Water Under the Bridge

This one is from the inimitable Isabel Kerr, who knows her way around 300 words like nobody's business! (Or 296 to be exact.)

Water Under the Bridge
By Isabel Kerr

THEY RAN quietly in the dark through the narrow stonewall alleys of the old town. They entered the wooded area carefully in the moonlight. Picking up urgency, she pulled him ahead under an arched bridge.

They leaned side-by-side catching their breath. The stone was cool and damp against her back. The grass wet. She smelled the warm, moist earth. She pulled him to her.

“Wait. I have to piss,” he said.

“No,” she said pulling him against her.

She held the back of his neck and kissed him. She reached between his legs and rubbed. His dick grew thick. She slipped her hand into his jeans and caressed his balls and slid her warm palm up the length of his full, hard penis.

“Wait!” he said.

She held his mouth to hers. “No!” She undid his jeans and pushed them down. “Step out of them,” she said.

“Why? No, wait, let me piss,” he demanded.

She held him firmly.

“Arrrgh,” he said as he stepped out of his pants, and she kicked them aside.

She lifted her skirt above her waist and spread her legs wide and slid her back down the wall.

“Aaai,” he moaned as she held his hard penis to her wet center and slipped him back and forth between her swollen lips.

“Now,” she moaned as she released her stream on his throbbing head.

She felt the exquisite sensation of his and her streams of hot piss—the pressure, the heat, the relief. She aimed his stream just enough to bring her to the verge.

Hearts pounding, he relaxed against her. He pivoted, leaned back against the wall and pulled her to him. She spread her legs over him and he slid his head along her hot center, kissed her and thrust.

*****

Sometimes there's just nothing like the word piss. Do you know what I mean?

XXX,
Alison