Wet Revenge Pt. 01

"We've come all the way here for a lovely weekend in the sun and that chap from next door INSISTS on smoking in the garden."

"Oh lighten up, Lisa," said my best friend Susan as she poured a bag of posh crisps into a glass bowl. "We've only just got here and you're already complaining."

That was unfair. I didn't have form as a complainer. If anything, she was the one who usually moaned about everything. I'm generally quite a positive person, but it's that specific brand of brazen disregard for others that leads to people like our temporary neighbour smoking downwind of us that winds me up. I bet he does this all the time, and nobody ever complains because he's good looking.

I don't even mind smoking generally! It's just that we came here for fresh air. The last thing I need is that guy exhaling his Camels over the fence of our rental cottage while we try to catch the sun on the patio.

"Oi," Susan jabbed me in the arm with something cold. I turned from peering over the fence to find she'd poured me an ice cold glass of Pinot Grigio. "Stop perving on the locals and cheer up!" But I couldn't. I had to say something.

"Hi there," I said, popping my head over the fence. "Sorry to bother you but do you mind not smoking here? It's just the smoke goes straight into our garden and it's not very nice."

He looked up slowly from the book he was reading, took a drag on his cigarette, and in a surprisingly posh voice said "It's my garden, I'll do what I like. Thanks."

I was a bit taken aback, especially after I'd been so polite. "But we're only here for the weekend, is a few hours of not smoking while we're out here really such a big deal?"

"I don't tell you what to do in your garden, so don't tell me what to do in mine. If we're making requests, I'd suggest you put a top on and cover up." And with that, he got up, stubbed out his cigarette on the fence, and went indoors before I even had a chance to react. Unbelievable. I knew he was bad news. Susan was going to get an earful about this.

-

We had stayed up until the small hours, sinking glass after glass of wine until we were slurring our words and singing our favourite songs. "Who does that bastard think he is?" I moaned. He'd been on my mind all night. I was still fuming about it.

"Oh god, if you're going on about him again then I'm off to get ready for bed." said Susan as she piled up the little dishes from the tapas we'd had for dinner. There was a familiar pressure in my pelvic region as it occurred to me I hadn't peed all night. "Don't be too long, I'm bursting for a wee!" I called after her as she sloped off.

But she took ages - probably her 12 step skin care routine slowed by the tipsiness. The wine weighed heavy in my bladder and I found myself grinding around on the wooden chair with my legs crossed, trying to deplete the desperation - but it only made it worse, the seam of my underwear brushing against my clit and doubling my urge to go. What was taking her so long? Then suddenly, I had an idea. How I could get revenge on the man next door.

Peering over the fence to make sure nobody was in the garden, I clambered over clumsily, my denim skirt riding up to reveal my coral cotton knickers underneath. I fumbled with the buttons and zip, eager not to get caught - or be caught short, but I was too drunk to pull the slightly-too-tight skirt over my wide bum in time. It would have to stay put. Squatting down, I quickly stuck my middle finger into the gusset of my knickers and pulled it aside, exposing my lovely long labia and making way for them to be peeled apart by an unstoppable, loud stream of crystal piss. The relief was instant, I never wanted the feeling to end as my pee drained out of me, soaking the bastard's garden with my topaz nectar. I tilted my hips, making sure to cover everything I could, holding my lips open to maintain the power of the golden torrent. It's a good thing he wasn't around, because he'd be able to see everything: the tiny pearl of my exposed clit, my pee hole as it rained forth, my glistening labia and tight little pussyhole.

The arc began to wane, but being drunk I slipped my panties back in place before I had finished peeing, soaking them instantly with the last burst of my stream and leaving a glorious guilty wet patch. I felt incredibly naughty as I clambered back over the fence in my pissy knickers, so excited by it all that I could tell my pussy was juicy. That'll teach that bastard to be so rude.

I took a glance over the fence to admire my handiwork, but got distracted by a light in the window - no, worse: a figure. It was him. He'd seen the whole thing. And he didn't look happy. Emboldened by the alcohol, I simply stuck my tongue out at him and turned to go back into the house. His wrath would be tomorrow's problem. But I could have sworn his right hand was jerking around in front of him just out of view...