The Girl Who Pissed Champagne

Rolling over, we stayed together, clattering on the wooden slats and I started pounding into her squelching fuck-hole. Her moans turned to loud groans of guttural, animalistic urging. I increased the tempo, bending to suck on a puffy pink nipple as her breasts rolled and twisted beneath me. I felt her hand smack my bare arse, urging me on like a racehorse.

And I could see the finish line ahead, I could feel my cock growing to epic proportions, I could sense an intense pulse within my body, centred around my prostate, and I could feel sperm held behind the steadily cracking walls of a monstrous dam. I pulled out of her and gripped my slimy cock, pumping it in my fist before spurting tremendous amounts of spunk across her half-naked body. A glob splashed across her face, clung to her hair, and stuck to her eyelid. Another shot painted her lower lip and chin. I pumped again and felt more surge up from within me, firing out again across her body, striking her belly, clothes and shuddering breasts. Still pumping, shot after shot exploded out of me. Her fingers picked up what she could and dripped it into her mouth, licking and sucking he sticky fingers. But the orgasm was still going. Cyprien moved beneath me and placed the head of my convulsing cock between her lips. I felt pulse after pulse pumping my seed into her hot mouth as she licked the slime from her cunt off my cock.

It felt like minutes before my cock came to rest, squeezing the last droplets of semen into her mouth. I could see her throat moving as she swallowed great mouthfuls. I lowered my still shuddering body onto hers, feeling drained, drunk, and depleted. I remember a long, slow kiss where our tongues gently explored each others mouths, blending the essences of cum and her piss together, my finger gently stroking her insides, caressing her internally. As we fell into sleep I remember my mind ticking over at what I'd found, the love, and more importantly, the treasure.

In the following weeks we spent together, we enjoyed long walks through the forest and delicious meals cooked by Cyprien's mother. Her father would work during the day then return at night to dancing, meals and drinking. Many times I'd wander in to watch her fill the jug, her panties bunched around her knees, her bare arse golden brown, while the hissing sound of her urination filled the air. She'd look up and smile her warm smile, as if everything was totally normal, then wander out and we'd all share her urine until her parents would wander off to bed, leaving us to molest each other in increasing filthier ways.

Sometimes, on our walks, we'd laugh together as Cyprien would try to pee into my mouth from long distances in the forests. She'd squat down, leaning back on one hand, pull her panties aside and using two fingers spread her lips, then fire a stream of piss, up to three meters into my waiting mouth and all over my face. I could only imagine what onlookers would think if they'd seen us.

Then one day I formulated a plan. I decided I would leave France, and take Cyprien with me. I knew her parents would never approve of this, but I decided to do it anyway. I had a feeling that I could somehow discover the formula for Cyprien's magic piss and somehow make money from it. I told myself we could then get married and live in vast amounts of riches. I told myself I wasn't selfish or crazy, yet at other times I wondered if I wasn't deluding myself.

I was so addicted to her piss by this time that I had her fill canteens with it so we could drink in public without getting funny looks from others. We left the village arm in arm, young and in love, climbed aboard a boat bound for England and locked ourselves away in a cabin to play.

I lay her down on the bunk and slipped her panties down her legs. She spread them immediately, her fingers pulling apart her red lips until her cunt gaped open like a little fleshy cup. I gazed lovingly down on her clitoris and the wonderful hole through which she pissed, then planted my mouth over her entire sweaty little cunt and sucked gingerly. I was shocked when bitter, acrid urine spurted into my mouth. Immediately I coughed and spluttered, spitting the substance all over her. The dismay registered on her face and she too could smell the sudden change in the scent of her piss.

We tried again and again on our way across the channel, wondering what had gone wrong, and little by little it dawned on us that she had lost her ability to produce sparkling wine as her piss. We spent many days in sullen moods, my vision of the future, days spent drinking from her as she pissed into my mouth, fading away. Cyprien seemed to sink into depression and I wondered if I'd made a huge mistake taking her from her home.

Yet we still had canteens filled with her pee. We drank some together, but held onto one, the idea still in me that perhaps money could be made, and we once again returned to France. As fate would have it we met up with a reclusive monk in the hills. He had an amazing sense of skill in winemaking and through weeks of careful fermentation managed to replicate the formula of her pee and accurately duplicate the taste, texture and aroma.

My French was coming along well by now, and together we called the beverage sparkling wine, or Champagne, after the village Cyprien grew up in. As you may know by now it was a complete success, and many wealthy noblemen purchased our wares. Cyprien was forbidden to return to her parents, and never again pissed the flavoursome beverage she once pissed. The monk's name who helped us was Dom Perignon, and it was only thanks to him that together we could live and love, drenched in the intoxicating liquids that once squirted forth from my love's sweet pussy.

THE END

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