Two Tourists: Tale & Sequel

The crowd, for the most part, watched quietly. There were no catcalls, no obscene gestures. The people just stared at the nude woman in front of them, with the sunlight flooding her body.

The artist did a good job. He sketched the scene, and carefully added color and detail. He worked carefully, and Jim carefully watched the progress. The picture resulting clearly was recognizable as Irma, with details of her body he knew no artist had captured before. It really was a good portrait, he thought, but who would they show it to?

It took about an hour for the artist to complete his work. Finally he seemed satisfied. He showed it quickly to Jim, then motioned for Irma to look. She came forward and viewed it, but only briefly. She indicated her approval.

The artist took down the portrait, and prepared it for his clients. Then he turned to Jim, pointing to him, and setting up the easel for a new portrait.

Irma watched. "He wants to do a portrait of you. He's good. Let's let him do you, too, before it gets too dark. Are you willing?"

Jim had had no intention of having a portrait. He could see the artist did good work, though, and quite quickly. What was the harm of it, and anyway, Irma obviously wanted it. He quickly agreed. As the artist began his preparations, Jim moved over to where Irma had stood.

He struck what he considered a dignified pose. Irma, still nude and standing beside the artist, called to him. "No! You're not ready!"

Jim looked at her, questions written on his face.

"It's to be a nude! That's the way I had to pose! If you want to share the memory, you have to do it the way I did! I'll hold your clothes in the bag!" She held the bag toward him.

Jim had absolutely no desire to pose naked in front of this crowd. He was having trouble, though, finding a graceful way to object. Irma wanted him to share her experience, and she was only asking him to go through a part of what she had done. While he didn't like the idea at all, he didn't want a disagreement with his wife in public. Still, he was hugely embarrassed at the idea. The thought struck him - that was exactly the feeling she would have had.

Time was running out. It would be too dark before long, and besides, the water was going through him and he needed to pee. He wanted to get this over.

He started to take off his clothes and put them in the bag, As he did so, he noticed Irma had now retrieved her raincoat and put it on, though she had not fastened any of the buttons, and the front hung open.

He was expecting some laughter or at least some humorous response from the crowd, but there was none, except for some smiles. He did notice that a few men retired from their front positions and some women pushed forward.

Jim was a year younger than Irma, slender, not overly muscled, and about the same weight as his wife. He stood a couple of inches taller than Irma, and displayed a bit of gray at the temples in his otherwise black hair, worn in a medium cut. Otherwise, he normally kept a well groomed conservative appearance. This was a new experience for him.

Within a few minutes, Jim was naked and his clothes were in the bag in Irma's custody. She stood close to the artist, facing him in her completely open raincoat, both breasts and her pubic region almost entirely exposed. She stood now clasping one hand to her crotch, a reflection of the discomfort she was experiencing in trying to restrain her full bladder. It was getting very uncomfortable for her, but she was now determined to force martyrdom on it until Jim's portrait was done.

He assumed a pose where Irma had stood. Following her example, he stood, face forward, hands behind his back. His genital area was prominently displayed, and his penis projected in a semi-erect state. He knew his penis was quivering a bit, as he tightened his muscles to control his filling bladder, and also from the arousal he felt both from his own state and from the view of his wife's exposed body. He perceived her bladder discomfort, and suspected it was a lot worse than his own. He would last through this, however. He held his pose, embarrassed ever more at the occasional motions of his penis. The artist worked on. The crowd watched, quietly, staring with open eyes, but making few sounds.

It took a bit less than an hour for the artist to finish. The light was fading as he applied the finishing touches. The air was getting cooler. Irma stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, squirming a bit, squeezing her abdominal muscles. Her bladder really hurt, now, and she was having difficulty restraining it. Still, she stood with the raincoat over her body, the front completely open.

As the artist finished and Jim left his pose, he started to reach for the bag for his clothes, but Irma stopped him. "Not yet", she said to him, "wait a few minutes!"

They paid the artist, who thanked them and began to pack up. The crowd began to disburse, evidently feeling the show was over.

Irma picked up the bag with their possessions and the portraits, and indicated for Jim to follow her. He protested, though a bit weakly. "Irma, I need to pee - badly! And I can't walk around without any clothes on! Have a heart!"

She looked at him, and smiled a bit through her own discomfort. "Your bladder can't be nearly as full as mine is! We've got to take care of that situation - and I had to walk miles with nothing on - you can manage a few feet!"

Hastily she walked away from the square, her open raincoat floating around her with her motion, he following, naked. Somehow he was expecting the onlookers to follow them, but they didn't.

The streets were practically deserted as darkness was falling, and the street lights were illuminating only parts of the streets. It was getting cooler, and he was feeling a bit chilled in his unclothed state. This didn't help the state of his uncomfortably full bladder.

Obviously Irma knew where she was going. She turned a small street, really a bit of an alley. A little light penetrated it, and a few feet into it a small railing stood, about waist high, separating an area which seemed to hold several trash containers.

No one was about. Irma stopped, placed the bag on the ground, and let the raincoat fall from her body. She quickly pushed it into the bag. Then she turned to face her husband, standing with her legs spread, her hands gripping the railing behind her.

"Feel my bladder - it hasn't been this full in fifteen years - not since they made me hold it in front of all those men!" She took his hand and placed it on her lower belly. He immediately felt the hardness. "I've got to pee, too - this will do--" he began.

She cut him off. "Not yet!" she insisted. "That experience back there - it made me feel something I can't explain; but I know I need one thing worse than I need to pee, and it's this!"

With that, she took hold of her husband's penis and brought it to her genitals. She moved slightly and received him into her, but only slightly.

"You're holding too tight", he said quickly, realizing what she wanted and feeling the resistance of her tight muscles. .

She gave him one command. "Push!" she said, emphatically. He did.

Her clenched sphincters were tight around him, gripping him as they sought to restrain her badly overloaded bladder. His own need to urinate suddenly seemed to subside, as he began to move within her.

"Don't let my topside fall - the last time I had a bladder this full I had men's hands all over me - this time shouldn't they be yours!" He got the hint, seizing one of her sagging breasts in each hand, then grasping and pulling the nipples.

Suddenly it was no longer cold, no longer painful, not humiliating to be nude in an alley. She leaned back to tighten the tension on her nipples as he moved within her. Suddenly she jerked in an explosion of release, a moment before he achieved the same reaction.

They stood together, breathing hard, for a few minutes, his penis still within her. Suddenly he felt a warm wetness as her bladder poured forth his contents, the liquid running over both of them and down their legs. He started to release her breasts to draw apart, but she wouldn't let him. She replaced his hands and he gripped her breasts as her urination continued. After what must have been a minute, she spoke to him softly, "I'm not through yet - you don't want to go, do you?"

"I'll wait for you!" he replied quietly, as her urination continued unabated. "Why don't you let go, too?" she asked him, the fluid still streaming from her. He nodded. He had never tried anything like this, but his full bladder was beginning to torture him again. He tried to let go. Finally it happened.

"First time we tried this" she laughed. "Feels strange".

"You did a lot of strange things today," he responded.

Finally, they were both emptied. Irma stepped out of the deep puddle of liquid that had now accumulated around them, and moved a bit down the alley. She retrieved her raincoat, and put it on, this time fastening one button. She handed him his shirt and pants from the bag.

Dressed, at least covered to some extent, they started back to the hotel. They arrived to receive stares from the hotel staff as they passed on the way to their room.

Once inside, they closed the door. Jim surveyed the pile of Irma's clothes laying on the bed, where she had left them.

"Maybe the memories of this place won't all be bad," he remarked, as he flopped on a chair. "Let's look at our pictures!"

They opened the two portraits and examined them, Irma's first. Suddenly she let out a gasp. "No one tied me while I posed, did they? Look at this!"

On Irma's portrait the artist had clearly drawn a small chain around her waist, linked to the iron post a short distance away.

"How did he know about the chain?" she almost shrieked. "It wasn't there! I didn't tell him!"

Jim studied the picture. "Maybe - just maybe," he mused, "He may have seen this scene before. After all, he has probably been here a long time!"

"Maybe even fifteen years!" Irma smiled, shaking her head.

"And are you going to show your portrait to your children?" Jim asked her.

Irma thought for a moment. "I think", she began, "that might be best left until they get the picture as an inheritance!"

No, Jim thought to himself, all the memories she had of this place wouldn't be bad ones. Not all of his, either.

END