Our Daughter's Friend Ch. 04

I pulled my pants up and refastened them, putting myself away, and she stood and handed me the pillow. I got up and closed the car door and we looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. After sex, in the past, it was always a little cuddling, followed by a towel to clean up, and then a change of subject, or television.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, clarifying out new pattern.

"You're welcome, Slut. You did very well." And I kissed her, full on the mouth, passionately, and with all the love I had ever felt for her. Our tongues met, and the residue of my climax was in her mouth, on her lips and chin, and we shared the moment of the broken barrier as lovers, feeling the wetness between our faces, smearing it between us as we held each other close.

Finally we broke, and I started to the Food Court.

"Should I straighten up a little?" she asked.

"Absolutely not," I told her, taking her hand and pulling her to my side. "Wear your badges proudly," I told her, indicating the wet spots on her shirt. "Be as proud of yourself as I am of you." She beamed, and wrapped her hand around my upper arm, and snuggled her head into my shoulder.

We ordered lightly, but I got her a large Iced Tea on the way out. I was already planning the next episode, her next humiliation. We got back on the road then. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the traffic was light. We talked nonchalantly, about mundane, married couple things, listened to the radio when we could find a station we liked. Everything seemed as it had always been, before.

Two hours later we were about three-quarters home, when Monica asked me to find a bathroom. I assured her that I would stop at the next available place. We were still on the interstate, and the rest areas were twenty or thirty miles between. The only other way to stop was to exit onto another highway and look for something. I pretended to not pay attention and missed the next rest area. Monica noticed too late, and squealed as we passed the exit lane.

"Carl, I really have to go," she whined.

"Well," I said casually, "you'll have to hold it."

"Oh, no, when is the next rest area? Probably too far; Carl, please, can we pull off." She squirmed in her seat. "Please take the next exit, we can find something."

"I said," I told her, using what I felt was my 'command' voice, "You'll have to hold it." She didn't get it, being too caught up in her own needs.

"Oh, God, I don't know if I can," she said, sounding irritated, "just take the next exit so I can pee."

"You'll pee," I told her firmly, "when I tell you."

"Carl, that's not -" she stopped. "Oh, I see," she stated, more calmly. "All right, then. Whatever you say. I will hold it until then."

"Good." I glanced at her as I changed lanes to the right as we approached an upcoming exit. She looked a little relieved until I drove past it. I looked at her again, and grinned. "Not this one. Not yet."

"Yes, Sir," she said meekly. We drove in silence another ten miles, and I passed another exit.

"Oh," she squeaked as we drove by the exit ramp. She was beginning to squirm after that huge iced tea.

"Maybe the next one," I teased.

"It's starting to hurt," she complained, but not loudly.

"I'll bet it is. It probably feels very uncomfortable right now, doesn't it?" I glanced over, and she had a pained, but controlled expression on her face. I knew she was suffering. "I'll be you're really looking forward to the relief you'll feel when you can finally let go, and release your bladder, and feel your muscles relax as all that awful urine spills out," I teased.

"Oh, you're making it worse," she whispered. "Please, stop," she asked, then added. "Sir."

"Are you desperate?"

"Oh, dear God, yes," she answered quickly. Her hands were between her legs now. I wondered if she might be leaking a little, but knew that once the gates opened there would be no stopping them.

"Beg me," I said. "Beg me to allow you to relieve yourself."

"Please, Sir, I beg you to let me pee,"

"No, make it good." I turned to her, met her eyes briefly, before turning back to the road. "Beg me like you begged Our Mistress to fuck you." I heard her intake of breath.

"Oh, please, Sir," she hissed, "please, let me pee, anywhere, please I need to feel my hot piss running out of me, please, I beg you; I have so much piss in me I can barely hold it any longer," she pleaded. "Please, I can only clench my pussy muscles for only a little longer, I need to pee so badly, I need to feel it release, to feel it shooting out of my pee hole, please..." she trailed off.

"Very good, Slut, that was much better," I glanced again, and she was still squirming, with her hands buried tightly between her crossed legs, but her face showed appreciation for the praise. "I'll take this next exit. It's just a few miles."

"Thank you, Sir," she responded.

"Just a few more minutes," I said casually, "and you'll have the opportunity to relax your muscles," I teased, "and release all your piss. I'll bet there will be so much, it will feel so good to let it go, won't it?"

I could tell she was straining to remain obedient; her need to relieve herself was nearly overwhelming her subservience, but she didn't. I wondered what her limit might be? A few more minutes and we took the exit, but it was another highway, and she crooned her need in a plaintive wail, seeing nothing that resembled a restroom. We drove a few miles, then began to see some industrial parks, and I knew that we would find something suitable shortly. I began scanning the buildings ahead for what I needed. Up ahead on the left w-as what appeared to be a small shopping center. I slowed and signaled, and heard her exhale with relief.

"Almost there," I said, as I pulled off the road into the parking lot. I quickly scanned the lot, and it seemed not to be too unsavory, just a little old. There was a Dunkin Donuts in the far end, and I drove past it, circling the lot as she made urgent sounds. I parked in the far corner, near the road. Killing the engine, I told her, "Wait," and got out, walking around the car to her side, which faced the road. I opened her door, and helped her out. She looked across the expanse of parking lot, then back to me.

"Not there," I told her, "here. Go ahead." Her eyes had a pained expression as she stood before me next to the car, facing the road as an occasional car passed. I watched as her face became serene, and she lowered her head, and sighed, and a dark patch formed at the crotch of her pants. She shuffled her feet a little, separating them, as the dark wetness spread down the legs of her jeans, and I stepped to the side, exposing her to the road. She released a groan of relief as a stream of her piss passed through the crotch of her pants, splashing wetly between her feet, even as her legs were soaked in her hot urine. Halfway through she inhaled deeply, and raised her head, staring out at the world as she released her bladder, then turned to me, piss continuing to spill out of her. "Thank you, Sir," she blurted, the words spilling from her as rapidly as her fluids, "thank you, thank you for letting me piss myself, for letting me release my piss in my clothes." There was genuine gratitude in her voice. "Thank you for stopping and letting me relieve the pressure, oh, it feels so good to piss, finally, to let it spill out and soak my clothes in my urine." Her words trailed off as her stream subsided, but she stood there, piss running into her sneakers, as she completed her emptying, standing proudly as her bladder drained for all the world to see.

I saw her then as if with new eyes; even after all I had learned about her, and about myself, I saw her standing with pride, soaked in her own urine, pleased at her obedience and public humiliation, satisfied that she had done what she was told, without reservation. It was remarkable, and while not arousing, it was wildly erotic for the complete devotion she had committed to her submission.

"I am done now, Sir," she stated. I walked to the trunk and took out her suitcase, and opened the back seat, and told her to find something to change into. She leaned over, selecting pants and underwear, then spread some laundry on the seat to sit on while she changed. When she slipped her panties off I took them from her as she sat with her legs out of the car. I rubbed the soaked garment on her face, then rolled it into a ball and pushed it into her mouth.

"Get used to that taste," I told her, holding her mouth closed, and she looked up at me with dismay and elation. "It won't be the last time." She nodded, and I took the panties from her mouth, and she swallowed visibly, and made a face. I helped her up.

"Feel better?" I asked.

"Much," she replied. And I kissed her again, tasting the bitter remnants of her pee on her lips and face, and our arms wrapped around each other, holding each other closely, kissing slowly and lovingly, like we did when we were first married and so deeply, deeply in new love.

This, I guess, was that same feeling, that new love feeling, for the second time for us. We were beginning our new relationship, discovering each other for the second time, and I felt a moment of pity for all the couples that would never experience the love and respect and devotion we held for each other. I would live for her, for her needs, committing myself fully to her degradation and humiliation, even as I submitted to Our Mistress Desiree, and enjoyed my role as Monica's Sir and Desiree's Mr. Pet. She would do anything I told her to the best of her ability, and delight in her actions, taking pleasure where I told her, and loving me for the opportunity I gave her.

We were a couple again, complete and one.