daemoniak

The return of leaky_one, my all-time favourite author of naughty pee erotica, seems to have sparked some need to write a new story. I will not promise any continuation, I don't even have any specific plan, as usual I'll write when the muse whispers in my hear.

I realized that the Dark Ages were probably a treasure trove of naughty peeing. There was no plumbing then, and only the most wealthy would have chamber pots. Indeed, even in Versailles which was much later it is reported that courtesans would routinely find a quiet corner or alcove to relieve themselves; the smell was apparently not quite matching the beauty of the décor. This makes the Dark Ages an ideal setting, then, for people of our volition!

The setting comes with some complication, specifically, I decided that if I was to create a story in the Dark Ages, then I should try for some degree of verisimilitude at least. And thus, just for the fun of it, I decided to add a few constraints: describe a realistic setting (no plastic, no glass windows, ...), avoid anachronistic expressions, and tailor the vocabulary to the character speaking the world. I welcome any correction on any of these points; I may ignore them, as I favour plot over realism, but I would prefer for it to be a conscious decision rather than my own sheer ignorance!

Now for the warnings: there are incestuous undertones or at least a really casual family, a very lightweight scat passage, and mention of a kid peeing (out of sight). If any of this makes you uncomfortable, you may wish to skip this chapter.

And without further ado...

---

Chapel

 It was Sunday, and I was getting late for mass. I hurried toward the chapel, adjusting my coat as I went. I still could make it, with moments to spare, so long as I was not delayed.

 I finally reached the hallway leading to the chapel. Good thing about being the son of the lord, I was allowed to use my family's own door into the keep's chapel, just a few steps from the first row of seats. Just a hundred or so feet, I was going to make it.

 Anabella, Father's third wife, and Elizabeth, my elder sister, were nearly at the chapel door. Blessings! I could escort them and any lateness would be excused.

 

 And we may very well be late, for just I was approaching, a maid was gathering Anabella's skirt as she went into a deep squat, her back toward the wall. Even though Mother, as she insisted I call her, was quite older than I was, the sight of her thigh, and her pert cheek coming into view was one I never tired off. She was a Lady, and would not unduly expose herself to retainers or strangers; fortunately, I was family.

 Her skin was alabaster, as befit her red hairs, though with few freckles to mar it. And as I rounded the maid, I was graced with the sight of her fiery red bush at the top of her legs.

 "Hawk," she exclaimed, "you are very nearly late, dear."

 "Just in time, Mother, just in time." I said, lowering my gaze from her face to her bush.

 She laughed, lightly and airily, "And a good thing too, help Elizabeth with her skirts will you, that we may make it in time."

 And just like that, a thin stream took flight from behind her tangled bush, projecting forward for maybe six inches, before impacting the stones of the corridor. As I looked entranced, the golden stream grew, slowing inching forward as Mother raised her pelvis to avoid washing her shoes with her piss. A faint odour wafted in the air, as the yellow stream escaped her, not as pungent as a morning piss but not quite clear either, the result of breakfast's cider no doubt.

 The fat stream was surrounded by a cloud of droplets, deflected by the red curls I suppose; Mother was practiced enough to spread her thighs wide, sparing them the onslaught, and offering me an incredible view. A pool was forming on the cobble stones, her piss washing the stone it fell on then flowing in the joints and meandering around the others. Around the center stone, the others were dotted with droplets, lazily rolling on the slanted surface toward the closest joint.

 The stream started losing power, then, inching back as it fell closer and closer. It stopped abruptly, and I saw her mound move as she contracted, a spurt short forward, then another, and finally a last one, all clear of her shoes.

 An impeccable Lady's relief demonstration.

 

 As she started to rise, Elizabeth whispered in my ear: "You could watch mine if you helped me, you know."

 Ah! I whirled toward her to find a slight pout on her face. Goodness, I had forgotten about her own need, mesmerized as I was with the sight of Mother's sparkling bush. Not that Elizabeth would hold it against me, though, I knew she would have watched with as much intent as I had, after all.

 Squatting down, I started gathering her skirts, holding onto them so they wouldn't brush the dirty floor as she went into a crouch. I was slightly in front of her, the better to peek at her bush as she crouched. Before it appeared, though, I cast a last look in Mother's direction, catching the maid blotting her fiery bush with a cloth before she rose and her skirts dropped.

 Elizabeth's dark bush did appear then, and she spread her thighs wide, tilting her mound upward. Her stream shot up then, strong from the onset, betraying her need. It cleared a foot and a half of stone, before falling hard and splattering. "Aahh".

 "Elizabeth, more discrete dear." Mother admonished.

 Her dark bush dipped lower, bringing her stream's arch to about a foot in front of her. Falling from a lower height, the din diminished, and it didn't splatter as much. Still, droplets flew to the surrounding stones. It was another breakfast pee, a slight cider scent hanging in the air again as the light yellow stream rushed forward on the stone, a slight ring of foam forming around the base of the arch before the piss drained between the stones.

 My gaze wandered to her dark bush, the wispy hairs adorned with sparkling bubbles of pee suspended over the ground. A droplet detached itself then, falling the short distance to the stone, as another took its place suspended.

 The stream waned then, and as it drew back she cut it short. I saw her bush trembled as she tensed, then a spurt shot, a pause, and another spurt.

 She was well practiced, and although her relief had started slightly messier, she had quickly brought it under control.

 I was practiced too, and a handkerchief appeared in my hand, as my other hand still holding onto her skirts. I brought it between her legs, and quickly dabbed at her bush, collecting the wayward droplets. As quickly as it had come, I whisked the handkerchief away in my pocket; then minded her skirts as she rose, careful not to release them too quickly less they fell in her puddle.

 "Why, thank you Hawk." She announced as we both stood.

 I smiled at her, tending my cheek, and was rewarded by a kiss for my knightly behavior as she pressed her abundant chest against my arm. Hum, I loved helping a Lady relieve herself.

 

 I offered my arm then, and Elizabeth slid her into mine. We let Mother pass first, of course, then followed her into the chapel. Not a moment early for mass either.

 

 Finally, the sermon came to an end, and the flock started flowing out of the chapel. My sisters, Mother and myself stood by our seats, to the side of the chapel and very close to the door that would allow our escape. We were waiting for Father to finish speaking with the priest and leave first.

 In the near silence of the chapel, with only Father and the priest speaking in hushed tones by the altar, a very light din made itself known. I caught Mother's eye, a smirk playing on her face, and with a slight turn of my head realized that one of my younger sister had barely made it through the sermon, it seemed. I could see her knee poking from behind the pillar I was leaning against, as she crouched there.

 I had four of my sisters in sight, Elizabeth, my elder sister, Abigail, a year younger, and Olympe, three years younger, and finally Esther, the youngest, clutching Mother's hand. Mary was missing, thus, and I could not help but smile at the serendipity of it; Mary relieving herself by the alcove dedicated to her namesake.

 The patter eased up, and with a twist of my wrist, I had my handkerchief out, and discreetly held it out behind me. I felt a slight tug, and released it, keeping my hand there. Just a few moments later, the handkerchief was pressed in my hand again, and I quickly folded it and pocketed it.

 I held my hand behind me, and soon a dainty hand grasped it, red curls appearing besides my elbow, relief evident on Mary's face as she stood next to me.

 

 I was standing still, waiting for Father, desperately attempting not to display my own urgency. I should have relieved myself when Mother and Elizabeth did, though at the time it had not seemed urgent. Cider was catching with me now, though, and the sound of Mary's relief had not helped.

 Finally Father concluded his talk, and turned toward us. "Let's head for lunch, then." And with that he strode ahead, through the doorway and toward the hall. I tactically transferred Mary's hand to Elizabeth, and let the others rush after Father ahead of me. All except Abigail, who remained by my side.

 She was a head shorter than Elizabeth, but otherwise as bountiful. She smirked at me, an attitude she had picked from Anabella, "Not hungry, brother?". I smiled ruefully at her, and shook my head. I tugged the door to the chapel closed, and barred it from inside. A pointless precaution, really, but the duty had been entrusted to me.

 I took a few steps in the corridor, confounding Abigail, then toward her and started unlacing my breeches. I was ready to burst, and had to clamp on my bladder to avoid an embarrassing wet spot forming. Abigail sauntered up to me, "Would you need some help, oh kind sir?", as she clung to my arm, pulling it firmly in the warmth of her bountiful chest. "Gosh Abi, I need my hands here!" Her eyes sparkled, "I'll lend you mine."

 I lifted my arm then, letting her move underneath and settling my hand on her further shoulder. With quick deft twists, she had my breeches open, and my engorged member freed from its confine. She straightened then, standing to my side with a hand at my back, the other carefully wrapped around my member. "All ready sir" she announced, her eyes not leaving her toy.

 Unclenching, I relaxed. It was good to finally let go. I felt pee rush inside the length of my member, coursing until it reached the tip before erupting forward. Abigail had angled her toy for distance, and the arch jetted forward, clearing several feet before drumming loudly on the stone as it fell. She weaved it sideway gently, letting the arch fall close to the wall, and then slowly climbing it, a rivulet forming on the wall as my piss ran down it.

 She changed her aim then, slightly higher, as she slowly pulled it toward the other side, letting my stream patter against clear stones before it reached the other wall, where another rivulet formed. I looked down at her face, her lips slightly pursed in concentration, as she weaved my cock left and right. I did not speak, not wanting to spoil her moment, instead content to watch her as she dowsed the stones of the floor and wall with my piss.

 Finally, my stream started losing strength. The game was closing to its end, and Abigail lost no time. She quickly readjusted her aim, and soon my stream was pattering on the wall, just below the nearby sconce. I indulged her, of course, pushing down on my bladder so the stream leapt the few inches necessary to reach the sconce, and with a last adjustment, played on the flame of the torch, a slight hiss, and I was done.

 "Ooh." Disappointed, but ever dutiful, Abigail lightly shook off my cock before tucking it back in my breeches and lacing them again. Patting the bulge before raising her head toward me, beaming.

 I kissed her on the forehead, "Thank you my lady, most appreciated." She giggled.

 

 "I fear I am myself in quite the predicament, sir, perhaps you would be so kind as to help me?"

 "Of course!" But before I could crouch, she was walking toward the keep again. Then, after a couple steps, she turned toward me, "Well?".

 Unlike Mother or Elizabeth, who had stood with their back to the wall, Abigail was standing in the middle of the corridor, facing the doorway to the chapel. I closed the distance, crouching at a slight angle as I gathered her skirts. I was waiting for her to crouch, but instead she starting pulling on her skirt, and so I rose with them and helped her hold onto them.

 Anabella would not have approved of a young lady standing in the middle of the corridor with her skirts up past her waist, her maiden dark bush and pasty white behind on display for all to see. "Steady me!" She whispered, and I moved behind her, recognizing the game. She bent slightly at the knee, allowing herself to fall backward onto my chest as she pushed her mound upward, her head falling just below my chin. I pushed my arms in the crook of hers, my hands coming from below to cup her abundant teats. "I got you." She giggled, "Sure?" I flexed my hands, digging into her teats, "Large and firm handles, I'm sure." She laughed then, looking upward, and I could not resist pecking her on the forehead.

 With a last smile, she looked forward again. From my vantage point, I could actually see the bulge of her bladder. Goodness, how long had she been holding it? She sighed, and I could sense her relax.

 She erupted. One moment, nothing, the next, a fanning stream of piss burst from her bush, showering the stones ahead in a cone three feet deep and close to two feet wide. Such a pungent smell, such a dark color, this could only be her first piss of the morning. The realization the little wench had held it for just this corridor made me chuckle as I took in the spectacle.

 Droplets were flying everywhere, the messy stream curving mid-air as it fanned outward. And then Abigail started weaving her hips slightly, first side to side, then up and down, the stream dancing wildly in front of her as it responded to her movements. Splattering everywhere, and connecting with my earlier mess, that not a single feet between ourselves and the door would be left untouched.

 The bulge of her bladder had now disappeared, and soon the stream tapered to an end. Her inner thighs covered with droplets, though her shoes had avoided the worst of it.

 A fart trumpeted, loud and clear, and I could feel her tense and a blush spread from her neck to her cheeks. "Up, up." I propped her up, then held onto her hips as she leaned forward, widening her stance even more as she pushed her plump white buttocks toward me. "Oh, Hawk, don't look".

 Don't look? I had a front row seat to a most beautiful bouncy and pearly backside, how could tear my gaze from this heavenly sight?

 Another small fart, and then a little brown pellet fell to the floor, followed by a slightly bigger one and another little one.

 Abigail relaxed then, and I pulled her backward as she straightened up. She cast her glance at me sheepishly from above her shoulders, still embarrassed from her accident, and I kissed her ear as I whispered "Best buttocks in the county."

 A cough startled us, and I cast a quick look behind us to find one of the old maids, a clean cloth in her hands. "If I may?" Her tone was perfectly pitched. Respectful and reproachful at the same time. She cast a pointed glance at me as she approached, and I stepped back as she crouched in front of Abigail. A quick glance at Abigail's face, and she was impishly smirking as the old maid quickly cleaned her up, dabbing her bush and thighs first, then wiping her puckered hole.

 Finished, the old maid put the cloth aside, and assisted her in getting her skirts done again, hiding her beautiful bush and creamy thighs from my sight. She then picked up her cloth, and turned, catching me looking with a disapproving look on her face. Undisturbed, I offered my arm to my sister, who took it nonchalantly as she fell into step next to me.

 Lunch was waiting.