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This story was originally set in a Christmas tree lot and I changed it around to take place in a Halloween pumpkin patch after I had a hard time getting that idea to work the way I wanted it to. Anyways, enjoy and please check out my profile for more stories.
***
This story takes place a few years back during my time as a teacher at a public elementary school. The school I was working at had a longstanding tradition of taking its students out on a trip to a local pumpkin patch a couple of days before Halloween. The kids would each pick out a pumpkin and take it back to the school to carve up and then take home. The owners of the farm we would visit would typically also offer a short guided tour of the pumpkin farm and sometimes might also bring out a couple of animals for the kids to see. I thought it was all good fun with at least a bit of educational value.
So, just a few days before Halloween, my fifth-grade class is herded onto a school bus and driven out to one of the several pumpkin patches open for business around town. Accompanying my class is the school’s one other fifth grade class and its teacher, Ms. Galisinki, plus a handful of parents and school support staff who volunteered to come along and support the field trip.
I knew Ms. Galisinki as Katrine. She and I had become pretty close friends at the school since she had been hired to teach the previous year. We had a mutual appreciation of each other’s sense of humour, disdain for school district politics, and were just about the only teachers at the school under forty years old. I had thought about trying to ask her out more than a few times but had never quite been able to convince myself to go ahead and do it. I guess I always felt that she made a point of maintaining a clear professional distance between us and I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship for something I was so sure was out of reach.
Katrine was twenty-nine at the time of this story. She has girl-next-door features and slight scarring on her face that I’m told resulted from a car crash that she was involved in as a kid. She almost always has her shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into simple ponytail and wears little makeup. It’s an unshowy appearance overall but she hikes regularly and was apparently quite a good track runner while in university and is obviously still in extremely good shape. She speaks perfect English but occasionally allows a slight Polish accent to slip into her voice. For the field trip, Katrine is wearing a burgundy-coloured sweater beneath a black rain jacket, black jeans, and Australian-style ankle boots. A big coffee mug and leather purse complete an autumnal look that is both attractive and professional.
Anyways, the pumpkin patch field trip goes pretty much as planned for the first hour or so. The two fifth-grade classes get an orientation to the farm and get to see a couple of small ponies and a few goats that are kept by the owners. Following that, the farm owners take the kids around to view some of the equipment used on the property.
The farm owners are presenting a large rotary tiller and explaining its use to the assembled elementary school students and school support staff when Katrine grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from the tour group and back towards a nearby barn we’ve just come from. Confused as I stumble backwards, I ask Katrine what she’s doing and where she’s going.
“This is embarrassing,” Katrine explains, speaking in a hushed voice as she moves. “But I need to pee. Like, I need to pee right now.”
Surprised by the response but trying to be helpful, I nod and tell Katrine that I’m sure that we can find a portable toilet or something that she can use somewhere nearby on the farm.
Katrine shakes her head in response to my suggestion. “The last one I saw was way back there,” she says. “And I’m not holding it.”
I glance over at Katrine and try to figure out what sort of joke she’s trying to pull on me. It’s immediately obvious that she’s not joking and that she’s actually considering relieving herself just out of view of the tour group.
“It’ll be quick,” Katrine reassures me. “Just stay with me for a bit, okay?”
Before I have an opportunity to object, Katrine rushes to the far side of the barn with me following close behind. Once there, she rushes to the privacy offered by the space between a derelict farm tractor and the barn it’s parked adjacent to. The tractor is decorated for Halloween and there is both a scarecrow sitting limply in the vehicle’s glass cabin and a multitude of pumpkins and gourds stacked up for sale on and around it. The location is out of sight of the tour group but little else and only provides the smallest shred of privacy. Still, I can’t see anywhere more suitable for Katrine to use to take an emergency piss and I suppose that it will have to do.
“Hey,” Katrine says, turning her back towards the tractor so that she’s facing towards me. “Can you just make sure that there’s no one looking?” Her knees are pressed tight together and she has already begun to unfasten her belt.
I perform a quick scan of the area for Katrine. Once I’m somewhat confident that there’s no one looking her way, I give her a quick nod and tell her that she’s all clear to do what she needs to do
“Thanks,” Katrine mutters. A moment later, she tugs her jeans down to around her knees. Beneath the jeans, Katrine is wearing a pair of low-cut g-string panties made from a pastel blue cotton. The panties are out of keeping with Katrine’s otherwise quite modest teacher’s apparel and leave almost nothing to my imagination. The g-string is pressed tight against Katrine and every last contour of her cunt is profiled through the thin cotton. In the back, the panties leave Katrine’s entire ass exposed except for a vanishingly thin strip of elastic that only partially manages to cover her anus. The panties complement Katrine’s conditioned body perfectly and look fantastic on her.
“Okay,” Katrine says to me as she hooks her fingers around the string waistband of her panties. “I don’t care if you watch. Just please, please, please don’t let anybody see me doing this.”
A moment later, Katrine pulls her g-string down so that the panties are together with her jeans. She makes no effort whatsoever to hide her pert cunt from my view and I can’t say I stop myself from looking. The pinkish folds of her inner labia just manage to peek out past her outer lips and she’s shaved or waxed away all her pubic hair except for a landing strip of dark brown curls. A single silver stud adorns her left outer lip.
Katrine only barely manages to drop herself down into a low squat before piss just explodes out from her cunt. Her lips gape open as urine lands with a foamy splatter on the dirt between her boots. The sounds of urine rushing past Katrine’s labia and splashing across the ground carry some distance through the otherwise still October air. The entire area immediately reeks of urine.
Katrine’s piss shoots out from her cunt in a powerful jet. At first it just lands on the ground between her boots, but then it starts going just a little further, and soon Katrine is pissing with so much force that she’s spraying urine all a stack of pumpkins situated in front of her. Excreted coffee runs down the skins of the pumpkins and forms a steaming lake at their base.
Katrine is focused on keeping her clothing out of the way of her piss stream and doesn’t notice that she’s now urinating right onto the Halloween display situated in front of her. Rather than try to make adjustments to her posture so that her piss is ending up anywhere else, she instead reaches for her purse and starts searching through it for what I figure are most likely to be tissues to clean herself with. Urine continues to jet out from her cunt as she searches.
Eventually Katrine manages to retrieve a small package of tissues from her purse. Still urinating, she works to rip open the package’s plastic wrapping to get at the tissues inside. However, she only manages to get the wrapping about halfway open before her hand slips and she loses her grasp on the tissue package.
“Fuck!” Katrine exclaims, making a desperate attempt to snatch the falling tissue package from midair. However, her rescue attempt fails and the tissue package lands with a small splash in the lake of urine that has formed up between her boots. The unsuccessful attempt to catch the tissues results in Katrine very nearly losing her balance and then falling down into her own urine. Fortunately, she manages to keep her footing, but in her effort to do so, she lets out a big squirt of piss that splashes all over the already sodden tissues. Any tissues that might have remained unsoiled are immediately ruined.
Katrine lets out a frustrated groan and releases yet another big squirt of piss. Still a bit unsteady on her feet, she then adjusts her posture so that she’s in a high squat with one hand braced against the nearby farm tractor for additional support. Katrine’s new posture results in her ass getting pointed right towards me and I am provided with an unobstructed view of the elementary school teacher’s twenty-nine-year-old asshole as she squats. Katrine hardly seems to care what I’m allowed to see.
“Nearly done,” Katrine sighs. A moment later, she resumes pissing. She’s still incredibly messy and the new high squat posture she’s adopted causes urine to fly back from her cunt and spray over the tractor she’s now using for support. Piss washes over the lower half of the vehicle's glass cabin or else pools up on the running board below. Katrine remains just as oblivious to where her urine is ending up as she was when she was pissing onto the pumpkins and she makes no adjustments whatsoever to avoid dousing the farm vehicle with piss.
After about another half minute spent urinating, a few faltering squirts of piss exit Katrine’s cunt and then she’s finally finished. She makes a cursory effort to shake off any urine clinging to her body and then reaches down to pull her g-string back up her legs. Despite her expressed concern about being seen, she doesn’t hurry much to get the panties back into place, and I use the opportunity to take in every detail of her body. I want to commit it all to memory.
“Okay,” Katrine remarks as she tugs the rear elastic of her g-string back into place between her buttocks. She’s blushing heavily. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. I’m embarrassed enough already.”
I nod and do my best to reassure her that there’s no need for her to be embarrassed. I figure that it’s unlikely that anyone even realized that we were gone.
“Thanks,” Katrine smiles, blushing maybe just a bit less. A moment later, she pulls her jeans up and is instantly transformed back into the elementary school teacher I’ve been friends with for years. Together we hurry back to find the field trip group that we’ve left behind.
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Wrote this in a couple of hours. Finally using a proper desktop computer to type rather than a friggin' phone. There will hopefully be a more substantial story soon.
Contains some female semi-public pissing.
***
This story takes place a few springs ago. I was in university at the time and had decided to take advantage of some of the first really good weather of the year to do some studying outside of my cramped dorm room. I grab a couple of textbooks and find a spot to read in the shade offered by an old oak tree located just behind one of the campus’s baseball fields. A pair of NCAA Division II women’s softball teams are playing a game on the field and I listen to the occasional rings of a bat making contact and the shouts of players as I review intermediary statistics for finance one more time. I had played baseball for a few years back in high school and had been to dozens and dozens of Oakland Athletics games with my dad before cancer got him. Being close to a baseball diamond was something I genuinely enjoyed.
Anyways, it’s just past noon when I see one of the softball players exit her team’s dugout and rush over to a position behind a large intermodal shipping container that I’m pretty sure the university uses to store groundskeeping equipment. The location offers the softball player a decent amount of privacy but is still completely open to viewing from my spot underneath the oak tree.
The softball player’s actions seem a bit unusual to me and I find myself looking up from my textbook and over towards her. The softball player is a gorgeous South Asian girl of about twenty wearing black and battleship grey team colours. A helmet held in her right hand and pair of batting gloves accompany a uniform caked in dust and sweat. The back of the uniform identifies her as Kaur.
I don’t initially think much of it and am just about to return to studying when Kaur starts unfastening her belt and I realize that she’s going to relieve herself right in front of me. Suddenly I’m paying total attention to the girl. A moment later, Kaur tugs her softball pants down to around her knees and reveals that she’s wearing a pair of low-cut boyshort panties made from white cotton underneath.
Kaur is just starting to lower her panties down when she notices me watching her from behind my textbook. We make eye contact and I figure she’s either going shift over to a spot that’s out of my view or else entirely abandon her plan to urinate. Instead, Kaur gives me a nonchalant little wave and then pulls her boyshorts down so that I get an unobstructed view of her university-age innie cunt, postage stamp of black pubic hair, and toned ass.
Without displaying even a modicum of hesitation, Kaur then drops into a low squat facing directly towards me. She peels off one of her batting gloves and uses two bare fingers to spread open her almond-coloured lips and expose her vulva’s pinkish inner folds to view. I can see absolutely everything.
A moment later, urine starts cascading out from Kaur’s gaping cunt. It comes out hard and piss ricochets off the grass between her feet and splashes onto her softball cleats and socks. Some misaimed piss even manages to land on the outside of the corrugated steel shipping container the girl is using for privacy. Despite being some distance away, I have no difficulty making out the sounds of urine rushing out from between Kaur’s lips and splattering against the ground.
After what I’m sure is over a minute of relentless pissing, Kaur’s stream dwindles away and then stops entirely. She does her best to shake off whatever urine is still clinging to her body before pulling her boyshorts back up her legs. A bit of urine obviously manages to hang on because I notice a small yellow stain spread across the panties right where Kaur’s cunt presses into the cotton. Kaur takes no notice whatsoever of this and just pulls her softball pants up and starts refastening her belt.
Once again full dressed, Kaur jogs off in the direction of her team’s dugout. She only makes it about halfway there before she encounters two white girls, an athletic blonde holding a package of tissues and a slim brunette who crosses her legs at every opportunity, who are also wearing her team’s uniforms. The three softball players confer for a minute before Kaur points over to the location behind the shipping container where she just relieved herself. I suddenly realize that Kaur might not be the only girl I’m going to see pissing.
***
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At the risk of spamming these forums, this will be the last short story from me for at least a little while. Thanks and enjoy.
***
Sophie pedals her road bike hard through the midday Seattle traffic, changing gears lighting-fast and swerving by cabs and delivery trucks and busses as she rushes to deliver yet another parcel on the clock. She has a love-hate relationship with her gig job as a bicycle courier; on the one hand, delivering all manner of packages across the city helps pay her exorbitant college tuition and keeps her in perfect shape; on the other, her clients’ demands for speed are generally ridiculous and often impossible to meet, and there’s always the possibility of being flattened by a distracted trucker or sleepy bus driver.
Today, however, Sophie has another problem to deal with beyond the typical rush to deliver packages in heavy traffic. She maybe had one too many coffees to wake her up in the morning and now her bladder is pressing hard against her for relief. She glances down at her watch; she’s already sixteen minutes into a delivery that’s supposed to take just thirty and there’s no way she has time to just stop and use some fast food restaurant restroom or one of the city’s invariably disgusting public toilets. Fuck, she thinks. She knows that she really, really needs to go, and she doesn’t think she is going to be able to hold it until she arrives at her destination.
Riding up to the intersection of Union and 4th and stopping before a red light and an impenetrable wall of traffic, Sophie considers her options. On her right is a mail truck, but she knows the driver sits on the right on those so that’s no problem. On her left is a route 37 bus, but it appears mostly empty and the few passengers she sees through its windows are locked to their phones. Behind her are a few sundry vehicles, but she figures that they won’t be able to view much. Yeah, she thinks, feeling both a little bit daring and a little bit embarrassed. I think I can do it here.
Sophie doesn’t dismount the bike; she usually doesn’t wear panties when cycling and isn’t today, so it’s a simple matter of leaning a bit off the seat and pulling her athletic shorts a bit to the side of her cunt so that she can pee through the leg hole. Easy peasy, she tells herself.
She slides over, leans a bit so that her bike is out of the way, uses a gloved hand to tug the crotch panel of her shorts a few inches over to the side of her vulva, and exposes her pinkish nineteen-year-old cunt and postage stamp of light brown pubic hair to the skyscrapers and traffic surrounding her. She feels a bit guilty for relieving herself right in the middle of downtown Seattle at midday, but she doesn’t think anyone will notice, and it’s not like she has many feasible alternatives.
Trying her best to look nonchalant, Sophie relaxes her aching bladder, and a moment later there’s piss shooting through the leg hole of her shorts and splattering against the sun-baked pavement at her feet. It doesn’t take long before there’s a large puddle of urine formed around her and her bike. Wow, she thinks, watching her piss stream fall to the ground. That feels so fucking good. Better yet, she doesn’t notice anyone gawking at her while she urinates.
Soon the traffic light switches back from red to green, and Sophie responds by surreptitiously shifting her shorts back across her cunt. She isn’t totally finished relieving herself and she feels a few drops of urine drip into the fabric when the shorts go back into position. In addition, there are a couple of damp patches from where her aim was a bit off and she didn’t manage to get all her pee through the leg hole. Still, the fabric is dark enough to cover up the stains and she’s confident that the heat will have everything dried up in short order. Feeling rather accomplished, she shifts herself back onto the bike and speeds off to make her next delivery.
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I’m usually not particularly interested in writing in historical settings, as I figure most time periods in human history are rather unsexy, but I’ve always been a little intrigued by what sort of story I could write involving women using a bourdalou. If you don’t know, bourdalous, apparently also known as coach pots, were a sort of chamber pot specifically designed for women wearing the elaborate dresses of the 18th and 19th centuries to pee into without having to fully undress. From what I’ve read, they were often used in quite public situations. Anyways, here’s a story involving three young women stuck on a long carriage trip across England in the mid 19th century.
As with the last few stories I’ve posted, this was written on a phone (I’m stuck in a place without access to a computer and with a lot of time on my hands), so there might be some typos and such. I’ll work to improve when I get a chance.
***
The three young women try their best to make the most of the seemingly interminable journey from Coventry to London. Elizabeth reads in The Times about Garibaldi’s ongoing campaign in Italy and about the apparently imminent impeachment of President Andrew Johnson across the Atlantic. Sitting vis-à-vis with Elizabeth in the cab is Annette, her friend from childhood and a incurably recalcitrant member of the gentry, who is buried in a copy of Charlotte Brontë’s Villette. Beside Annette is Evelyn, who is nominally Annette’s maid, but who in practice is Annette’s close friend and confidant, and who was today assigned by Annette to smuggle a couple bottles of Burgundy wine onto the carriage for the three women to share.
After several hours spent reading through the same newspaper articles again and again and drinking the better part of a half bottle of pinot noir, Elizabeth finds herself rather needing to relieve her bladder. She sighs and rubs away the frost covering the cab window beside her. Beyond the window, the English countryside has been blanketed in snow and made bitterly cold by the early arrival of winter. Elizabeth frowns. She really doesn’t want to have the carriage stopped so that she can delay their journey further, wander about in the knee-deep snow in search of a suitable place to piss, and no doubt be leered at by the coachman perched atop their Berliner.
Unable to determine a better course of action and increasingly desperate to piss, Elizabeth reaches into her handbag and retrieves the coach pot she carries with her most places. The coach pot is a smallish silver receptacle designed specifically for a woman to discretely relieve herself into while wearing the voluptuous fashion of the era. Elizabeth has personally used hers in many places, including at the family’s private booth at the Royal Opera House and during her many excursions to the Crystal Palace, although it occurs to her that she has not yet attempted to use it while on a moving carriage. She supposes that there’s a first time for everything.
Trying her best not to disturb Annette and Evelyn more Elizabeth stands as best she can in the confined space of the cab, raises her crinoline skirts up to about her waist, and carefully places the silver receptacle against her vulva. Both Annette and Evelyn are subjected to a close-up view of Elizabeth’s twenty-two-year-old cunt and dark brown pubic hair as she stands in front of them, but there’s not much Elizabeth can do to prevent that. As she had expected, neither Annette nor Evelyn seem particularly bothered.
A moment later, Elizabeth releases a short spirt of piss from her cunt, which lands in the coach pot with a loud metallic rattle. She releases a few more spirts of urine in short order, which also land in the coach pot, but this time are accompanied by the sounds of liquid splashing into liquid as a result of the receptacle filling. Elizabeth’s face is an expression of pure bliss. She had really needed to do that.
Having so far managed to pee without too much difficulty, Elizabeth becomes a bit more confident, and soon the carriage is filled with both the sounds of her peeing steadily into the coach pot and the smell of excreted Burgundy wine. Annette and Evelyn pay little attention to their urinating companion, although Elizabeth notices Annette place a hand between her legs and sees Evelyn cross her legs tightly together. Elizabeth supposes that her companions probably need to relieve themselves too after so many hours stuck in the cab.
Not long after she begins peeing steadily, the carriage goes over a deep rut in the road, and Elizabeth temporarily loses her balance. She manages to keep hold of the urine-filled coach pot, but she isn’t able to keep it in position beneath her cunt, and for a second she finds herself spraying urine onto the cab upholstery at her feet. Fortunately, neither Annette nor Evelyn appears to take notice of the minor calamity.
“Fuck,” Elizabeth mutters, electing to use a word she knows is rather unbecoming of her social status but which she feels is entirely appropriate for the situation as she does her best to return the coach pot to its previous position.
With the coach pot back in position, Elizabeth finishes the process of relieving herself. When the last few drops of piss exit her cunt, she tears off a small portion of the front page of The Times and takes a moment to wipe down her cunt and then the carriage upholstery. After she’s cleaned up, she surreptitiously opens the cab door and discards the steaming contents of the coach pot onto the ground passing by beneath the carriage.
Elizabeth moves to place the coach pot back in her handbag when Annette stops her.
“Elizabeth,” Annette interjects. “Would you mind if I make use of that? I hardly think I can wait another minute.”
Elizabeth nods and hands the coach pot over to Annette, who immediately stands and, with some assistance from Evelyn, goes about the arduous process of raising up the hem of her dress to about her waist. Always up-to-date with the latest fashions, Annette is wearing a pair of loose-fitting knickers in the heavily frilled French style beneath the dress. Unfortunately for her, the knickers are held up at the waist by a drawstring that has been somehow been turned into a tutorial on knot-tying. Evelyn does her best to keep the dress out of Annette’s way while Annette goes to work on untangling the underwear, although it strikes Elizabeth as a near-hopeless battle.
After a minute spent struggling to unfasten the drawstring, Annette accidentally lets out a small spurt of urine and causes a small yellow stain to form right where her cunt is pressed into the underwear’s otherwise clean white cotton. She stifles a gasp and, aware that she is only moments away from losing control of the situation entirely, changes strategy, opting instead to pull the crotch panel of the knickers to the side of her cunt so that she can pee through a leg hole.
This approach proves to be more successful, and a moment later Annette is sending a heavy stream of urine into the coach pot. The solution isn’t perfect and there’s more than a little urine running into Annette’s knickers, but Elizabeth figures it’s just about the best option available.
“It’s getting really full,” Annette observes after about a minute of nonstop pissing. She’s still peeing quite hard.
“Can you stop?” Evelyn asks.
“I’ll try,” Annette responds. A moment later, she manages to stem the flow of urine and withdraw the coach pot from its place between her legs. She passes the pot over to Evelyn so that Evelyn can discard its contents out the door of the cab. The pot is full to capacity and Evelyn has to take care not to spill anything about the cab as she moves.
“Hurry,” Annette pleads. “I still really need to go.”
Evelyn opens the cab door, pours Annette’s piss out into the snow, and passes the coach pot back to her companion. Annette takes the coach pot back from Evelyn, but she resumes peeing a moment before she actually gets it back into position beneath her cunt. Urine splatters onto the floor of the cab and the copy of Villette left by Annette’s feet only barely manages to avoid getting drenched by its reader's premature splurt of urine. Annette does her best to adjust and solve the problem as urine flies off the rim of the pot and drips into her askew knickers.
Eventually, Annette’s piss stream dwindles away into nothing. A moment later, she pulls the coach pot out from between her legs and shifts her knickers and dress back into position.
Beside Annette, Evelyn is gazing rather enviously at the coach pot and is rapidly tapping her feet against the floor of the cab.
Annette picks up on Evelyn’s apparent discomfort immediately. “Evelyn,” she says. “Are you needing to make use of the bourdalou?”
Evelyn shakes her head. “I’ve never used one before,” she explains, blushing profusely. “But I do rather need to ease my bladder.”
Annette nods. “It’s very simple,” she advises. “You just bring the pot up and relieve yourself like that.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Evelyn responds. “But I would rather just use the door and relieve myself there if that is acceptable with you both.”
"It’s up to you,” Annette replies. “But please don’t wait.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn replies. A moment later, she stands up, swings the carriage door open, and gathers her skirts up so that she’s naked from the waist down except for her leather button boots. Having acted on a roguish impulse she had not too long ago, Evelyn has carefully burned away all her pubic hair, and she finds the winter air outside the carriage bites hard at her bare cunt. A moment later she squats in the doorway of the carriage, facing out so that she can pee into the passing English countryside, and provides the desolate vista with an unobstructed view of her hairless and open cunt. Sitting just above her, the coachman, though easily able to lean over and observe the young woman about to relieve herself off the side of his carriage, is fully occupied with urging his team of four horses onward through the snow.
It takes her a moment to work up the courage, but when she does, Evelyn lets out an enormous torrent of piss from her bare cunt. Her stream starts by landing silently on the snow flying by beneath the wheels of the carriage. However, after just a moment of peeing, Evelyn finds herself squirting piss onto the running board that’s located just a few inches below her exposed cunt. Her urine strikes the board with a loud splatter that’s clearly audible to the passengers inside the cab. Even more of Evelyn's urine dribbles off her cunt and falls inside the cab.
Eventually, Evelyn finishes peeing. After a few final splurts, she stands up, brings her skirts back down to around her feet, and closes up the cab door, stifling the grin that results from her unusual daring. She supposes that she should clean up all the mess, but then they still have a long time before they reach London and there’s still a bottle of wine left. She figures it won’t be the last time someone in the cab will need to piss.
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Five sentences, again.
Hannah hurries through the Christmas village, utterly desperate to relieve herself after drinking maybe a little too much hot cider at the party she just left. Fuck, she squirms, suddenly feeling a thimbleful of something warm rush into her panties; definitely a lot too much cider.
Eventually, she comes across snowman caught in a kaleidoscopic array of lights and falling snow. Unable to wait another moment, she ducks behind the snowman, lowers her black yoga pants and lace g-string down to around her knees so that Frosty gets an unobstructed view of her anus and unshaved twenty-three-year-old cunt, and immediately lets loose. She tries her best not to make a mess, but it gets everywhere regardless; the snowman’s coat gets absolutely drenched in her piss, and then she starts squirting urine onto the hem of his scarf, and a moment later she’s turned him into an island in a sea of steaming yellow.
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Trying to write some short stuff that cuts right to the chase. Still writing on a phone rather than with a proper keyboard, and consequently I think this could be a lot better, but whatever.
...
Emilia turns the motorboat engine off, stands up, and makes her way to the back of the boat. She’s gorgeous and the bikini she’s chosen to wear shows off almost all of her athletic twenty-six-year-old body. A moment later she lounges back on the boat's to tan, unfastens her bikini top, and then casually tosses the top aside entirely. Her pert breasts tumble out and the barbell piercings on her nipples sparkle in the mid-July sunlight. Suddenly, the only things covering her body are a pair of dark aviator sunglasses and a pair of string bikini bottoms made from a black-and-white checkerboard-patterned fabric that hardly manage to conceal anything.
Ashley, my twenty-seven-year old girlfriend, rolls her eyes from her position at the bow of the boat beside me. “You’re such a fucking tease with the boys,” she comments.
Ashley works with Emilia at a smallish graphics design studio in the city and has been going out with me for about three months now; she and Emilia are longtime friends and I guess figured a few days at Emilia’s family place in the lake country might be a good way to waste away a bit of the summer. I was only too happy to tag along when invited to by Ashley.
Emilia laughs in response to Ashley’s eye roll. “I’m sure he can handle it,” she says, cracking open another bottle of sparkling water. Emilia really loves those things and I figure is starting on her third.
Ashley rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she responds. “I’m going to pee.”
I immediately refocus my attention towards Ashley. Relative to Emilia, Ashley is dressed conservatively in a dark navy one-piece swimsuit underneath a pair of black dolphin shorts. Still, she’s incredibly casual about peeing; she just climbs up on the gunwale of the boat, swings her legs over the side so that her feet are dangling just above the water lapping at side of the boat, and pulls the crotch panels of the shorts and swimsuit to the side of her cunt. I get a view of her labia and trimmed pubic hair through the gap she makes in the shorts.
A moment later, Ashley starts peeing. She releases a torrential jet of piss that arcs some distance through the summer air before splashing down into the pristine lakewater in front if her. The sound of her stream splashing into the water carries across the lake.
“Fuck, Ashley,” Emilia groans from the stern of the motorboat. “You’re making me need to go, too.”
Ashley ignores Emilia and continues urinating. After what I’m sure must have been well over a minute, Ashley's stream dwindles away to just a slight dribble that falls onto the gunwale of the boat and streaks down to the waterline. Soon after, Ashley slides her swimsuit and shorts back into position. She’s so nonchalant about it that it could almost be like it never happened, but I notice a few telltale liquid yellow specks on the boat’s otherwise bright white fiberglass; Ashley’s aim wasn’t quite perfect.
“Well,” Ashley remarks, swinging her legs back onto the boat. “That felt good.”
“Screw off,” Emilia says from her suntanning location. “I really need to pee now.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
Emilia responds with a glare, then stands and makes her way to side of the boat, just a few feet away from where Ashley just peed. There, she lowers her string bikini bottoms down to around her knees and reveals her pinkish outie cunt, five-o’clock-shadow of raven black pubic hair, and tightened asshole. I try and pretend like I’m not watching, but Emilia doesn’t seem particularly concerned with privacy and I get the feeling doesn’t care much if I do.
“Fuck,” Emilia remarks, sitting over the side of the boat so that her ass is hovering a few inches above the water and her cunt is facing the freeboard. “This is so awkward.”
Then Emilia starts pissing. At first she just lets out a slight dribble that goes right into the water, but then she reaches down, spreads her lips a bit apart, and begins squirting piss hard against the side of the motorboat. I am able to clearly make out the sound of each individual squirt ricocheting off the fiberglass, and each release of piss is accompanied by a new expression of relief spreading across Emilia’s face. I am certain that she must have been absolutely desperate to go.
Eventually, Emilia finishes up and hauls herself back aboard the boat. She flashes both me and Ashley an embarrassed smile, pulls up her bikini bottoms, and goes back to tanning as if nothing happened.
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This was intended for the five-sentence short form thread, but I guess it actually fits here better:
Rachel ducks out of the team bus, leaving behind the drained iced pineapple matcha cup she’s been sipping at ever since they left Des Moines, and dashes over to the first source of semi-privacy she sees – a sun-beat non-name cola vending machine situated off to the side of what she’s sure must be the only service station for a hundred miles.
She takes the briefest moment to glance around for potential onlookers, and when satisfied that no one is watching, hurriedly tugs her volleyball shorts and then her low-cut cotton thong down to around her knees and exposes her nineteen-year-old outie cunt and postage stamp of dark brown pubic hair to the desert. Starts pissing just a little too soon and accidentally gets a little bit on her thong before it’s all the way down. She’s not too concerned about that though; mostly she’s just glad to finally relieve herself after five desperate hours spent on their bus. Excreted pineapple tea goes everywhere across the dust.
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This alternative scene would take place right at the end of the main story. Read the main story first if you haven't already.
...
“Okay, I’m done,” Emily announces, apparently finally done peeing. A moment later, she gives her ass a shake to throw off any urine still clinging to her body and pulls up her g-string panties. She lets me watch and I do my best to keep mental notes.
Emily only just manages to get her panties back into position when I see her release a small spurt of urine right into them. Must have misjudged her bladder a bit. It’s not much but I watch the pink lavender fabric turn to a dark purple right where her cunt is pressed into the cotton and see a couple of the embroidered strawberries get flooded over with piss. I guess Emily wasn’t actually done after all.
“Oh no!” Emily exclaims, hurriedly lowering the panties back down to around her knees and adopting a half-squat posture. I see a small dribble of piss fall from her cunt and then there’s nothing more. For my part, I’m a little bit surprised that there is anything at all left in Emily’s bladder after the diluvial amount of urine she already released, but I suppose that all that vodka lemonade had to go somewhere.
“Damnit” Emily mutters, glancing down at the urine-soaked gusset of her g-string. “Well, these panties are done.”
I don’t disagree with her. A moment later, Emily slips off her shorts and removes her g-string. She proceeds to discard the panties into a trash can situated just to the side of the insurance office’s piss-streaked entrance door and then pull the shorts back on again. It’s a little bit of a turn-on for me knowing that Emily’s now not wearing any panties. I also note that the shorts are just revealing enough and just loose enough so that when Emily bends even just slightly an onlooker could get a pretty good view of her lips and maybe even just a little bit of her cunt. Doesn’t seem to matter to her though. I get the feeling Emily isn’t really the type of girl to care.
Nearby, Olivia is already pouring more drinks.
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10 hours ago, Lutab said:
Hot story. I hope they get even more naughty in a part two after a few more drinks
Thanks for the positive response. Probably won't be a part two, but I'm thinking about writing some "alternate" scenes where events unfold a little differently than they do in the original post.
9 hours ago, nopjans said:This is quality writing and very hot. I loved it when Emily pissed on the door, and the pee seeped through to stain the floor on the other side. I'm looking forward to seeing more!
Thanks for the reply. As above, probably won't be much more for this story, but I'm thinking about a new story that may or may not involve the protagonist getting lost in a Halloween corn maze with a bunch of inebriated university girls.
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- Popular Post
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I wrote a fair portion of this on a phone - by no means the optimal method - so there might be some typos and such. I'll probably fix and update when I get a chance.
...
This story takes place a few months after the US Army posted me to Paris. I was working at something called the Office of Defence Cooperation, which is basically the US military’s portion of the American embassy in France, and I had just started dating this American girl named Emily. A civilian at the embassy whom I’m friends with had set me up with her – said she was like her third cousin or step-cousin or something; I don’t know. First date was a movie and then dinner at some cheap-as-dirt Persian place. No sex and honestly I didn’t think it was going anywhere, but then I get a text from Emily a few days later. Says that she’s just finished her last exam for the semester and she wants to go to this EDM concert thing in the 4th arrondissement by the Hôtel de Ville. Says that one of her friends from school wants to tag along. So EDM’s not exactly my thing – I’m more of an indie rock person - but she says it’ll be fun and it’s not like I have much else going on.
Emily pulls off the girl-next-door look to a tee; she’s got a bit of acne scarring and I get the impression wears pretty much whatever she happens to pull off her bedroom floor in the morning, but she’s still really fucking pretty. She’s Caucasian, twenty-one, studying political science at the American University of Paris, and abroad for as long as she can manage to be. Family’s from some tiny Ohio town but apparently they haven’t talked in something like two years, so I’m told it’s scholarship money, a side job waitressing at an expat restaurant, and microwaved ramen six times a week paying for school in Paris. She’s got messy brown hair typically pulled into a commensurately messy bun; habitually bites her lip; tell me that she cycles pretty much everywhere in Paris and I am inclined to believe her because it shows.
I meet Emily at the Châtelet metro station just past noon. It’s a beautiful day early in June and Paris is just starting to swelter in the summer heat. Emily is wearing a unbuttoned sheer sky blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up overtop a racerback tank top, low-rise khaki chino short-shorts, and a weathered pair of hiking boots. The tank top accents Emily’s smallish breasts and the short-shorts draw my eyes to her pert ass. Standing beside Emily is another girl of about the same age. Emily introduces the girl as Olivia, her friend from school; says they share a political philosophy class together.
Anyways, turns out that Olivia is also really pretty. Mediterranean complexion and speaks English with an accent I can’t place; shoulder-length black hair; nice breasts; big smile; I’m confident must regularly go to a gym. She’s is dressed in a floriated sundress that rides about as high up her toned legs as I figure could be pulled off in respectable company. She completes the look with a pair of gladiator-style sandals and some cheap plastic sunglasses
So anyways, two hot girls, and I’m thinking cool, maybe I like EDM all of a sudden. The three of us leave the metro station and head off. Outside, the characteristically narrow streets of the 4th are packed for the event and it’s something of a struggle to move.
We make slow progress but eventually manage to get into position at the periphery of a speaker-laden stage set up in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Impossible to get much closer because of the number of people. The girls are both good company. Olivia is amicable. Emily is more acerbic but has a good sense of humour and I enjoy the profanity-laced critiques she directs at anyone or anything that happens to annoy her for whatever reason.
We get drinks. I’m not a huge drinker but. No idea who’s actually performing and Emily and Olivia are more into it than I am but it’s still fun. Lot of energy. Emily and Olivia each and then Olivia pulls a bottle of Svedka from her backpack and starts mixing that with some bottled lemonade. Pretty soon both girls are quite clearly buzzed.
Anyways, we’re just into our third set from some Austrian artist whose exact name I couldn’t quite pick out when Olivia informs Emily and me that she - and I’m quoting here - “needs to take a quick pee.” Okay, I’m thinking, no big deal. I obviously like seeing girls peeing – that’s why I’m writing this story - but I figure Olivia’s just going to go and find a portable toilet or a McDonald’s or whatever and it isn’t going to turn into anything interesting. Still, I’m with two hot girls, and now one of them needs to pee. Whole EDM thing is growing on me.
“Just wait,” Emily says. “This’ll be a short set.”
“Emily,” Olivia persists. “I really need to go.”
Emily sighs. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s go find a toilet somewhere.”
Olivia, Emily, and I push our way out of the crowd and start searching for a toilet for Olivia to use. Despite the number of people out for the festival, none of us are immediately able to locate any toilets. Pretty obvious that either the city or the event organizers or both fucked up on that count. I suppose that Olivia could try and step into a shop and ask to use the washroom, but I get the feeling that the upscale businesses of the 4th are not likely to be particularly accommodating of an inebriated noncustomer looking to take a piss. Olivia doesn’t even bother trying and I figure that she probably arrived at the same conclusion.
After what I think must be nearly ten minutes searching, I eventually spot a lone portable toilet set up for a nearby construction site and point it out to Olivia. Surprisingly, the lineup isn’t too bad; just a handful of people. Olivia thanks me, hands her bottle of Svetka over to Emily, and then hurries off in the direction the toilet. Emily rolls her eyes and refills her plastic cup with more lemonade and more vodka.
“You know,” Emily remarks from beside me, “she’s barely even drunk. She had, I don’t know, maybe like three cups of coffee before we came here. She bought a Nespresso machine in a rummage sale a week ago. Can’t stop using it.”
I laugh. Ask Emily if she is also into coffee. Say I know a few good places from doing coffee runs for the embassy.
Emily smiles. “Is that you looking for another date?” she says. “That’s pretty confident of you.”
Emily and I stand there and chat like that for a few more minutes. Over by the portable toilet, Olivia doesn’t appear to have moved up at all in the queue. I quickly realize that the lineup hasn’t moved at all since Olivia joined it. I see the man next in line to use the toilet knock and then knock again on the door without achieving anything. Door remains closed and the little latch indicator still shows red and locked. Queue only gets longer.
Fully five minutes pass before Olivia gives up. “Guys,” she says, running back to us and pressing her legs tightly together. “I really can’t wait much longer!”
Olivia, Emily, and I go back to searching the streets for a toilet. By now, Olivia is obviously frantic to piss, and I’m starting to get the feeling that she might soon be forced to do something desperate. I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s leaking just a little into her panties or is perhaps considering squatting behind a dumpster or something.
Eventually, we find a collection of portable toilets set up in the middle of a boulevard, but I know immediately that it’s not going to be of much help to Olivia. One the toilets has been knocked onto its side and the few still standing are obviously overmatched by the enormous lineup of people waiting to use them.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Olivia mutters. “That’s a lot of people.”
“Can you hold it?” Emily asks.
Olivia shakes her head. “Fuck no,” she responds. “And I’m not standing in that line.”
“So you’re going to do it in the street then?” Emily scoffs.
Olivia doesn’t answer. Instead, she rushes off in the direction of the closest side street. Emily and I follow close behind, both of us almost running to keep pace with Olivia and having to dodge pedestrians as we move. The side street Olivia proceeds down turns out to be no less busy than the street she just turned off, and she continues on past well-attended brasserie verandas, upscale boutiques attended to by window shoppers, and a guitarist hopelessly attempting to busk above the rumbling of distant EDM music. Eventually, Olivia arrives at the far end of the block. I notice her take a deliberative look at a Morris column situated nearby, and for a moment I’m wondering if she’s going to piss right there, but then she takes notice of the number of pedestrians passing by and hurries on down the next street.
Olivia only makes it halfway down this street before coming to a halt beside an insurance office. “I can’t – I can’t hold it any longer,” she says, turning to Emily and me. “I’m just gonna do it here, okay?”
Olivia doesn’t give Emily or me the opportunity to talk her out of the decision. Rather, she takes a quick glance up and down the street and then rushes to the limited privacy offered by the recessed entrance to the insurance office.
I take quick stock of Olivia’s situation. The weekend has the insurance office closed for business and through its glass entrance doors it appears dark and empty. The street is relatively quiet; a few pedestrians are milling about some distance down the road but I can’t see anyone anywhere nearby. Still, Olivia’s spot beside the insurance office doors is overlooked by a plethora of Haussmann apartment windows and is hardly out of the view of any potential passersby. Should someone on the far side of the street happen to look out their window or some driver or cyclist go by, they would no doubt be provided with a clear view of Olivia relieving herself right in the street.
Unsure of what else to do, I stand a few feet away and do my awkward best to pretend like I’m paying no attention to the hot girl who is just about to begin pissing just a few feet away from me. Meanwhile, Emily pulls out her phone and leans back against the glass façade of the insurance office. I can’t help but note that she now has her own legs crossed tight.
“Matt?” Olivia says from behind me. “Sorry to ask, but would you be able to do something to give me a bit of privacy while I do this?”
Turned on as fuck but still doing my best to be courteous, I start walking further down the street and away from Olivia.
I only get a few steps before Olivia calls out to me again. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she laughs. “Could you stand in front of me?”
Fuck, I think. Of course I can.
A moment later, I am standing in front of Olivia’s nook with her located just a few feet behind me. I can’t see anything but I still try to imagine the scene taking place right behind me and try my best to listen for the sound of Olivia pissing. Despite my best efforts, all I am able to make out is the muffled pounding of dance music from the next block over and the squall of a more distant police siren. Still, in my mind, I see Olivia desperately hiking up her dress and sliding her underwear, a pair of night-black bikini panties decorated with pink polka-dots and a little bow, just to the side of her unshaved cunt just moments before piss starts spraying out from her cunt. In another fantasy variation, Olivia has opted not wear any panties and just stands in the alcove with her skirt hiked up just a bit and her legs spread wide apart as she stands and empties her overfull bladder onto the street.
But it’s all imagination. Rather than being able to see Olivia, I’m instead looking at nothing more interesting than a boarded-up jewelry store and a couple of parked mopeds. And I’m starting to figure I’m not going to be able to hear anything interesting either.
I’ve resigned myself to that disappointment when I hear a slight liquid trickle coming from right behind me. I don’t know if I had convinced myself that I wasn’t going to actually hear anything or that Olivia would suddenly find that she doesn’t really need to pee, but somehow I’m more than a little shocked to realize that Olivia is actually urinating in semi-public just a couple of feet from where I am standing.
The sound of Olivia’s urine trickling against the street only lasts for a couple of seconds before once again all I can hear is dance music and police sirens. A few more seconds pass and despite my best attempts to pick out the sound of Olivia peeing, I am unable to hear anything. Again, I’m a little disappointed. Olivia had looked like she was about to burst just a few moments earlier, but from what I just heard she ended up taking something like the smallest pee ever.
Whatever, I think. Still awesome. And then I hear Olivia release what I’m sure must be a huge spurt of piss from right behind me. There is a brief pause and then there I hear a second spurt of piss. And then another. I look down at my feet and notice that there is suddenly a small river of urine snaking down from the door behind me and through the cracks in the sidewalk. The entire area suddenly smells of what I know is Olivia’s piss.
“Matt?” Olivia calls out a moment later, voice rather casual as she releases yet another spurt of piss onto the street. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tissues? That I could use?”
I answer that I think I do and, after some searching, manage to find a couple of paper napkins lodged beside my wallet. I pull them out from my pocket and hold them beside me for Olivia to grab. It occurs to me that Olivia didn’t bother to ask the same favour of Emily.
I wait expectantly for Olivia to reach out and grab the napkins out from my hand, but she doesn’t. I wait a few seconds and then a few more but I still find myself standing there with a wad of napkins in my hand.
“Can you pass those over?” insists Olivia from close behind me. She punctuates the question by releasing another squirt of urine that splatters particularly loudly against the ground.
I turn around a bit, feeling a bit apprehensive. I’m still standing there with the napkins. I turn a little bit further and then I’m staring right at Olivia. Olivia has the hem of her sundress hiked up to around her waist and a pair of navy blue bikini panties – I note that they’re dry - lowered to just above her knees as she half-squats above a sizeable pool of urine. She gives me – and I’m pretty certain at this point that she is intentionally giving me – a completely unobstructed view of her pert twenty-something-year-old cunt. I see that she has shaved away most of her raven black pubic hair but allowed a carefully trimmed bikini line to remain. Her pinkish lips are gaping open and dripping with piss.
“Merci,” smiles Olivia, making casual eye contact as she reaches out and nonchalantly picks the napkin out of my hand.
I nod and tell her that it was no problem. I’m not sure exactly what else to say.
Olivia responds by lowering herself into a slightly deeper squat. She is still making eye contact with me when I see her cunt quiver just slightly and see her release yet another squirt of piss. Wow, I think. I’ve known this girl for like an hour, she’s really cute, and now I’m standing in a Parisian street just a few feet away from her while she urinates. And apparently she doesn’t give a fuck if I watch.
I am still looking at Olivia when Emily looks up from her phone and sees what is going on.
“Fuck, Olivia,” comments Emily. “You’re really giving him quite the view, aren’t you?”
I spin around as fast as I can and apologize quickly to Emily. Olivia responds to her friend by putting on a confused expression and glancing around for the source of her friend’s concern. After an exaggerated scan of the area, Olivia’s eyes fall on me. “Oh, Emily,” she gasps, covering her mouth with one hand in faux shock. “I had no idea he was watching.”
Emily rolls her eyes and impatiently taps her foot against the ground. “Just hurry up and finish, okay?”
Olivia’s only response is to release another squirt of piss. I notice that Emily now has a hand pressed against her crotch in addition to her crossed legs, and when I hear Olivia’s urine splattering one more time against the pavement, I notice that Emily holds herself particularly tightly. I realize that she needs to pee too.
I hear a final, faltering squirt and an elastic snap and then Olivia reappears beside me. She flashes me a little grin and, when Emily isn’t looking, teasingly sticks her tongue out at me.
“Finally,” says Emily.
“What’s the hurry?” Olivia asks.
“I’ve gotta go, too,” Emily answers.
I ask Emily if she can hold it a bit longer until we find a public toilet that I know isn’t available or a more accommodating restaurant that I know isn’t nearby. I’m just trying to be polite - I can tell just looking at her that she isn’t going to be able to hold it.
Emily shakes her head. “I can’t wait,” she responds. “I need to do it now.”
From my sentry position, I watch Emily dash into the nook, hiking boots splashing through the sea of urine left by Olivia as she moves, and see her begin unfastening the skinny belt accompanying her shorts. I take in the scene for as long as I figure I can get away with before about-facing. I’m turned on as fuck at this point but I’m still trying to be at least a bit polite.
“It’s fine,” Emily says to me just as I turn away. “I don’t care if you watch. Just don’t let some pervert cop ticket me for doing this, okay?”
Unbelievable, I think. I stop turning, nod, and reassure her that no one is looking. I don’t know if that’s true or not – there’s no one on the street that I can see, but there is little I can do to account for the apartment windows staring down at Emily’s position across the street.
I watch Emily hurriedly unbutton her fly and tug her chino shorts down to around her knees. Beneath the shorts, Emily is wearing a pair of g-string panties made from a pink lavender cotton embroidered with little images of strawberries. The panties conceal little; the contours of Emily’s cunt are clearly profiled through the thin fabric and the only thing covering her anus is a gossamer-thin strip of elastic. I’m a little shocked by Emily’s choice of panties; for whatever reason I hadn’t expected that she would choose to wear something quite so revealing. Yeah, I think. But it’s super hot.
Emily hesitates before going further. I see her glance upwards to the overlooking windows of the apartment on the opposite side of the street and then up and down the road and sidewalk. She thumbs nervously at the string waistband of her panties.
And then, apparently unable to hold it any longer, Emily slides her g-string down to around her knees, squats opposite the glass entrance door to the insurance office, and spreads her legs wide apart. Suddenly I’m looking at Emily’s outie cunt, bare ass, and landing strip of dark brown pubic hair.
“Wow, Emily,” Olivia laughs. “And you thought I was giving him quite the view?”
“Fuck off,” Emily retorts.
“Rude,” Olivia giggles.
A moment later, Emily releases a massive jet of piss from her cunt. Her stream hits the pavement with a telltale splashing and the sound carries across the otherwise quiet Parisian street.
“Oh, fuck,” Emily gasps. “I really needed that.”
I don’t doubt her; Emily pisses and pisses and pisses. At first her stream just sprays down the ground between her feet, but a moment later it begins shooting well past her boots, and a moment after that it starts splattering up the base of glass door of the insurance office situated across from her. Emily looks to be focused entirely on maintaining her balance and keeping her clothing dry and doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to where exactly she’s pissing.
I’m watching Emily’s urine streak down the glass door when I realize it’s not just pooling up at the threshold as I had expected it to; rather, I notice that a fair bit of urine is seeping under the door and starting to spread across the insurance office’s tile floor. Emily, clearly unaware of the mess she’s creating, just goes on peeing.
Feeling rather awkward, I tell Emily that she might want to adjust herself a bit.
Emily responds to me with a confused expression. “Come again?” she says, still peeing steadily.
I clarify. Explain to her that her pee is starting to go underneath the door and get into the insurance office.
Emily looks towards the door. “Oh no!” she exclaims, finally realizing what she’s doing. “I didn’t mean to do that!” She hurriedly adjusts her posture, spraying urine about wildly as she moves, and eventually manages to position herself so that most of her piss stream is back ending up in the street. It’s much too late though; I can see that a sizeable portion the insurance office’s white calacatta marble tilework has already been flooded over with Emily’s excreted vodka lemonade.
“Merde, Emily,” Olivia laughs. “That’s going to need a mop.”
Emily just blushes and releases more piss. A few short spurts later and she’s done. She gives her ass a quick shake to throw off any urine still clinging to her body before looking down at the enormous piss puddle at her feet. She then stands and peaks into the urine-soaked insurance office. “Fuck,” Emily remarks, “I really didn’t know that was happening.”
I shrug. Tell her it isn’t such a big deal.
“And thanks, by the way,” Emily adds, looking at me as she pulls her g-string and shorts back up her legs. She takes her time getting the clothing back into position and seems to make a point of allowing my eyes to linger on her cunt and ass and landing strip.
I shift my eyes from the view long enough just to give Emily a quizzical look. Ask her what in the world she is thanking me for.
“Well,” she says, refastening her belt. “You didn’t let me get ticketed, did you?”
I laugh. Tell her that I suppose that I didn’t. Nearby, Olivia is already pouring more drinks.
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Girl Needs to Piss in Rental Car Garage
in Fictional Pee Stories
Posted · Edited by gldenwetgoose
Short story that I wrote in about two hours.
***
This story takes place while I was on a business trip to Los Angeles for a mid-size American bank just a few weeks back. My colleague Hailey and I were attending a human resources conference in the city and had just gone over to pick up a car from one of the rental places just outside of LAX airport. Hailey doesn’t drive and had asked me if I would be willing to ferry her out to the hotel in Riverside that we were supposed to stay at. Said something about avoiding the hassle of getting a hundred-dollar-plus cab fare comped by our company. Hailey had helped me out on multiple occasions with some stuff at the bank and I was more than willing to do her a favour and give her a ride. Besides, Hailey is really fucking pretty and I actually genuinely enjoyed her company.
Anyways, it’s like three in the afternoon on a Monday and Hailey and I are trying to escape the rental company’s parking garage. I’m focused on circling around the shitty American compact car I’ve managed to get and am trying to fill out the little pre-rental car damage report thing that they make you do when I go over to passenger side of the vehicle. As come around the back of the car, I find Hailey squatting on the parking line with her pencil skirt hiked up to her waist in order to urinate. She is using the vehicle’s opened passenger-side door for some vestige of privacy and has a pair of lace thong panties pulled down to around her knees. She provides me with a completely unobstructed view of her sizeable ass and twenty-something-year-old cunt and I don’t stop myself from staring. I think it's impossible for me to do anything else.
“Hey,” Hailey smiles. “I’m just going to do this before we leave.” She makes eye contact with me just as a huge jet of piss shoots out from her cunt and washes across the parking garage's concrete floor. The sounds of Hailey’s urine rushing past her labia and splattering against the ground echo loudly through the parking complex and are doubtlessly audible to at least half a dozen nearby people. For her part, Hailey seems completely unconcerned with how much noise she makes and continues spraying urine all across the parking stall with unmoderated force.
“I didn’t want to hold it,” Hailey adds. She gives me an insouciant little shrug as she speaks as if pissing in the middle of the parking garage is the most normal thing in the world to do. I am shocked by Hailey's actions but also more than a little turned on seeing the attractive HR representative relieving herself right in front of me. Hailey just doesn’t seem to care. She inadvertently sprays urine all over the one of the tires of the vehicle parked in the adjacent stall and at one point even lets out a small fart. Her expression is one of total nonchalance.
Eventually, Hailey finishes pissing. She gives her cunt a quick wipe with a tissue that she then discards down into the piss puddle at her feet before pulling up her thong and fixing her skirt. In an instant, Hailey is turned back into the HR professional whom I’ve known for years.
“Hope your not bothered,” Hailey giggles. “I really had to do that.”
I grin. I’m not bothered in the slightest.
***
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https://peefans.com/topic/22620-teacher-at-pumpkin-patch-needs-to-go/