Pissing From A High Place

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Thanks for reading and I hope you like this tale. Please do leave a comment as I read all of them and take them all onboard.

Pissing From a High Place

To say that Krysten Young was pissed off was to put it mildly. She was angry as a volcano. Angry as a super volcano. Angry as the biggest volcano that the Earth had ever seen. She had overseen this development on behalf of her boss, Jeffrey Madushanka, and the fat fuck had laid her off without even giving her a week's notice now that it was virtually completed.

Since her dissertation at the university had gone so horribly, disastrously wrong, she realized that she would have difficulties being taken seriously in any scientific setting so she wasn't too surprised when her applications and CV were either ignored completely or she received a proforma letter back thanking her for her interest but telling her that a more suitable applicant had been hired. Knowing that she had all the necessary qualifications, she persisted and persisted but the rejections kept on coming and she was starting to worry that her next post in academia would be flipping burgers in some fast food outlet near a cow college in one of the flyover states.

Then her best friend, Laura, had mentioned that a local developer was looking for a project manager for an apartment complex he was constructing and suggested she try for it. Although it was outside of her scientific experience, she had nothing to lose so wrote a carefully worded application emphasizing her skills in dealing with funding applications, liaising with different people, problem solving and successfully achieving all her targets. She didn't expect to hear back so she was pleasantly surprised when she was called for an interview.

That morning, almost a year ago, she stepped out of the shower determined to make a good impression. She would rather be hired for her brains than her beauty but the way things were going job-wise she wanted to gain every bit of advantage she could. Krysten was aware that she was no supermodel, more the girl next door type, but she was quite attractive. She stood an average five foot six inches with a pleasant oval face and a fresh-faced complexion coupled with clear gray eyes and blond hair shading to light brown. She had kissable lips, especially when enhanced with lip gloss, but she didn't like her nose much which she thought was a bit too long and not quite straight enough.

As she stood with her arms raised, which lifted her boobs nicely as she brushed her shoulder length, slightly tousled hair she looked down at her body. Her C-cup boobs weren't as perky and uplifting as she'd like but tended to lie against her chest wall. They weren't that saggy but she'd never make a Playboy centerfold she told herself sadly. And her pinkish nipples and areolas weren't as well defined as she would have liked. Nor was her belly as flat as she'd like -- time to start another diet she told herself -- while her hips were a little too broad and as for her thighs, she hoped she wasn't going to get the dreaded cellulite, the curse of her sister's life. She glanced down at the swell of her pubic mound with its tidily trimmed landing strip and the hint of her rosy labia sticking out beneath.

Like many women, she knew she was being too hard on her body and had been drip fed a series of unreal expectations all her life but she could not completely shrug off her insecurities. With that she crossed to her little wardrobe and picked out a thong as she didn't want any visible panty line today and teamed it with a nude push-up bra that would make the most of her assets. She smiled at the effect as she glanced at her reflection. Over it an office appropriate white blouse but she left a couple of buttons undone. If she leaned forwards she could give the interviewer a nice glimpse of her milky white cleavage. She didn't want to use such tactics but in an interview a girl had to try and get every up-tick she could, especially as she had no prior experience. A thin gold chain around her neck would certainly draw his eye in that direction. She slipped on a gray pencil skirt and formal jacket and knew she looked the part at least even if she did have a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

She drove into town giving herself plenty of time but there were no delays. The developer's office was on the edge of the business district of town, in the middle of a strip mall and sited between an off-track betting shop and a skeezy looking payday loan and pawn brokers. Hmm, didn't look so promising, she thought. There were some generic computer generated images of flashy buildings with pavement cafes in the window so she parked nearby, made sure her car was locked properly and let herself into the office.

"Ah, you must be Krysten Young," said a man emerging from a back room. "I'm Jeffrey Madushanka. Thank you for coming." He had a strong South Asian accent. She saw that he was maybe an inch shorter than herself with a heavy, jowly face, bushy eyebrows a side parting and an old-fashioned mustache. He sat behind a cheap desk covered Styrofoam take-out boxes that smelled of stale curry together with papers and blueprints. He shook one out and turned it around.

"This is the block I am looking to build. What do you think?"

Krysten took the chair facing him. She leaned forward to study the build design. As she leaned forwards she noticed Jeffrey's eyes swoop down to take in her cleavage. She bent forwards a little lower, nothing to obvious, and despite herself was glad that the air conditioning was turned up high as she felt her nipples get poky. Use any trick in the book if it helps, she told herself. She studied the plan for a minute before speaking.

Half an hour later, Krysten thought the interview went well, she made some valid points, but was aware that ultimately it came down to experience and personality. But she consoled herself with the thought that this interview would be good experience for the future. At the end she stood and shook hands with Jeffrey Madushanka. His shake was hot and sweaty and she resisted wiping her palm on her skirt.

"I have other people to see but I will let you know," he told her. That was a dismissal and she didn't expect to hear again from him. The position would go to some roughneck with construction experience she told herself.

So she was surprised when she got a call a few days later asking when she could start.

"Thank you," she said nervously as she had doubts that she was up to the job. Sure the pay wasn't so great but she had little experience and it was still way better than a research scientist would pull down. Also Mr. Madushanka promised her a generous bonus if it was completed on time.

Determinedly she quashed her qualms. In a local thrift store she found a power suit in a charcoal pinstripe with the exaggeratedly wide shoulder pads. Teamed with a pair of heels to raise her height it boosted her confidence no end even if it made her look like a 1980s businesswoman.

Monday came and on the basis of fake it till you make it she strode into Jeffrey Madushanka's office and took charge of the project. It helped that she had an organized mind and a fair idea of what was wanted. Although Krysten had her moments of terror, especially in the first few weeks, she found she really enjoyed her role. From the initial site demolition and clearance of the rubble, through to the initial groundwork and liaising with the town's sanitary department to link up the sewage works, to dealing with the builders and construction workers. She looked forward to the times when she put on boots, a hard hat and fluorescent jacket and visited the site. She took great pride in watching the apartment block grow until it was nearly finished. It was a brick six story edifice with Juliet balconies on the living room windows and would be a good place to live -- if you could afford the inflated prices the agent would ask.

Almost six months later, the building was nearly finished ready for the painters and decorators and furnishers to take over and she had organized the topping out ceremony. The town mayor and her husband would be there, together with the town's chief planning officer (a man who had not so subtly asked for 'donations' in order to smooth the process), the architect and various movers and shakers. Even some scary looking pastor from his backwoods church who she guessed was using the project as a cover for money laundering. That was when Jeffrey Madushanka dropped his bombshell.

Krysten was called into his office a day before the ceremony. She saw Mr. Madushanka behind his desk, still littered with documents, but next to him stood a short, dumpy young woman in a red sari that showed her flabby midriff. She was almost a midget standing no more than five foot but she was about three feet broad, Krysten thought unkindly. She had a heavyset face with more than a trace of a mustache. The only good thing in her favor was that she had a huge pair of titties. Krysten raised her eyebrows and said hello but the woman did not respond and looked uncomprehendingly at her.

"This my second cousin's daughter, Sugandika," said Mr. Madushanka, his accent heavier than usual which happened when he got stressed. Occasionally, when he was on the phone to difficult creditors, he would lapse into his own language and pretend he couldn't speak English. "I am so very very sorry but Sugandika will be taking over your job and finishing off my building."

"What! Are you firing me?" Krysten protested in shock.

"I am very very sorry. You have worked hard but, you know how it is. Family obligations," he shrugged and spread his podgy hands wide. "I am sponsoring Sugandika's visa so she needs a job here."

"That's so unfair. How will she get on with the workmen? Does she even speak English?" A thought hit her like a hammer blow. "But what about my bonus you promised me?"

A shifty look crossed Mr. Madushanka's face and he wiped a sleeve over his perspiring forehead.

"As you did not finish this project, I regret will be paying bonus to Sugandika instead, that is only fair."

Krysten's mouth opened and closed but no words came out. To work for a miserable salary and then have the promised bonus pulled away at the last minute was so unfair. She stepped forwards angrily and Mr. Madushanka recoiled in alarm.

"You better leave before I call police," he said.

"You rotten crook," Krysten snapped as she stormed out slamming the door behind her. She stamped over to her car and pulled out her keys. On the ring was a key to the building itself and she knew its alarm codes. A germ of an idea came to her. The reception was scheduled for tomorrow, she had made all the arrangements and she knew she had to be ready. Rain on her parade? Piss all over her plans? Well, two could play that game.

The following morning, before sunrise, a black clad figure let itself into the complex. It wore an oversized hoody which concealed its face and baggy pants. In both hands it carried a 32oz Big Gulp drink of Diet Cola from a nearby filling station. Ice rattled in the beakers. It locked the door behind it, deactivated the alarm and then climbed up to the fifth floor apartment overlooking the entrance. It started to drink the first Big Gulp, grimacing as the sweet icy liquid went down its throat and into its stomach. Later, the liquid entered its bloodstream and was filtered by its kidneys and into its bladder. By the time it started the second Big Gulp, its bladder felt full and it felt nauseous but it persevered with its drinking. Towards the end of the second it felt as if its bladder would simply explode.

Around nine in the morning, when the figure was hopping from foot to foot in agony, a team of caterers pulled up and laid out a small red carpet with obligatory velvet ropes at the sides. Two trestle tables were set up and delicately cut sandwiches, vol-au-vents and canapés laid out together with fresh fruit, cookies and cakes and an urn of coffee. They stood next to it and chatted among themselves until that lousy bastard Mr. Madushanka and Sugandika arrived in his Mercedes. The figure noticed that he was wearing an expensive dove gray suit and it grinned nastily. It took a final long swallow of the last of the Coke and stifled a gassy belch, rubbing its stomach at the state of its swollen bladder. It felt like an overinflated balloon in her body. Some reporters from the local paper and radio station showed up looking scruffy. Local dignitaries came one by one until at last a black Cadillac pulled up to the curb, the chauffeur opened the back door, and the Mayor and her husband stepped out onto the red carpet to be greeted by camera flashes from the photographers. They walked forwards and shook hands with Mr. Madushanka and Sugandika.

Now or never. But their positions weren't quite right. Glad that it was an overcast day so the sun wouldn't reflect off the moving glass, Krysten carefully opened the French doors opening onto the narrow iron Juliet balcony. She dropped her pants and panties and climbed up onto the railing. Fear filled her for a moment; here she was perched on a thin railing, ass to the wind. If she toppled backwards she'd fall five stories to the cement below and probably die, or maybe break her back and live in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Was it worth it? Yes, she thought. She'd come too far now and if she wanted to live with some self respect then she needed to do this.

Below, she heard Mr. Madushanka greet the mayor and heard the press asking for statements. Krysten spread her legs wide and for a moment savored the feel of cool air on her exposed privates and ass. If anyone looked up they would get a perfect view of the oval of her shaved pussy and her ass cheeks, a position that felt so lewd. Even her lovely labia were on show. Carefully so as not to lose her balance, she reached between her legs and carefully spread her lips. She grimaced as the cool air made her so desperate to piss but she clenched her pelvic floor as tightly as she could. No way could she clench her bladder muscles much longer. Glancing between her legs she saw that the party below was not yet in range.

"Hurry up, I can't hold on much longer," she muttered to herself.

At long last, the group started moving towards the complex's double doors for their guided tour. Now or never. Perfect timing. With a sigh of relief, Krysten let go. Relief swept through her as the intolerable pressure on her overstretched bladder decreased as she relieved herself. She sighed at the comfort. A cascade of pale piss streamed out of her urethra, between her legs and fell five stories down. It felt like she couldn't stop pissing as her urine poured down. She shook her ass on the iron railing hoping for maximum saturation.

There were cries of shock and outrage from below and looking down she saw that Mr. Madushanka was drenched in her piss, his head and shoulders dripping, his light gray suit now stained dark with urine. It was ruined. As she had been standing by his side Sugandika was also soaked and she was screaming outrage in her own language. Even the mayor and one of the reporters had been caught in the rain of piss.

No time to hang about and face the consequences. Jumping down from the railing, she hastily pulled up her jogging pants without taking time to dry herself ran out of the apartment, over the tiled hall, ignored the elevator, and raced as fast as she dared down the rear cement fire escape stairs.

Krysten slammed out of the fire door, sprinted down the next alley and reached her little car. Her clothes were on the back seat. Laughing, she keyed the ignition and drove as fast as she dared for the state line. Now for another job...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The reasons why Krysten's dissertation went horribly wrong are explained in my earlier story, 'Krysten's Crappiest Day'.

To say that Krysten Young was pissed off was to put it mildly. She was angry as a volcano. Angry as a super volcano. Angry as the biggest volcano that the Earth had ever seen. She had overseen this development on behalf of her boss, Jeffrey Madushanka, and the fat fuck had laid her off without even giving her a week's notice now that it was virtually completed.

Since her dissertation at the university had gone so horribly, disastrously wrong, she realized that she would have difficulties being taken seriously in any scientific setting so she wasn't too surprised when her applications and CV were either ignored completely or she received a proforma letter back thanking her for her interest but telling her that a more suitable applicant had been hired. Knowing that she had all the necessary qualifications, she persisted and persisted but the rejections kept on coming and she was starting to worry that her next post in academia would be flipping burgers in some fast food outlet near a cow college in one of the flyover states.

Then her best friend, Laura, had mentioned that a local developer was looking for a project manager for an apartment complex he was constructing and suggested she try for it. Although it was outside of her scientific experience, she had nothing to lose so wrote a carefully worded application emphasizing her skills in dealing with funding applications, liaising with different people, problem solving and successfully achieving all her targets. She didn't expect to hear back so she was pleasantly surprised when she was called for an interview.

That morning, almost a year ago, she stepped out of the shower determined to make a good impression. She would rather be hired for her brains than her beauty but the way things were going job-wise she wanted to gain every bit of advantage she could. Krysten was aware that she was no supermodel, more the girl next door type, but she was quite attractive. She stood an average five foot six inches with a pleasant oval face and a fresh-faced complexion coupled with clear gray eyes and blond hair shading to light brown. She had kissable lips, especially when enhanced with lip gloss, but she didn't like her nose much which she thought was a bit too long and not quite straight enough.

As she stood with her arms raised, which lifted her boobs nicely as she brushed her shoulder length, slightly tousled hair she looked down at her body. Her C-cup boobs weren't as perky and uplifting as she'd like but tended to lie against her chest wall. They weren't that saggy but she'd never make a Playboy centerfold she told herself sadly. And her pinkish nipples and areolas weren't as well defined as she would have liked. Nor was her belly as flat as she'd like -- time to start another diet she told herself -- while her hips were a little too broad and as for her thighs, she hoped she wasn't going to get the dreaded cellulite, the curse of her sister's life. She glanced down at the swell of her pubic mound with its tidily trimmed landing strip and the hint of her rosy labia sticking out beneath.

Like many women, she knew she was being too hard on her body and had been drip fed a series of unreal expectations all her life but she could not completely shrug off her insecurities. With that she crossed to her little wardrobe and picked out a thong as she didn't want any visible panty line today and teamed it with a nude push-up bra that would make the most of her assets. She smiled at the effect as she glanced at her reflection. Over it an office appropriate white blouse but she left a couple of buttons undone. If she leaned forwards she could give the interviewer a nice glimpse of her milky white cleavage. She didn't want to use such tactics but in an interview a girl had to try and get every up-tick she could, especially as she had no prior experience. A thin gold chain around her neck would certainly draw his eye in that direction. She slipped on a gray pencil skirt and formal jacket and knew she looked the part at least even if she did have a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.