A Piss Story

I came across this story i hope you enjoy it

It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can be involved with someone for a long time and think you know all there is to know about them, and then suddenly something happens and you discover that you didn’t really know them at all.

The person I’m thinking of wasn’t exactly involved with me, we just worked together. She was in her early twenties I suppose, and I was a year or two older, and we worked as barmaids in a busy pub in London. I just worked there at weekends, but Sally’s was a full- time job, and she had a tiny self-contained flat on the top floor of the pub. As I say, I’d known her for a while and we were pretty friendly, but it wasn’t until the night the Rugby Club hired the back hall for a stag party that I began to see Sally in her true colours.

The rugby boys were a pretty boisterous lot, and the landlord did his best to keep some semblance of order about the proceedings, but inevitably, after a few drinks, they were even less amenable to reason than usual. Which might have been all right except that round about ten o’clock Sally and I were told to take in the food which had been ordered in advance.

When I opened the door to the hall I was greeted by the sight of a large number of extremely drunk and rowdy men besieging a little platform that had been erected, and on which two quite attractive girls were doing their best to dance to the rhythm of the record that was being almost drowned by the catcalls and gusts of raucous laughter that continually swept the hot, smoky room.

Taking my courage in both hands, as it were, I dived into the throng closely followed by Sally, and immediately became a target for every hand within groping distance that wasn’t already clutching a pint. I struggled through to the table, which was alongside the dais on which the two strippers were mechanically bumping and grinding out their routine, and dumped my tray onto the table just about in time to rescue my knickers which were being dragged resolutely down my thighs by a bleary-eyed young man who was simultaneously trying to kiss the back of my neck.

I turned to fight my way back through the crush, and just then I heard Sally squeal and saw her disappear, one arm flailing wildly, amongst a cheering group of men. I tried to get to her, but I hadn’t a hope. All I was able to do was to save myself. I made it to the door with nothing much worse than a broken bra strap and my dignity severely injured, but there was no sign of Sally. I hovered by the door, peeping now and then through the crack and wondering whether to fetch the landlord, with visions of Sally raped and ravished floating before my eyes, which would have been a pity as I’d always rather fancied Sally, though I’d never managed to find an opportunity to tell her. I suddenly felt furious with those brutes in there, and there was a definite tang of jealousy to my anger. I was almost ready to go and summon help when she appeared, breathless, and squeezed through the door to safety.

Her face was flushed, and she was clutching a little pink bundle in her hand which she held up triumphantly.

“Got ’em,” she said, and grinned at me impishly. I was amazed at her calmness. We went back to work in the bar, and then after a while she said mysteriously:

“It was worth it though.”

I looked at her, wondering what she meant. Her eyes sought mine and held them, and there was an odd mistiness about her look that I’d never seen before. She seemed to be looking straight through me, and I had the uneasy feeling that she was reading my mind.

“Worth it?” I asked. “How d’you mean? Rape turn you on, does it?”

She smiled a slow, simmering smile. “No,” she said quietly, “but that girl, the one with the long black hair – she did.”

Taken aback, I didn’t know what to say. “Who?” I asked, stupidly.

“That stripper in there. I’ve been dying to get a peep at her all evening.” She smiled again, and brushed close behind me as she passed along behind the bar. A moment later she came back and did the same thing as I was pulling a pint.

“You know the one I mean,” she whispered. “The one who looks a bit like you.”

She went off down the bar, leaving me in a state of confusion, almost of shock. Warm liquid fires floated eerily through my loins as the significance of her words sank slowly home.

The rest of the evening passed in a kind of haze. I hardly dared look at Sally. For me it was an odd experience to be the seduced rather than the seductress, but I began to think I’d been missing out.

Sally didn’t speak to me again until after the pub had closed and we were washing glasses together. Her quiet invitation to “Come to my room when we’ve finished” started the excitement off afresh.

At about eleven-thirty, after Sally had guided me out of the bar to the bottom of the stairs, so as to escape the notice of our boss, she called out goodnight to him and led me upstairs to the fourth floor and along a narrow corridor to the door of her flat. She showed me through the door and switched on the light.

She seemed absolutely confident about the whole situation, a confidence which, while it left me a little unsure of myself, in some strange way also put me at my ease. For the first time I found myself able to let go of the need to maintain a front, an image. I was the one who had been led, however willingly, into this situation. It seemed suddenly easy to simply let go, to play the role of innocent and to let Sally accept full responsibility for whatever was about to happen. It was a delicious feeling, difficult to explain to someone who may not have experienced it themselves.

In the low lighting of her little room she led me with total assurance to the softness of her bed. Her hands stroked soothingly up my thighs under my dress, and without apology caressed the warm, damp prominence of my pussy snuggled demurely inside my knickers.

I parted my thighs, obedient to the pressure of her finger-tips, and I felt the gentle, silky touch delve moistly between the soft outer lips, by-passing the tight nip of the elastic around the top of my thigh. Her fingers were electric, tingling me in exactly the right places, but the pleasure was faintly marred by the unwelcome feeling that I was going to have to have a pee quite soon. It was stupid of me not to have thought of it before, but I was definitely going to have to interrupt the proceedings just as I was really beginning to enjoy it.

I whispered hoarsely into her ear that she’d have to “Excuse me” for a moment. Naturally she wanted to know why. I told her that I’d have to go to the loo. I thought she’d be annoyed at being interrupted, but instead she giggled and said teasingly: “C’mon then. I’ll come with you.”

She led me to the bathroom which adjoined her bedroom. It was very pretty, pink tiled half-way up the wall and shiny golden taps on the bath.

“In here,” she said, and instead of letting me go and squat on the toilet seat she edged me towards the bath. I hung back, not understanding her.

“Come on,” she urged. “We’ll have some fun.”

She slipped off her shoes and then undressed completely except for her pants. Then, while I copied her, wondering where this was leading and having to press my thighs together to keep from pissing myself, Sally turned on the hot tap and ran a few inches of water into the bath.

“Warms it up,” she said, and then promptly stepped in and sat down with a splash.

I stripped, but left my knickers on as she had, and stepped into the bath and was about to sit down when she stopped me.

“No, you can’t sit down,” she said, “because I’m going to play with you, you’ll see.”

I smiled, mystified, and she explained.

“First,” she grinned, “you’ve got to take these off.” And she hooked a finger under the elastic of my pants and gave them a yank so that they came part way down. Then, still with a devilish grin on her face, she slid a finger between the very tops of my tight- pressed thighs, outside my knickers, and wiggled it titillatingly until she’d found the tip of my clitty underneath. It felt beautiful, but I had to pull gently away from her as the tickle also brought on the need for a pee more urgently than before.

“No, please,” I said. “Let me have a wee first.”

“You’re going to,” she said, “but not just yet,” and she teased my excited pussy as I teetered up onto my toes and wriggled lewdly on the tip of her insistent finger.

My bladder felt as if it were about to burst, and then, to my horror, I felt the first hot seepage deposit itself wetly into my knickers.

“Oh, Christ!” I said, and felt the flush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, but Sally giggled again and, with her finger hooked inside the crotch of my pants, she tugged me towards her and stared obscenely at the damp patch as it spread slowly over the front of my knickers. Then to my amazement, she withdrew her wet and shining finger and passed it, with obvious pleasure, across her lips, the pink tip of her tongue peeping out provocatively.

“Now get `em off,” she said thickly, obviously very excited. “Quick, before you waste it.”

Still very confused, yet fascinated and oddly thrilled by her own obvious excitement, I wriggled my knickers down, oozing warm, dribbling pee as I did so, the tiny stream trickling down my thighs and making their soft insides glisten in the light.

Following her directions, I got into the bath and knelt, facing her. Then, as I’d begun to suspect she might, Sally slid down into the few inches of water and slithered between my parted thighs until her head was directly between my legs. Looking down I could see her eyes, wide open with excitement, just beyond the damp curl of my pubic hair. She peered up at me, and her voice was half teasing, half serious.

“How long can you hang on?” she asked.

I doubted that I could hold on at all, but I said: “A minute, perhaps.”

“Couldn’t you make it two?” she asked, wheedlingly.

“Oh – all right, I’ll – I’ll try.”

Her fingers began stroking me again, up between my thighs, around and under my bottom, then brushing lightly across my cunt and teasing so that I began to tremble with the tension and excitement. My hips began to undulate helplessly as the pleasure mounted deep inside me, and then. with my bladder feeling fit to burst, and my climax only about twenty seconds away, she suddenly stopped.

“Make it five,” she demanded.

I didn’t know what she was talking about. My pussy was crying out for her to go on, to let me finish.

“Five? Five what?” I almost bleated.

“Five minutes,” she said. “Hang on to your pee for five minutes -or else.”

“For Christ’s sake-I Or else what?”

“Or else I won’t let you come,” she said.

I pleaded with her to go on. She stared up at me, then she lifted her head and licked, very gently, between the lips of my cunt, lingering around the tip of my ditty for a moment before she sank her hair back into the warm water,

“Five minutes,” she insisted.

I was utterly helpless. I was absolutely dying to let it out, but she’d got me so desperately excited that the mere thought of her not making me come eventually was more than I could bear.

Nearly in tears, the emotion choking me, I stutteringly agreed.

“Right then,” she said. “Five minutes,” and glanced up at a wall clock that I hadn’t noticed before.

Then, her tongue sliding like liquid silver over my poor, throbbing ditty, she teased and tormented me with incredible skill until I was poised on the very brink of orgasm, my hips working with an obscene squirming as she licked and nibbled underneath me. Inevitably, and unavoidably, little spurts of wee escaped me as I struggled not to let go, but Sally seemed not to mind at all, though I whispered my apologies to her. I was amazed to realise a few moments later, she was actually drinking my piss!

At one point I thought she’d let me come. I reached for it, pressing down onto her mouth, but she moved away, knowing what I was trying to do, and then, to make it worse, she began to rake her fingernails up the insides of my thighs, making me flinch away and spatter tiny showers of urine down onto her face and her bare breasts.

“Don’t you dare let it go,” she said, and then went back to teasing me with her tongue, and I looked up at the clock and saw, incredulously, that there were still three minutes to go.

“For Christ’s sake Sally,” I squealed. “I just can’t hang on any more.”

“Yes you bloody can!” she almost hissed. “And you will, if you don’t want to blow up from frustration, sweetie !”

And so, desperate beyond measure for the sweetness of the release she was promising me, in both respects, I clung on to my pee somehow, squirming helplessly on her tongue, longing to at least press my thighs together to ease the pressure inside me, but unable even to do that.

Her long nails raked me again, and then, almost the final straw, she began pinching at my bare buttocks and occasionally nipping with sharp teeth at the damp and tender insides of my thighs. I couldn’t help it, more splatters of my hot piss splashed uncontrollably down onto Sally, and she nuzzled hard underneath me, shoving me right back up to the very peak of excitement.

At last, after what seemed ages, the clock jerked finally to the five minute mark.

I squealed in an agony of excitement and distress that the time was up, but Sally had timed it absolutely perfectly. With a last hot flurry of her probing, teasing tongue, she tipped me over the brink and suddenly I was utterly and completely out of control as my orgasm reached down into my loins and skewered me with a climax such as I had never known before.

In a great pink-tiled haze I was dimly aware that my bladder had at last let go. I could hear the hot, gushing stream drenching Sally, who still probed and prodded between my legs, and then flooding musically into the shallow water in the bath. I literally shuddered with the release of both pent-up pee and bursting ecstasy, and there was a voice screaming in the echoing little room that I realised must be mine.

Eventually, and how much later I don’t know, I came round properly. Sally had climbed out from between my legs and had drained the bath. I watched as she peeled down her soaking knickers and dropped them into the sink, then she put the plug back in and ran the bath full of warm water while I sat down in it, utterly exhausted.

Then, as we both soaked in the luxuriant warmth, she told me about a friend she had, a boy-friend.

“But you’re – well, aren’t you lesbian?” I asked stupidly.

“Yes – and no. I’m kind of half and half.”

I felt confused again. She’d seemed so utterly commanding, so marvelously competent, that it didn’t seem possible that she wasn’t completely Iesbian.

She explained about her and her boyfriend, and then invited me to come and find out for myself. By the time we’d finished our bath I was hooked on the idea. We arranged it for the very next Saturday night.