Baby, It's Cold Outside

Author's Notes:

It's well-known amongst my Lit people that I have a little pee kink. But I haven't really written anything that was all-out fetish, and I've had readers asking me for more... Lucky for you all, I have gratefully befriended someone that doesn't mind being my muse and co-conspirator for such an adventure.

So, allow me to take a moment to thank the ever-delightful Emily Miller for her participation in and inspiration of this kinky-ass story, and for allowing me the absolute pleasure of a fantasy starring the same.

This story's kink is brought to you today by Watersports. Watersports, it's pee but for sex.

Lust, Elysia

xxx

I'm laying by the fire, sprawled out on the faux bearskin rug like a drunk, my glass of red sloshing dangerously in the air, and all I can think of is how badly I want Emily to take my clothes off. I probably look twice as ridiculous rolling around in a long wool skirt and knee high-boots, not sexy at all. I'm not drunk of course, but I'm certainly being silly and a bit less cautious than my usual buttoned-up self. When I'm nervous, I really ham it up.

And I'm nervous.

Like, crazy nervous.

Emily is about 15 years younger than me for starters. I could be her damn mother, and that's sobering as fuck. Meanwhile, she's had more sexual experience crammed into her early 20s than I have in my entire life, fantasies included. (Okay that's a lie - my fantasies are fucking epic, but I digress). Point is... she's the clear expert here. And I feel like a goddamn teenage virgin. Cue me rolling around on the rug and giggling like an idiot. Playful is cute, right? I've been accused of being cute plenty of times. I've also been accused of embarrassing myself.

She's grace and poise, sitting there on the arm of the chair, holding her wine glass like a cover model. Yeah, you know exactly what that looks like, too. Her body all counterpoint and posture that appears effortless but is probably hard as hell to maintain. I'll have to ask her later if she knows what she's doing. I got the impression from our correspondence that she might be a little stiff at first, maybe as nervous as I am, but I'm the jackass on the floor, and she's the blonde queen on her throne.

I bite my lip and tear my eyes away from her. "It's really coming down out there," I say, nodding to the window. Actually, it really is. What the fuck. The snow is starting to pile up against the goddamn window.

"You're cute, E," she says, half a grin on her elven face.

"I'm nervous," blurt out. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. Sitting up cross-legged, I hold my wine glass over my white fleecy sweater. As if a bit of glass and cabernet armor could protect my heart or reverse the assurance of a goodbye at the end of this weekend trip. I already know I don't want to say goodbye to her. I realize I'm chewing on my lip - the same shit I used to do when I was waiting for a boy to hold my hand in JUNIOR HIGH.

Emily. Oddly empathic, sweet Em. Her half grin rounds out, and she gracefully moves into position on the floor, a delicate little doll sitting upon her heels. Ugh, I feel like a troll.

An old old OLD BRIDGE TROLL. I might as well start charging a toll and eating babies.

She leans forward, not a hint of a tremble to match my shaking hands or the thundering in my chest. Soft pink lips press to mine, and my eyelids flutter closed. There's not much more to it than that, and my breathing steadies. And just when I think I'm finally calming down, she gently sucks my lower lip into her mouth, the tip of her tongue gliding slowly from one side to the other. And in that moment... my nipples harden to diamonds in my bra, and my cunt oozes. When I shift my legs, I'm so slick I can feel the lips of my pussy gliding over each other.

When I open my eyes, she's looking at me with an expression I assume is worry. My heart is thundering in my chest. "You good?" she asks.

"I don't know that I've been this good in a long time," I say with a slight warble. Fuck you! I said I was nervous!

"Oh good," she smiles and sighs. "I thought I'd overstepped."

It's my turn to smile. "With the things we agreed you'd do to me, I'm not sure overstepping is a thing."

"Well, I'm not used to being the dominant player," she says. "Yeah, I switch but I don't practice. I did study, though."

"Of COURSE you did," I grin.

"Forgive me for wanting to do a good job. You think you're not intimidating?"

"I've had three partners. And nothing I would call sex in five years. How is that intimidating?"

"You know that's not what I mean." She smiles. "I like you, and I want you to get all the things you've been missing for so long."

"That's a long list."

"It's a progression. I promised you finesse after all."

"I came for the fucking," I say. "But I'll stick around for the finesse."

She crawls forward with feline precision, and I nearly dump my wine as I lean back. Emily plants her hands on either side of my hips. "You'll stick around because I fucking tell you to."

The tremble in my voice is impossible to mask, even as I exhale. I can't maintain eye contact with those those big, gorgeous blues, so I roll my eyes upward. I whisper, "I will. I'll do anything you ask."

"Anything?" she says.

"I trust you." I swallow hard.

Her mouth finds my collar bone and she begins to pepper my skin with delicate kisses. Slow, deliberate. She pauses between them, and the warmth of her breath sends waves of tingling sighs across my body. I feel like a dam ready to crack, no more than thirty seconds from orgasm if she touches me just so.

Neither of us truly believed we'd ever meet in person. Our anonymity is important to us, and that anonymity gives us - me especially - absolute freedom to express our sexuality in the written domain. Sexy pen pals, that's what we were. But our chemistry was as shocking as it was immediate. We had been talking for months. About sex, sure. We'd masturbated together a dozen times or more, and only one other person on Lit ever got me off the way Em could. But we talked about a lot of other shit, too. Before we knew it, we were actually friends. I checked in with her. She checked in with me. No pressure or anything. Both of us have other relationships and vibrant, demanding careers, but like any healthy IRL relationship, it's not fair to put everything on your partner. Since Emily and I are both complete nymphomaniacs, how could we ever expect our partners to keep up? That's why we both write porn and masturbate with strangers. It's a coping mechanism.

When Emily mentioned she was going to be alone at Christmas, my heart leapt. Because yeah, me too. I won't bore you with the circumstances, but work travel, family illness, pre-existing commitments... All played into leaving us stranded and alone for the holidays with a free pass to take a vacay for ourselves.

If the universe hands you a golden ticket, you fucking use it, right?

I've been skiing since I was five. It didn't take a lot of convincing to get Em to join me in a cabin on the mountain for the weekend. Especially since I paid with points. A SHIT ton of points. Like... most of my points from years and years of business travel. In exchange, this "cabin" is more like a presidential suite with two-story windows on either side of a hearth looking out into the purple darkness and flurries flashing as they pass. Fully stocked kitchen and wine fridge, king beds, and water from a mineral hot spring deep in the mountain... Neither of us have ever experienced this kind of luxury.

And yet, from the moment she walked in the door, Emily has been the only thing I've noticed. Her eyes soothing, her smile welcoming, her movement enchanting. I'm... not worthy. But she picked me. Of all the girls she could have picked...

Emily's lips deliver little kisses up and down my throat, and I can feel my overactive nipples hard and pressing against my bra. I run my fingers through Em's blonde hair, touch the back of head. I want to pull her to my mouth, but I promised she would lead. Dextrous fingers pinch the back of my top, and my bra releases, my c-cups tumbling out of their cocoons.

Fuck, why is that so hot?

Small, soft hands reach under my shirt. The backs of her fingers brush the underside of my breast, back and forth, and squeeze before fingertips flutter over my sensitive nipple. My head falls back and I moan. She uses this opening to place her tongue at the base of my throat and slowly lick upward to the tip of my chin.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I groan from my chest.

Her mouth mutes my sentiment, delicate pink lips folding over mine. Her tongue teases my lips apart and she's soon stroking my tongue with her own. Fuck I've dreamed of this, and she's everything I imagined. Deep, long kisses. Supple, luscious lips tugging at mine. The sound of our mouths moving, pulling apart only long enough to breathe harder and harder, her sharp inhale as I nip her bottom lip with my teeth, and then the animal growl before she attacks my mouth once more. She pinches my nipple aggressively, and I hiss.

Head snapping back, she's suddenly much younger than the master of sex that I've been dripping for since laying eyes on her. "Too hard? Are you okay?"

With a snap, the house goes black. Emily stiffens in my arms, and I pull her to me for a moment, her hair brushing my face in the darkness.

I grunt, "We lost power."

Thank you, Miss Electrical Engineer. Everyone knows we lost power.

For real, I am an electrical engineer. I feel like that should be noted so that you understand I'm an authority and my ego is properly stroked. Yeah, yeah, it's not like I went to med school, but engineering degrees aren't easy and I'm basically a contemporary wizard, so a little respect if you don't mind. Ah, yes. The power is still out.

"What do you think," says Emily. "Breaker?"

I glance out the window. "I don't think so. We'd see the outdoor light from other cabins. Looks like it's the whole resort, or at least this part of it."

Emily scoots away, and I'm suddenly cold, my body grieving the loss of hers pressed against me. Her phone light comes on, and the shadows grow long across the floor. "No bars," she says. "Could it take a cell phone tower down?"

"Wifi is a waste," I say. "No power, no router. And I didn't see a landline phone anywhere."

I can kind of make out Emily's face, and she's grimacing. "Well, if this takes a while, we probably will need a fire to keep this place warm." She grins, then. (I think). "And we can maybe bridge the rest with body heat."

I grin back at her. That's my little nymphomaniac. "This place is on a hot spring. No water heaters or furnaces. That's what makes it so awesome. The upstairs has a mineral bath and sauna, and the heat is a manual flow control from what I saw when I looked around. We'll be plenty warm. But a fire will help the light situation."

"I also packed a shit ton of candles," says Emily.

My nose crinkles with my smile. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm romantic as hell. I hope you like vanilla."

One of the perks of a first-class cabin is firewood already in the fireplace and a couple hours' worth stacked to one side, as is the natural gas pilot. I sadly must admit, I have no plan for getting MORE wood from the racks outside the cabin which I'll no doubt have to shovel my way into. Hopefully the power will be back on by then, but I like to know my boundaries. So, I get the fire going by the light of my phone, and Emily walks about placing her candles in what I imagine are strategic areas. She shouts that she's found additional candles in one of the kitchen drawers, and she sets those out to burn if the others get too low.

I wait for her on the couch and monitor the fire is taking to the logs properly. Emily is gone for a long while. Like, maybe-she-was-murdered-by-a-slasher long while. I'm ready to get up and find her when I see her slight figure runway-walking into the firelight.

Her hips swing as she crosses one foot over the other, and the lines of her lingerie accent the sweep into her tiny waist, up to her small, pert breasts, across her delicate shoulders all contextualized by the white blonde hair framing her angelic face. It occurs to me... this is probably how the devil would choose look.

"Should I call you Morning Star?" I ask, trying to steady myself against a tidal wave of desire.

Emily pauses and cocks her head, a small grin forming, before she continues forward and drags her fingertips over the arm of the couch. Her knee lands between my legs and she crawl forward over me.

"Sorry, that was...." I clear my throat, leaning back to make room. "Never mind."

"No, no, I got the reference. Does this mean you think I can offer you something...," her hand gently cuffs my knee and slides up the inside of my thigh... up my skirt, "typically reserved for the divine?"

My voice waivers, "What did you have in mind?"

Oh fuck, her hand stops in the cleft between my thigh and my vulva, pressing my furry outer labia together... She touches no further, and my cunt actually aches for her touch, for her fingers to push aggressively inside me. She'll know by now I'm not wearing panties. The chief concern of which is how unbelievably wet I get. So wet, my twat often drools right down my...

Em's mouth opens in an O. "My my. Did you wet yourself already, you naughty, naughty girl?"

I can feel my cheeks flushing. "I might... be a little aroused?"

Her hand leaves my body, hateful cool air biting my wet skin in the absence of her warmth. Then her tongue slips from her mouth, and she presses it to her hand, glistening with my arousal. Slowly, she licks my juices from her knuckles and palm. Fuuuuuck I want that tongue in my mouth, on my nipple, lapping at my arousal-gaped cunt.

"Fuck baby, you taste incredible."

"There's more...," I say, exhaling. I can feel my cheeks flushing, my twat milk flowing. "I'm a firm believer in going back to for seconds."

"Something this precious needs to be savored," says Emily. "And I prefer to sample a bit of everything before I decide what I'm eating."

"Aaaand this is the kind of clever banter that should have been expected of two erotica writers."

But Emily doesn't smile. She stares at me. It's the kind of predatory glare I've seen in men when I tell them I prefer anal. "Stand up," she says. "Go stand on the rug. I want to watch you take your clothes off in the firelight. And don't you dare hurry."

I slip off the couch and walk to the center of the rug to the soundtrack of crackling mesquite and my thrumming pulse. Once I turn to face her, it's hard to remember what I'm doing as she leans back and throws her arms over the cushions to either side. Her legs... she spreads without breaking eye contact, and I notice for the first time her panties are crotchless. Little more than ribbons frame the mound of her oyster. Ugh, I want to taste her, smell her... Clothes, yes... my clothes.

Unbuttoning the fabric at my hip, the weight of the skirt tries to take it down, but I follow my instructions. The wool drapes over my bent leg and slowly finds its way to the floor, and I can feel the heat from the fire slap my bare ass as Emily hums with appreciation. I pop my hip, bend my knees ever so slightly as I work the buttons of my top. My fingers feel like they're made of wood, and I feel my cheeks heating (my northern cheeks) as I fumble a bit.

I didn't see Emily getting up. "Come her, angel," she says. "You're still nervous?"

I nod. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Like you said." She deftly opens button... after button... after button... "You're demisexual. You need deep feelings before you have sex. And deep feelings means you can get hurt. That would make anyone nervous."

"You're very perceptive," I say, my every impulse to press my mouth to hers. "You may even be able to calm me down."

"Now, now," she says, reaching around to once more release my bra. "That's the exact opposite of what we want." Her hand reaches up under the cup to grip my breast, pinch my nipple between two knuckles. The moan that escapes my throat is small, but it's enough to make Emily grin like a demon. My shirt slips off my shoulders, and then she pulls my bra off.

Naked in the firelight, I feel my skin humming with sensitivity. Even the air from Emily's movement feels sensual. She steps back to appraise me.

"Turn around," she says. "Take your time."

As I rotate, I try to keep my eyes on her. She's so fucking beautiful, but the hunger in her eyes when she's looking at me is what I can't let go of. Some primal anxiety is warning me that I'm not safe, that I'm about to be taken apart, and that I'm mad for my complicity. Yet, there are few with whom I'd trust my body other than her.

Then I remember, trust and safety are not the same.


"I want," she says, "my mouth on every inch of you." She stalks toward me one graceful step at a time. She touches my chin with her fingertips. She runs her thumb over my bottom lip, tugging at it, pulling it away from my teeth. My tongue touches the pad of her finger, and she slowly pressed her thumb into my mouth. I pout my lips and suck. Her eyes close as I breathe heavily, and I can smell the faint fragrance of my own pussy left over on her smooth skin.

Gingerly, I reach out to hold her forearm with both hands, her free hand fondling my nipple, and I take her thumb like a cock. But I need her deeper... I move my mouth to the side and take her index and middle fingers, press them deep into my mouth, swirl my tongue over and around, suck and thrust and lick and flutter... Emily growls in her throat, and my nipple stings with delicious fire when she pinches down.

"That's right," she says. "Get them wet. Get those fingers soaked for me, angel."

She extracts them from my mouth and reaches down to place them directly into my slit, a completely unnecessary act given I'm positively weeping pussy juice. Her tongue presses once more into my mouth, and I step to the side to open my legs for her. An absolute master of torture, she explores all of my crinkly folds and wet valleys and never once touches my hardened clitoris. I don't know that I've been this turned on in months, maybe years. I reach between Emily's legs, expecting a scolding for my lack of restraint, but she only hums against my mouth and steps to the side as I did.

Her pussy isn't puffy like mine, yet her little kitty is just as unctuous. Dry at the edge of her lips, the moment I tease them apart, she's practically as wet as I am. I enjoy the slick warmth of her inner sanctum, sliding my finger up and down along the crease. Her fingers enter me and begin to rub my g-spot, and I do the same to her, the ridges on inner wall of her vagina firm to the touch. She's moaning now. But so am I.

Perhaps it's the way she is pulling at my g-spot with enthusiasm or knowing that I'm fingering the much beloved, charismatic Emily, or maybe it's the way I can feel her hard nipple touching mine, but my orgasm rises quickly.

"I'm going to cum," I breathe into her mouth.

"Cum for me, baby," she says. "Oh I'm cumming, too... Oh... oh... ohhhhhhh...."

Perhaps it's all the pressure on my bladder, but squirt precedes the wave of my orgasm, and I tip my head back as liquid splashes into her hand and onto the carpet. Then my knees weaken and my body quakes. She clutches my body to hers, splashing my squirt up my slit as an orgasm takes her. In her moment of ecstasy, her palm grinds into my clit - untouched to this point and violently sensitive. What I thought was an accident is shown to be otherwise, as her eyes flash open, reflecting the fire flicker. I tried to pull way, but she hooks my waist and pulls me to her. We don't break eye contact, and I'm helpless as she palm fucks my clit until a second orgasm quickly washes over the receding first, another gush of squirt flowing from my pee hole.