Lisa Lets Go

A short note to everyone who has been following my stories: First an apology; I lost interest in writing for a while because of some random assholes who weren't brave enough to leave a attributed comment and hid behind anonymity. I make it a policy not to criticize really bad writing; I vote on it and shut the fuck up. Unfortunately others have not been so kind to me.

If you leave negative feedback at the very least allow me the opportunity to rebut or better yet, have something posted on Lit so I can see what YOU have to offer. The critical usually are the ones who have not tried themselves. As they say, "those who can't, critique." So a big fuck you to those without the balls to allow me a rebuttal, and a big thank you to those who have read my stories and sent me positive, critical feedback! This is for you!

I will be continuing the Wet Ride saga within the next few weeks, and concluding "killing time" shortly as well. Thanks to one of my great "muses" who, once again has graced me with her company.

*

Lisa lay prone and sweating on the bed, legs splayed lewdly wet from perspiration. The heavy pant that issued from her mouth, the result of her lungs being crushed under the dead weight of her exhausted body, echoed in the large suite. Behind her stood Thomas, the man she barely knew but with whom these past few days she has spent in compromising position after position and doing things she had, until now, only read about. Yet she trusted this man not to kill her and leave her body beside the road a lifeless heap, much like she felt now. Now, after the second day here in this place they rented, were they truly able to let go.

Lisa had just turned 40 six months to the day she discovered her "man" getting fucked by another man in the garage attached to the townhouse they shared. That was little more than two weeks ago. She wasn't surprised by this revelation; as a matter of fact it was she who had encouraged it, what surprised her were the feelings that rose up in her like a geyser as she watched.

She remembered watching from the small dusty web-covered garage window as Damon, the husband of her Jamaican born best friend, screwed his 11-inch dick into Christopher's ass. First was shock, previously he had vehemently denied he had any "queer" proclivities as she rode him reverse cowgirl and screwed her middle finger into his ass. Then horror, as she realized the tool violating his rectum would probably ruin him for anyone else, a theory she was now determined to test. And finally, overwhelming wet sloppy arousal. She was so mesmerized, so lost in the moment that it took her at least a day to recall the four hard "cums" she had standing on the side of the unit, hand down her pants nearly fisting her sloppy drooling pussy. She was so wet that the blue slacks and red panties she had been wearing on that day were still soaking on the next. She must have pissed herself, she reasoned, because no woman produces that much natural lubrication. The thought of her pissing herself sent a jolt through her re-excited pussy and a faint across her head.

Christopher was not only ruined for any other man, but as was evidenced by the awkward announcement Chris made during Thanksgiving dinner, an announcement that came as a shock to all three of them, Chris had been just plain ruined. Needless to say no one has seen either Chris or Damon in quite a while.

As she lay now, recalling the life change that had become her, leaving her no memory of who she was. She reviewed the past few weeks, the ones just after that fateful event, as if watching a film. The first reel consisted of the drunken reverie/commiseration, the players familiar in appearance, herself as she was and Damon's ex-wife Kimberly. As she drifted back, her remembrance became less as if she were watching and more feeling, touching, tasting, and cumming ...over and over again. See, in the process of drowning their sorrows they nearly drowned each other. A process that consisted of many fluids, tears, the gummy wetness of female cum and most surprisingly the hot wetness of vaguely yellow piss.

Lisa's sex life had been occasionally wild but until that night always conventional, and it always involved men. You might think that she lost her mind, or she stepped over some plot contrivance of a line. No, that line had been obliterated on the day she watched Chris take that beautiful cock deep within his ass. Smashed to bits as he thrust that Jamaican snake into her mans soon to be ruined shitter. Atomized when she reached inside her pants and attempted to force as much of her hand as possible inside her waterfalling snatch. Fucking around with Kimberly was only the next natural step in a tumble down the road to oblivion.

As Lisa lay now, spread like a buffet on the wet and stained bed, she could feel a presence behind her. That presence became a pressure and that pressure was centralized somewhere near her pretty little asshole. It was Thomas, to be more specific, Thomas' cock. His rigid 6 ½ inches begging for entrance then demanding it, she was exhausted, fucked out and in no position to refuse. But she wanted it, the intrusion, the invasion, she wanted that in every way average prick firmly lodged up her sore but empty asshole.

As he pushed, slowly forcing open her ring, she flashed back again to that night, the sloppy night where she began her emergence. The pressure on her ass reminded her of the things she did. Some of them, by all convention nasty, very nasty. She remembered the freedom as the cock pushed forward into her, the freedom to be naked, swear like a sailor and piss and shit not only in front of (in the case of the liquid waste, on) another person, especially a woman but to do it both inside and out. She had become some kind of animal woman, a lusty 5' 5" wide bottomed amply tited beast. Seeing that glorious ass-fuck snapped something inside her, made her regress. She did love Chris and was sad to see him leave; he was a sweet man with a decent enough cock, but he was also a bit too sweet. Too sweet to say the things she longed to hear, to say "tonguefuck my ass" or "drink my cum, slut," she longed for a ritualized loving abuse, a good hard fucking unlike the loving slow pistoning he regularly gave her. Figuring it was just beyond him to say these things and to fuck her until she lost her functions, she suppressed her urges, buried them deep in the places she hid even from herself.

Two inches now buried inside her hot asshole, and she recalled the second day of her two-day binge, the day all hell broke loose. After seeing the reaming and sharing the awkward moment during Thanksgiving dinner, Kimberly and Lisa had a many a sorrow to drown. What ended up happening was closer to a celebration than a funerary remembrance. She remembered the first kiss, sloppy with alcohol-imbued saliva thick and clinging, it ran down her chin and dripped onto her chest sliding into her cleavage. She remembered unbuttoning her shirt to the navel, tearing at her lacy bra and destroying the clasp in the front. She smeared the collected spittle over her nipples and grabbed and pinched at them until they were sore. She bit at Kimberly's lip tearing little bites into the flesh, just enough to hurt, not enough to bleed.

As her ass filled to two more inches she sighed, her need to piss firmly asserting itself as his prick made its way into her chamber. As she had done that night and the last night with Thomas, as the prick pushed against her bladder from behind she let her piss go. Like a hypo he pushed on her bladder squeezing out its contents. She could feel the sheets and the mattress soaking beneath her and the size of his cock swelling.

Her tongue ejected involuntarily from her mouth, remembrance of taking her best friend's piss down her throat coming as she wet the spot beneath her. The soaking was thorough as she could hear the splash echoing in her mind. The past colliding with the present all because of the average prick crammed up her tiny asshole. She was barely conscious and knew that sleep would come soon, and then there would be real dreams, the place where recall was full and deep, where the colors were bright. They had booked the timeshare for the entire week, and were only into their second day. As she nodded off she smiled, tomorrow was her turn and she wanted something from him. Something she had seen before somewhere in a garage not too long ago...she also had a phone call to make some plans to put into play...the rest of the week would either kill her or pull her fully out of the chrysalis she had been living in all this time....

End of part one...