hoping the movement would help me hold it. Well it did for a while. As the music died away I suddenly felt a warm spreading wetness between my legs. Instinctively I tried to stem the leak but to no avail. The trickle down my thighs turned into a flood. All I could do was stand there looking foolish, wetting my knickers like a silly child. In my surprise at what was happening I cried out, “Oh, Oh, Oh! I’ve wet myself. I’m weeing in my knickers. Oooh! Its running down my legs!” I seemed to wee for ages, standing there legs spread, staring in embarrassed surprise at the growing puddle around my feet and the wet streaks down my legs. A warm damp feeling tickled my bottom as the wetness spread through my cotton pants.“Well, if you want everybody to know what you’ve done that’s the way to do it,” laughed Carrie, stopping to put her arm around me as I started to cry. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Its happened to all of us but it’s much better to quietly wet your pants before you lose control. That way no–one need know you’ve had a little acccident.” Embarrassed as I was I had to admit that I been rather silly. After drying my legs with tissues and a spare tee–shirt I began to feel better. I didn’t even find the feel of my wet knickers uncomfortable, in fact as I danced the feeling of the wet material rubbing my clit made me feel quite randy, though at the time I thought it was more to do with the music!An hour or so later we needed to wee again and as we were all still damp simply sat on the grass and wet our pants again. This time I found the feelings of naughtiness at doing something so forbidden quite exciting and paid more attention to the exquisite feeling of hot pee washing over my crotch. I began to appreciate why Carrie seemed to find pleasure in wetting herself. It was late when we left and before walking the couple of miles home wet ourselves again. I enjoyed that walk.My parents were away so I had the house to myself for the weekend. I needed to wee again by the time I reached home, but instead of using the loo thought “so what, I haven’t used a loo most of the day.” Standing in the back garden I just let go again, loving the feeling as the hot wee filled by knickers and ran down my legs. As the flow died away I rubbed myself to a wonderful orgasm. As a new source of pleasure this was exquisite.Since then I often wet my knickers when the opportunities for such private pleasures present themselves. I have managed to avoid public accidents, though there have been times when I have wet myself on a country walk or on a beach. I’ve only wet the bed once and don’t think I could hide this from Mum if it happened too often (I do my own washing so she has never come across wet underwear). It happened one morning when I again had the house to myself. I woke up desperate but was too lazy to get up and go to the loo, so lay there, rubbing myself to help me hold it. Then I came, and promply lost control and wet my pants as I lay there. No–one knew about this accident except me, but one day Mum is going to notice the large stain on my matress. I think I will tell her I was drunk and had an accident when I didn’t wake up in time.
By: Poseidon

Willow Wets

 

Willow had long been a fan of wetting herself -- in fact, she couldn't even remember how it had started. When she lived with her parents, and then in a college dorm, the opportunities for enjoying that activity had been few and far between, but now that she had her own apartment, she could partake in that particular pleasure as often as she wanted. And she almost always wanted to.

It was a lazy Sunday, which Willow thought were the best days for having "accidents." The night before, she hadn't gone to the toilet before bed, and woke up fairly desperate that morning. (Willow frequently went to sleep with a rather full bladder, but it was less common for her to wake up still desperate, as she often woke up to wet sheets instead.) She lazed around in bed for a while, and contemplated relieving herself right there, but instead got up and went though her usual morning routine, which of course did not involve using the toilet -- in fact, her toilet was rarely used at all. By the time she was making her usual breakfast of toast with jam and a large mug of tea, she was fidgeting quite a lot, and had even resorted to even grabbing her crotch a bit to postpone the inevitable. She made it though breakfast without leaking, but an hour later she had progressed from fidgeting to squirming to flat-out bouncing, was holding herself constantly, and even moaning occasionally. Still, she held on. She loved it when she made a choice to wet herself, and the feeling of deliberately releasing her bladder and letting her pee escape into her clothing, but there was something even better about having a real accident -- at least, as real as an accident could be when she had done nothing to prevent it.

Despite her determination, it was only a few more minutes before the pressure became too much. She spurted, and felt the panties against her crotch grow hot and wet. She gripped herself even harder, but less than a minute later another, longer stream escaped, and she could feel her jeans growing damp under her hands. Willow crossed her legs even tighter and clenched her muscles, but only managed to halt the leaking for a few seconds before her bladder gave up entirely, and urine came flooding out. Her already wet crotch became soaked, and almost immediately after that pee began rushing down the insides of her legs, leaving dark, glistening streaks that widened as her bladder continued emptying. She could feel the wetness seeping up and around her butt, and spreading around her legs. Her formerly white socks turned yellow, and an impressively large puddle formed on the floor. Finally, she finished relieving herself, although excess pee still dripped from her pants to the floor. She looked at the mess she had made, and took a strange sort of pride in how much of her jeans were dark with liquid, and the size of her puddle. Although Willow kept these kinds of activities private, she did enjoy how visible wetting her pants was -- it would have been immediately obvious to anyone who saw her that she had peed, not into a toilet, but directly into her pants! With this thought, she began to rub her crotch and inner thighs through her still-dripping pants, moaning softly with pleasure as she did so.

Only when her pee grew cold and sticky did she stop and clean up. She spent the next several hours being satisfyingly unproductive and waiting for her bladder to refill. However, when she started squirming again, it wasn't because of her bladder. This time, it was her bowels that were becoming more and more insistent on voiding their contents. In order to increase how desperate she felt, Willow walked around her house.

After a few minutes, she felt her load turtling, but she managed to avoid messing her pants for the moment. Once she had regained a reasonable amount of control, she pulled down her pants and underwear, and was satisfied to see skid marks on the otherwise white panty lining. She pulled her pants back up and continued to walk around, occasionally stretching and even squatting. The moments when she almost lost control came closer and closer together, and increased in severity. After a particularly intense cramp, Willow knew she would have no choice but to fill her panties soon. She made her way outside to her backyard, which was surrounded by tall, thick hedges. Once outside, she decided to examine the inside of her panties again, and was rewarded by the sight of numerous new brown streaks.

With her pants still down, however, another wave of desperation hit, and Willow knew that her bowels were seconds away from emptying, whether she wanted them to or not. She only just managed to get her panties back up around her hips (her pants were left dropped around her knees) before she felt her load turtling again. This time, however, she was unable to avoid soiling herself. Her poop started to come out, and tented the seat of her panties before smushing a bit. Willow then gave up on trying to maintain any semblance of continence, and relaxed. Immediately and without any effort, a second, longer log slid out. She could feel the warm mass of poop pressing against her butt, and her panties were now distinctly heavy and sagging. She lightly ran her hand over the back of her panties, and discovered that the bulge was already quite obvious. However, Willow wasn't done yet. She squatted slightly and pushed, so the last of her load was also deposited into her underwear. She also felt a familiar hot wetness running down her legs for the second time that day, and realized that in voiding her bowels, she had also, quite unintentionally and without even realizing she was doing so, voided her mostly-refilled bladder.

Although she had completely relieved herself, Willow continued to stand in her yard for a few moments, taking a strange sort of pride in the mess she had created. She then pulled her pee-streaked pants back up -- further squashing her sizable load as she did so -- and walked inside, causing her poop to shift further into the base of her panties, and her gait became a sort of waddle. She made her way to the bathroom, where she positioned herself in front of the full-length mirror. Although the wet patches were a dead giveaway that she had peed herself, there was minimal visual evidence that she had also soiled herself, since her pants were loose enough that most of the bulge was hidden (she could just barely see it, but she knew what to look for), and a brown color hadn't yet seeped though to the outside of her pants. She then dropped her pants again, and examined how the back of her panties looked.

Now, it was clear that she'd had two "accidents." Her panties were made of thick white cotton, and not only was the front of her crotch wet, but also decidedly yellow. She twisted a bit so she could see her rear in the mirror, and observed that her load was causing her panties to sag quite a lot between her legs -- she even bounced on the balls of her feet a few times so she could feel the weight jiggle. Furthermore, the seat of her panties already had a noticeable brown stain on them. She grinned, appreciating the irony of standing with pee-soaked, poop-filled panties only a few feet away from a toilet. Willow wasn't quite done enjoying her "accident," so she pulled her pants back up again and wandered around her house for a while, before finally cleaning up, showering, and changing.

Peeing Humiliation. Pantys Pee Story, Dominant Water Punishment

 

A hot panties peeing story from Retro Cascade Knicker Wetting Magazine.

After the phone sex I had with Amanda (Miss Johns, my college lecturer) we had both promised to refrain from any sexual indulgence until our next arranged meeting the following afternoon. We would be feeling very horny and we had also undertaken to resist relieving our bladders from lunchtime onwards. I was more than happy to agree, "But don't forget!" I had reminded her when I phoned, "you take us for PE last session and you don't want me to wet myself during that, do you?"
"No," she said, "it would be nicer if we are both having to hold on, be a good girl 'till then, bye!" The 'phone went dead, leaving me tingling with anticipation and my hand still in my wet panties. It was as much as I could do to keep my promise even then, in fact, I automatically began to rub myself and would probably been unable to resist a final climax, but my quim was raw from all the attention it had received on the 'phone sex earlier.

Here's my paantie pee story: The following morning I awoke finding that I had wet the bed! No doubt, dreaming of what had happened the previous day. As a child I was still wetting the bed at 10 years old and although with specialist help, it became less frequent. But I have lapses, so I use a waterproof cover beneath the sheets. Occasionally I wear incontinence pants, like I had that night, but I probably pee'd quite a lot, so I woke in an absolute pool of pee. On the way to college, as I walked, each step caused the fabric of my tight panties to slide over my aroused clit. I longed to go in the college toilets and bring myself off, but I refrained. By the lunchtime break my panties were so sticky with my excitement of what was to come, that when I went to the loo and lowered them to pee, my clitty was poking out! and when I pee'd, I managed a small orgasm. That was my last allowed pee until my date with Amanda and by three o'clock, I wanted to pee badly and by 4 and I was dribbling into my gym pants. I wondered how Amanda was managing and maybe she too had started to wet herself? I was late entering the gym and Miss Johns was sat on the vaulting horse, her legs folded under her so I couldn't see how she had faired. She was directing a group of girls in an aerobics routine, however, she must have been aware that if I did vigorous exercises, I would most certainly pee myself. She told me to do rope and mat work on my own. This was to prove very tempting, as climbing with the rope between my legs stopped me peeing, but had every nerve screaming as I totted on the brink of orgasm.

You can come down now, I want to inspect your panties.

While Amanda was directing the rest of the group, my thighs were burning from the friction of the rope and I was now at the top with my arms wrapped around the tie beam. She kept looking up at me and must have been able to see my red locked thighs straining together to avoid peeing and from my vantage point, I could see she was sitting on her foot with the heel pressed tight against her vagina, rocking slowly to and fro, desperate for a pee. Finally, as she dismissed the group, she walked over and stood beneath the rope and shouted up, "You can come down now, I want to inspect your panties." I released my hold on the tie beam and started to slide down the rope and with that, my bladder relaxed and the pee spurted uncontrollably from my aching fanny. It went through my panties as if they weren't there! Some was going down the rope and some sprayed through the air and fell on Amanda's face and shoulders. As I touched the ground, I reached for her, but she pushed me roughly away. I was so sorry and stuttered, "I ddidn't mmean to do it, iiit was an accident, III couldn't help it!"
Amanda was clearly not having any of that and retorted, "You bloody little baby!" I started to cry as I stood there with both hands holding my self between the legs, together with my school gym knickers soaked. Amanda was also wet with my pee, she looked so angry I was afraid everything was ruined. I must have looked pathetic as Amanda said to me more gently this time, "Lift that skirt and lean over the vaulting horse." I did as I was asked and watched as Amanda went to the storage cupboard and returned with a thin cane. "Now let's have a look at you." I felt her hand between my legs having a feel of my pants. "Is that ALL the pee? Or have you come as well? C'mon, tell me!" she demanded. I stuttered, "Well Iii'm only, iiit's just . . . "

Amanda shrieked and immediately pee'd through her panties

"Oh stop dithering and let me see for myself." And with that, Amanda hooked her thumbs in the waist of my panties and pulled them down to my knees. I could feel her hot breath near my bottom as she inspected the crutch of my panties. "There is a bit of a cum stain in there, but I don't think you can have cum properly, so you'll still be randy when I get you home. However, as you have pee'd on me, albeit from a great height, I think a few strokes of the cane will make you think twice before you break your promises again!"

Later, on the way home I had my hand holding Amanda's fanny over her panties while she drove, I knew what I was going to do. As Amanda stopped the car in her drive and turned off the ignition, I took hold of some of her pubic hair and with one swift jerk, I pulled as hard as I could and came away with quite a bunch of hairs. Amanda shrieked and immediately pee'd through her panties, it was a long thick stream, it saturated her skirt and the seat and as she complained to me, I launched my assault of, "You dirty little bitch! It's YOU that's behaving like a little girl and now you need to be treated like one!" It was now Amanda's turn to start to blubber as she rubbed herself. I shouted, "If losing a little pubic hair distresses you that much, let's have you upstairs and I'll soon have that problem solved, let's have you hairless!" I marched her into her house and straight into her bedroom where I removed her sopping wet skirt and panties, she was clearly excited and more so when I tied her wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed. Then, from the bathroom I brought some shaving cream, together with a razor and bowl of hot water. After finishing trimming her bush with the scissors, I bathed her sad looking fanny with the hot water and the shaving foam as she strained against the straps to bring her legs together and try to rub harder against my hand. "Please don't tease me anymore, you're going to make me wee!" I gently drew the cold blade over her labia and then, when I had finished, I squatted over her foamy mess and rinsed off thoroughly with my at least half of my bladder contents, saving the rest for later. I then slid forward so that my thighs were on either side of Amanda's face, her nose rubbed on my clitoris and her tongue darted to and fro and the sensations of ecstasy swept over me, I panted, "I am going to make you drink the rest of my wee, can you drink it all?" In answer, she increased her rubbing and as the waves of my climax hit me, I began to pee into her mouth. She did manage to swallow quite a lot, but much of it soaked her face and hair. After I'd finished my peey task, I went and cleaned myself up a bit and went back and untied the bedraggled and bald beavered Amanda and cheerfully said on my way out, "Thanks for a great time baldy! I'll see you at college tomorrow!"

Wet Seduction

 

 

 

 

Ben worked in one of the many offices in the city. His job wasn't as glamorous as it sounds. He was the filling clerk, admin lackey.

However, Ben wasn't complaining too much. At least he had a job, which was more than could be said for a number of his friends. The other perk was the people Ben got to work with. On the whole they were a good bunch and some of the women were stunning to look at, not that they paid Ben much attention. He wasn't important enough.

But on the whole they provided Ben with plenty of material for fantasies. A number of the women were middle aged, which was great for Ben as he had a thing for older women.

Ben was only 19, and constantly fantasised about getting off with any of the women. Brenda in particular was a regular in his nighttime fantasies. She was perfect.

She was in her early forties and divorced. In Ben's opinion she had a perfect figure, nice and curvy with large breasts, long brown hair and a smiley, cheeky face. She was always nice and friendly with Ben; which was a good thing because she was his boss. But all the same Ben just couldn't stop fantasising about her.

It didn't help that she always seemed to wear suits for the office that seemed to accentuate her figure and show off her large breasts. Ben was forever catching glimpses down her top as she leant over to talk to him or he was standing next her at her desk as she explained some new piece of work; always managing to lean over for something. Ben especially liked it when she wore a trousers suit as he got the best of both worlds, a glimpse down her top and the image of her lovely round ass squeezed into the trousers. Ben was convinced that on these days she never wore any knickers, as there was no hint of a panty line; the mental image of Brenda walking around with no knickers on fuelled Ben's fantasies for days afterwards. If only she'd do that with her skirts where he might be able to catch a glimpse of her pussy, he often caught glimpses of legs when she turned in her chair or some other movement.

The only thought that spoilt this happy state of affairs, apart from the thought that he might never get past just glimpsing his bosses cleavage, was the rumour that she'd had a few affairs with some of the upper managers. To Ben this meant that she was well above considering him for any sexual activity.

There was nothing particularly different about this day compared to any other day as Ben arrived at work. It was the middle of summer and as a result things were quiet. The company dealt with a number of administration project for local colleges and universities and the summer was always a quiet time.

Ben sat down at his desk and started working through the day's jobs, trying to draw them out so he didn't have to do much.

"Morning Ben" came a voice over his cubicle wall as Brenda walked past.

"Morning Bren" Ben said leaning back in his chair to watch her pass, and to see what she was wearing. It was the grey trousers suit.

Ben smiled to himself and returned to his work. A white blouse was great because it often showed her bra off as well as affording a glimpse down her top.

The day carried on as usual except Ben found himself catching Brenda watching him from her office, or spending more time than usual checking figures with him. This had given him the opportunity, when she was examining the screen, to get a good look down her top. This particular blouse gave him a wonderful view of her lovely large breasts with their deep cleavage.

For her part Brenda couldn't miss the attention her manner of dress afforded her from Ben.

It had been like this for the 18 months Ben had been working there. At first she hadn't noticed, but over time she caught him glancing down her top or at her legs when she was sitting down. At first she'd been dismissive of this, he was young and she liked dressing in a way that made her feel nice. Too often larger women felt they need to hide their bodies away, but Brenda thought that was wrong and dressed in away that flattered her and showed off her curves. After a while though she found that she began to enjoy the attention Ben was showing her. She liked the fact that she had some kind of power over him; she imagined that he fantasised about her when he lay in bed touching him self.

And so her little game began. Brenda began to dress a little more revelling and made sure that Ben noticed. She loved watching him trying surreptitiously to check her out; the attention made her feel wonderful.

Now, all these months later she was the one thinking about Ben as she touched herself at night. She now constantly thought about all the naughty things she'd love to do to Ben. It had got to the point where she needed to do something about it, and so today was the day. All the conditions where right, most of the other staff were on holiday and the few that were left were normally gone just before five every day.

Brenda sat in her office watching the clock, feeling very nervous. Finally the clock pronounced it was 5.00. She stood up and went to get a drink from the water cooler. She was pleased to see that the office was empty. She'd allowed the few remaining staff to leave early; Ben was currently off sorting out some accounts anomaly. Brenda returned to her office and waited.

About 5 minutes later Ben returned and sat down at his desk looking around. He'd obviously noticed that everyone else had left. This was it; she undid the top button of her blouse, rearranging it so it showed more than usual.

Brenda walked over to Ben's desk breathing deeply. "We've shut up shop early today" she said, "I was just waiting for you to return. What was the problem with the accounts?" She leant over concentrating on the spreadsheet on Ben's screen.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ben staring down her blouse. He'd never seen so much of her on view.

He tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet, mumbling something about incorrect payment codes, reversal of funds and cost reallocation, all the time he was sneaking glances down her top.

Brenda smiled to herself.

She looked over at Ben, "Are you enjoying the view?" she asked archly.

Ben flushed red immediately. "What?" He stammered.

Brenda continued to lean over, "I said are you enjoying the view down my top?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but look," He said quickly, his eyes flicking down her top again.

Brenda smiled, "That's not what I asked Ben. I asked if you enjoyed the view."

Ben looked confused, Brenda didn't seem angry. On the contrary she seemed to be finding the situation highly amusing. Ben's mind raced; maybe his fantasies were about to come true.

"Erm, well, yes I like the view." Ben said finally, his eyes again flickered down her top.

Brenda continued smiling, "So you like my large breasts then?" she asked.

Ben was conscious of the erection bulging in his trousers, "Yes I do." Ben said looking up at Brenda.

Brenda stood up, "So you like big breasts Ben" She said smoothing her blouse over her chest. The material was thin enough for her bra to show through clearly. "Is there anything else about me you like?"

Ben swallowed, "Look Brenda, I didn't mean to cause any offence. I couldn't help but look."

Brenda smiled down at him. She was enjoying this so much. She could feel her pussy getting moist with the excitement of the situation. "Ben, I'm not angry. It's very flattering to have such a handsome young man checking me out. Now, what else do you like about me?"

Ben looked around the deserted office, and the full impact of the situation hit him. They were alone, Brenda had sent the other staff home early, and now she was asking him what he liked about her body and that she wasn't annoyed that he'd been looking down her top.

He swallowed again, "I really like your breasts; they're so big and pretty. Your arse is fabulous; so round and curvy. I love the way those trousers are so tight over it." Ben smiled, "I don't think you wear any underwear when you wear them."

"You're quite right Ben. I don't wear any knickers when I wear trousers. It makes me feel naughty to walk around the office with the seam of my 'tight' trousers rubbing against my pussy. And as I'm wearing trousers today, do you think I have any knickers on?" Brenda replied.

Ben hesitated.

"Let me help you" Brenda said.

Then whilst Ben watched she pulled her blouse out of her trousers and let it drop. "There" she said "Now there's no creases from my blouse to confuse you. Can you see the outline of my knickers?"

Brenda's blouse now hung down over her arse so Ben couldn't see it.

"I can't see your arse Brenda, your blouse is in the way." Ben said as he cottoned on to what she was doing.

"Oh, silly me" she giggled, "Would you like me to take it off?"

"I think it would help" Ben said earnestly.

Brenda began unbuttoning her blouse as Ben watched. Finally Brenda pulled the blouse off and dropped it on Ben's desk.

Ben stared at Brenda's large breasts. Her dark nipples were clearly visible through the material, all puckered up and erect.

"Is that better?" Brenda asked.

Ben couldn't help but stare at Brenda's breasts. Never had he imaged he would get this chance. "Much better" Ben said happily.

"Now do you think I'm wearing any knickers?" Brenda asked again, she turned slowly on the spot giving him the full 360o view.

Ben watched her drinking in every detail; he looked down at Brenda's crotch. He was sure he could see the outline of her pussy lips against the material. "No."

Brenda smiled even broader now. "You're quite right Ben; I never wear knickers when I'm wearing trousers. Now, before I slip these off I need you to tell me what you would like me to do."

Ben looked up confused, "I'm not sure I understand?"

"Well Ben, as your manager it's my duty to keep an eye on my staff, just as they keep an eye on me." She said smiling, "And as part of that duty I have to manager what my staff look at on the Internet."

"Ah" Ben said, comprehension dawning.

"Yes indeed Ben. So know what sites you look at, and I must say they make pretty interesting viewing. By rights I should report you to IT for viewing some of those sites, but I'm not going to. Mainly because I never knew that most of them existed and I've enjoyed viewing them myself." Again she smiled down at Ben.

"Now there is one site in particular that is rather pertinent to the situation we're in now. You see I really need to bathroom, but after viewing some of your wetter sites I'd like you to tell me what you want me to do. Should I do it here? Or..." she left the question hanging.

Ben's mind was reeling. Not only had Brenda found out what he thought was his little secret she'd actually started using the sites herself and was now offering to do the one thing he though he'd never get a woman to do. This was one naughty woman and she was offering herself to him! Not one of the managers but him; just a lowly office clerk. This was a dream come true and Ben wasn't about to let it slip away.

"I think I'd like you to do it here" He said.

Brenda smiled, "Here" she pointed to the spot she was standing one, "Or on your lap?"

"My lap" Ben said without a moments hesitation.

Brenda stepped forward and straddled Ben's lap and lowered herself on to him. She could feel him hard cock press against her pussy. Leaning back she unclasped her bra and pulled it off letting her breasts swing free.

"You can touch them," she said to Ben, who wasted no time in grabbing her breasts rubbing his hands all over them.

"Suck them" Brenda ordered watching Ben lower his head to one of her nipples and start licking and sucking at the hard dark brown flesh. She ran a hand through his hair and held him against her as she did the thing he wanted her to do. She relaxed her bladder and started pissing herself. Her trousers were quickly soaked. She felt the warm liquid seep around her arse and over her crotch.

This was a practice she'd never indulged in before, but after view the sites Ben so avidly surfed she'd tried it at home alone fully dressed in the bath and revelled in the dirtiness of it. From that moment on she'd started avidly surfing Ben's sites at work and at home. Up until now she'd led a sexually sheltered life. Her marriage had been very tame and when her bastard of a husband had left for a younger, more active women she'd been hit hard. It had taken her a while to over come this and now she fully intended to enjoy herself in anyway that took her fancy.

Trawling through the websites night after night had shown her sexual acts that she had never dreamed of. Some she was instantly attracted to; she now owned a variety of dildos and vibrators. Not to mention the underwear she'd started buying. The other things she'd seen, whilst intriguing, weren't yet to her taste; but this was only a matter of time. Now she'd discovered this side of her nature she wanted to fully embrace it. And judging from the reaction from Ben she'd found someone who'd be as willing as she was.

Ben buried his face into Brenda's magnificent breasts and began licking a kissing the soft warm flesh. His searching tongue found one of her large nipples and he sucked to with relish. Suddenly he felt the warmth of Brenda's piss soaking through his trousers and covering his balls and stiff cock.

The flow seemed to go on forever until his lap was comprehensively soaked. Brenda pulled his head back and clamped her mouth over his. Her tongue dived straight in and flicked over his tongue as she pulled at his shirt undoing the buttons.

"You've made me a very naughty woman Ben!" Brenda said as she pulled away from him and slipped off his lap.

She stepped back and unbuttoning her trousers pulled them off. Ben eyed her round backside as she bent over to pull the trousers off.

Brenda then knelt in front of Ben and pulled his trousers open, freeing his cock from his shorts she devoured it kissing and licking the sticky pre-cum from its swollen head.

Ben watch in mounting pleasure as Brenda forced his entire length into her mouth flicking her tongue around the base of his cock. He watched as one hand slid between her legs as Brenda began frigging herself.

Soon Ben felt he was on the brink of coming and Brenda must have sensed this as she let his twitch cock slip out of her mouth as she stood up and straddled him again.

"Taste Me," She said as she brought her hand up to Ben's mouth, who eagerly began sucking her sticking juices from her fingers.

Her other hand guided Ben's cock in to her soaking pussy as she lowered herself on to him. Clamping her pussy around his shaft she began riding him hard forcing his cock deep inside her. Ben's hands once again found her tits and he rubbed and squeezed her nipples as she fucked him.

"Oh Christ I'm coming" Ben cried as he felt Brenda grind herself hard against him. Moments later Brenda fell his hot cum flood her pussy.

She slipped a hand between her legs and began rubbing her clit hard as she pumped Ben dry.

"Oh YES!" she cried as her orgasm flooded through her. She didn't stop and rode Ben to another orgasm feeling their combined juices leaking out of her. She slumped forward on to Ben mashing her tits in his face.

They stayed like this for what seemed like an age.

Finally Brenda slid back off Ben and stood before him, he could see his cum running down the inside of her leg.

"Well Ben, did you enjoy that?" She said looking down at him.

"You bet" Ben said letting his eyes rove over her body. "I've been dreaming about this ever since I started here."

Brenda bent over and pulled her trousers on. "Well if you want this doesn't have to be a one off thing Ben. From what I've seen" she inclined her head towards the computer, "You're probably the kinkiest man I've ever met. Those sites were a real eye opener."

She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "In fact I'd like to try out the things I'm seeing and that requires another person."

 

Needing a pee in the night. The camping trip

 

 

 

 Last July I went to an open air festival where I pitched a tent up to stay in over the weekend - but it was an extremely cold, wet and windy weekend and if it wasn‘t for the fact I‘d come over 300 miles for this do, I‘d have gone home again!

But I was there for the weekend, I went to bed on the Friday night wearing a t-shirt and white nylon shorts and snuggled down in my sleeping bag inside my tent. Later on my bladder woke me up, this is extremely unusual for me, (but then it‘s extremely unusual for me to have drank 2 pints of shandy during the evening). A group of us had been sitting in someone‘s caravan talking and writing songs (away from the weather outside). It seemed a good idea at the time, but I was regretting it now, my bladder was sending out urgent signals. I glanced at my watch it was 12.30 am, oh darn it, there‘s hours to go until morning! I had two choices: I could lay there in the warm and hold it all night, or I could go outside in the cold, dark, wind and rain and pee on the grass and spend the rest of the night freezing cold, because once I get cold I find it very difficult to get warm again, I‘ve always been like that I feel the cold very easily and have trouble staying warm. So I figured I‘d lay there and hold it. At first it didn‘t seem too bad, but within about an hour I‘d gone from being bursting to pee to being very, very desperate to go, (bedwetting has never been my thing and besides, I‘d have to sleep in my sleeping bag again tomorrow night) - no, I‘d have to hold on that‘s all.

I soon realised that it would be easier said than done as my desperation was increasing by the second and the hands on my clock didn‘t seem to be moving very fast at all, I tried sitting up: "ouch!" I gasped out loud, that wasn‘t a good idea at all and it was cold out of my sleeping bag. I lay back down and gently rubbed myself through the material of my white nylon shorts, it was very, very arousing, especially on an overfull bladder, every so often I had to go from rubbing to frantically holding as the desperation waves were flowing over me too frequently for my liking and they were becoming much more intense too, but I held on to my piss through gritted teeth.

I really didn‘t know how I was going to hold on until morning I didn‘t know if I could, but I knew I HAD TO, because there was another reason why I COULDN‘T go outside - I shamefully admit that right by the tent door where I‘d have to undo the zip there was a big spider, I know it sex sounds silly but everyone is scared of something and with me it just happens to be spiders, so I couldn‘t go outside. I lay in my sleeping bag rubbing and holding myself through those erotic shorts, desperately hoping I could hang on until morning, I was sooooo desperate to pee my whole body felt tingly and my toes were curled up, spasms of desperation followed by spasms of an impending orgasm alternated within me for the whole of that night, my hands worked overtime as they held back the impending flood and at the same time almost took me to heaven as I rubbed through my shorts.

I no longer felt the cold - I was very hot, but that spider didn‘t move, I had gotten so hot through being aroused that I would‘ve gone out and braved the weather if that big scary monster thing wasn‘t blocking my exit, but I knew that with the spider there, once I‘d left my tent I‘d disturb it and it would move and I wouldn‘t be able to come back into the tent at all until it had been found and for that I needed daylight.
Eventually the sunrise filtered through the tent and the rain eased off and I could hear people moving about outside going to the toilets and showers, ooohhh just the thought of a toilet at that moment was like heaven to me, my desperation was so intense it felt like my bladder was on fire!

"Oh well," I thought, "it‘s now or never." Now, have you ever tried getting out of a sleeping bag with both hands jammed tightly between your legs? Feeling so desperate to pee that your entire body is tingling? Well take it from me, it‘s not easy, but somehow (and don‘t ask me how I managed it), it was ‘so far so good‘, then with every ounce of self control and strength I unzipped my tent and sure enough, the spider moved and I got out of that tent really quickly causing me to loose my concentration for a split second, but that was long enough to feel a warm wetness running down my legs - oh no!

I fought very, very hard to stem the flow and regain control again but it was proving very difficult to do, I guess changing position from laying down to standing outside in a much cooler temperature had a lot to do with it, but I was in full view of everyone else so I didn‘t want an accident. I was almost bent double. I made my way to the toilet block, there were a surprising amount of people milling around and I couldn‘t see anywhere I could squat down out of sight, it was a very open place so I HAD to get inside that toilet block! Every step I took was one step nearer, but it was also that little bit harder to hold, I was looking forward so much to my piss, I wanted to start it off now, so every few steps I almost lost control as very strong waves threatened me, each wave was that little bit stronger than the last.

I could feel myself leaking now and very badly too, my legs were pretty wet as were my hands and if I dared to look behind me on the path I know it would‘ve shown tell-tale signs, but I couldn‘t afford to look back, my only thought was getting to that toilet which somehow I did. No words can ever describe the utter relief I felt, I almost cried! In one split second I‘d pulled my hands away and my shorts down and peed a river, my shorts were very wet too, so I must have leaked a bit more than I‘d thought.

After I had peed, I finished off that orgasm that I‘d been on the brink of most of the night - aaaaaahhhhhhhh pure undiluted ecstasy, then I had to go back (with pretty wet shorts) and dismantle my tent and move to get rid of the spider.

Still Walking Strong

 

 

 

 This story contains Female Desperation, Humiliation, Female Wetting, Female Peeing, and Golden Showers. When I got home, no one was around, so I quietly went to my room, changed clothes and went straight to bed. There was so much to dream about: wet panties, soaked pussies, and overwhelming ladies! Two weeks passed and nothing had happened. The weather was rather rainy and I had chosen to ride my bike or hitch a ride whenever some neighbor’s kid had the same hours as I did. But summer came back and so did my desire to pick up my clothes. Doubtless, Mom would ask for them now that the weather allowed wearing them again. And maybe there was something else that attracted me to that house with a birch tree in front of it? Finally, an opportunity arose ‘ my parents would not be home till late, school was out early and the weather was brilliant. No neighbors around to offer me a ride, either ‘ perfect. So I wandered off, shouldering my backpack and looking forward to what was waiting for me. I got quite anxious when I turned into said street and my nervousness increased with every step. Would Ms. Birch be at home? Would she just pass me my clothes through the door and send me away? Would I be invited in? What about Ms. Kryokova? I was looking forward to seeing them again and at the same time I feared my dreams would be shattered, that I wouldn’t be lucky for a third time’ But what had happened after I had left the house last time? Ms. Kryokova had looked for Ms. Birch and finally found her coming out of the family bathroom. “What happened? Why did you leave so suddenly?” she wanted to know. Ms. Birch blushed and turned her head slightly: “I don’t know. It just felt so wrong what I was doing. And still, this tingling in my lower body, I felt I would do something stupid if I didn’t run away.” “Ah, come on! There was nothing wrong with showing that brat how to behave! I mean, back in those days, he would have gotten a thorough beating for what he did ‘ and you just made him feel the same as he had done to me.” The experience downstairs having built a strong connection between them Ms. Birch felt she could confide in her neighbor in all aspects of this event. Somehow the expression in Ms. Kryokova’s face told her she would find full understanding and sympathy. “That’s true, but ‘ believe me or not ‘ I was totally turned on by what I did, I couldn’t help it.” She admitted, blushing. “What’s wrong with that? I admit that I enjoyed it a lot when he cleaned my pussy with his tongue. He was so shy and careful; it took him ages ‘ all the time stimulating my labia. Yet I don’t regret a thing!” “I had to run away!” Ms. Birch insisted. “Imagine: I squatted over his lap, my pubic hair just touching his penis. My pee was jetting directly at his shaft, splashing all over his body’” She paused. “Does it feel right to be aroused by that?” she inquired, “And yet, as I finished, I felt the urge to simply sit down and rub myself against his private parts. Mind you: Such a young boy and covered with my piss! That’s just not supposed to feel good, is it? I felt so perverted!” Ms. Kryokova let pass some time before she replied: “Now, don’t be ashamed because of that little brat! I mean, he deserved it, didn’t he? After all he started the mess! If it turns you on, so what? No harm done, is it? We were punishing that teenager for his rude behavior; there is no doubt that he deserved it. Whether you feel pain and regret or joy and arousal does not matter at the end of the day.” “If you put it like that’ Maybe you’re right? ‘ Did you really enjoy him licking the pee off your pussy?” “I know it sounds twisted ‘ I even experienced an orgasm!” Ms. Kryokova admitted, somewhat cheeky. “And I am not going to regret that.” At this, her neighbor stared at her flabbergasted. After a while, she stammered: “When I arrived upstairs, I still couldn’t get my mind off what just happened. I hoped I would have a clearer head if I ran away from the scene, but instead the excitement grew and I was trembling with desire ‘ as soon as I got to the bedroom, I lay down and touched myself’ I think I came within seconds!” Ms. Birch finally admitted. “As you were gone, I had him clean himself and the laundry room.” Ms. Kryokova said into the silence that followed. “He is such an obedient boy!” her friend praised. “Oh, don’t be na’ve! Probably he simply didn’t see another way out ‘ I had locked the door and was watching him very closely.” Ms Kryokova wanted to make sure her friend did not regret anything. She had more plans for the future and these required making her friend feel free of sympathy for the boy. No, he had to remain the misbehaved brat he had been to her this afternoon! “Maybe you’re right: I don’t understand how he can be so naughty at times. And the next moment he is as nice a shy little boy as you can imagine.” Ms. Birch wondered. “As I said: don’t let yourself be kidded! Did you watch his face? It didn’t exactly look as if he was taking our lesson seriously. I wish, I could really teach him a lesson to remember!” Ms. Kryokova claimed. This conversation immediately followed my departure. Families Birch and Kryokova had always been on friendly neighborly terms and shared quite a few barbeques. But now, Ms. Birch and Ms. Kryokova became close friends. They met almost daily when their husbands and kids were at work and school, mostly discussing their common experience in the laundry cellar. For some unquestioned reason they always ended up meeting at the Birches house. Slowly, Ms. Birch began to accept her newly found feelings. She opened up to the fact that she had enjoyed the situation of superiority and power, the punishment of that little naughty teenage boy who had first thrown garbage in her front yard and then made her humiliate herself, peeing her panties in front of him. Thanks to Ms. Kryokova ‘ who had always been very open to her own desires and sexual feelings ‘ she started to feel she had done nothing wrong and that it was her right to punish me for what I had done to her. No, she did not have to feel ashamed! Who did it concern what she felt when she punished me? Certainly, it was no one’s business! Ms. Kryokova seemed to enjoy discussing the subject. Pretty much every time they met, she managed to bring up the subject and pointed out what a spoiled, disrespectful and ill–mannered brat I must be. She loved to discuss the punishments they had used to discipline me and how these had apparently failed to impress me appropriately. “He has not even picked up his clothes yet, has he?” she asked her neighbor. “No, I haven’t seen him since.” Ms. Birch confirmed. “Shows little respect for you and for his mother, don’t you think?” Ms. Kryokova remarked. “Why?” “Well, you have been washing his clothes ‘clothes soiled in your house without any respect. Do you think his mother is happy if he discards the clothes she paid for just to avoid the humiliation and punishment waiting for him when he picks them up?” she made her point. Even now, Ms. Birch did not know that Ms. Kryokova had purposefully peed on my lap, that I in fact was innocent in that respect; that I had never actually pissed my pants in her house. “What humiliation and punishment?” Ms. Birch asked, astonished. “Don’t you think he will be embarrassed to ask for the clothes he wet in front of you? And don’t you think that he deserves some extra punishment when he comes? He never said sorry for dumping his litter in your yard, even less for his outright outrageous behavior when he peed his pants just to see me off his lap!” Ms. Kryokova was proud that she had sent me off in my sports gear, keeping my other clothes when I left. She intended to force me coming back ‘ she was not done with her games yet! “Hm, I understand what you are saying’ But don’t you expect him to say sorry when he comes to pick up his clothes?” Ms. Birch asked. The tingle in her belly told her that she wished I wouldn’t. “That naughty brat? Who peed on your friend just for his revenge?” her neighbor laughed at her. “Besides, he is silent as hardly another teenager. Did he ever say a word without being forced to speak? ‘ No, he won’t admit to his wrong doings.” To drive home her point, she added: “A well–behaved person would bring a bouquet of flowers to confirm their words and as a thank you for washing their dirty clothes. Do you really think that is going to happen?” Ms. Birch felt relief. A bouquet of flowers? No, that was definitely not going to happen! They would definitely have a reason to punish the boy again’ She didn’t realize what a twisted train of thought this was. But she felt she longed to dominate, to punish the boy again, as she felt her bladder tingle, filling with freshly processed urine. Still, she couldn’t get herself to refer to him as a brat. No, there was a subtle divergence of the picture Ms. Kryokova drew of him and the boy she remembered. She loved to accept Ms. Kryokova’s descriptions as they gave them the right to exert power over the boy and to punish him. Something, she felt, she was looking forward to. Something she would enjoy, even if it was still hard for her to admit. Ms. Kryokova’s descriptions erased the pangs of conscience she felt about this. But she couldn’t really believe that this was the only way to look at “that little boy’s” behavior. Maybe he was just shy? Maybe he did not dare to object? Maybe he had wet himself out of fear as her friend straddled him? But no, the latter seemed rather farfetched ‘ of what would he have been afraid, afraid enough to pee his pants? Silence settled in the room as Ms. Birch gave audience to her thoughts, wandering away in fantasies. Sitting at the tea table, both ladies looked at the window and silently wished for that little boy and naughty brat to appear in their street. Would he ever come to ask for his clothes? “How I wish to pee on his lap!” Ms. Kryokova burst out suddenly. “Give it all back to him what he did to me!” she added, careful not to raise her friend’s suspicions. “Oh, I could do that immediately!” Ms. Birch replied without thinking. “My bladder is full to burst: We have been chatting for hours, and I haven’t been to the toilet since you came over.” She wasn’t aware of the meaning of what she said. She felt she would do it, she knew in her heart that it would feel good. But would there be any reason to do it? Could she expect the boy to accept something like that happening? “I wish he would pass by soon!” Ms. Kryokova dreamt on. “I would love to see you sit on his lap, lifting your dress a little bit and wetting his clothes. How I would feel avenged by his humiliation!” “I want to see the look in his face!” Ms. Birch admitted, feeling her crotch get warm and moist. “Just imagine when he suddenly feels the warmth spreading over his lap, pee soaking his trousers. What a shock!” “And picture yourself getting up whilst peeing, making sure to wet his t–shirt, too!” Ms. Kryokova continued. “Saying ‘How does it feel getting peed all over your clothes?’ or so. He would be completely embarrassed!” “What a retribution for what he did to you a fortnight ago!” Ms. Birch went on. “But you would have to wet your panties in the process.” Ms. Kryokova stated, feeling her vagina pulsing at the simple thought. “Hm, I imagine there would be little time to take them off once he came’” her neighbor considered the statement. “I just wonder if he would follow us down into the basement again and then let me sit on his lap?” Ms. Birch felt her conscience twinge as she realized how absurd a situation it would be. “Certainly he would!” Ms. Kryokova asserted. “He wants to pick up his clothes and if he doesn’t need to say sorry the least he can do is go pick them up in the laundry cellar. I wish’” ‘ a sudden inspiration flashed through her mind, leaving her craving for gratification ‘ “Yes, could I ‘ oh I wanted to pee on his backpack.” She uttered. “That would be a lesson for him ‘ having his schoolbooks wet with pee!” Vivid pictures emerged from her subconsciousness. “How I would love to open the backpack and then even pee into it. He would remember that lesson, oh how he would!” she exclaimed. Again silence fell as the two women gave audience to their thoughts. “I can’t hold on very long anymore!” Ms. Birch broke the silence. “I think I will have a short toilet break.” “I feel like peeing, too. Your birch tree leave infusion seems to speed up my renal function ‘ I have only been to the toilet little more than an hour ago.” Ms. Kryokova admitted. “But I won’t go until I can’t hold on anymore. I would be sorry if that brat knocked at the door just after we went to the bathroom!” She hoped her neighbor would stay, too. She liked to see her in desperation and she felt her vagina get wet as she fantasized about Ms. Birch peeing into her panties ‘ on that naughty brat’s lap. This train of thought would only be half as thrilling if Ms. Birch’s bladder were empty. “I can’t stand this anticipation anymore! It makes my body twist with desire; my full bladder doesn’t make it any better!” Ms. Birch described her feelings. “Doesn’t it feel wonderful, sitting here with a full bladder, imagining how that little brat is subjected to our punishment?” Ms. Kryokova answered. “After peeing on his backpack I would make him lick my pussy dry, every little drop of pee he would have to suck away. I’m sure I would come again: It felt so wonderful last time!” “But you can’t pee on his backpack!” Ms Birch replied as if their fantasies were real plans. “Imagine the scandal of him coming home with wet books smelling of pee!” “I can’t help it; it makes me incredibly hot to imagine him cleaning his books, wiping page by page with his clean t–shirt to remove my pee and save his works.” Ms. Kryokova described her fantasy. “And since he is such a brat, his Mom would probably blame him for peeing his books on purpose. If I could only see his face as he has to tell his parents ‘ what humiliation!” Ms. Birch got up and started to clear the table. She was barely able to contain her desperate need to pee. She could sit no longer. She would have to go to the toilet when she had finished placing their dishes in the dishwasher ‘ or she would piss her panties. She almost lost control when Ms. Kryokova suddenly jumped up and ran past her. “Don’t scare me like this!” Ms. Birch shouted as she felt her bladder release a spurt into her panties, only just stopping the flood. “I almost peed my pants!” Ms. Kryokova didn’t reply; she stood at the window, staring outside: She had seen someone slowly walking up the street, looking at the house, hesitating in front of the garden gate. Yes, it was the long awaited little brat! I was standing in front of the house with the birch tree ‘ and I was too shy to approach it. I felt embarrassed. Could I just walk up to the door and ask for my clothes? Would they even remember? What if someone else opened the door? What would they think? What should I tell them if they asked me what I wanted? What excuse was there for my clothes to be at their house? Should I say that I had peed myself on the street and Lady Birch had invited me in to change and wash my clothes? It was too humiliating! I looked at the house, at the kitchen window. There it had happened, three weeks ago: I had seen how Lady Birch had wet her panties in front of me. For the first time in my life, I had seen a naked woman’s vulva close up. I trembled with excitement. Then I saw something move behind the window: Ms. Kryokova was watching me. I blushed. She had peed on my clothes, she had made me lick her pussy ‘ she didn’t know how much I had dreamt about it during the last two weeks. Yet I felt humiliated: she had seen me naked, she had seen how Lady Birch peed on me, how I had sat in Lady Birches pee, unable to move. She had made me clean up the mess afterwards. I didn’t dare looking at the window, at the house. I turned my gaze away, looked at the ground, my face burning hot from the blood shooting to my head. However much I had liked it, I would never forget the humiliation that went with it. I stood there ‘ I don’t know how long. Then I took a heart: It was too late. She had seen me. I took a step towards the door. She would think I were a total coward if I would not even dare to pick up my clothes. I got angry: It was all her fault, after all. Had she given me my clothes right away, I need not live through the humiliation of walking to the door and asking for my clothes. Finally, I took a heart and walked all the way up to the door. After another pause I finally rang the bell. It seemed like ages until the door opened. I thought all neighbors must be looking at me, it was so embarrassing. They didn’t know, but I felt like they could look inside me and see everything that had happened. The door opened. Ms. Kryokova stood there, scowling at me. I didn’t utter a word and stood in silence, staring at the floor immediately in front of me, blushing more and more. “So!” was all she said after what seemed like eternity. I could have sunk in the ground. “Nothing to say, huh?” she asked. I still didn’t reply, but shyly took a step forward. “Can’t get in quick enough, that ill–mannered little brat, eh? Not a word of sorrow? No excuses? We should have expected at least a little sign of repentance, huh?” she said sternly. I flinched. I had not expected to be scolded like that. Hopefully they would give me my clothes at all! ‘ I felt like running away’ Ms Kryokova sensed the danger of me running off. She needed to get me into the house quickly, so she modified her strategy. “I see: you’re mute.” She continued telling me off but stepped to the side. “Come in, I don’t like to talk to you at the door! The neighbors are listening.” I slowly stepped forward and she closed the door. She took my arm and dragged me towards the far end of the hallway. Lady Birch was just coming out of the kitchen. “Look here!” Ms. Kryokova told her. “This little brat hasn’t said a word yet. Not a word of sorrow, no excuse, no thank you for being invited in, no explanation why he is here ‘ and of course no flowers as a sign of repentance!” “What do you want?” Lady Birch’s voice sounded kindly, as she asked me. She looked at me with a weirdly mixed expression of pity and superiority, compassion and dominance, desperation and excited anticipation. “Did you come to get your clothes?” All I could do was nod ‘ I felt too embarrassed. “Then come down to the basement ‘ you know where the laundry is.” She commanded in a soft voice, leading the way. “To be honest, I am disappointed with you. Ms. Kryokova is right: I have not heard a single word of repentance or remorse. You seem to expect us to accept your behavior like it is ‘ and you have behaved quite rudely the last time you were here!” Her friendly voice made me feel the accusations even more deeply. I felt sorry. I’d dreamt of being friends with Lady Birch. She had given me the chance to see her vulva and I hoped to be allowed another glance if she would like me. But I had messed it all up. Everything I did, I did it wrong’ Suddenly a flicker of hope shot through my mind: What if she felt I should be punished again? Maybe in a similar way as last time? Maybe it wasn’t that bad if she was angry at me? When I looked back, up the stairs, I saw Ms. Kryokova’s face. And her expression couldn’t frighten me as much as before: she looked stern and overpoweringly dominant, but at the same time I felt that there was more; unconsciously, I felt the sexual tension that was dominating the situation. And in Lady Birch’s face, too ‘ there was a certain apprehension, a tension that promised more than scolding words. As soon as we entered the laundry room, Ms. Kryokova grabbed my backpack and dragged and pushed me onto the chair by pulling at its handle. As she made me sit down with one hand, her other hand pulled the backpack upwards, slipping it of my lifted arms. She was still standing behind me. I could feel her breasts touching my shoulders, she was this close. She didn’t move. I breathed harder. What would happen next? I was tensed up with apprehension. Lady Birch walked up to us and straddled me, still standing. She was very close, I had to bend back into Ms. Kryokova’s d’collet’ and look right up to face her. She looked down at me and said: “Do you remember what happened last time you sat on this chair?” She was talking about me presumably wetting my pants. She couldn’t know it had been her neighbor’s pee, I thought. I nodded. “Did you ever say sorry for this?” she inquired. I shook my head. Should I tell her I was innocent? Anyways, she wouldn’t believe me, I thought. “Do you think it was good behavior? Do you think I can accept that something like this happens to my friend in my house? And you don’t even excuse yourself!” Again, I had to shake my head. She was sitting on my lap now, firmly pushing her crotch against my belly. “Ms. Kryokova and I have agreed that you need to feel a more severe punishment if you prove to be resistant to our previous lessons. And I fear you didn’t prove you learnt anything from the last lesson you got!” How could I deny that she was right? I looked at her, feelings of understanding, repentance and submission mixing in my expression. But I could not get any wiser from her expression. Little did I know that she was fighting hard to contain her pee: She was beyond desperate now and had already started leaking into her panties. She felt a trickle of pee running down her left thigh and the crotch of her panties was more than soaked already: She was desperate to get over the introduction and finally release her bladder’s contents on my lap. Her arousal at the thought of what was going to happen did not exactly make it easier for her to hold on. She needed to piss now! “I see you feel the power of my correct verdict; but I doubt that you will remember it for a long time. So we will have to reinforce it with a more severe punishment than last time.” Saying this, she lifted her dress far enough that it didn’t touch my clothes, pulling it from between us. She was sitting right on my crotch now, her breasts briefly touching my face as she was bending forward to reduce the pressure on her bladder. Then she straightened up again, pushing her lower body hard against mine. She was peeing forcefully into her panties, it had started quite suddenly and she couldn’t hold it back anymore. Her face was showing the extreme relief she felt. After she had peed for about ten seconds, she regained control over herself. Slowly, she continued to pee. I felt her golden liquid soaking into my trousers, drenching my panties, little rivulets flowing along my waist into my crotch and forming a puddle in the seat under my butt. She prepared to get up; I felt how her weight on my thighs decreased and then how she gently rubbed her crotch along my belly. Now, she pulled up her dress further, gathering it in one hand, making sure it didn’t touch her wet knickers. This might have taken her ten seconds. She was standing now, still straddling me, her dress pulled up all the way to my face, tickling my nose. Her pee was running along the insides of her thighs and dripping off her panties onto my wet belly and legs. Her free hand reached for her crotch and pulled her panties aside. She arched her back, bringing her hips forward, and pushed hard to release the last jet of her clear golden–tinted pee. I could see the stream of pee appear under the hem of her dress, arching towards my chest, wetting my t–shirt. Wet warmth spread all over my body as the pee was soaking into my clothes and trickling down my skin. Unfortunately, she held her dress such that I could not see the origin of her stream. I longed to see her vulva, to get a glance of her wonderfully thick black bush and her beautifully red inner labia! But I did not get a chance ‘ I had to sit there, my shoulders held by Ms. Kryokova behind me and my sight hindered by the gathered fabric of the dress only a few centimeters from my head. Instead, I concentrated on the feeling of warm pee running down my skin, collecting in a warm puddle on the seat, then soaking into the fabric of my pants and running along my legs into my shoes. A light scent of bitter–sweet pee flavored the air around me, bringing back memories of that far away time (three weeks ago) when I saw her pussy for the first time. Lady Birch was still straddling me, apparently unmoved, as my senses returned to the here and now. I saw her whole body tremble slightly. Looking up to her face, I noticed a hint of uncertainty, of her being at a loss how to continue my punishment. Her mind seemed to be in a different world. Ms. Kryokova was shaking with lust by now. Her firm, full breasts were still touching my neck. Until the very last moment, she had not believed Ms. Birch would do it. But now she saw that her compassionate and empathetic friend had followed her manipulation and given in to lust and desire rather than following morals and her conscience. Ms. Kryokova felt proud of her achievement, a wave of lust and satisfaction ran through her body. It had been right not to tell her friend that she had peed on that little brat’s lap last time: Ms. Birch would never have agreed to her scheme had she known the truth, she thought. Yet now she was sure they had crossed a point of no return. She felt confident she could now launch the second stage of her mischievous plan. “What are you waiting for?” she addressed me, “Help Ms. Birch in her awkward situation and pull down her panties. You know how to do that!” Instinctively, I moved my arms up. They were covered with pee, since I had them hanging at my sides during the punishment. Slowly, I lifted my hand at the inside of Lady Birch’s thighs until I reached the limits of my sightline. Very careful, I continued to move, desperately trying not to touch anything with my wet hands. After a while, I felt something wet tickle the back of my hand ‘ I had reached the outer limits of her pubic hair. I stopped to move. How should I know where to find her panties without touching her dry skin with my wet hands? I was too confused to realize that her inner thighs were anything but dry’ Lady Birch must have understood ‘ she pulled her gathered dress as high as she could, using only one hand. My gaze followed the movement of her dress’ hem until I could see her other hand, still holding her panties to the side. I moved my hand higher, taking hold of the wet panties’ crotch right next to her hand. I could feel her hand tremble as our hands briefly touched. As soon as I had taken hold of the panties, she removed her hand, using it to gather her dress higher. I wasn’t sure anymore: did she really tremble or was it me, shaking with lust? As the hem moved up higher, I could see some pubic hair appear, the visible triangle slowly grew, I saw her bright red inner labia shimmer through the wet curtain of hair as more and more of her mons pubis was exposed to my stare. Her panties covered the right upper half of the triangle her pubic hair formed, creating a diagonal line parallel to her left groin. I was so excited ‘ I had been waiting for this view ever since she had straddled me. And hoping for it much longer. I was so immersed in staring at her, I didn’t move at all. Ms. Kryokova had been disappointed that she could not see how Ms. Birch peed on me from her vantage point. As she saw that I would not budge when Ms. Birch straddled me and announced the punishment, she had regretted her choice of standing behind me. She had been ready to hold me in place should I have shown any signs of flight instinct. But this proved to be unnecessary and Ms. Kryokova had ended up seeing nothing but a gathered dress in front of my face. She had had to rely entirely on her other senses to savor the situation: she heard the pee splashing on my clothes and smelled the odor of fresh urine wafting through the room. She was incredibly turned on. The idea of tricking her friend into peeing through her panties on a little boy’s lap, the imagination of her friend being aroused by what she did, the feeling of successful manipulation and subtle power exertion, the dominance over me, the humiliation I had to go through ‘ mostly innocent as she knew: all this formed into a giant wave of lust shaking her body, almost blowing her mind. Now that she was at the next stage, she needed new stimuli to satisfy her desires. “Why don’t you take of that dress entirely?” she asked Ms. Birch. “It’ll only get wet ‘ hand it to me and I can put it in a safe place.” Ms. Birch hesitated at first, but then quickly pulled the dress over her head and passed it to Ms. Kryokova. Was it the first time that I saw her almost naked, wearing only a bra and her wet panties? I didn’t know, I had dreamt so many times about her I couldn’t distinguish fantasy from reality anymore. But I wasn’t going to be interested in her bra and belly when I could see a female crotch. Seeing her mons pubis covered with thick black curly hair, her wonderful red labia shining through: This was paradise, I thought. And so I looked back down at the wet panties, wet hair, and shiny pussy lips. My hand moved up to the upper hem of her panties, finally beginning to pull them down as I had done with Ms. Kryokova’s knickers a fortnight ago. A bit of pubic hair appeared; then more and more until I had finally uncovered her pussy, the panties dangling half way down to her knees. Here I stopped; the straddling legs were too far apart to allow further movement. What would happen next, I wondered. “Lick her pussy dry as you did with mine last time!” Ms. Kryokova ordered. I had to twist to get my head to Ms. Birch’s vulva. Last time I had been kneeling, now I was sitting on a chair, Ms. Birch’s vulva less than a foot in front of me, but about ten centimeters below my chin. Bending my back, I slid to the edge of the chair and tilted my head sideways. Now I could reach her groin, her mons pubis and part of her legs. I started to gently suck on her thighs to remove any pee that had found its way up there, progressing towards her pubic hair, softly pulling a few hairs between my lips to wipe off any drops of pee that clung to them. Finally, I reached her clitoral hood and the front of her inner labia. They were larger than Ms. Kryokova’s, and somehow felt different. I slid my tongue along them to feel the differences, to store every detail of them in my brain. But even as Lady Birch pushed her hips forward, I could not reach the inner areas of her thighs nor cover her full crotch with my tongue. I was so immersed in my task that I didn’t notice what happened over my head. Ms. Kryokova leaned forward to her neighbor and whispered in her ear: “Do you remember what we discussed in the kitchen? I really need to pee by now ‘ I wonder how he will react if I announce that I want to piss into his backpack!” Ms. Birch was shocked. Her friend could not do that, she thought. It would leave traces too obvious and it could ruin the valuable books and exercise books. But at the same time she was intrigued: would Ms. Kryokova really do it? And what would that little boy still licking her pussy say about it? Was her neighbor only teasing to watch her reaction? After all, Ms. Kryokova had not participated in any of the peeing yet, she realized. Her own interests required that Ms. Kryokova put herself in a compromising situation, too! Otherwise she was vulnerable to laughter, even to blackmail. Nevertheless, could she accept her friend to ruin the poor boy’s belongings? You could wash clothes, but books? “You cannot do that ‘ it will ruin the books!” she whispered to her friend, adding: “At least give him a choice to avoid it!” “Ok. I shall wait a little bit. But I can’t hold it too long, I am getting desperate.” A few moments passed. Ms. Kryokova was considering her options and Ms. Birch enjoyed the soft teasing of my tongue around her clitoral hood. “Listen: step back and let him fully remove your knickers. Ask him to get undressed before he lies down on that heap of dirty laundry over there. It will be more comfortable for you to straddle him there and let him clean your inner thighs and your vulva with his tongue.” Ms. Kryokova suggested. “In the meantime, I’ll squat over his backpack to watch you. He will notice and I shall warn him in time about my desperate need to pee. We shall see what happens next.” Ms. Birch agreed immediately. She hadn’t listened to the whole proposal; she had heard her friend’s recommendation to take on a more comfortable position to have her pussy licked. And she had noticed that her friend was not immediately going to urinate into the backpack, so there was no need to worry. All she needed now was to feel my tongue more intensely, reaching the inside of her labia, her clitoris. She was shivering at the thought alone. She stepped back and told me: “Take off my panties all the way and then remove your wet clothes. You will catch a cold, if you wear them much longer!” It was true, I hadn’t noticed, but the pee was getting cold and I had goose bumps despite my excitement. Quickly, I pulled her panties down and got up to remove my clothes. My t–shirt almost ripped as I pulled at its neck as the wet fabric was clinging to my skin. I was barely naked as Ms. Kryokova grabbed me from behind and pushed me onto the heap of dirty laundry. I saw her squat at an angle to my position as I looked around me. I felt a tingle as I realized she had spread her legs wide, exposing her panties to my view. She bent forward, blocking my view with her arms. What was she doing? She was fiddling with something on the floor. It was my backpack: she was opening the zipper and pulling the front forward from under her legs. Why was she doing this? I mean, she could squat over my backpack if that was the best position for her to watch, but why would she open it? Was she getting bored and planned to have a look at my books? That seemed unlikely’ A shadow made me turn my head back. Ms. Birch stood astride over me. Now she was squatting directly over my head. I forgot everything about Ms. Kryokova and concentrated on the vulva that was approaching my face. It was the first time that I saw Ms. Birch’s vulva from directly underneath, her pronounced inner labia parting as she opened her legs wider. I got a glimpse at her clitoris ‘ I hadn’t seen one before, not even Ms. Kryokova’s. I saw her vulvar vestibule, the opening to her vagina, I was totally excited. As soon as she was close enough, I started to lick her inner thighs, progressing as fast as I could to proceed quickly to suck her labia, to discover the area between them that I had just got a short glance of. She tasted slightly different than Ms. Kryokova, I thought. But I liked it and I felt how she shivered every time my tongue got close to her clitoris. Ms. Kryokova had positioned herself such that she could watch us. She enjoyed how her neighbor was approaching orgasm as I had licked her for a few minutes. This was the right moment, she thought! “Uh, oh, I can’t hold it anymore!” she shouted. She saw how Ms. Birch’s head turned to her. A little trickle left her urethra, wetting her panties’ crotch. There must be a clearly visible wet spot, she thought, a rush of excitement passing her spine. “This is too much, I am wetting myself!” she called out, pressing her hand against her pussy and feeling more pee soak into the fabric. Ms. Birch’s eyes widened. Her neighbor was really wetting herself! Only now she realized that Ms. Kryokova was straddling my open backpack. “Is she really going to ruin the poor boy’s books”, she thought? She had to stop her! I hadn’t noticed anything of what was happening. Totally absorbed in my task, I licked her pussy clean and now decided to thoroughly wipe the area around her clitoris with my tongue. Ms. Birch gave a jolt as a wave of pleasure shook her body. She didn’t really care what Ms. Kryokova did at the moment ‘ exactly as her mischievous friend had calculated. Another short jet of warm, golden liquid left her neighbor’s bladder and wet her panties. The wet spot now covered her crotch completely, and a first drop started to form and drip into the backpack as she pulled back her hand. This was so exciting! As she released another very short spurt, it went almost directly through the fabric clinging to her pubic hair and dripped into the open backpack. She pulled up her dress to watch her pee’s destiny. This movement restored Ms. Birch’s attention. She was abruptly brought back to reality, only seconds before she experienced an orgasm. It took her a while to realize what she saw: Ms. Kryokova had exposed her panties and was looking down at her wet crotch, pee steadily dripping from her panties into my backpack. “This is not true! This cannot be happening! Ms. Kryokova is not peeing in his backpack!” she thought. “It was just a dream, a fantasy, a story we made up over tea in the kitchen ‘ this simply can’t be reality. I must be dreaming!” And again my tongue hit a sweet spot; Ms. Birch forgot about Ms. Kryokova and was oblivious to anything but the waves of pleasure flooding her mind. Ms. Kryokova had watched another very short spurt of pee finding its way through her panties and dripping into my backpack. Excited, she saw how her pee was dripping onto my atlas and building a small elevated puddle on the plastic cover. As another few drops emerged from her pussy, the puddle started to spread; the pee was slowly making its way across the atlas and started to run down its spine, soaking into the fabric of the backpack. Ms. Birch experienced the best orgasm she could think of as I was still caressing her pussy with my tongue, gently sucking at her urethra. She hadn’t known this felt so good! Thirty seconds passed, and she was still shaking from the hormones that flooded her body. Ms. Kryokova had stemmed the flow and was looking at us. She was trembling with excitement as she saw how Ms. Birch experienced her orgasm, totally oblivious of what was happening right in front of her. She loved to think how Ms. Birch had unwittingly consented to her wetting the schoolbooks by concentrating on her orgasm rather than objecting to her friend’s act. She had told her before, and Ms. Birch would certainly feel remorse or at least occasional pangs of conscience when she was in her senses again. Ms. Kryokova was aroused at the idea of inflicting her neighbor with qualms and she loved to torture that little innocent boy by wetting his school stuff. His humiliation when he had to tell his parents or his teachers! Or Ms. Birch ‘ what would be her reaction when she found out that the boy was in fact innocent and had never peed on her? She would tell Ms. Birch later, adding to her pricks of conscience! Slowly, Ms. Birch was recovering and her stare got livelier. She looked around and her gaze stopped at Ms. Kryokova. Really, she had forgotten about that! Ms. Kryokova saw how a conscious stare was focusing on her crotch and she cautiously released another jet of pee. She stopped immediately, looking down to see it trickle through her panties, dripping onto the atlas, spreading in a new puddle across the cover. She looked at Ms. Birch and saw her friend’s eyes widen in disbelief. Another carefully controlled stream of pee was allowed to pass her urethra, and a constant, slow trickle from her panties onto the atlas developed. Ms. Birch saw how the wet spot in Ms. Kryokova’s panties got darker, then how a dent formed, a drop hanging from it, now falling into the backpack. More drops followed, developing into a constant trickle. She looked at the backpack. Yes, it was open, and the pee dropped onto a book. There was a puddle on the book already, threatening to run off its corner! Ms. Kryokova was so horny; she had to concentrate hard not to rub herself to orgasm straight away. She loved how Ms. Birch’s eyes had widened, how she was staring at her in disbelief, how she was still fighting to shake off the effects of her orgasm, desperately trying to grasp the full meaning of the situation. Looking down, Ms. Kryokova saw how her little trickle fueled the growth of a sizeable puddle on the atlas, now almost reaching the corner. A few drops more, and the puddle would spill over the corner, wetting the pages of the book before they reached an exercise book. Excitement flooded her body ‘ this was so wicked, she felt so naughty! The next drops would make the puddle overflow, playing havoc with the books. She put her hand in her crotch and pressed the wet, warm fabric against her vulva as she released another carefully measured spurt of pee. Urine was running over her fingers and she saw how drops of her golden nectar filled the puddle; it spilled over the corner, wet the pages and left a large stain on the exercise book’s unprotected cover before spreading further over the sheet, leaving a darkened trace where the pee soaked into the paper. She enjoyed the destruction her pee was causing on my books. Then she forced herself to stop the flow again and looked up at us. “I just couldn’t help it.” She excused herself. “The pressure got too strong; I can barely hold it now!” She was holding her crotch now, pressing her hand firmly against her wet panties, savoring the stimulation of her clit. “But you cannot pee into the backpack. Just look at the books in there ‘ it would be hard to repair the damage.” Ms. Birch replied. She was happy that her neighbor had gotten herself into a compromising situation, and it excited her how daring her friend was. But she couldn’t accept any more damage to happen’ “I’m afraid it already happened.” Ms. Kryokova shrugged her shoulders. “I was so concentrated on watching you, I completely forgot about my desperation. Suddenly it happened and I couldn’t stop it in time!” This was not exactly true ‘ she was not as desperate yet. But she really needed to pee and she had enjoyed releasing a few spurts in such a naughty manner, indulging in the feelings this would create in Ms. Birch and me. And it was so exciting to watch her own pee slowly soak into my stuff, ruining it in slow motion, she thought. How the wetness darkened the paper as her urine soaked into it ‘ a far slower and enduring experience than just watching the first squirt soaking her panties. She needed this extra time to bring her sexual arousal to the top. Sometimes, she was so turned on by her mischievous acts’ The last exchange had attracted my attention. So Ms. Kryokova was actually wetting herself? Was she still sitting with her legs wide open, facing us? Meaning I could get an unobstructed view at her wet panties? All of a sudden, wet panties appeared so much more interesting than an exposed pussy I already licked for a while. I turned my head away from Ms. Birch’s crotch and looked at Ms. Kryokova. Really, she was still sitting astride over my backpack, and her wet knickers continued dripping pee into it. How exciting! ‘ Indeed she was a naughty woman, I thought. She had really ‘ even if not intently ‘ peed on my backpack! Through her panties! I started to tremble with excited compassion as I saw how Ms. Kryokova showed her wet hand to her neighbor. Ms. Kryokova saw that I was looking and with a shiver along her spine she felt her bladder twinge. It turned her on to imagine giving me a live example of what she had been doing ‘ and unwittingly, she moved her hips a bit and spurted into her panties. She knew she shouldn’t be doing it as soon as she felt her urine trickling into her vulval vestibule; that her pee was already soaking into the paper of my books. But she just couldn’t resist the temptation. She prepared another spurt ‘ this time consciously. And so again pee collected in her panties, as a carefully measured squirt found its way through the fabric and started to drop into my backpack. It was now dropping onto the far side of the atlas and quickly started to run down the spine, soaking into the fabric of the backpack. It was better to avoid too heavy damage to the books for the moment Ms. Kryokova had decided and moved accordingly. “Stop it!” Ms. Birch cried and got up. “Be careful, I mean, no you can’t do this, think of the consequences!” She was totally confused. But slowly, she had been getting sober again and her mind had started reeling about possible consequences of my things being damaged. Ms. Kryokova apparently managed to stem the flood again. A last few drops were dripping from her panties, but there was no longer a constant trickle. Ms. Birch was now standing next to her. She appeared to be nervous. I was staring at them, at Ms. Birch’s exposed hairy vulva and Ms. Kryokova’s wet panties, a last drop forming to fall and soak into my backpack. “It feels so good!” Ms. Kryokova whispered to her neighbor. “Look how my pee is soaking into the fabric ‘ the back of the backpack is all wet now! And here, where it wet the paper ‘ it really turns me on!” “Don’t tell me you did this on purpose?” Ms. Birch whispered back, shocked but somehow thrilled. “No,” she lied, “but when I saw it dripping down it turned me on’” “But what are you going to do now?” Ms. Birch wanted to know. She admired her friend for the courage to make her dreams come true. “Can’t you feel the excitement? ‘ I actually did what we were fantasizing about in the kitchen! I hadn’t thought it would ever come true’” Ms. Kryokova replied. Shocked and excited, Ms. Birch noticed how her vulva started throbbing at the thought that Ms. Kryokova might even deliberately continue to pee into the backpack. What should she do in this case, she thought? She had a bad conscience about the books’ but at the same time she somehow wished her friend did it. Ms. Kryokova guessed Ms. Birch’s emotions. She could feel her friend’s indecision. Inwardly smiling to herself, she got up, pulled down her wet panties and kicked them off her feet, making sure they fell into the backpack. Her wet panties now lay on top of my books, soaking in the last drops that were left on the atlas’ cover. I was watching them, my penis twitching as Ms Kryokova was uncovering her private parts. Had anyone noticed my arousal? Pretending desperation, Ms. Kryokova bent over as if a sudden surge was overcoming her. Quickly, she squatted in the same spot as before. Seeing her squatting with her legs wide apart turned me on ‘ I immensely enjoyed the view, only wishing I could be closer. Within seconds of her squatting, I saw a short but sharp jet of pee emerge from her vulva. It shot forward and splashed onto my backpack’s open front flap. My excitement rose. What a stream, what force! I wanted to see more of this! On the other hand, I hoped she would not wet all my books ‘ my conscience was vividly drawing pictures of the consequences at home. The idea of my backpack being drenched in Ms Kryokova’s pee turned me on, but I knew I would be in trouble if my books would be destroyed. “I fear I can’t hold it anymore. I’ll have to continue if we don’t find a solution soon!” Ms. Kryokova told her friend, not whispering anymore and pressing her hand firmly against her vulva. She had enjoyed how her jet of pee hit the backpack, soaking into the fabric immediately whilst I was watching with my eyes wide open and her friend standing next to her, staring in awe. The scent of her pee was slowly filling the room, adding to her neighbor’s flavor emanating from my body still glistening in wetness. Ms. Birch found it strangely reminded her of the incident two weeks ago ‘ and realized it turned her on. “You could pee on him like I did last time.” Ms. Birch suggested, a hot wave shaking her as she remembered how aroused she had been. She didn’t even think about punishing me anymore, it was just the desire to provide Ms. Kryokova with an adequate place in replacement for the backpack. She was completely oblivious on how I might feel about it ‘ she didn’t care. They had never yet asked me for my opinion and she had come to take my submission for granted. Arousal had been building constantly over the last minutes; she was absolutely horny again, unconsciously suppressing her morals as her hand tickled her vulva. My quietness helped a lot to keep her peaceful mind. Ms. Kryokova realized what her friend didn’t. She knew she had to take the chance and do what her friend suggested. Later she could tell her how she had been abetted by her to pee on me, completely unloading all responsibility. She whispered: “And what if I squat his face? He can lick me dry immediately when I finish peeing on him.” “I don’t think it matters where you sit?” Ms. Birch said, not aware of what that meant. She just considered it would be smart to let her neighbor choose her favorite spot and position so she would not regret giving up the backpack. And she was looking forward to discussing the current situation at a later tea time ‘ she had always been very aroused by the way Ms. Kryokova discussed the subject. “You could sit on his lap so he doesn’t move and I come over to squat in your previous position” Ms. Kryokova suggested. She had not finished her sentence when another short spurt of lightly scented urine left her bladder to emphasize the urgency of her need. She looked down and saw how pee was soaking into her wet panties still laying on the books. Her urine was completely drenching the fabric, thus wrapping the books in a tight wet cover. Yes, this spurt had been well aimed, she thought, excited. Ms. Birch followed her friend’s look and in awe starred at the ebbing stream adding to the destruction in my backpack. She got nervous: The drenched panties were clenching on to the books, slowly releasing their wetness to the paper. Ms. Kryokova would have to move away quickly to avoid real damage! “Maybe he would even drink my pee if I promise not to wet his books anymore?” Ms. Kryokova mused, partly to herself. That was a wicked idea ‘ she had to hold on to it, she thought! But there was no question of doing it today’ Ms. Birch didn’t even listen. She only wanted to get her friend away from the backpack as quickly as possible. “Why don’t you ask him, then?” she replied automatically and turned to approach me. She hoped Ms. Kryokova would follow her example suit and leave the backpack alone. “That’s a good suggestion, thank you!” her neighbor said, hit by a wave of sudden excitement, and got up smiling. Her neighbor had not rejected her daring proposition, no: she was even encouraging her. This promised to be thrilling. And she wouldn’t bother to heed the dirty brat’s opinion’ Moments later, the two ladies stood in front of me. “Take off your dress so it won’t get wet!” Ms. Birch suggested and straddled me. Ms. Kryokova decided that was another good suggestion ‘ she undressed and straddled me, too. Squatting down, she said: “I really like to punish this little brat. He should learn from it!” Turning to me, she added: “You’d better obey me now or your school stuff will be ruined!” She almost sat on my face. Her vulva was about twenty centimeters from my face. I saw her wet pubic hair, her slightly parted inner labia, a hint of her clitoris hidden within, and in the shadow I could guess her urethra and vagina. I didn’t know which I preferred: Ms. Birch’s thick hairy bush, her red and pronounced labia, her larger clitoris and clitoral hood or Ms. Kryokova’s less hairy, lighter tanned pussy with a shallower vulvar vestibule, presenting her clitoris, urethra and vagina more clearly to my eyes. Whatever the final decision might be ‘ I loved to watch them both. I nodded, not diverting my gaze from her vulva. I had no idea about her kinky idea and what was going to follow! Ms. Birch was now squatting. I felt her pubic hair briefly brush my erect penis. After a while I felt it again, getting closer. Ms. Birch had found the squatting position uncomfortable and prepared to really sit on my lap. I felt her pubic hair touch my groin, my penis being pushed forward as her crotch settled on mine. “I am going to pee in your face now!” Ms. Kryokova continued, watching my face. My facial expression must have shown little disgust: The same moment Ms. Birch had readjusted her seat and her moist inner labia were gently rubbing my scrotum. My little dick twitched, pushing against her mons pubis ‘ it felt real good! This was not what she had expected to see. Ms. Kryokova scowled at me and ‘ letting a short spurt escape her urethra ‘ she said: “Listen: I will pee little spurts into your mouth and you will swallow them. If you stop drinking my pee, it means that you give me permission to release the remainder of my bladder’s contents into your backpack. Ok?” Finally settled in a cozy position, Ms. Birch listened to the last part of the sentence. “If you stop ‘ bladder’s contents ‘ backpack.” ‘ That didn’t sound good! Nervously she rocked for– and backward. Would I do what Ms. Kryokova had asked for? She had not heard what it was, but she fervently wished I agreed ‘ nothing was worse than Ms. Kryokova releasing all her bladder contents into the backpack! Seeing her urethra move forward and opening up as her lightly scented pee left her vulva made me shake with excitement. This was the first time I had been able to see close up how a woman peed. Ms. Birch enjoyed the stimulation on her clitoral hood that was caused by my penis pressing against it as I was trembling. She got turned on more and more. She tried to look at my face, waiting for my reply to Ms. Kryokova’s question. As I didn’t reply immediately, Ms. Kryokova released another short jet of her golden pee. Ms. Birch realized in awe that her friend actually peed on my face and suddenly became aware of their conversation earlier. Had I already agreed to follow her friend’s orders? She blushed: Hadn’t she accorded that this would be a good idea? She felt qualms as she watched the pee hit my face, splashing all over it. This had not been her intention! But what had she intended? What had she been thinking? Nothing at all, she realized. And why had Ms. Kryokova thanked her for a suggestion? She couldn’t remember’ I felt the pee run over my face, some of it collecting in a little puddle in my eye, some running down my cheeks to wet my ear and some moistening my lips. I opened my mouth slightly and tasted the drops falling into it. It wasn’t that bad: slightly salty and with a unique blend of bitter–sweet flavor to it. I nodded again ‘ yes, I would drink it and avoid my schoolbooks being ruined. Ms. Kryokova had been watching me full of expectation. She knew that de facto she could not destroy my books and she hoped that she had been intimidating enough to make me consent to her unconventional proposal. Now she felt triumph: I had consented and she was only following her friend’s suggestions. She had managed to blame everything on us, even if it was her own nasty idea and desire. But would Ms. Birch try to stop her? Would she still consent to punish that little brat if it took these forms? She changed her position such that her vulva was almost touching my face, her urethra directed at my mouth. She had seen how I had opened it slightly and after a few seconds, I felt a few drops dripping from her urethra directly into my mouth. This very moment her labia were tickling my lips. Instinctively, I licked my lips, my tongue touching her labia and even swiping her urethra briefly. Ms. Kryokova felt a wave of pleasure at this touch and swore she would not let me go. Meanwhile, Ms Birch was desperately trying to remember her suggestion. She knew it must have been something naughty and she was sure she would be aroused if she could remember it. Thinking about all the different options they had discussed in the kitchen, she got really wet again. She started to fantasize, to relive the last hour or so in her dreams and unconsciously rocked her vulva against my dick. “How does it taste?” Ms. Kryokova asked, sternly looking at me, lifting her body slightly. Ms. Birch almost jumped as she heard this. This had been her suggestion: ask him if he drinks it, she remembered. Was this really happening now? Certainly not! No, not even Ms. Kryokova would do anything as kinky as that! This was no longer punishment, this was cruelty, she thought. No answer ‘ Ms. Kryokova took it for good news and prepared another shot. I had swallowed the few drops and opened my mouth in expectation. What would it feel like if a real jet of pee hit my mouth, I wondered? And there it was: a short, strong stream of pee hit my palatine. It filled my mouth completely within a second and I had a hard time swallowing the urine in my almost horizontal position. I was excited to be this close to a pussy. And as I realized that at the same time a second pussy was sitting on my dick, I felt a pleasure never experienced before. I lifted my hip; I had to press myself against Ms. Birch’s crotch! “He doesn’t like it!” Ms. Birch thought as I pushed my abdomen against her. “He is trying to escape!” And strangely, she didn’t continue along this line of thought as she usually would have done, but let a different emotion take over: “This feels real good!” she found herself thinking. “His dick is pressing hard against my clit.” She rocked a bit up and down to increase the stimulation. “Come on, give me more!” she thought and let pleasure take over her brain. Another jet of pee filled my mouth and was swallowed obediently. I looked up into Ms. Kryokova’s face and was surprised: that stern look had gone; she looked somehow absent, her lust mirrored in her face. “Ah! She is enjoying it!” I thought. It didn’t really matter to me, I believed. But then I felt my body quiver: if she liked it, there was a real chance of it going on for a while. I didn’t know if I wanted to drink all her piss, but I knew I would be happy as long as I could look at her naked pussy and lick it. Ms. Birch felt my jolt and thought: “Yes, that’s it! It feels wonderful ‘ just go on!” Yet seeing how her neighbor sat on my face, she felt her bad conscience return: “He must be really suffering, poor boy. I wouldn’t want to drink someone’s pee!” But instead of getting up and releasing me she pushed against my movement, increasing the pressure. She felt like she was watching from the outside. She didn’t recognize herself. Here she was, compassionate with the cruelty done to a poor teenage boy and at the same time she enjoyed being part of the cruel complot punishing their victim, holding him pinned to the ground. “Am I going insane?” she asked herself, “I like to sit here, and I don’t give a damn on what he is feeling!” Ms Kryokova felt her arousal rise, she was nearing an orgasm and she knew it. Her wildest dreams were fulfilling: she was forcing a young, innocent teen drink her pee, threatening to destroy his books which were already nearly ruined by her piss, wet knickers still covering them in a blanket full of pee. And all this happened more or less on behalf of her friend who would never have consented had she known the reason for this punishment was completely faked. She had to make that boy drink another gulp of her urine; so much it turned her on. She wished this would never end. Would her bladder refill fast enough to make it last a little longer? As this question raged her brain, another jet of pee left her urethra, passing her labia to disappear between the lips of the teenager lying underneath her. She looked at his face and saw an expression of complete devotion and acceptance. She felt she could do anything to this boy now and he would let her do it. Ms. Birch was experiencing a struggle of her good side ‘ her conscience ‘ trying to dominate her thoughts and actions, telling her to release their poor victim; and her vicious, twisted side ‘ reckless egoism craving for satisfaction ‘ which had become stronger and more dominant ever since she had confided her first encounter with their victim to her neighbor. Did her neighbor possibly play a vital role in suppressing her conscience and giving more and more importance to her animal spirits, to her secret sexual desires, to her hidden lust to dominate? As another spurt of pee was swallowed by her victim, Ms. Kryokova experienced her first orgasm of the day. “Lick my pussy, clean it after every spurt!” she ordered. And I thoroughly wiped her labia; not forgetting to remove the sticky fluid from her vagina and making sure her clitoris was freed of any trace of pee. Ms. Kryokova immediately experienced another, stronger orgasm. She almost fainted. A fresh jet of pee followed as a thank you. I swallowed and started to wonder how much more there was as my tongue was playing with her clitoris. Looking at my face, Ms. Kryokova thought to distinguish a hint of suppressed disgust, mixed with desire to please and curiosity, which promised large potential to be exploited. “This boy will serve me to discover new pleasures. He is curious and obedient, he will accept to be treated like dirt as long as he gets pussy!” But what about her neighbor? She wasn’t so sure about Ms. Birch. Had her plan worked out to make her sit on the little penis? Did she feel it tickle her private parts? Had her previous orgasm been too strong for her sexual arousal to recover? She knew that Ms. Birch would need to be really turned on to overcome her struggling conscience’ Ms. Birch experienced another twinge of conscience as she heard her friend speak out aloud what was happening. “After every spurt” ‘ it seemed so cruel, and her neighbor was continuing relentlessly, unforgiving. It had been quite a while that she was sitting on their victim’s face and apparently continuously peeing into his mouth. Here! She could see his throat move as another gulp of pee passed to his stomach. She should really be stopping this! But, no, she couldn’t. It was as if any strength left her as soon as she considered ending this situation. And strangely, she felt ever more aroused, her lust increased with every moment she sat astride the boy and rubbed herself against his tiny penis. This boy was serving as their sex slave and it was his own fault. Why didn’t he say sorry? Why did he have to pee his pants as Ms. Kryokova sat on his lap? He really deserved to be severely punished after his failure to react appropriately to their previous, softer approaches! In the light of this, drinking pee seemed just the right punishment for pissing his pants and wetting her neighbor’s knickers in the process’ Even if she knew she was making up excuses to calm her bad conscience, she was surprised to find herself to be quite content with that. No, she wasn’t going to search for reasons to stop; it was not her duty. No, she would have to start considering options only if that dirty brat uttered any complaint. As it was, everything was all right! Ms. Kryokova turned to look at Ms. Birch and tried to read her expression for the first time since she had straddled their victim. “Wow!” she thought. It seemed as though her manipulations were working. Wasn’t it sexual arousal at its finest radiating from her? She decided to try a bit more. “I really like how you drink my pee!” she told me. Turning to her friend she added: “It’s such a turn on to feel this little brat obediently licking my pussy, swallowing every drop of my hot, golden piss!” Her friend looked up, slowly apprehending what had been said. “Do you really like it so much?” she asked. “Incredibly!” Ms. Kryokova replied. “It was a good idea you suggested I let him drink my pee!” This was not exactly true ‘ and she knew it had been her own idea. But she wanted to plant another source for qualms in her friend’s brain. “Come on, admit it: you are enjoying yourself as much as I am!” she went on. “I can see it in your face!” Ms. Birch blushed. She felt caught in the act. But it was true, she was approaching another climax. “I wanna hear it!” Ms. Kryokova teased. “Say it aloud: it feels so good if you openly admit it to yourself. Don’t be shy!” She knew it would help her neighbor to overcome her qualms. And she knew moral scruples were her real nature, that the sexual pleasure from this torture was a misguided desire to fully accept her long suppressed sexuality. Ms. Kryokova was fully aware of the role she held in driving her friend in this direction and it turned her on to be responsible for turning her neighbor into a ruthless and self–centered lady loving to unscrupulously dominate and humiliate this young boy. It was even better she would later feel the pain of a bad conscience nagging at her, bringing back the exciting memories all over again. What a vicious circle she was creating in her friend’s mind! She fully enjoyed the prospect. “It doesn’t feel right. But yes, it is true: I like this, it turns me on!” Ms. Birch finally admitted. “I knew it. You feel qualms, but really you enjoy sitting there, pinning that little brat to the floor and making him drink my pee to the last drop as you suggested it.” Ms. Kryokova replied, twisting the truth a little. “Here, see how I fill his mouth with my pee!” She lifted her body and from a distance of about thirty centimeters she shot a new jet of warm pee into my mouth. Part of it didn’t hit its target and ran down my cheeks. Then she moved down again as I swallowed. “It feels so good when he is licking my pussy clean. And I love to know that it is a futile attempt since it will be followed by yet another spurt of my golden juices.” She described the punishment; and addressing her friend she said: “Tell me about your feelings ‘ I see it turns you on a lot!” “I don’t know. It is so naughty; I feel so powerful, so in charge, in control. And it feels so right, somehow: I know I am pleasing you, doing you a favor. And it feels ok to use this boy for it, since he really deserves to be punished, anyways.” Ms. Birch described. “What d’you think; do you want to try this? I mean, we could change places when I’m done and I am pretty sure your bladder has been filling fast?” Ms. Kryokova suggested. “After all, you made me do it and it proved to be the best thing I experienced in a long time.” Ms. Kryokova was convinced this ploy would fail. It was too early for such a suggestion; Ms. Birch still faced too many scruples. But she had to consider just how close to an orgasm her friend was. Maybe’ “Uhm, we have punished him quite a lot today’?” Ms. Birch didn’t really decline outright, Ms. Kryokova observed. “To be honest: I guess I’d enjoy this even if we were not punishing our victim for his misbehavior. This feels so good: I wouldn’t mind torturing him a little more than he deserved.” Ms. Kryokova tried to lead the way. This strategy had worked fine before’ “Really? I mean, we couldn’t just pee on him for our pleasure!” Ms. Birch wondered. “Why? Imagine he would let you do it, maybe because he is too shy to say no? Or if you found out our little boy here were innocent. Would that change anything to you? I definitely wouldn’t think twice and continue!” “You mean, in the current situation? I don’t know?” “Don’t be silly! It’s too late to change now, anyways. Isn’t it? You can’t undo it. And why should we stop now that he drank most of my urine? We could as well add the rest of mine and even some of your piss now. It won’t kill him and we are getting absolutely turned on by it. At least I wouldn’t stop before I experience that giant orgasm that I feel building in my pussy!” “Hm. Looking at it from that perspective’ I am actually really horny now and I don’t really think he’s innocent at all.” “See ‘ I knew you would not object if I would continue. Even if we found out about his innocence right now, you wouldn’t deny me that orgasm. And if you are really honest with yourself, you don’t want to stop it now!” Ms. Birch didn’t reply anything and Ms. Kryokova was careful to let her seed grow. She knew she had killed another sprout of her friend’s conscience; she only needed to let the poison work. I gulped down another couple mouthfuls of Ms. Kryokova’s pee. This lady was amazing ‘ she was completely reckless, even unconscionable, pursuing to do what pleased her most. After all she knew I was innocent. I had listened to their conversation and I admired how she managed to overcome Ms. Birch’s scruples. I enjoyed being her tool, being allowed to lick her pussy and I was looking forward to tasting Ms. Birch’s vulva again. This was my only chance to be so close to a woman and I was grateful for being part of her ploy! This made up for drinking her pee, I thought. Would she convince her friend? Ms. Kryokova timed her orgasm so that it coincided with the last jets of pee she could muster. I felt her pleasure and excitement mount as her spurts came quicker and less controlled until she almost collapsed on top of me whilst I was licking her urethra and she continued to pee incessantly. Even as I was being physically tortured and abused, I felt that I was in control somehow, making her orgasm through my obedience and physical stimulation of her delicious pussy. “I want to see you pee in his mouth now!” she turned to Ms. Birch. “I know you want to do it!” Ms. Birch looked up, surprised. She had been seconds from her second orgasm and it took her a moment to comprehend. “Your turn!” Ms. Kryokova repeated as if it were the most natural thing in the world, smiling at her. Mechanically, Ms. Birch followed her example to change places. She straddled my face, her hairy pussy, her beautifully red pussy lips wet with cum taking Ms. Kryokova’s place. As she hunkered down, memories of my previous licking of her vulva and the ensuing orgasm came to her mind, flooding it with pleasure. This was going to be good! Her neighbor settled down on my lap. Something was different than before, I noticed. Ms. Kryokova was sitting higher up, my penis slipping between her wet inner labia, its glans rubbing against her clitoris. It felt way better than rubbing pubic hair, I discovered. “Just make sure you only release little spurts each time so he has time to swallow!” Ms. Kryokova ordered. “It will be a bit hard at first, but after a while there is nothing better!” Ms. Birch had been interrupted immediately before an orgasm. Her body was tense with apprehension, her excitement at an unbearable level. The complexities of the new task, the unusual situation of having to pee on someone’s face ‘ all this distracted her, but desire and lust did not cede to fire in her neural network. Suddenly, a short but strong squirt burst out of her urethra, hitting my teeth. Her pee tasted stronger, it had a rather bitter scent to it and was a bit stingy in the eyes, where a few splashes landed. Still, I managed to gulp it down and bring my head closer to her vulva to lick it. Her lips tasted really good, covered more in female cum than pee. If she had not been so distracted by the new situation she might have climaxed immediately as I first licked her again. The second spurt was better aimed and measured, but it still tasted somewhat unpleasant. But I didn’t give up, I wanted to feel her pussy and I wanted to satisfy her as much as I had satisfied her ruthless friend. At the third jet she looked down at me. Her face showed pure pleasure and excitement, she was oblivious to anything around her, just focused on nurturing her sexual desire. Ms. Kryokova was rocking at my lap, making me wish this would never end. I would drink Ms. Birch’s bitter piss as long as I had drunk hers if she would keep rocking. “See how fun it is?!” Ms. Kryokova asked. “Oohh! Yes, this feels good!” Ms. Birch was just preparing to release her fourth ration of urine into my open mouth. “I bet you wouldn’t think twice now, even if you found out he is completely innocent. It just feels way too good!” her friend claimed. “Maybe!” was all Ms. Birch uttered. She didn’t like to be reminded of the fact that she was indeed doing something strange, that she was abusing a teenage boy, torturing him, forcing him to drink her pee. She only wanted to experience that long forgone orgasm now! Ms. Kryokova ached to find out: would her neighbor be horny enough to forget about her conscience and continue to pee if she knew the truth? Maybe it was too early’ “Lift your body a bit ‘ I want to see your stream filling our victim’s mouth!” She was deliberately using the word victim to further deaden her accomplice’s qualms. And by making her change positions she made sure her friend didn’t have time to concentrate on coming, postponing her orgasm again. “What a wonderful yellow stream!” she said as Ms. Birch released maybe her seventh mouthful of pee, this time from almost half a meter in the air. I watched curiously how her urethra ‘ now clearly visible since my lips had parted her labia ‘ moved forward and released that acrid fluid I had to drink if I wanted these feelings to last. Ms. Kryokova saw my face and was surprised for a second: There was not only that expression of curiosity and devotion she had seen before but also a certain amount of disgust, hidden pain and begging to stop. She recalled the color of her friend’s stream of piss and felt pleasure waft through her veins: Finally, she had accomplished what she was longing for ‘ they were making me want it to stop, and it was her neighbor’s action that caused it. She was sure she could torture her neighbor’s conscience with this fact for a long time, dwelling in vivid memories many a future tea–time. Ms. Birch was relentlessly emptying her bladder into my mouth, her concentrated pee stinging in my throat. “Have you seen him swallow? Just look at his face, his plea for mercy, his devotion to you and his acceptance of your superiority, of your right to punish him! This must be his way of saying sorry’” Ms. Kryokova wanted that her friend sucked in memories of this facial expression of their victim. She wanted these memories to haunt her day and night, to weigh heavily on her conscience, so everything else they had done would look ridiculously harmless. Ms. Kryokova knew that at the same time not only qualms but the memory of endless pleasure, of desire and lust would return and these feelings would ultimately prevail the pangs of conscience; making Ms. Birch a perfect tool and accomplice for her twisted sexual fantasies. And Ms. Birch looked down at my face, not only for a moment, but for the time of her next three spurts of piss. She was rationing her pee now, for fear of running out of stock before she had climaxed. “I see what you mean ‘ this expression simply turns me on!” Ms. Birch said. “I’m so horny now; I wish this could go on forever!” Ms. Kryokova knew it probably was not true that her neighbor was turned on by that expression in my face ‘ even if she herself felt incredibly aroused by it ‘ but that it was more probably a misconception of her brain connecting the feelings flooding her body with whatever she was looking at. Exactly as she had intended! Her mischievous ideas were working better than she had dared to hope! It was time to tell the truth: “I told you so ‘ now you wouldn’t care if your victim were innocent. You just want to continue. And d’you know what? This turns me on; it really makes me hot to know you are ruthlessly abusing this little teen to maximize your pleasure!” She had changed to “your victim” now, unloading the whole responsibility with her neighbor. “So you are turned on by what you see?” Ms. Birch asked, completely ignoring the rest of the statement. “Oh yeah! Especially since I know your victim definitely is innocent!” She teased. “This knowledge adds additional spice to watching you.” “What do you mean: innocent?” Ms. Birch indignantly asked, “That little brat has littered in my yard, made me pee my panties and then finally and worst of all peed his pants while you were sitting on his lap. Are you calling that innocent? It definitely needs to be punished!” “Look at it this way:” her mischievous neighbor proposed. “For littering he has been punished by putting the garbage in the right bin. It is not really his fault that you peed your pants, right? Yet he had to clean everything. So that has been compensated for as well. And finally, he never peed his pants. Instead, I couldn’t hold it any longer as we went down to get his socks. Remember how desperate I had been? I sat on his lap and emptied my bladder on him, falsely blaming him to avoid humiliating myself in front of you. For this, which was not his fault, he was immediately punished by us. Now tell me ‘ isn’t he innocent?” This came as a shock to Ms. Birch. Yes, the argument was right. So her qualms had been right all the time and she had falsely given into her sexual desires? But she didn’t want to pore over these thoughts and their implications just now. She was trembling with lust and it excited her to torture her sex slave. He was drinking her pee, wasn’t he? So what was wrong with it? She looked into my face, which was pretty much unchanged. Her pee was really burning in my throat, even my eyes and nose were sore due to some stray splashes. But at the same time it felt wonderful how Ms. Kryokova was rubbing herself against me and I knew she would stop if Ms. Birch stopped. I feared she only enjoyed rubbing herself like this because she enjoyed how Ms. Birch was torturing me, following her manipulations. So I continued to lick her pussy and obediently opened my mouth for her hot piss to fill it. She looked at my face and burned that expression to her brain. This was what made her feel so excited, she was convinced. And she wouldn’t stop it just because her friend was teasing her with a made–up story. “As you put it, he might well be innocent. Yet I don’t believe you, it’s just a story you made up to make me stop.” Ms. Birch replied, moaning after a short pause as I was licking her pussy: “And by the way: I simply don’t care!” “This is what I want to hear!” Ms. Kryokova said. “But just give him a break and let him confirm the truth of my words: I peed on him and not vice versa!” “If you really insist ‘ why not!” Turning to me she asked: “So, is it true that you never peed your pants and that Ms. Kryokova made it all up?” I nodded as she looked down. “Don’t nod ‘ say it aloud!” she commanded. “Yes, Ma’am, it is true ‘ Ms. Kryokova peed on my lap. I didn’t ever pee in your house!” I replied shyly. “Why didn’t you tell it, then?” she inquired. “Dunno’” I stammered. “Probably hoped to see my pussy!” Ms. Kryokova sneered derisively. “Tough luck for you then!” Ms. Birch let me know. “I am not going to let you go now ‘ you should have spoken out when there was time!” Seized by a sudden inspiration, she added: “Now open your mouth for another portion of my pee ‘ you can take it as punishment for not being honest if you like!” And really: she moved closer again. I felt her urethra push forward along my tongue licking her pussy and a hot jet of ever more concentrated pee filled my mouth. I had hoped the torture was over now ‘ but somehow I did not regret it to continue, either. “Wow, this is how I like you!” Ms. Kryokova lauded her friend– she was surprised how eager she was. “Admit how it turns you on to know that he is innocent!” Ms. Birch had not felt that way, but again the brain’s mechanism worked as her manipulative friend had intended. She tried to focus on it, on how she supposedly liked it to torture an innocent victim. And as she was finally approaching the best orgasm in her life she answered: “Yes, it turns me on to look at his face, to see his look pleading to stop, his plea for mercy, his desire to please and his absolute obedience, his acceptance of my right to punish him for whatever reason. I would pee in his mouth for no reason at all, just to see this expression!” she enthusiastically described what was racing through her brain. “I was so turned on when you told me to pee in his mouth all the while I knew he was innocent ‘ I just had to share this experience with you!” Ms. Kryokova stated. “It makes me come again, seeing how you enjoy torturing your victim, repeating his humiliation with every drop. He will be our sex slave because you made him to be!” Ms. Birch pressed hard to flood my mouth with another shot of pee. And suddenly, she began shacking all over her body, finally collapsing onto me with the most intense orgasm she had known. She was proud she had turned me into their sex slave as her friend was suggesting. Ms. Kryokova rubbed herself to orgasm as she saw this. All of us needed several minutes to recover ‘ and then something happened, surprising Ms. Kryokova and me: Ms. Birch asked Ms. Kryokova to pee on my face again; she wanted to see it in the light of the knowledge of my innocence. Ms. Kryokova straddled me with a bright shine in her eyes. This was better than she ever dreamt of. No one bothered to ask whether I would like it or not. She just squatted and commanded: “Open your mouth, it’s my turn again!” Ms. Birch sat on my lap again, this time taking better advantage of my penis which wasn’t erect any more ‘ it had been too much. Rubbing herself against my soft, shrunken penis, she commented: “So this isn’t turning you on anymore, huh? Now it’s time to feel the real punishment, little boy!” She was talking herself into the belief that torturing me was what really turned her on. “That’s for taking advantage of us!” She was really angry at me and relished the thought of abusing me: She began to suspect I had rather enjoyed what had been intended as punishment for my supposed wrongdoings. As I tasted the first gulp of Ms. Kryokova’s pee I had to realize that it didn’t taste any better than Ms. Birch’s piss had tasted. The long time since their last drink had caused their renal activity to concentrate the urine more than before. Ms. Kryokova was watching my face and saw my disappointment. “Isn’t tasting well enough anymore, huh?” she asked mockingly. “Can’t have everything, I fear!” The two ladies went on teasing like this, Ms. Kryokova leaving plenty of time between her spurts to make me really taste each mouthful. “Maybe he wants to gargle it a bit?” Ms. Birch asked viciously. “I fear your pee won’t last long enough if it is wasted by just gulping it down!” Ms Kryokova was flabbergasted: so her friend was kinky enough to torture their victim even more just for her pleasure? She would certainly fulfill that wish as best as she could! So I had to gargle the strong pee which filled my mouth to allow my two mistresses enough time to recover from their orgasms and rebuild that sexual charge they hoped on unload in yet another great climax. Ms. Kryokova made me gargle each mouthful for as long as it would last, until after a minute or two the last drop would find its way into my throat under the watchful eyes of her neighbor. An equally long pause followed when I had to lick her pussy, and the procedure was repeated. “It turns me on to know he is not aroused by this anymore!” Ms. Birch stated. “His dick is soft as can be, and still I am using it to rub my clit. After that strong orgasm, his soft dick is exactly the right stimulation for me; I wouldn’t want it to be hard right now. And you are abusing him as your personal toilet at the same time, making him savor every drop to the fullest. If you continue like this for another ten minutes, I shall climax again!” “It turns me on to know you like it!” Ms. Kryokova replied. “I will ration my pee to last for a quarter of an hour if you like ‘ but there won’t be more than seven small mouthfuls left.” And really, I spent the next ten, fifteen minutes gargling pee, licking pussy, gargling pee. Until Ms. Birch came again on my lap and Ms. Kryokova finally emptied the rest of her bladder in my mouth, making me hold it there until she came, rubbing her clit against my nose.’ Alpian (alpian [at] live [dot]