Mother & Step-Daughter Piss Fetish

Up in the high three-thousands of 145th Avenue, an exclusive district of the city as displayed by the sprawling single-storey mansions set behind burglar-decapitating spiked iron fences, lay the thirteen-hundred square feet of prime estate owned by the eminent Jelphes.

Michaela Jelphe fidgeted on one of a handful of sun-loungers by the side of their modest pool. The book she was trying to read for her undergraduate course disinterested her. Michaela's imagination was being wrestled away by that day's disturbing events. She dropped the book to her side and flomped on to her front, letting her shoeless feet sway idly in the humid evening air, and gave in; her mind would not let her settle until she once again re-examined what had happened.

The Jelphes had driven out to the members-only Hillcrest recreation park for a family tournament of tennis. Her father had announced the match would be 'girls verses boys' and so, all dressed in an unstained white uniform that bounced the summer sun in eye-blistering rays, her father and step-brother took up opposing positions across the court from Michaela and her step-mother, Therese.

Therese had come into her life when she was still grieving over the break-up of her nuclear family and Michaela was consumed with bitterness at way her loving and devoted mother had divorced and departed along with her two younger brothers who she'd adored. For reasons never quite fully explained, she had been left behind like unwanted garbage. Therese was blameless in her parents' dissolution but she became the focus of the young girl's misery when she married her father and moved in to their sprawling, opulent home; bringing along her snotty little twerp of a son had only compounded her crimes.

As Michaela grew into a pubescent teenager, her loathing of Therese also grew. Michaela was short and podgy and spotty and felt like a lump of maladjusted play-doh when compared to her tall, elegant, flawless step-mother. Unlike this despised interloper, Michaela had curves in all the wrong places.

Therese tried incessantly to help style Michaela but whenever she stood next to her step-mother, Michaela appeared to be a hideous frump clad in used dishcloths. Today, dressed in the compulsory white outfit, Michaela felt like a ping-pong ball in comparison to the effortlessly beautiful woman beside her.

During the match, Michaela had been utterly distracted by her step-mother; the way she flowed athletically across the red clay court, the way her bronze hair caught the wind as if starring in a shampoo commercial, the way her svelte limbs flexed and tensed, her fat-free tummy, her round rigid breasts, her tanned skin... her pouty lips that opened easily and often into a wide smile.

Mostly, however, Michaela was mesmerised by her step-mother's perfectly smooth long legs; Therese glided like a gazelle on the savannah. Michaela always became acutely aware of her own physical failings when she was in proximity to this Amazon.

The distracted girl had muffed yet another shot and her father had yelled out a patronising encouragement while her step-brother sneered. Therese had strolled over to pick up the missed ball.

"Don't worry, Micki," she'd said, "It's just a game. Just have fun."

Michaela had frowned, enraged. Why did she have to be so nice all the time? The bitch.

"Sure, Mum," she'd snarled, "So this is what fun looks like."

She'd started using the word Mum when she was going through a heavily sarcastic period and she always made sure it was dripping with acid when she spat it. What amplified her rage was that her saintly step-mother was never goaded into joining in the hostilities, it was always one-sided. Therese would just roll her eyes, shake her head and laugh it off.

The trouble was that Michaela hated feeling this way; she hated the way she spoke to Therese and she always felt awful afterwards. Not too long ago, her step-brother had been causing a fuss in the kitchen over some imagined slight; the tyrant had been shouting and swearing and Therese had placated him until he stormed off, slamming doors as he exited in full dudgeon.

"He's such a dick," Michaela had observed once his drama had died down.

"Don't call your brother that," Therese had chided gently.

"He's not my brother. My brothers live in Atlanta."

There'd been a weighted pause, this being a touchy subject.

"Go on, say it!" Michaela's rage had risen unbidden, "Tell me that's where I'd be if I was wanted."

Therese was always flustered when caught in the full beam of Michaela's spite.

"You, you are wanted-"

"Not by the person that matters."

"Your Daddy-"

"Was stuck with me! Like a bad debt! Go on, say it!"

"I... he..."

Michaela's face had burned crimson in the blue morning light, reflected in their platinum kitchen; her fingers had tugged on her frizzled mess of untameable hair. Therese had sat down next to her at the breakfast counter, quiet and serene.

"I would never say anything like that. I seem to hurt your feelings a lot but it's never intentional. And anyway, I don't think that's true. You are wanted. Your father and I love you deeply. Your mother-"

"Don't talk about her!"

"You know?" Therese had adopted a let's-change-the-subject tone, "I don't think you like Jefferson much but boys sure are hard to like at his age."

"He's as stupid as his name."

Therese had coolly ignored the insult, "If I was an observant person, I'd suspect that you don't really like boys at all."

Michaela had felt her step-mother's warm palm rest on her bare thigh and it'd provoked a volcanic confusion.

"You don't know anything about me! You're just some cooze that my father is screwing until the next cunt comes along!"

Michaela lay on the sun-longer remembering the shock that had, just for a moment, wrecked her step-mother's beautiful face, a distorted portrait of the inflicted wound. She closed her eyes and groaned at the sight that was etched permanently in her mind. Afterwards the remorseful girl had cried into her pillow, hating herself and everyone. Poison, that's what she was. Poisoning everything she touched.

Her painful recollections were interrupted by the wide patio doors swinging open. Orange light spilled out into the summer dusk. Her parents were hosting one of their tedious parties and she heard the dreamy whisps of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique seeping out accompanied by sloshing voices spouting tittle-tattle. Therese stumbled out of the doors and, walking arm-in-arm with another woman, came unsteadily across the sloped expanse of lawn.

'There she is,' thought Michaela, 'Wearing a skin-tight mini-dress that a woman half her age would have difficulty pulling off. And those heels! They make her look about ten feet high.'

The young woman watched her matriarch saunter closer, her silky chocolate-brown stockinged legs seemed to lead your eyes up forever until your gaze disappeared under the daringly short hem of her dress. Michaela was a spiked cocktail of envy and desire and anger at her own lack of self-esteem.

Still wearing her sweat-stained tennis whites, she looked down at her own chunky calves and wiggled her pudgy toes in despair. The few times she'd tried on pairs of stockings she'd had all the elegance and allure of a sack of spuds.

"Micki, love, it's utter chaos in there, you wouldn't believe it," Therese's voice trilled with a wine-tinged melody, "One of the loos has broken down, your Aunt Dahlia has barricaded herself in the guest bathroom having one of her glug-glug-glug dramas," Therese mimed a drinking motion, "And the other bathroom has such a queue that we decided to do it like the pioneers did and relieve ourselves in the shrubbery."

Michaela recognised the other woman as one of her step-mother's long-time friends. As the pair turned towards the tall red-twig bushes that lined the garden's edges Michaela couldn't help but admire the seam of those soft, smooth nylons that drew a tantalising coffee-coloured curve down the back of Therese's legs and she was instantly transported back to earlier that afternoon.

After her bungled sporting performance she'd sulked her way through lunch while her parents had planned the coming party. As they'd returned home, Therese and her father had playfully argued about who was going to first use the luxurious shower in their private en-suite bathroom. As soon as the car was parked, Michaela had watched them both bundle out and race to the door like gleeful children. Therese had been winning but her father had cruelly tripped his wife and left her scrabbling on the gravel path, holding an injured knee but laughing.

A little later, Michaela had been loitering in the hall outside the main bathroom, waiting for her step-mother to finish showering when the door was flung open and a steamed vision emerged wrapped barely by a small towel, pearlescent beads of moisture glittering on her brown arms and shoulders as she'd floated past.

"All yours, Micki, sorry I took so long."

Despite her default animosity, Michaela found herself returning Therese's friendly smile. She'd turned to watch the glowing woman walk down the hall, the towel absolutely failing to cover a pair of delicately wobbling round bum-cheeks that were not quite as tanned as the rest of her burnished skin.

Michaela had locked herself in the bathroom, lifted her white skirt to yank down her underwear and plonked down on the toilet seat. She was in a bit of a daze when she glanced across at the open laundry basket and spied Therese's discarded panties. They lay atop the other clothes like the golden peak of a mountain. They were cotton and pale pastel yellow. They were almost turned inside-out and Michaela could see a slight discolouration at the crotch. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd reached over, picked them up and sat back down.

As she'd held them, her fingertips had felt the warmth of recent flesh remained within the material. It'd felt closely intimate to hold them. She'd examined the visible stain on the gusset for minute or so before raising the panties up slowly, her body had seemed to know what was going to happen before her brain could comprehend; she'd held them up to her face then buried her nose in the soft damp crotch.

She'd inhaled deeply her step-mother's natural and secret aroma. Her stolen breath was held. At this moment her bladder intervened and she'd began a pee that was strong and forceful and made her pussy tingle with excitement. There'd been a knot of unknown tension in her stomach.

Michaela had closed her eyes to focus her enjoyment on the pleasurable sensation her descending fountain of pee was giving her. Instinctively she'd raised again the soft cotton treasure and breathed in the private scent of Therese. In her frantic mind, pornographic images had flashed and spiralled and then coalesced into a close-up of a beautiful vagina with pretty pink petals parted to entice, to invite, to touch, to taste. As she'd dreamed herself even nearer to the huge, shiny, moist opening slit she became consumed by an ever-increasing intensely luscious fragrance.

Michaela had opened her eyes and emerged from her vivid fantasy to look around the bathroom as if it were an alien landscape. The knickers were in her mouth. She'd been surprised. There had for some time been a bubbling of unfamiliar feelings about her step-mother, an uncontrollable emerging obsession.

She'd always known that she preferred girls and she'd had a handful of crushes at high-school and college but, because she thought she looked like a gremlin with a doughnut addiction, she'd never had the courage to pursue those thoughts except in her fantasies. She had, at times, convinced herself that she would speak to a girl she fancied but she would always lose heart and crap out, leaving her feeling even more of a failure and an unlovable ogre.

But this? She'd never felt like this before. This was powerful. Was it powerful because it was real? It couldn't be... could it? She'd noticed her fingers were wet with urine because during her curious dream she had explored her own labia and jellybean. She'd withdrawn her hand as if she had touched a flame. She'd dried her sopping fingers with her step-mother's moist underwear then stood to wrangle her own panties up her stout thighs.

She'd carefully laid the borrowed panties down again on the laundry mountain and placed the lid of the basket on top to hide her shameful mishandling of them. She'd washed her hands vigorously, washing away the stain of illicit pleasure, smoothed down her skirt and then went to her bedroom to sit in a silent stupor, lost in unbidden and unidentified emotions.

There was laughing from behind the bushes. Therese's guest was complaining that her bare behind was being tickled by the foliage. Michaela smiled as the two grown-ups giggled like school-girls then, between a couple of sparsely leafed bushes, she watched her step-mother's nylon legs step into view.

She watched those glossy spiked-heels dig into the earth, with legs spread far apart, before Therese squatted and began an audible piss. A liquid sound soon joined by her friend's, while their voices carried on a conversation as if this were completely normal. Michaela could only see Therese's lower half and so she guessed her voyeurism was safe from discovery. She watched without blinking and recorded every second. She knew she'd want to replay these images in her head again and again.

Therese's stance was at such an angle that Michaela's curious scrutiny could only make out a hint of a dark triangle where those long legs met the rest of her body. She tilted up her nose and sniffed the air like a small mammal but caught only the ever-present fresh garden fragrance. She allowed her eyes to rest for long minutes on her step-mother's thighs and the ornately decorated stocking-tops.

She longed to have her fingertips caress the pattern there and maybe... maybe slide cautiously higher until she was touching the velvet flesh above the stockings and then on, further into that dark mysterious triangle.

"Holy shit," Michaela said to herself.

This brazen pervert was like a second person inside of her, someone perhaps she wouldn't be able to restrain, to resist, to control. She watched Therese wiggle, presumably shaking off the final drops of pee. Michaela remained as still as a bird-watcher observing her idol stand and re-adjust her stockings and dress.

The friend broke the spell by crashing out through the bushes, cursing and hobbling, trying to straighten her frumpy floral dress. Therese emerged with immaculate aplomb and jovially helped the woman get unruffled.

Some more people walked through the double patio doors and inquired drunkenly loud about where they were being directed to pee, the news of the lack of facilities was getting around. Michaela watched Therese take charge of the handful of needful drunks, bossing the men to one side of the garden and showing a couple of plump women into the bushes. She came and sat down next to her step-daughter on a sun-lounger.

"Pewf! It's warm!" Therese said, wiping her brow, "Is there anything I can get you? A drink? Snack?"

Michaela shook her head and then they sat in the silence of the summer sunset, listening to the sound of piss splashing on leaves and grass. The men just hoiked out their spouts, sprayed the greenery then disappeared back into the house.

Now there was a singular note of acidity mingling with the evening's fragrance. One of the women clambered back out of the bushes, she was struggling to pick some leaves from her hair while straightening her tights under her skirt; she gave them both an embarrassed grin then inelegantly wobbled up the grass slope in her party heels.

"Where's Diana got to? She's been in there a while."

Therese squinted as she scanned the bushes for a sign of her guest then laughed and slapped her thigh.

"Hot damn! You can see right through the hedge there!"

Giggling, she touched Michaela's shoulder and pointed to the gap in the red-twig hedge. Michaela didn't need to be told where to find the voyeuristic viewpoint but she feigned surprise. They both watched as the woman held on tight to her bunched up satin dress and stayed squatting awkwardly in the gloomy improvised toilet.

"Poor Diana. I hope no one else comes out. Should I say something? No, best not. We'll let her keep her dignity."

Therese chuckled softly as they watched the lower half of a uninteresting middle-aged blonde eject a thick stream of gushing fluid.

"My god, she pisses like a cart-horse!" Therese whispered.

Michaela was surprised, her step-mother very rarely used crude language and only when sozzled.

"Wait a minute, that's... isn't that where I, you know?"

Michaela nodded.

"Did I exhibit myself like that, to you, Micki, my love?"

Michaela nodded.

"You watched me pee?"

"Erm, yes, I, er, couldn't help it."

"I'm sorry you had to see that, darling."

"No, I, er, I didn't mind. It's nothing."

There was a pause, the quietness of the night seemed to loom closer, Michaela was feeling claustrophobic now she was sharing her inner persona with a deviant, panty-sniffing, piss-peeking pervert. She was thankful when Therese's attention was diverted.

"What is she doing in there?" Therese whispered, "She's just squatting there. She, she isn't... is she?"

Therese cackled and gasped with relief when Diana stood up behind the bush and vanished from view.

"My god, I genuinely thought for a second there she was going to take a dump on my chrysanthemums."

Diana reappeared on the lawn, removing a twig from her woollen shawl. Therese smiled broadly and waved as the woman lit a cigarette and returned to the party.

"I mean," Therese joked, "It's bad enough scooping cat doings out of the rhododendrons without humans joining in."

Michaela's shy, averted glance caused her to tone down her drunken conviviality.

"Sorry, I, er, you know, I didn't realise I could be seen. Can't be fun to witness that. Some scabby old bag watering the flowers."

"You're not old," Michaela felt timid, it was odd to speak to her step-mother without the continual bitterness that always seemed to affect their relationship, "You're not scabby."

"Uh-uh, look."

Therese extended one perfectly shaped leg and drew Michaela's eye to a dark graze across her knee under the luscious dark fabric. Up close, Michaela could now see the silky stay-ups had tiny hearts dotted in the darkness.

"See? That's where your father cruelly and with malice aforethought trampled me this afternoon."

Michaela couldn't respond, she was consumed by the appearance of the stocking top, the floral lace design leading to a daring flash of naked thigh.

"They're very pretty, aren't they?" Therese said, seeing where Michaela was focussing, "Would you like a pair?"

"You have to be pretty to wear things like that. I'm not like you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not... like you. You're gorgeous. Everyone thinks so."

Therese' blushed and fiddled with her hair, "Who's everyone?"

"Aw, you know how beautiful you are," Michaela grumped and looked away, "Don't counterfeit modesty."

Therese leaned closer, "Would you like to know what they called me when I was growing up?"

Michaela didn't answer.

"Beanpole," Therese continued, she'd got used to talking to an unresponsive sulking girl all these years.

"What's a beanpole?"

Therese laughed, "It's a thin stick you grow runner beans up."

"Oh."

"I had thick glasses, and a goofy smile, and arms and legs like pipe-cleaners. Inside... I'm still that girl, the girl who was teased for being flat-chested. My father used to say I was all knees and elbows."

"I'd rather be that than this," Michaela said sullenly.

Therese let that go, she'd learned never to dwell on the girl's self-loathing.