We were in bed, this time in my room, reading, one early Thursday morning, having just had sex and not yet feeling the need for breakfast. With the covers pulled up around our naked, tangent bodies, life was snug and warm, but I ran out of story before long and went to the bookcase to pick out something else. As I emerged from the covers, the cold air hit me and I put on the white pinafore nightgown that lay at the foot of the nightstand. I then walked to the left end of the bookcases that lined one wall of my room.

So many books! But then, we both loved them, so it was no surprise that we had many, many of them. I padded over to science fiction and eyed the Piers Anthony shelves critically. They were so disordered that even though they were mostly up over my head, I resolved to straighten a few of them. Xanth’s “A Spell for Chameleon” was replaced at the left of the Xanth series. I reached over my head, up on my toes, to place a few hardcover Xanth books in their proper positions, ignoring a warning sensation of increasing discomfort and fullness in my lower abdomen. I wanted to get this done, at least a bit more, and I didn’t want to interrupt it to walk to the bathroom.

I progressed to middle Xanth, “Question Quest” and “The Color of Her Panties”, and I continued to ignore the messages my bladder was sending, even though they grew stronger. I paid no heed until after you got out of bed and sneaked up on me to hug me from behind. I think what happened was that the shock of your touch startled certain muscles of mine into relaxing. You told me the end result was pleasantly warm liquid drops hitting your foot in a quick staccato. I could feel you doing something involving my nightgown between my legs, but I just smiled and let you, politely spreading my feet for you.

I felt you turn me to face you. You were at my waist level, and holding some part of my dress behind my back. Finish up, you invited me, and followed my glance at the virgin carpeting beneath my feet. Fluidly, the decision to surprise you, and me, by accepting your invite, left my brain and ran down into the muscles that usually keep me from wetting, whispering a message to them to relax, to let go. As badly as I needed to, that was all it took. Urine flowed down into the fabric pressing against my pussy, where you were holding it fed through my legs and held behind me. I felt it spread through the fabric a little bit, pooling around my lips and thoroughly soaking the thin, white cotton before it penetrated and streamed into the carpeting.

As I continued to relax into the euphoria of a desperately needed release, I felt the warmth travel down one leg, the widening trail of wetness. The carpet underfoot was feeling damp. I was almost finished and feeling so good. I looked down at your eyes, which were glued to my crotch. It occurred to me that the fabric there must be transparent from being soaked. You caressed me with one hand and with the other released my gown, sending wetness down my other leg and into the carpet. For several moments, you continued to stroke the sodden gown onto my equally sodden pussy. I squirmed under your touch.

You were still touching me, but I helped you to your feet. Your hand felt good, but I knew lying against you, arms and legs wrapped around you, you in me, would feel better. We got back into bed and you lay on me. I hugged you with my legs so that you could feel that they were still wet to the knees. My arms went around your shoulders, squeezing tightly so that you’d know I loved you. And our hips moved, letting you slide slickly past me, I was still wet there too, a few times before you went in a bit.

You let me move my hands to your hips so that I could control your entry into me, so that it wouldn’t hurt. I lifted my legs so that my knees were by my nipples. With each motion of yours, we put you deeper into me, until you were flat against me. And at some point you had just the right angle, or I had just the right realization of how close we were, because I got very slippery indeed, inside. You noticed, and kissed me, and told me how sexy you thought I was.

We moved against each other, and I was pretty far gone in loving you and what I was doing with you, so I only have snapshots of it in my brain: your penis, rigid, sliding almost all the way out of me and then smoothly back in again; my awareness of what each motion might feel like to you, aided by the look on your face, the way the rest of you was moving; your breathing quickening and the little sounds you made just before you came; the way you froze and then shuddered and the pulsing within me just after you told me, I m going to come inside you, my lover.

I always love the way your body spasms just after, or is it part of, your orgasm. I love your face. I love you, sweetheart. You slipped out of me, you kissed me, and you turned away from me. I pressed my front against your back and held you. I thought of you sleeping in my arms on a certain bus trip, cried a little without knowing why, and fell into sleep with you.

– The End –