Some Day, All This Will Be Yours

"Happy Birthday, O lord and master! What can I do for you?"

"Mmm...come here and let me kiss you - nice! Right...First, no clothes until I tell you, okay?"

"Yessir!"

"Secondly...breakfast in bed for two, please."

"Who's the other one for?"

"You, you idiot!"

"Oh, good. You had me worried there for a moment."

"And what would you have done if I'd said...hmm, let's see...Sally, say; or John, even?"

(Sally and John were our closest friends...friends without privileges, that is; although when making love we'd occasionally exchanged fantasies of having sex with one or both of them).

"I'd have said: 'Your wish is my command, O lord and master...and may I please join in?'"

"Wow! I'll keep that in mind for next year!"

"Pig! I'll get your breakfast."

We ate breakfast in this very bed, and then we made some very slow, very gentle and very affectionate love - yes, right in front of the mirror! But then we did that most mornings when we had the time, so I was a little surprised that he'd not yet asked me for anything the least bit unusual; was I already satisfying his every desire?

"I love you, and that was a lovely start to my day. Now, here's the plan: You make a picnic for two: Sally and me...No! I'm just kidding! Stop hitting me; it's my birthday! You make a picnic for you and me. You'll find everything you'll need in the kitchen because I went shopping yesterday and maxed out my credit card...again: wine, French bread, quiche, pâté, cheese, olives, tomatoes...it's all there. Be sure to put in some water - we don't want to get dehydrated - and let's take a flask of hot coffee too. Load it all into the car and I'll drive us to the picnic spot. You can put on some clothes for the trip - I don't want you to be embarrassed - but no underwear, okay? I want to think about your sweet pussy nestling inside a thin pair of shorts."

"I've got a cheerleader's crotchless microskirt; would that do instead?"

(Me, a cheerleader? For that sorry school? You must be joking! It was a present from the previous owner, all right? What?... I swear, your nose for a backstory would make a bloodhound jealous! I can see I'll have to come clean. All right...this girl (who was a cheerleader) and I had huge crushes on one another in school. We'd send love poems to each other and go for long walks holding hands and talking incessantly. I love holding hands...maybe you've noticed? It never crossed my mind - or hers, I'm sure - to get any more physical, even though my knees turned to jelly whenever she walked into the room. Oh, the poignant purity of puppy love!)

"A microskirt without panties?" he asked.

"No panties."

"It's a deal! I'll go commando too."

When I took the picnic out to the car I was surprised to see our twin kayaks already loaded onto the roof rack. Where was this picnic going to be? I soon discovered, as we drove to a remote lake that we'd visited together once before. On that occasion we'd noticed a tiny, tree-covered island out in the middle but we'd had no way to reach it. This time we did. I helped him unload the kayaks, flashing him glimpses of my naked asscheeks and pussy hair every time I reached above my head. Then we strapped down the picnic basket and the other gear and paddled our kayaks out to the island.

It was indeed tiny: only fifty or sixty feet across, with a ring of bushes at the water's edge. In the center was a grassy knoll that was completely hidden from the distant lakeshore, not that there was anyone around to see us, anyway.

'What's going on? A romantic summer picnic beside the water?... This is just like France,' I thought to myself.

I'd told him about my French adventure, of course, and I wondered if he was planning to recreate it somehow. Surely he hadn't somehow managed to contact Adonis and Aphrodite? My heart lurched as I scanned the lakeshore for approaching company, but the lake was deserted. We spread the picnic on a blanket and, doing as I was told, I stripped off what few clothes I was wearing and sat down cross-legged opposite him. I realized that from where he was sitting, still fully dressed, he could see right into my gaping cunt, still swollen from the morning's workout. Now, I'm no longer shy - I think we've established that - and we'd been lovers for several months already, but nevertheless I was not used to being quite so blatantly exposed, particularly when I was the only one naked. Under his gaze I felt myself blush - something I hadn't done in years - and my heart began to pound. What was it about our new - albeit temporary - relationship that was exciting me so? Suddenly it came to me: in surrendering my autonomy I had also shed all personal responsibility. For the first time in my life I understood the appeal of complete subservience. The feeling of liberation took me by surprise and I felt an unexpected stab of excitement.

'I could get used to this,' I thought, '...for maybe one day a year.'

By the time we'd finished the picnic, shared the bottle of wine, and had some coffee I was feeling thoroughly mellow...well, let's be honest: I was feeling high as a kite and free as a bird.

"You know what we're doing?" I said. "We're doing Déjeuner sur l'Herbe".

"Say what?"

"You know...that painting by Manet - or was it Monet? - portraying proshtitution...er...prostitution...portraying prostitution in the Bois de Boulogne...or not, depending on which interpretation you favor." (I was having a bit of trouble with my tongue, but, that aside, maybe my Liberal Arts education was not entirely wasted after all.)

"Proshtitution, is it? So what's your price?"

"With your credit rating, you can't afford me" I said; "but today I'm running a special so it's free."

"Then come over here and undress me, you lovely naked whore."

Now that was unexpected and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. I stripped his T-shirt off over his head and he lay back on the blanket, his thin shorts already showing the bulge I knew so well.

"Turn around," he said.

Obediently I knelt over his face while bending forward to ease his shorts down over his hips. No underwear in sight, as he'd promised. He lifted his ass off the blanket, wriggled completely out of his shorts and lay naked beneath me. The memory of my first time at the beach suddenly flashed through my mind and made my gaping cunt tingle. I lifted his tumescent penis off his belly, made an O with my lips and... Do I really need to spell it out?

Now, I don't know about you, but after half a bottle of wine and two cups of coffee, my body has a very predictable reaction; you can almost set your watch by it. The combination of alcohol and caffeine always makes me need to pee, and today was no exception. After a few seconds I reluctantly let his prick slip out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry, I need to pee."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Let me get up, then. I'll be right back."

"No, go right ahead."

"I can't; you're holding my hips."

"Yes," he said simply, and it suddenly dawned on me what he had in mind. In fact, this was what he'd been planning all along: the water, wine, and coffee all targeted at my poor distended bladder. The shock of realization sent a massive surge of adrenaline through my body.

"NO! I couldn't!" I gasped, and indeed, my sphincter had promptly clamped down like a vise.

"I'd like to watch you," he said quietly. "And it is my birthday..."

My own words came back to me: 'Anything...with no hesitation and no questions asked.' But this? Could I bring myself to do this for him? I'd never been particularly turned on by peeing, although I knew that some people were. Hell, after the 2016 US Presidential election, who didn't? But it didn't disgust me either; after all, everyone pees and urine is sterile. I knew I was bending my promise by hesitating - wouldn't you? - but I needed to know more. I looked back between my open legs to see him gazing up happily at my ass and cunt, waiting. He grinned at me impishly and melted my heart.

"Do you have a peeing fetish that you've been keeping from me?" I asked.

"Not exactly..."

"No? What then? I know you well enough to be sure you're not into humiliation, so what is it?"

"Don't you know? My fetish is intimacy."

Sudden understanding flooded through me. Yes, it was undoubtedly kinky - there was no escaping that - but the real turn-on for him - for both of us, perhaps? - would not be the act itself but the sharing of such an intensely private moment between two people. Could I do this for him? For us? I knew I needed to play for time until the whirlwind of my emotions settled down and let me decide what to do.

"Have you ever done this before?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me? I've never felt remotely this close to anyone before."

'Good answer!', I thought to myself.

"You need to give me a little time..." I said.

"You mean you're really going to do it?"

"Well, right now I couldn't because I'm completely clamped down; you took me by surprise. And I need to overcome twenty-odd years of social inhibitions! But give me a few minutes to relax and then we'll see what happens."

What exactly was I feeling? I wondered to myself. Not humiliation, that much was certain. This wouldn't be anything like getting caught short and being forced to wet your pants. If it occurred, this would be a supremely intimate act shared by two people who were deeply in love with each other. Was I embarrassed? Well...yes; who wouldn't be?...but that wasn't really it, either. Why was my heart racing, and why was I having such trouble breathing? Was I excited? Undoubtedly, I thought - all the usual symptoms were there - but why? As I imagined how it would feel just to relax and let go, my heart lurched and everything below my waist fused into one molten mass of feeling.

'Oh god,' I thought. 'My body wants me to do this!'

"Have I talked you into doing it?" he asked from down there between my legs.

"No," I said, half-wishing it were true.

"No?... But I thought..."

"You've talked me into wanting it."

My autonomic nervous system gradually relinquished its control of my sphincter, and the desire - well...the urgent need, actually - to pee returned, in spades.

Now, one advantage of a Liberal Arts education is that your head is full of useless snippets of information that enrich moments like this in your life. A line from 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' flashed through my mind:

'It was sensuality sharp and searing as fire, burning the soul to tinder. Burning out the shames, the deepest, oldest shames, in the most secret places.'

'D.H. Lawrence certainly knew a thing or two about sex,' I thought as I reached my outrageous decision, and prepared to relax my sphincter.

"Get ready to dodge...if you want to," I warned him. "You're about to get an eyeful! Happy birthday!"

As I felt my urine push its way past the last fail-safe position and begin its unstoppable rush down my urethra, I looked back between my legs to witness the golden stream as it hit his chin. His eyes were fixed on my urinating cunt, the warm cascading liquid splashing off his face and running down his neck. I felt a spasm in my vagina almost like an orgasm, so intense was the feeling. Unable to tear my eyes away from the scene playing out between my open legs, I wondered 'How much more up close and personal can you get?'

The wine and coffee had done their bit magnificently: this wasn't just a few ounces of urine that I needed to expel; this seemed to go on and on, making that unmistakable hissing-squirting-splashing noise that women make when they're peeing. And through it all he never moved a muscle except to blink. Maybe I'd drowned him? As I contracted my perineal muscles to expel the last few spurts, I looked up to find his penis still inches from my lips, more rigid and engorged than I had ever seen it before. Not drowned, then. I slipped my lips around the swollen head and took him deep into my mouth. At the same moment I felt his mouth fasten over my sopping cunt, covering almost my entire pussy, and...yes, you've guessed it! It took all my willpower not to clamp down again to deny him the last drops of what he was so clearly relishing.

I felt sure he would want me to reciprocate by letting him ejaculate in my mouth - something I'd done before and would have enjoyed doing again - but this was not what he had in mind. To my surprise he rolled me onto my back on the soggy blanket, threw himself down on top of me, and with unaccustomed violence drove his long, hard prick straight into my vagina.

I grabbed his ass as he pulled on my shoulders to cram his prick further into me, further than he'd ever gone before. I gasped as it hit my uterus, but the momentary pain served only to inflame me further. To stop myself from screaming, I bit his shoulder and tasted blood on my tongue. Usually when we fucked he was slow and considerate, bringing me to orgasm once, twice, sometimes several times before taking his own pleasure (I told you he was a generous man). But this time I could tell that he had only one goal in mind: his own release, and he wanted to get there as quickly as possible, let the devil take the hindmost.

He was like an animal, wordless and incoherent in his passion, and I responded in kind. We'd never fucked like this before: there was no foreplay, no finesse, no regard for the other person - just an urgent need to satisfy our own primal lust, the biological imperative that has driven evolution since the beginning of life on earth. He didn't want just my body; this time he was after my soul, and I gave it up to him willingly.

'This is how the Neanderthals did it', I thought, just before all rational thought shut down and my brain stem took control for the duration. Had I been in any way unwilling, I have no doubt that this kind, gentle, civilized man would have raped me. But unwilling I was not. The extreme intimacy of what we had just done together had brought me closer to him than I had ever been to anyone, including my dear sweet sexy aunt, and I needed to tell him how I felt.

"FUCK ME!" I yelled at the top of my lungs; "PLEASE...JUST FUCK ME!", as the lakeshore echoed a distant "...uck me!" He wrapped his strong fingers around my throat as if to strangle my cries, and in response I spread-eagled myself and let him fuck me like a limp rag doll. Instantly - out of nowhere - I came. I screamed as a crashing orgasm ripped through my body. It was unlike anything I'd felt before, something way beyond my normal range of experience. If this was sex - and what else could you call it? - it was not like any other sex I'd ever had - totally unlike our morning's quiet and gentle lovemaking. Don't get me wrong; we were doing all the usual things: he was driving his prick relentlessly into my cunt and his balls were slapping rhythmically against my ass - I love that feeling (Don't forget that!). No... The difference lay in the raw emotions we were sharing: a mutual unbridled passion worthy of D. H. Lawrence. And as he might have said, it melted my bowels.

I felt sure he would come as my orgasming vagina rhythmically milked his prick, but evidently he still had some ways to go because he simply intensified his onslaught on my body. He had never fucked me with such wild passion before and it moved me to tears. I felt the approach of another orgasm and I lay back, sobbing with joy, and let it take me. I was engulfed by the liberation of my absolute submission to his desire: he could do as he liked, no hesitation, no questions asked. At that moment, feeling his hands tight around my throat, I think I might even have welcomed that final liberation that awaits us all. I understood why the French call orgasm 'La petite mort': the little (feminine!) death.

A few seconds later I realized that he was finally approaching the summit of his own release. I ran a hand down the crack between his thrusting buttocks and did something I had never dared to do before: I slipped my pinkie into his tight little asshole. That did it. With a roar that rivaled those of all my other lovers combined, he ejaculated into the very depths of my being. His asshole squeezed my fingertip and his throbbing prick exploded, spurting hot, slippery semen deep into my well-fucked vagina. 'This must be how babies are made', I thought.

He looked down at my ravaged body - wet all over, glistening in the afternoon sunshine, and bloodied from where I'd bitten him. For the first time in my life, I felt completely and truly sexually satisfied - all passion spent - and it must have shown in my eyes.

"All right, then?" he asked, smiling down at me.

"All right, then," I said.

"Good...because that was pure, golden bliss." (He had a good memory for stories). "Thank you thank you thank you for sharing it with me."

As he fell asleep, he said dreamily: "You know, we're going to be famous, you and I; we've just discovered a new radioisotope of phosphorus."

(He was a scientist and often said things I didn't fully understand.)

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes! It's called P sixty-nine...and it's really hot stuff."

And then we slept...

***

I know...I know! In the cold light of day, I cannot believe I did that! Nor that I just told you about it! Let's just blame it on the heat of the moment, shall we? Still, there it is: firmly filed away in my brain, not under 'Fantasies' but under 'Memories', sub-file 'Fond Memories', if I'm honest (and what's the point, otherwise?) Anyway - like Zephir the monkey - you really can't make this stuff up, can you?

There you have it then: a few little windows onto my soul. There are plenty more where those came from, but I think that's enough to be going on with; it's past my bedtime. I wish you were here right now to go to bed with me, but until then...Goodnight! Sweet dreams. I'll write again soon. Of course, I'd love to hear back from you, and you know where you can reach me...

THE END (almost)

PS: A week after we discovered that seam of P sixty-nine on Intimacy Island (as we christened it), he was posted overseas - to Paris, France, would you believe? We've been corresponding regularly since he left and - if he agrees - I'm planning to publish our letters. He writes quite well...for a scientist! Who knew? So, watch out for them if you're interested: Coming soon to a website near you: 'French Letters'.

THE END (really)