This tale was inspired by a young tumblr girl who exchanged a letter or two with me a couple of years ago.
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I asked her to tell me something she had never told anyone else, and she replied:
"Something I've never told anyone... hmmm, that's tough as I will find somebody to tell even about my secret stuff... Let's see... one night when I was out celebrating by bar hopping, there was a line for the bathroom because one was out of order, so guys and girls were having to make do with one toilet available... and I got sick of waiting. So I walked over to a spot in the bar where there were fewer people and where there were no lights directly overhead, and then simply stood against the wall and slowly let loose in a puddle on the floor, then I walked back to where my friends were and kept right on drinking."
I replied that her "never told a soul" story was wonderfully intimate, and the next time I saw a wet cotton gusset, I would think of her. I had already established that she was five foot nothing, and the image of her peeing stayed in my mind - so a couple of weeks later I wrote the "O'Malley's Bar" story for her.
I think she might have been trying to shock me, I don't know. But writing that tale put the idea into my head, and it kept coming back, of a woman peeing, hot and full and copious, pissing on me.
And I found myself, over the next couple of months, browsing various porn sites for girls peeing. I found a wide variety of genres available, ranging from clothed girls crouching and puddling in the street, to naked girls spreading and spraying, crouching and spraying.
Girls in white tights wetting themselves. A particular sub-genre of girls, who for some reason I felt were Russian (I'm not sure why I thought that), pissing in the woods and in the snow. Natural girls, honest in their bodily functions, and an earthiness.
I also found myself, for a fortnight or so, indulging in a fascination for girls shitting. But that did not arouse, even if it did fascinate. I found the Russian girls also had that fetish sewn up - does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, and so does a Russian girl, apparently! Girls smearing scat did not do it for me, not one bit; but a solid healthy turd easing from a tight asshole, yes, that had a certain something.
I then remembered one of the most successful stroke stories I had ever found, published in an anthology of erotic tales maybe ten or fifteen years ago. I no longer have the collection (I wonder where it went?) and I cannot remember the author's name. His timing was brilliant - it did not matter how many times I read that story, it would always bring me to the strongest come, always paced superbly for the last paragraphs. I must have read the story dozens of times, and if I stroked myself steadily and slowly, at just the right pace, there it would be, a pulsing ejaculation hitting my chest every time.
My re-tell of the story goes like this:
The subject of the tale is a woman in her forties, earthy and sexual, who lives on the edge of town in a small cottage, with an orchard surrounded by low walls. She lives alone, but has befriended one of the young jocks from the local school. He is wholesome and innocent, the cliched all American boy. Let's call him Johnny.
Johnny has a bright-eyed cheer-leader girlfriend, blonde and beautiful, tanned in the summer sun. Let's call her Debby. School has finished, and the pair are going into their last summer as teenagers, before they move on to their older age and loss of innocence. They gave each other the gift of their virginities just after their eighteenth birthdays, and they are still wide eyed with the wonder of it all.
The story starts with the teller (I shall call her Helen - for in this re-tell of her story I should refer to her by a name), Helen has just finished some hot work in her garden. She comes inside and takes a shower to wash away the mud and the sweat from her toil. She is described in loving detail - her breasts are full and her nipples thick, surrounded by big areola. Her legs are firm, a thick black bush between, a nicely rounded belly. Helen is lush and womanly, and her body is fit and strong, used to a good day's work.
As she showers, of course she turns herself on with a soapy finger in her ass, several firm pushes into herself. The shower head pulses against her vage, and that is the term the writer uses repeatedly. He does not write "sex" or "cunt" - this earthy woman has a vage with thick lips and a proud rising clitoris, and thick black hair, curls tracing the tops of her thighs. She soaps herself and rubs long fingers along her lips.
But Helen makes herself wait. Still wet, she reaches for a box of her favourite toys and selects a long plastic prick, which she presses deep into herself. She straddles the edge of the bath and rocks her groin onto the edge of the tub, her vage filled with the big dildo. The author describes this over several paragraphs, and the writing is vivid and rich. He tells us how the prick feels deep inside her, and how she grips it, and the heavy heat of her groin tingles as her flesh touches the cold rim of the tub.
But Helen is not done with the dildo in her vagina, oh no; she has a tighter channel to fill as well, and we are treated to a lush description as she inserts a satisfyingly big butt plug into herself, her ass muscle clamping it tight in her dark, musky tunnel. Her aroma is rich and spicy (I can taste her tight asshole on my tongue). So there is Helen, both passages filled. Because she is an earth mother, with her wide hips and large, heavy breasts, she drapes herself with a kaftan, loose flowing. The coarse material rubs her hardened nipples, and her breasts sway under the cloth.
By this time, if I'm reading fully dressed, my cock is hard in my jeans and tight. If I am sitting up in bed with the book in my hand, my other hand is by now slowly caressing my erection. My cock bounces against my belly each time I turn a page, and then my hand cups my tightening balls and makes a slow, idle caress up the shaft. Like Helen, I am slow with myself and delaying my own arousal. She has much to do before she is done, this day; and I too am slow and patient. It is best that way, no need to hurry. Besides, Helen is still inside the house, and the warm dappled sunlight calls her out.
Helen takes her bag full of toys, and because her cunt (I am not bound by the original author's word "vage") - because her cunt and ass are filled with a plastic prick and a heavy butt-plug, every step she takes is a delicious pressure in the guts and centre of her, and she is almost giddy by the time she makes it to her orchard.
Helen has a special place in the centre of her orchard, where the grass is smooth and cut short like a carpet. Surrounding the grass patch is a circle of earth and mud, and she has a tap and a hose. Helen spreads a rug on the ground, and sits herself there, cross legged. Her toys are mobile within her passages, and as she is now sitting, the heft in her ass passage is full and solid, urging its presence up inside her tightest tunnel. Helen likes her fill, and luxuriates in the dappled sunlight, and the sun is warm on her face and a slight breeze cool on her arms. She is full of sensation.
After sitting some five minutes, rocking back and forth on the shaft in her ass, she takes up the hose and waters a moat around herself. When the earth is soft and wet, she opens her bag of toys and plants around herself a circle of upright dildos, carved wooden shafts, various plugs and insertion devices. Helen makes a small garden of fake phalluses, raised upright seeking the sun. She is an earth witch, seeking to make things grow, and she is the plug fuck queen, reigning within her kingdom (or her queendom). There are no fairies at the bottom of Helen's garden, hers is a more primal place, and she grows things. She is very wet.
Her hands are covered in mud from her digging and planting, and so that she doesn't get her kaftan dirty, she carefully undoes buttons and rolls the cloth down below her heavy breasts, so that her lap and legs are still covered with the circle of cloth, her stuffed ass and cunt her own secret places. Helen smears her wet mud covered fingers and her palms over her big breasts, and coats herself with a fine layer of mud, which soon dries.