by Alison Tyler
As horny as she was, Kara giggled at these fanciful words—words of her own creation. But hey, she thought, why the hell shouldn’t she be poetry in motion, pissing down magic for the right observer?
I will visit you on your quiet nights, when you drink a pot of tea and curl up in smooth pajamas, when you read from a handwritten journal of your own erotic whispers until you can’t sit still. Those nights upon which you escort yourself into an empty bathtub, ensconced all the while in your sleek silk. Those nights you clutch your knees and play private films in your head…until you’re luxuriating, from throbbing pussy to delicate asscheeks, in your own warm puddle.
Lying on her bed and petting herself between orgasms, she remembered how it had all started. The college party at which the guy she’d been hot for all semester had shown up—on the arm of one of her friends. She recalled, in her mind and in her panties, how she’d become so excited, watching from across the room as he nibbled her friend’s ear and stroked her friend’s ass, that she had literally wet her pants. And how fiercely it had turned her on to feel herself losing control between her legs, under such sexy circumstances.
Kneel and dance above my face, holding your water precisely as long as you like, mesmerizing me with your gyrations, inviting me to lick you from moist to uncontrollably wet. Let me bring your source to my lips, to communicate and commune with the powerful river that flows from between your soft legs.
Her mind raced while her fingers worked in her panties. Finally, even the seductive voice in her head was drowned out by her shrieks.
Following an afternoon of slow- and fast-cooking masturbation, Kara showered and dressed for a friendly dinner with Daniel—which she knew it would be premature to describe as a date. But despite the sexually noncommittal stance that Daniel had taken thus far, Kara had high hopes. She felt sure that he was the type who would stare transfixed, rather than turning away, when she stood before him and suddenly, studiously, watered her panties, looking him in the eye so there could be no mistaking the deliberateness of her act.
How you like being dressed to the nines, my vixen—heels, stockings, skirt, blazer, and blouse—but pussy and upper thigh in the raw, crouching over me and slowly pissing, pissing, pissing. Pissing freely, then stopping abruptly, to dwell in a no-man’s-land where the pleasure of letting go and the pleasure of holding it in can coexist…only to let go again when the moment calls for it, dribbling lazily over me while time stands still. A woman’s time is her own while she pees; the world will wait for you, my flower. How rapt you hold me each time you hesitate, as I watch you relishing your moistened wriggles, each so pregnant with anticipation. Then, each time you resume, you once again have me writhing in masculine ecstasy beneath your feminine faucet.
She made a mental note to drink plenty of wine, and plenty of water, at the restaurant. If she could just get him back to his place, or her place, with a full bladder rocking inside her body…
Tonight, lovely one, I have your water upon my flesh before, during, and after our sensuous fucking. Before—when you’re so eager to have me that you’re subtly leaking, and I stroke your knickers just where you drip preciously down; when you piss hurriedly, impatiently over my caressing hand and into the bowl, taking care not to empty entirely. Then, during—as we fuck upon a dark, luscious towel, knowing that you’ve saved some, so that when I make you come hard enough, you will bathe me. And after—when I hold your chest close against my waist while you empty at last into the commode, your liquid kissing my fingertips, the fluorescent light humming to our heartbeats while the orgasmic kineticism of your act pulses through you. I feel you relax, by stages, in my arms, and your body becomes heavy with a grand, sensual contentment. And yet the flow has barely stopped when I feel the relaxation across your pussy begin to blossom into fresh arousal.
Daniel was late for dinner, and Kara decided to get a head start on the wine and the water. She sipped the two in alternation, enjoying the music that was piped in over the restaurant’s speakers…and wondering where he was.
He was sincerely apologetic when he phoned her, fifteen minutes after he should have been there. He explained that he’d been stuck in a monster traffic jam, with no reception. And that when he’d finally been able to connect, he’d found a frantic message from a client whose computer had crashed—one hour before vital spreadsheets were due on the desks of some bigwigs. He bowed out of dinner but suggested she call him in a little while. Maybe they could catch a movie.
After her solitary dinner, Kara profited from the summer eve sunlight to take a leisurely stroll around the immediate neighborhood—a quiet section of the city. As she did so, she began to feel the effects of the wine and water she had diligently consumed.
This wasn’t one of those times when it came over her suddenly and made her rush for a bathroom. No, she recognized it as one of the slower-building needs, when the reservoir would inch gradually upward over the course of an hour or so. This was something to be savored, as she would savor the sensation of ice cream melting reluctantly against her tongue. She continued her stroll, nurturing the sweet, arousing ache in her groin. The scents of countless trees wafted through the air, and even that felt arousing to her.
Lying in your room with my eyes closed, I hear you bounce lightly out of bed. I doze off to the distant, charming music of your waters, as your stream cascades merrily into the porcelain.
As the voice resonated from her mind to her pussy, Kara was surprised to find that she had miscalculated, and that she really had to pee now. Perhaps, she belatedly realized, it was because she had failed to account for the accelerating effect of being so aroused.
She could scurry back to the restaurant and apologetically avail herself of their facilities. Or she could hustle to her car and head for a nearby supermarket, convenience store, or fast-food joint. And yet…she was by herself on a secluded, residential block. Her eyes widened and her clit tingled when she realized she had an excuse to do something she’d always wanted to do.
Twice today, she had been cheated out of wetting her panties for Daniel. The least she could do for herself, Kara reasoned, was grab the consolation prize of peeing on the sidewalk. Her hands began to tremble with excitement.
There was a specific way she needed to do this, as it had been rehearsed in her mind countless times. Her panties came off. All the way off.
She closed her eyes as she began, and she let the gentle voice in her mind describe what he would have seen:
How beautiful you look in the evening light, panty-free, making your personal puddle on this deserted stretch of walkway. Let me admire you face-on as you stand spread-eagled, your skirt hiked to your waist and held in place by your cheeky elbows. My eyes are drawn to your dainty fingers, which pry your private lips apart while you sway softly into your business. Let me walk around you and stare unblinkingly as you descend into a feminine squat, your summer-sweet ass hovering proudly above the darkening pavement.
As the sun began to set, she walked jauntily back to the restaurant parking lot, a woman who had just pissed on the sidewalk and wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Sitting in her car, nude and damp under her skirt, she fingered her slick lips with one hand while dialing Daniel with the other.
Does the dampness excite you, knowing that what’s tickling your thighs is the remnant of the fountain you poured onto public cement? While you wiggle in your car, do you feel the clinging wetness merging with fresh, fragrant juice from your fruit?
Her orgasm arrived before the second ring. Daniel picked up on the third.
She told him she was tired, and suggested they call it a night. They arranged to have dinner the following Friday. That was what she wanted, Kara affirmed to herself as she hung up. To wet herself for Daniel some other time. Because tonight, she was not to be the seducer, but the seduced. Tonight, she had a date at home with a very articulate voice in her head.
She took a large gulp from her water bottle and started the engine.
&nbs
p; LEARNING HER LESSON
RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL
KELLY WALKED INTO CLIFF’S ROOM and almost had an orgasm. Or at least, that’s how she remembered it later. She was in college, a perky junior with the body of a cheerleader and the dirty mind of a stripper. By day, she was a chemistry major, huddled over lab work that would make a lesser student balk, but she was diligent, never missing a class, going to office hours, probing her experiments and poring over her studies almost religiously. Because she was so intensely focused on her schoolwork, she didn’t have much time for traditional dating, and besides, the guys she met at school simply seemed lacking. It was all about football, beer, and scoring, and on the few occasions she allowed them the latter, they didn’t seem to know what to do with her body aside from groan, thrust, and come.
She found her fantasies turning increasingly kinky, increasingly dirty, and increasingly hot. When she woke up for the third time that week with her hands above her head, her body poised in a position of pure submission, ass in the air, the image of her getting her butt spanked good and hard still filling her mind, she knew it was time to do something about it. She was a smart cookie, and applied her usual rigor to finding just the right guy to deflower her ass. She didn’t want there to be any confusion on the matter; didn’t want him to treat her too delicately, or assume she was signing on to be his full-time slave. She wanted an expert, a man who truly knew his way around a woman’s bottom, knew how to make it sing and soar and sting and blossom.
In her diligent research, she’d sought out those she’d heard went to dungeons and sex parties, including the girl who’d written an entire column in the school paper about how she liked to get tied up. They were more than happy to talk, amusement lurking in their features as Kelly took out her pen and notepad, scribbling things like safeword and consent and totally fucking hot between the ruled lines. She kept her professional face on, a mask of pleasant interest that was so far removed from the way she jerked off wildly later that her interviewees would’ve been shocked, or so she thought. But Kelly was good at leading a double life, or at least keeping her true self under wraps. She knew she’d never be like these outspoken, brazen scenesters, strutting their love for beatings and submission all across town. She liked being the good girl and, in fact, she was the good girl, through and through; she just knew, with increasing fervor, that she needed to surrender every once in a while, to play at being a bad girl with someone who’d properly reward her for it.
All her subjects told her that if she really wanted to find out more, she should contact Cliff. Just “Cliff,” no last name; he didn’t need one. He’d graduated a few years ago and worked from home creating video games and computer programs and performing other technical tasks that were beyond her comprehension. She didn’t really care about that, anyway; she barely even asked what he looked like. The girls had such glowing praise, their excitement was catching. She was entranced by the way their eyes had lit up, every last one who told her about Cliff. “He’s just such a natural top.” “He’s incredible.” “I never wanted to leave,” said one particularly punky, tough-looking girl, her spiky hair, holes in her ears and visible nipple piercings giving way to a look of tenderness when she spoke about Cliff.
Nothing came up about him online, so Kelly didn’t have any photos to fuel her fantasies, but that didn’t stop her from turning off all the lights, lying facedown and naked, and slipping her hands between her legs as she pictured this mysterious, kinky Cliff beating her ass something fierce. She pictured him climbing on top of her, pinning her down, telling her he knew how big a slut she really was. Before she’d even met him, she was ready to give him whatever he wanted if he’d make even a fraction of her fantasies come true.
It wasn’t exactly easy getting in touch with him; the girls were happy to regale her with stories, but getting his contact information was a bit trickier. Kelly suspected that despite her efforts to disguise her very personal interest in the topic, once she probed further, asking details about his methods, they could read her naughty intentions beneath her professional poise and they knew just how wet the idea of submitting to Cliff was making her. But finally Donna, who Kelly had pestered several times, took pity on her. “But don’t go to his place unless you’re ready to offer yourself to him one hundred percent,” she said. Her words could have been ominous but to Kelly they were musical, magical. She didn’t know precisely what they meant, but she wanted to find out as soon as possible.
Cliff didn’t exactly sound thrilled by her call. “What do you want?” he growled, his voice deep but not in the sexy way she’d imagined.
“Well, um, Donna gave me your number and I’m doing a story on kink on campus and I wanted to see if I could interview you,” she blurted, using the lie she’d given to all the other people she’d talked to. Though she didn’t really consider it a lie, because if all went well, she would fashion her personal research into something worthy of a news story.
“I don’t give interviews, sorry.”
“Well, this could be off the record. I do have a…personal interest in the topic. A curiosity, if you will.”
“If it’s personal, I could fit you in. And by that I mean, if you think you have what it takes to submit to me, to surrender that professional poise you’ve got down and let me show you something truly new. I especially like virgins,” he said. Kelly wasn’t technically a virgin, but at this new game, she certainly felt like one. “Is there something else you want, Kelly?” he asked, the way he said her name sending shivers along her neck even through the phone.
It was his way of flirting, but his voice was still flat. She knew this was her one chance to get what she most desperately craved. “Yes, there is.” She paused, not sure how to phrase it. “I’ve never done anything kinky in my life but now it’s all I can think about. I want to be tied up, gagged, spanked, beaten. All of it.” She was mortified that she’d lost control like that, let it spew out so quickly rather than doing a slow reveal.
Kelly was rewarded with a laugh from the other end of the phone. “You just made my cock hard, Kelly, so that means I’m going to let you come over. I only top girls who turn me on, girls I want to fuck, and I won’t know that until I see you. So you should really get your ass over here right now.” He gave her the address, which was only a mile away. “Wear a short skirt, and don’t wear panties. And be ready for what you asked for and more. I’m not gonna go easy on you, little girl. And nobody will be around to hear you scream.”
If his words were intended to scare her, they did the exact opposite. “Yes, Sir,” she said, the three-letter final word sounding foreign coming from her lips, yet totally natural in her own way. She was dripping wet and wanted to jerk off but knew that if she didn’t race over there, Cliff might be gone. He hung up without saying anything further.
She stripped completely, taking a moment to peek at her large breasts, the nipples already hard, the flat stomach giving way to her lightly fuzzed pussy, freckles dotting her legs, her short red hair seeming brighter in the mirror than usual. Naked, she looked cute, a word she’d always gotten flung her way, rather than the desired beautiful, or even pretty. She hoped Cliff thought she was beautiful, worthy.
Kelly found a very short tennis skirt, the white pleats beaming an innocence she knew she didn’t possess. She also knew the curves of her tight ass were almost visible beneath it as she slipped on flip-flops and grabbed a white tank top, not bothering with a bra. She hurried out the door after a swipe of lip-gloss and one quick glance in the mirror. Kelly held her head high as she walked rapidly across town, ignoring the whistles from boys on bikes or leaning out of car windows. None of them knew how to give her what she really wanted, she was sure. She wanted it hard, she wanted it to hurt.
As she rang the doorbell at a small white house, she smiled to herself. It looked like someplace she’d go to babysit, not get tied up. She fidgeted, feeling her wet, swollen pussy lips between her legs. The door opened and there was Cliff. He pulled her roughly ins
ide, not bothering with a hello, then shut the door and dragged her down a hallway to his room. It happened so fast she barely had time to look around or take in anything more than the fact that he was over a foot taller than her, but when she saw what hung on his walls, her whole body went cold, then hot. Hanging from hooks were knives, handcuffs, paddles, and floggers. It looked like a sex toy store, and it was almost too much for her to take in. Almost, but not quite. He turned to stare at her, assessing her body. “Turn around and lift up your skirt, Kelly. I want to make sure you can follow instructions.”
She liked that he jumped right into their play, not letting her pause to question it. Her body was humming in a way it never had with any of the guys she’d fucked. She’d enjoyed herself with them, but she’d never felt like her pussy was literally dripping, never felt like she had found exactly what she’d been craving. She turned away from him, bent slightly at the waist, and lifted her skirt. She’d recently shaved her pussy, and knew he could see that as well as her buttcheeks. “Very good,” he said, then walked toward her. Before Kelly knew what was happening, he was slicing the tank top with a pair of scissors, then ripping the rest with his bare hands.
She whimpered. “You won’t be needing this but I might,” he said. She just nodded, already too aroused to properly speak. He turned her around so she was facing him, staring into her eyes. She figured she probably looked a little scared, which she was, but she was even more aroused, standing there in just her skirt and flip-flops. She got a good look at his face. He had a short brown beard and a thick head of hair, and big brown eyes that seemed to swallow her. He reached down and pinched one nipple, then tugged her forward with it. The pressure kept getting more intense, but he didn’t say anything to acknowledge what he was doing. She chanced to look down, watching as he twisted her nipple between his fingers. Seeing him do it made her gasp, and he tugged on the other, pressing each nub as flat as he could between his fingers. It was starting to really hurt, but the harder he did it, the more Kelly wanted to see how much she could take.