The Facilities

It fucking hurt. Or, they hurt. Her nether regions were causing her an above average amount of pain. Female blue balls, maybe. The outside parts, her labia, were so swollen they felt as if they hung halfway to her knees. Her clit burned. Itched. Jumped around inside her panties and chafed. And her cunt--it had to be iron-hard on the inside; the spasming and contracting had stopped hours ago. Since then it had clenched in tighter and tighter on itself, apparently juicing out her over-reacting glands in the process. The crotch of her brushed cotton trousers was damp enough she questioned if she'd slightly pissed herself or something. Not like she wasn't less than a few minutes from doing that too, if she couldn't find somewhere to stop with a restroom that promised not to to be growing fungus.

She drove recklessly, eyes scanning the wooded suburban thoroughfare for something, anything, that would serve as a pit stop. The ache in her groin grew worse with every burst of panic, so she told herself repeatedly to calm down. Breathe. And fucking DRIVE.

The endless walking up and down, gawping at exhibits, posturing, drinking water, juice, & champagne at every other stand had taken its toll. So had being around ___, and so much for her bright idea, too. She simply had not allowed enough time, not for the good stuff anyway. Images of them going at it in the stairwell kept invading the well-kept distance between 'want' and 'can have;' she forced them back down. Because today that's all she'd gotten was her imagination. And if she didn't come soon, she was going to turn psychotic in her sexual frenzy. But first, she had to piss.

At last, a coffee joint. There had to be a bathroom. Squealing into their cramped parking lot, slamming on her brakes, she launched herself out the car door, nearly getting her foot caught in the seat belt, and ran. She tried not to hunch over noticeably but it wasn't easy to stand up straight with the double urgency of her bladder and her pussy screaming at her. Passingly she wondered what would happen to a man with this same problem, if he'd even be able to piss with a raging erection.

The place looked like a log cabin, complete with porch. A bell jingled against the glass door, was still jangling as she dodged past the startled counter-person to find their facilities. Once in, she threw her coat in the corner and her purse on top of it, hopping from one foot to the other. Squirming to hasten the process, she yanked open the pants' velcro and the zipper and the the whole works down to her ankles. On one toe she spun to face the correct direction, having to tighten her grip on her internal muscles even more momentarily, since they knew the end was in sight. Movements jerky, she lifted the hem of her long satiny shirt and smacked her behind down against the cold white plastic of the toilet seat.

For a second, as she let go, she wondered if, since she'd been holding everything so long, it wouldn't come out. Then the hot uncontrollable undamming of her urine forced its way down her urethra in a surprising rush into the water below. "Niagara Falls!" she thought hysterically. It was as if her piss had been backed up all the way to her kidneys. She peed and peed and peed, on and on, giggling quietly to herself at the relief and tickling sensation. After a moment she reached down between her engorged lips and touched her clit, to assuage that itch as well. She was still in mid-stream; she had the feeling she was going to pee forever, like every drop of liquid was being wrung out of her from the top down, the way one would squeeze a tube of toothpaste. Spreading her legs wide, then her lower lips with her left hand, with the right forefinger she circled her hot little pebble, which immediately lengthened and sent an electric jolt to her inner organs. She ground her hips in a slow circle once, twice, pulling in her stomach and oblique muscles, and slouched back against the tank. Still emitting a steady, though slowed stream, feeling it on the tip of her finger with each downward stroke, she went to work seriously on her clit. It wouldn't be long.

She'd been restraining her arousal for so long that it had underhandedly forced her to the edge. The last dregs drained from her bladder, the sensation a stabbing, burning ache in her lower belly. Tears of mingled relief and frustration trickled from the corners of her eyes; had been long enough they were starting to slide down her neck, although she'd only just noticed. She swished her hips again, laughing louder, and she wondered if the hapless counter-girl out front could hear her. Empty, or so she thought, she reached limply for a piece of tissue to dry herself off, but when she shifted another pocket of piss spilled over, and she was going again, as were her watering eyes.

Finally, the expression 'all cried out' coming for no reason into her thought process and being changed by her defiant mind to 'all peed out,' she was. She wiped carefully, twice, and flushed.

It was impossible to wait any longer. She opened her legs as wide as they'd go around the porcelain bowl and pushed her pelvis forward. Once again, labia peeled back and jumpy clitoris exposed with the glans uncovered, she attacked her pleasure key around its nerve-infused edge.

On her mental movie screen, ___'s soft full lips descended on hers, moving exquisitely over her mouth, neck, ears, his arms going around her, tightening her against his body. In real life she'd be panting and moaning and trying to vocalize what he did to her, but in her little coffee-shop cubicle she didn't dare make another sound. She pushed herself on toward coming, the release eluding her momentarily while she remembered where she was. Then she shut her eyes, needing it, and tuned out the fan and the fluorescent lights.

She rubbed faster on her tiny shaft imagining ___'s mouth there, flicking it with his tongue, sucking it, finger-fucking her while she writhed. The motion of her fingers, one on each side her hard little node, back & forth & around, drove her higher, swirling & wavy. It was like scratching at a mosquito bite till the itch was satisfied, and she was nearly there. She reached the final uphill climb towards orgasm with her eyes squeezed shut, her breathing stepped; she rocked and jerked her hips forward, pussy melting in anticipation. ___ was on top of her, filling her full and more, holding her still, staring into her eyes with that unknowable, enigmatic set of face that was readable only as pure aroused male. Her hand pushed her on.

With thighs shaking and sweating she started to climax. The sequence of her making love with ___ lurched backward to her unfailing erotic charge, initial penetration. His cock slid into her fast, hard, to the hilt, making her come instantly. She yelped, and cut it off but too late; part of her mind felt herself blush purple, knowing the coffee princess heard. Still, this cum was hard-earned and she wanted it to go on and on and it did; her clit jumped rhythmically every .8 seconds. She counted eighteen pulses. In the meantime, her poor weeping cunt followed suit and squeezed down several times, the sensation flashing upwards to her nipples and tensed-up shoulders, and down the insides of her legs to her curled-back toes. Her whole body went rigid, then slack, and she gulped in several breaths to catch up on the lack of oxygen. Finally it was over and she shuddered, relaxing.

Several minutes later she sauntered causally back into the cafe, clothing, hair and make-up all in place. With her lips all pink and pouty, post-cum, tingling with the shadow of a smirk lurking in the corners, she ordered her mocha java, skim, no whipped cream (hee hee). Hopefully she could remain standing long enough to make it to her table, and awake long enough to get home. Damn, she needed the caffeine after that little sleeping pill.