Wet Ride Ch. 04byGoldlion1©
Authors note: To all of you chomping at the bit for more "hot girl on girl piss action," this chapter may disappoint. Longer and harder to write than the first few, I find myself as most writers do, drawn into the lives (internal and external) of the characters I have created. I like these people and I want not only to show them in the heights of ecstasy, but the depths of despair. Also I want to delve a bit into the very real world of sexual ambiguity, the belief that the majority of people are either straight or gay assumes that people are one-dimensional, in my life I have consistently found this to be untrue. If you skip this chapter in favor of "the action" I fear the final chapters may have less of an impact. But again, I leave it up to you, the reader, to decide.
Jennifer smiled, for the first time in several weeks a toothy grin opened up across her face. She had spent the last two weeks at Mark's house, thankful she had finally found a place to rest, an aerie to perch upon and rise above herself. The air up there was thin, but with every deep labored breath she managed to come to grips with the fact that she wanted to feel it, wanted to live. She wasn't the type to sink into depression, nor was she apt to indulge in drug or drink to fill the void. She just sat in it, rested behind the rocks of a cold grey hell, keeping the demons of betrayal at bay, but keeping them in her sights. She had become an impartial observer to her life as it was. Surveying the wasteland, occasionally feeling the cold shiver of the reader drawn into the story, but steadfast in her resolve to remain the narrator and not the protagonist. But for now, for this fleeting moment she smiled.
After the darkness the light comes unexpectedly, creeps in like a chill up the back of the unaware. At that point the choice is made to either accept or reject it, let it come over you or push it away; the momentary feeling of the harsh cold reality of any given situation lasting only a moment, then subsiding for a light warm purging...smile.
She was beginning to let go of herself, to finally step back into the story of her life. As with many things in life it came without warning, creeping through her being stealthily, invading her with her permission. She was finally ready to move on. To what she did not know, but the impetus was there. The fog had cleared and she stepped through and back into the story. Everything in that new landscape was unfamiliar, unknown.
One thing she did know for sure, Mark was a good friend. No questions asked, he invited her to stay with him. He was probably the most successful of their wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and uncharacteristically he was also the most gracious. He was a professional set designer, and NYU graduate, one of the few truly self-made men. His parents were dirt poor, raising him as best they could in a housing project in New Jersey. They loved him deeply. He was their only child and was a late life surprise; neither his father nor his mother expected that pregnancy was possible. Having no means to seek medical help for whatever condition he or she may have had they accepted their childlessness and loved each other with wild abandon.
This appetite was passed to their son; he had no qualms about pursuing what he wanted, be it material, sexual or spiritual. Also passed to him was a deep respect for the fortunate condition we call life, in others as well as within himself. They were never shy about showing their love for each other, swats on the behind, deep kisses in front of the kitchen sink, screaming chorales of ecstasy as they snuck away upstairs for an afternoon interlude. They were never too explicit in their affection in front of him, but there was no hiding their love and great lust for each other.
They were open about sex with him, and he felt free to ask them anything about any topic, however forbidden. They hid from him nothing, they shared the radical social and political views, "libertine" they called them, where pleasure ruled and all things had their place. And most of all they loved him, at every turn there were comforting kisses and warm hugs, reinforcement of all things positive.
Mark became exactly the man anyone would become under these circumstances, a bright, inquisitive, hard working wonderful man. He was the first person to lend a hand and the last to judge, highly imperfect, yet always striving for perfection.
Sexually, he had tried it all. Every new experience enjoyed or not, was a new and therefore beneficial one. He had been with men women and each shade of identification in between. Only recently discovering that all the experimentation amounted to the sad fact that he was simply this, a heterosexual. Remembering the exact moment of discovery, the chiseled beautiful body of the grip (and his unusually large member) slamming into him from behind. He laughed just as he did then, then it was an inappropriate laugh, now as he danced in front of his friend in his jockey shorts and a collection of leftover "La cage aux falles" props, it was more than appropriate and it was shared..
He had been waiting for the right moment to break her out of her funk, seeing the way she had straightened her back and walked with the beginnings of her confidence emerging again, his timing was impeccable. A smile became a laugh, and laughter rolled into gales, tears now streaming down her face she begged him to stop. Impressed by his own ability to make her feel better and relieved by the knowledge that she had surrendered to his silliness, he plopped down beside her whit a hard "thud."
She was still chuckling, holding her sides as she came down from the release; with a deliberate movement she reached out with both hands and planted a firm wet kiss on his lips. This was not unusual for them; they shared affection with met lips on more than one occasion. What was unusual was the manner in which she kissed him, lingering, moving and parting his lips, no tongue but this was far beyond any kiss of appreciation they had shared before.
Still holding his head in her hands she whispered gently, "thank you, for everything."
Leaning her head against his, she started to cry.
Kat stood by the stove. Since surrendering herself to the fact that her lover and soul mate was most likely gone for good, she had invited Dianne to stay with her for a few days. Dianne, wise enough to know better, declined at first, until last night, and a light knock on the door. Behind it stood Dianne, dressed in sweats and unmade. Tentative smiles grew on their faces, an almost perfect reflection one of the other. Then a tight embrace, held in the open doorway for the world to see. There was no kiss, no expression of or remnants of the last time they met, just a comforting encirclement of limbs.
Now standing by the sink, Kat impatiently shook the kettle, willing it to boil. Dianne slid in behind her, arms feeding under Kat's hands resting on hers settling her movements. Gently easing her away from her own impatience, only one other person could clam her like this...
No words, as Dianne held her tightly from behind, Kat's arms crossed over Dianne's as her hands grasped the thick sleeves of her robe. For the first time in many years Kat bawled.
Dianne continued to hold her as she violently released all that she held within her for so long, convulsing, howling as a banshee would, sputtering out curses at herself Dianne held on for dear life.
Late into the evening they lay in bed Dianne still clutching Kat from behind, listening with a heavy heart to her sobs as she drifted in and out of sleep. When she finally settled Dianne slowly extricated herself and with a lithe series of moves managed to roll gently from the bed.
Dianne was beside herself, she had caused all this and it was up to her to fix the unfixable. For the first time in a long time, the spider won and now she was feeling the smothering embrace of moth wings surrounding her. She resolved to make this right, or be dammed trying.
Jennifer was wet with sweat, her pulse pounding in her ears. Beneath her was Mark getting fucked harder than any man had ever done him. Above him, the object of his affection for so long, was slamming herself on to him for the seventh time in so many hours. This wasn't a hate fuck, nor was it one of revenge, she felt almost as close to Mark as she did Kat and now that Kat had...."fucked me," she whispered through clenched teeth. Mark was momentarily stunned, her use of the past tense betraying her thoughts. It took every ounce of strength for him to stay hard knowing she was using him for her release and nothing more.
But he was wrong, in some twisted way she was repaying him for his kindness, reconnecting herself to humanity and physically breaking the chains that held her to the memory of Kat. She wanted to come, but not without him. She had already wrung 6 orgasms out of him, amazingly he managed to fill her with hot slippery spunk at the climax of every one. She had been so long in having a man, a living protrusion of flesh shoved between her wet pussy lips, a pulsing hot shaft stroking her clit, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have cum inside her.
Nearing her climax once again, she bore down on him opening her eyes as wide a tea saucers, looking him in the face. Then without any hesitation she leaned like a redwood felled by the last cut of a perfectly placed axe, and sealed her lips over his. Opening her mouth and sliding her lips along his she plunged her tongue deep inside, tasting his entire mouth from tip of tongue to edge of teeth. This final barrier broken she finally let herself go, admitting for the first time that she too was capable of loving another.
"Oh FUCK," she shouted, sputtering her spittle all over Mark's face.
Marks eyes popped as she gave the final gift to him, one that he had only experienced once before. Jennifer's face was awash with desire, she just had to claim him as hers, if only for tonight. She bore down using all her reserves to milk him of his cream, and then she really let go...
"Garrrrrraaajjajjaaaa," came the indistinguishable succession of sounds from deep in her throat, ending just as she released 12 hours of pent up piss down the shaft of his angry reddened cock. A woman on a mission, she pulled off him and sprayed him with her pussy pee, aiming uncontrollably as she came violently. Again possessed by her desire she smiled evilly at a stunned Mark and in one motion closed off her pee hole and slammed her knees on either side of his head and simply stated..."open." Dutifully he did as she commanded opening his mouth just as her hot acrid stream came at full force. Her expression suddenly transformed, she pleaded..."drink me Mark,. ...Please..." Seeing her need to be accepted by him and his great need to have all of her he happily gulped her hot piss. Raising his head and sealing his mouth over her still spewing cunt, he gulped furiously.
With a sigh she pushed the last of herself into his mouth. Taking a second to breathe and survey the damage to her dear friend and everything surrounding him she felt a tinge of shame for taking advantage of him. But this was a unnecessary and reactionary feeling. She truly did love him, and now she truly understood how Kat was feeling. Her heart swelled and her smile grew soft as she slid herself down his body and again locked lips with him, kissing him as furiously as she had earlier, but this time tenderly as well.
Suddenly she burst into a fit, a maniacal fit of laughter and tears. "I love you," she kept repeating...."I love you also," she slobbered.
It all made some bit of sense to Mark now, all his fumblings, pokings and proddings had lead him to this moment. As they settled into a deep sleep, her wet body draped over his, he began to realize that his life was about to change, dramatically.
A pounding on the door startled Mark. He shot up in bed feeling the stalling of his head behind him. Dazed for a second, he thought he smelled bacon, that aroma of domestication coming from the kitchen.
Jennifer had not bothered getting dressed; she had simply slipped into a soft lined apron to keep off the splatter. Feeling free, she placed the griddle off to the side and strode across the floor to the door. Unselfconsciously she grasped the handle and unlatched the lock. Opening the door she suddenly felt a weight fall on her shoulders, standing in the doorway was Dianne, bleary eyed and pale.
"We have to talk."
To be continued...