Date: Sat, 15 Apr 2017 15:09:30 -0400 From: Olivia Palmer <olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com> Subject: The Nudists 3 (g mast, anal, exhib, hirs, feet, lac, ws, voy, light inc) The Nudists 3 by Olivia Palmer (g mast, anal, exhib, hirs, feet, lac, ws, voy, light inc) --- _Please_Donate_To_Nifty_ This amazing site provides us all with incredible erotica! I've been an avid reader for many years, and I can't imagine the thought of it going away... If you care about the erotica of alternative, non-traditional, non-patriarchal sexuality, then please please please help keep Nifty going!!! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html --- This story is a work of fiction and does not purport to depict any real people, places, or situations. It is entirely fantasy and should be treated as such. This story describes explicit sexual acts between living entities of various ages and sexual persuasions. If this type of content offends you or if you are not of legal age to view adult content, then do not read it. Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent. Copyright 2017 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved. Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!): olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com --- I was already horny. Eventually I got hungry. Lying in my bed as the rain continued to pour outside, I slid my naked body all around over my cool sheets, thrilled at the knowledge that my cummy-pee was already dry and smelly in the fabric. I'd repeatedly pulled the top sheet over my head and locked myself inside that slowly warming cocoon of my body heat and exhaled breath. I sniffed deep and long through my nose, catching whiffs of my pee, of course, and also my own armpits with their musky-sweetness, as well as my pussy with its even sweeter, spicier aroma – though not as strong as I would have liked. To compensate, I'd begun sliding my fingers between my slick folds and working up a good little lather. Then, when I'd just started to breathe hard and felt light-headed from the thick air beneath the sheet, I would bring my fingers up to my nose and snort up my hot-juicy scent, flinging back the cover and letting the new chill from the regular air add to the shivering pleasure of my nose sucking down my excited, ripe aroma. My butt, of course, twitched and made its presence known. Ever since the night before, when I'd finally sunk two fingers in deep and had discovered the intense joy of masturbating my ass, my anal ring had been sending me a kind of ghost sensation of that feeling of penetration. I could still feel it in every minute, blood-pounding, tight, hot detail. I'd finished with my fingers in my mouth and with the tub faucet hammering warm water down on my loose bottom-hole. I'd fallen in love with a whole new way to come. Lying under the sheets, just beginning to tickle at my anus for the first time that day, I realized I needed to put more than just my fingers in my butt, and soon. What better thing could I find to do on such a rainy day anyway? I wasn't about to try running to Annabeth's with all that thunder and lightning out there! Not when I had such a new and wonderful hole to play with! The sun was up, surely, but the clouds wouldn't let it through. The morning was still dark and gray with storm. It wasn't quite eleven o'clock by the time I rolled back out of bed and dared to unlock my bedroom door. Creeping down the hall to my bathroom, I could tell that Mommy had gotten the babies back to sleep. No sounds came from that side of the house. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I went to the tub and plugged the drain. Then I squatted down inside it and peed for nearly a full minute. A stinky warm dark-yellow stream erupted from me in a slightly splattery series of long powerful bursts. I watched it, mesmerized, leaning my face down between my knees. Sneaking my fingers down around the outsides of my feet, I played in the slowly rising pool of urine. By time I'd finished it was just high enough to touch the edge of my pinky toenail. By the end of the day I hoped I'd have a lot more to fill that tub! Finished, I climbed back out and shook my feet somewhat dry over the mat. Looking in the mirror, I grinned at the girl I saw. There was this strawberry-blonde, skinny, tall thing, with just the barest bumps for breasts and only a little bit of hair down below. But lately down below, right down the middle of that pudgy, puffy pair of lips, she was split open by the bright, wet, pink strip of her secret slit. It seemed to be opened up a little more each time she tried to study it. And it would drool. So thick and slippery. I hunched my pelvis forward and reached down to lewdly pinch my labia and pull them apart. There I was. Pink. Open. Wet. After strumming myself absently for a moment, I thought about what to do next. I was hungry. I was horny. My butthole wanted to be played with, and I didn't want to keep it waiting. Also, I was naked. I was smelly. And I liked it. I wanted to stay that way for a while. Would Mommy keep to herself in the master bedroom, like she usually did? Could I venture out into the rest of the house without any clothes on, not even panties? Maybe I could become a nudist in my own home! Maybe just for the day? That would be so cool! Not waiting to chicken out, I left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. I wanted PB and J. And a carrot. Maybe a celery stalk, too. The air conditioned breeze raised goosebumps all over my naked flesh as I traipsed excitedly out of the hallway at my end of the house and into the big kitchen. The linoleum seemed twice as cold against my pee-stained feet, and my nipples sprang out from my puffy chest like the hardest little pink diamonds. I got to the center of the kitchen and did a happy little twirl, ending perfectly with a nice ballerina lean, my leg extended back and my foot high in the air, my left arm flung back in line with my raised leg, my right arm outstretched ahead of me, my hand coming to rest just so on the handle to the fridge. I tugged on the door and dragged it open, trying to hold the pose, craning my head around the edge in search of the strawberry preserves. "So beautiful," murmured a sleepy, soft voice. Mommy! It felt like I nearly jumped five feet in the air, but really I just sort of collapsed out of my pretty lean and let go of the refrigerator, bending down to clutch my hands against my belly, trying to catch my breath and, at the same time, not let out a terrified shriek. There she stood, my mother, just a couple inches shy of six feet, with tousled blonde hair and dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore nothing but those comfy, graying old panties. They were the same ones I'd sniffed on so hard just a few hours before as I'd crept into her bedroom and lurked, horny and curious, just above her sleeping, exhausted body. Since the twins were born her hips had spread noticeably, as had her backside, and she was definitely now carrying a significantly extra amount of weight. On her, however, it seemed almost perfect. Before my brother and the twins were born, I always thought she was almost too skinny, a lot more like me, and I remember fearing that I'd never develop much in the way of curves because my mother hadn't, either. After four kids, though, she took my breath away. She was a long, tall, blonde goddess, with a lush, ripe, rounded allure that instantly made my pussy begin to throb and seep. In the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen, her hairiness was even more noticeable, especially on her belly. Blonde hair sprouted up out of her panties and shot toward her belly button in a straight, thick little line, curling and matted, a little greasy-looking. The hair curving out around her panties was a little darker and definitely longer, and the soft downy curls running down her shins and over the tops of her feet nearly took my breath away. But that wasn't even the best thing. Her breasts were huge and heavy with milk, and though they sagged a bit toward the little pooch of her belly, they held all of my attention at that moment. Because they were leaking. Tiny white bubbles were slowly emerging from her nipples, adding bit by bit to a thin rivulet of milk that descended from each of her areolae, ran down underneath the ponderous curve of her boob, and somehow got lost. I imagined there was a crease between the underside of her breasts and her ribs, and that when she moved it opened and closed slightly, letting the milk squeeze in, then trapping it. I stood there beside the fridge, slowly straightening, catching my breath, staring at her in shock and lust. I know I was flushed. Red all over. I'd broken out in a sweat, I'd been startled so badly. But it was that milk, those breasts, and the wonderment at what it might be like to lift one, to press my mouth up underneath her boob, into the sweaty, milk-sweet crease, and take a long lick... that's what probably made my mommy say what she did next. "Oh baby," she quietly chuckled. "If you could see your face." In an instant I looked down and stepped back, suddenly very aware of my nudity. When I was younger, before my brother was born, I'd traipsed around the house naked quite a lot when my daddy wasn't home. It thrilled me like nothing else to be naked around my mother. When she was changing I tried to be changing too, and to be right near her when I did. I liked the nice things she would say about my slender little body. And I had loved being able to look at hers as much as I'd wanted. But I hadn't been fully bare in front of her for well over a year. All of a sudden trying out nudism seemed like a crazy idea. I had hit puberty now! I had puffies and even a few hairs! My feet and legs were so much longer than they should be, I thought, and my chest with its silly pretty little bumps – well, they were nice, but I looked like I was only half-done and needing a serious amount of fertilizer up top. I felt all out of whack and very, very weird. In the bathroom, just moments before, I'd been proud and excited about my body. Seeing my amazing, nearly-nude mother, though, blew all that enthusiasm away. "You're so pretty," Mommy murmured, stepping right up to me and rustling her hand through my own cloud of bed-straggled blonde hair. "Even when you're caught being a little nudist." I gasped and stepped back, covering my boobies and my pussy as best I could. My red was turning to purple. Part of me wanted to turn and bolt back to my room, lock the door, and never come out again. But part of me wanted to stay right there, staring at her, letting her stare at me. She'd called me pretty. She'd touched my head with love. She'd smiled. I hadn't seen her smile like that in a long time. I decided to stay put. I wanted this awkward, happy moment to last for a while between us. I slowly lowered my hands and poked out my barely developed chest. Taking a slightly wider stance, I managed a brave grin and rested my fists on my hips, hero-style. "That's right, Mommy," I declared playfully, "You can just call me Nakey-Girl." We both giggled quietly, and then my mommy did something wonderful. She bent down slightly and pulled her panties off, stepping out of them and dropping them right in the middle of the kitchen floor. I gasped again. They fell open upon hitting the linoleum, with the gusset perfectly exposed, the stains even darker on the inside, dried and drying rings of her leaked urine and discharge. There was even a lightly streaked layering of brown up the back. My mouth went dry as my heart pounded wildly behind my skinny ribs. I was red and sweating all over again, just seeing her panties like that. Then I couldn't help it. I raised my eyes and stared at her pussy. It was so hairy! Blonde, matted, wild hair seemed to burst out of her crotch. I could just barely make out her fat, full pussy lips beneath all that fur, lips that looked so much like mine. There was a lot of whitish crusty stuff stuck here and there on a lot of little clumps of hair, and some hair deeper down looked darker and damp. I knew I shouldn't risk it, but I sniffed a little anyway, trying to catch her scent. To my horror, all I could smell was myself – all that dried pee on me! Shook out of my lust for the moment, I glanced nervously up at my mommy to see if she'd noticed my bad thoughts. Noticed my piss-stink. She hadn't, I guessed, because she was looking down at her own underwear with a slightly disgusted, lopsided smile. "The panties of champions," she joked, nudging at the soiled cotton beside her with a big toe. "That's what happens when you've got babies constantly attached to your tits." I laughed quietly along with her, not exactly understanding why she wasn't able to change into fresh panties more often. Then again, I was grateful she hadn't. My pussy needed attention very soon because of it, in fact, but for the moment I had another mission in mind. Mommy opened the fridge, then, and told me, "I guess we can both be nudists for a little while, huh?" She bent out of sight behind the door and eagerly I went back to ogling her crusty Hanes Her Ways. I wondered if they would still be warm if I were to pick them up. I wondered if I should offer to do exactly that. Then Mommy beat me to it. "Why don't you run those to the utility room, OK? You can throw them in with your own stuff next time you do your wash." I almost squeaked with joy, but I managed to keep it together. With all the maturity a naked and helplessly horny eleven year-old girl could muster, I merely nodded and obediently retrieved her undies from the floor. They were, in fact, still very warm! And very smelly! As I skipped out of sight, down the hall toward the utility room, I crammed the panties hard against my face and inhaled with all my might. Oh, how nice! The utility room was just beyond my bedroom, at the end of the hall where it led into the garage. But instead of tossing them in the big hamper in there, I ran to my bedroom and crammed the panties beneath my pillow. I would not, in fact, be washing those any time soon. * * * I ran back to the kitchen and almost leapt onto a barstool on the other side of the open counter from my mommy. She was leaning over a cutting board, chopping up lettuce and parts of a cucumber, a carrot, and a stalk of celery. The tomato was already slivered, along with a few thin slices of red onion. After sliding all of that into a big restaurant-sized salad bowl, next came the chickpeas, some kidney beans, and some sliced black olives that she shook out of little plastic storage containers from the fridge. She added salt, pepper, and one thin slice of deli ham, cut into long pink ribbons. Then she set the bowl aside. "Dressing comes last, right?" she murmured. "I'll make your sandwich first, then we'll eat together!" Every time she'd turned around to fish one more thing out of the fridge, I'd been mesmerized by her round, large, high ass. She'd stayed bent over enough times for me to make out clearly the dark wrinkle of her butthole – her rear end pulled apart so sweetly when she was like that, the cheeks revealing the smelly treasure normally hidden deep between. I could see hair in her crack, dark, damp curls not blonde-looking at all. I could smell a little poop and a lot of funk. I wondered how long it had been, truly, since my mommy had last tried to bathe. Her legs were still firm and gorgeous, and so long! All of her extra weight was in her boobs and belly, hips and butt. Before my brother and the twins, Mommy had played tennis a lot down at the city courts. Before I was born she'd been a promising amateur junior, but for a few years she'd had to quit and raise me, of course. Once she got back into it, after I went to kindergarten, she'd gotten good enough in the local tournaments that a private club in the new part of town had invited her to join and play for them, if she agreed to work during the week as a hitting partner for the youth prodigies they were training. She had been doing that for most of my elementary years, in fact. It was the only job I'd ever known my mommy to have. Besides being our mommy, of course. Now she was older, a little fatter and definitely out of shape, tied to three babies by her boobs, and clearly struggling. I squirmed on my barstool, my smelly bare feet folded beneath my needy, sloppy pussy, and I mentally poked myself for being such a selfish, horny, bad little girl. My mommy really needed moments like this, clearly, and yet all I could do was ogle her butt and legs. Try to sniff the air for the scent of her unwashed holes. Stare too much at that half-stalk of celery, that half-carrot she'd left peeled and lonely on the cutting board. What was wrong with me? It was the first time in my life that I wondered if I was broken somehow. I began to realize I might be made a little differently than some other girls. But then my new friend twitched. My butthole needed me. And soon enough my compassion for Mommy's situation was far, far away in the back of my mind, as was my self-doubt and insecurity. There was a beautiful naked woman, right there in front of me, and I was a very young lesbian in heat. I just didn't know that about myself yet! All I knew was that I liked what I saw, I wanted to see more, I wanted to sniff it and taste it and play with it, and I wanted it to do all those same things to me. Then, as she turned back to the cutting board and swept all the remnants to one side, I saw it – and my pussy just about flooded: Mommy's boobs were dripping! The whole time she spread the peanut butter and the strawberry preserves over the two slices of bread, her fat, swollen nipples slowly dripped onto the cutting board. Her breasts, in fact, looked even bigger than they had just a few moments before. And pink! They almost seemed to be glowing, they were so flushed and hot-looking. A drop of milk fell on the back of her wrist, and Mommy finally said something about it. "Yup," she sighed. "Here comes the let-down...." She raised the wrist to her mouth and quickly sucked up the fat white blob before it could slide away. I held my breath and tried not to moan. Meanwhile, I began to slowly grind my pussy and butt against my heels. Mommy glanced up at me and smiled weakly, ironically. "Won't be long now," she muttered. "They'll smell me all way in the other room. Maybe we should eat in the garage." But then she sliced half of a tasty-looking banana length-wise and laid it on top the thin layer of peanut butter, then set the strawberry-smeared top slice of bread onto that. She set my sandwich on a paper plate and slid it to me. Just as she began to clean up the remains of her salad prep, I managed to find my voice. "Um, c-can I have the rest of the carrot, please?" I asked. "And the celery, too?" Mommy raised an eyebrow and set the vegetables on my plate next to my PB and J. "A health nut now?" she chided softly. "You?" I just shrugged and stuffed my mouth full of sandwich, blushing. I was not, in fact, going to eat those just yet. I had other plans for them first. Mommy retrieved the milk from the fridge, along with a carafe of homemade vinaigrette dressing. She poured herself a tall glass of water from the sink, but the milk was for me. There it was, a glass slowly filling with white, sitting in the middle of a cutting board now liberally splattered with my mommy's own milky stuff. We both seemed to notice it at the same time. Mommy chuckled almost silently as she abruptly stopped pouring and folded the milk carton closed again. Then she leaned a boob over my glass. I gasped and stared at it, at her hand slowly closing around the end of her breast, her fingers cupped beneath the flesh supporting her huge swollen nipple, her thumb squeezing, pressing down on the flesh above, slowly sweeping a path along her flushed skin until she was clearly squeezing her own tit. And making her milk spray – spray! – out of her fat nipple. Right into my glass! I shuddered and tried as secretly as I could to hump my pussy against my heels, gripping the edge of the bar to steady myself. Over and over, Mommy's hand gripped, squeezed, stroked the thumb down to the nipple, and sprayed milk into my glass. Then she switched boobs and did it all over again. Neither of us spoke while she did it. She'd originally stopped filling my glass at about the halfway point. When she finally finished with the second breast and straightened back up, my glass was full to the brim. Her milk swirled atop the thinner liquid of the pasteurized skim cow juice beneath it. Slowly the thicker, richer, warmer milk from Mommy began to slide deeper into the glass and mix with the rest. I realized I was holding my breath, sweating. I was right at the melty edge of feeling really, really good down low. I risked a quick glance up from the glass to my mommy and got a shock: she was staring straight at me, smiling just a little, and one of her hands was playing with her pussy! Not masturbating, necessarily, but just messing with it, touching it, almost absent-mindedly. Her other hand was still cupping her breast, still milking it and spraying her juice, but now it was aimed at her salad bowl from a bit of a distance, and a lot of it was simply splattering all over the counter and the cutting board. "Thought you might be feeling left out," she softly said, finishing with her boob and finally turning – with both hands – to shake and pour the dressing over her milk-sprinkled salad. "And I really needed to take the edge off. It hurts so bad sometimes...." She carefully picked up my glass of milk and set it in front of me, not spilling a drop. We both stared at it for a moment, then Mommy whispered, so low I could barely hear her, "You don't have to drink that if you don-" But I'd already leaned up and taken a sip. Then another. Then another. Then I picked up the glass and gulped. Milk ran out of the corners of my mouth, down my neck, and over my sweaty, flushed chest. I could feel it trickling past my sensitive nipples, tickling, running down to my belly. With my knees bent beneath me, my thighs were pressed hard together just below my tummy, hiding my pussy tightly away – and in that deep crease of flesh where it all came together, that's where the escaping milk pooled. In a flash I thought of Annabeth and the milk she'd carelessly dribbled into her chubby folds. I couldn't help but shudder a little bit at the memory, enjoying my glass of milk even more once I realized how much more like Annabeth I was becoming every day! But had she ever tasted her own mother's milk? I had!! I finished my excited gulps and set the glass down, empty. Taking a satisfied breath and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked at my mommy and couldn't hold back grin. I felt so wicked! It had tasted sweeter, richer, and better than any milk I could ever remember having. Was it because it was my mommy's own? Or was it because it was a woman's? I was beginning to realize just how much I loved everything there was about women. Everything. "Delicious!" I declared. I slid the glass back toward her. "Can I have more?" Mommy was playing with her pussy with a little more intent, I noticed, as I'd wiped at my mouth. She stopped doing it as soon as she saw me looking. She blushed and glanced down at her fat, full boobs. "I'm sorry, baby," she muttered, "not right now. The little ones are going to need the rest of this real soon." I must have made a face, because she quickly shrugged and smiled, adding, "But another time – sure! Maybe if you're around sometime when I need to pump? I have extra, you know, sometimes when they take a really long nap... which is like almost never...." She frowned then, lost in her own frustrations, but then the moment was gone. Mommy smiled and rinsed out my glass and filled it with tap water for me. Then she took up her bowl and came around to sit on a bar stool beside me, curled up on top of her own bare feet. There we were, two nude strawberry-blonde girls, eating lunch. Normal as could be. It was then that realized something about my mommy. She really kind of was still a girl. She'd had me really young, after all. She'd only been sixteen when my daddy had knocked her up. They'd been high school sweethearts, and Mommy's pregnancy had caused her to drop out of school and marry Daddy before he'd even finished twelfth grade. My grandparents had all signed papers for it and had paid for a trailer for the three of us live in for the first couple years of my life. After graduating, once my daddy had proven his worth on the hospital maintenance crew, we'd moved to our current house and Mommy had gone back to playing all that tennis and working at that club. And she wasn't even thirty yet. I asked her, just to make sure, but I instantly regretted doing it. "Mommy," I'd mumbled around a mouthful of PB and J, "how old are you?" She froze, a forkful of salad halfway to her open mouth. She closed her mouth and set the fork back into the bowl, looking off at nothing I could see. Her eyes were hooded and suddenly very tired-looking again. "I'm twenty eight, baby," she said flatly. "Twenty. Eight." And that was the end of our fun little lunch. All three babies, within seconds of one another, started to cry. Mommy sighed and picked up her bowl and glass of water and climbed down off the stool. "Marlie," she softly commanded, "make sure you clean up this mess for me before you leave the kitchen, OK?" She padded quietly back toward her bedroom and out of sight. I heard the door close behind her with light click. Then I heard the sink running in the master bathroom. For a long time. And the babies just kept on crying. * * * I cleaned up the kitchen all right. But not before I'd put my mouth over each and every drop of Mommy's milk that I could find. On the cutting board. On the counter. In the sink. On linoleum floor. I even licked it up where it had splattered and run down the door of the cabinet. Over and over I searched and found her tiny wet gifts to slurp up. There I was, this naked skinny horny little animal crawling all around, once again, doing what lust told me to do. And it was so fun! Finally I did get around to cleaning and putting things away. Then I took the carrot in one hand and the celery in the other, and I headed for my bathroom. First things first, I looked into the mirror at my wide open mouth. I could just barely still taste the milk-breath from my last few slurps at the floor and counter and sink. I was still fascinated by what had happened, and my heart was still pounding – I had just swallowed half of a glass of my own mother's milk and then had licked it up wherever else I'd found it spilled! My mouth looked used. Small bits of mashed bread and peanut butter were stuck in my teeth, and my tongue was covered in a thin sheen of mucousy-looking milky slobber. I ran my tongue over my teeth and swallowed, again and again, and then I filled the cup beside the sink with water and swished and gargled and tried to dislodge the sandwich stuff. It took a few minutes, but eventually I was satisfied my mouth was rinsed properly. I wanted a clean palate for my next treat, but no mouthwash or toothpaste, though. I didn't want any weird minty-ness to get in the way of the next flavor I craved to taste. Setting the peeled half-carrot and half-celery stalk down carefully on the edge of the tub, I climbed in and squatted. My yellow pee from before was now cold and stinkier than ever. As I began to piss again, I reached down and ran my fingers through the stream. Urine splattered up off of my hand and onto my inner thighs and pussy, belly, and butt. It felt so good! With a grunt and a strong squeeze I stopped peeing as I rocked forward onto my knees, then onto my belly as I stretched out fully in my now-lukewarm shallow tub of piss. I kept my face out of it for the moment and just sniffed and sniffed. I snaked a hand down to my pussy and rubbed at it with my weight smashing down on my arm. With my other hand I reached beneath my face and played for a while in the golden liquid, swishing my fingers through it lightly and enjoying the splishy-splashy noises I was making in the echoing little room. Then I bent my head, held my breath, and put my face in it. There was enough pee in the tub so that my mouth and nostrils were fully immersed. I lay for several long moments with my face smashed against the porcelain, my eyes staring at the drain not two inches beneath, my lashes fluttering against the tippy-top of the piss as I blinked. As tears came, my eyes stinging from the light spray caused by my blinking, I noticed my hair swirling around in the pee over the drain. In an instant my pussy swelled and became twice as sensitive against my clutching fingers. I'd not even thought about it – my lovely gentle blonde curls, my bed-head straggled hair, a whole bunch of it had fallen all around my face and had slid off my back and the back of my neck, and now it was drenched in the pissy tub, too! Sliding easily as my pee-slicked skin pressed against the tub, I rolled over onto my back and blinked back the tears. I reached up and flicked away my hair from my face, excited to feel the droplets of piss it left behind in my cheeks and forehead. I reached all around and made sure that my hair was spread out in the urine about my head. Then I scooched toward the far end of the tub and reached up with my feet to rest them on the narrow ledge. I extended my arms and pushed out along the bottom of the tub against the spigot-end, bracing myself, and I raised my hips in the air, my narrow ass up out of the pool of piss. After a series of grunts and awkward, flopping failures, I finally managed to thrust my feet up off of the ledge and swing my pelvis high and hard over top toward my face. One foot caught against the tile at the side of the stall, while the other leg just sort of hung loose, the knee dangling just above the open edge of the tub, but not quite touching. My free foot dripped piss back down my ankle and calf, and some of it even landed back in the tub close to my ear. I knew this was a good position. With one hand I kept myself braced, and with the other I reached up and spread my pussy. I could just barely see the curve of my pudendum and the swollen lump where the hood was being pushed back by my needy, throbbing clit. Taking a moment to sigh and relax, I let the rest of my pee flow. A hot, strong flow of urine rose out of me like a fountain. It gushed high into the air, almost straight up, before arcing gently forward and raining down all over my chest, neck, and face. I only had a second to enjoy the sight before I had to squeeze my eyes shut tight against the stinging, smelly liquid – but what I saw was so amazing, so beautiful, and so naughty that I couldn't help but gasp! Pee quickly filled my mouth, and at first I spluttered and spit it out, cutting off my flow. But then, after panting and turning my head to catch my breath, I let loose with the rest of my piss and willingly, eagerly left my mouth open. As the urine splattered down onto my desperately extended tongue I began to swallow over and over and over, trying to taste and ingest as much of the strong salty urine as I possibly could. It's heat amazed me! Like I'd steeped my own stinky tea inside my body. Finally the flow was over and the last little spurts had been squeezed out of me by my excited, humming muscles. My face was soaking wet, my eyes shut beneath shallow pools of collected piss, and I could feel the warm liquid in the tub risen all the way up to the middle of my ears. I'd peed so much! Too overcome with sensations to masturbate properly, and already tired and cramping a little from the weird position I'd flung myself into, I slowly lowered my legs and rearranged myself in the tub. Sliding onto my hip, I used one hand to wipe off my eyelids as the other reached around behind me. Feeling for my butthole. Worming the tip of a finger inside. It was time. First, in went one finger. Deep. I didn't even have to lick it, since it was already wet and slippery – and so was my anus. I crooked my finger and wiggled it all around, tugging on my ring, breathing steady and deep, relaxing myself. It felt so good. Tingles shivered up out of my butt as goosebumps quickly rippled across my flesh. Suddenly I was very cold, lying there in the warm pissyness. All of my skin exposed to the air felt so sensitive and almost prickly! Then I sent a second finger inside my ass, pressed hard against the first, and I thrust and bent my wrist in earnest, pushing in as deeply as I could. It was so hot in there! I began to move my hand more and more, fucking myself with my fingers. In the otherwise silent bathroom, the squishy-slappy sounds of my fingers against my wet needy bottom-hole were loud and obvious. I was being a bad, bad, bad girl! But not bad enough. I removed my fingers and struck the straight in my mouth, taking care not to look. I didn't want to look. I didn't want to stop myself from tasting the inside of my delicious, molten, wonderful ass. Again, I found myself thrilled and amazed at how musky and sweet I tasted – at how slippery and sloppy and flavorful my delicious butthole was! Did everybody's butthole taste so good? Did Annabeth's? Did Juliet's? Did my mommy's? Oh God, I really, really, really wanted to know! --- Hope you liked it! Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!): olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com Copyright 2017 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved. Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent. My stories so far on Nifty: lesbian/young-friends/the-nudists lesbian/urination/called-to-the-hall lesbian/urination/alpha-annie transgender/college/geek-girlfriend