Winter Carriage Ride

[rochauthrowaway 407]

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 18^th and 19^th 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 19^th 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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Edited July 11, 2021 by rochauthrowaway

[pee2poop 131]

Wow. Very well written, i especially liked the last girl  refusing to use the bourdaloue and how they all go about reliving themselves.