Elizabeth Jones

Elizabeth Jones closed the door behind her and put the briefcase on the desk. Interesting stuff, this seminar, but enough was enough. Time to get out of business clothes and ponder the possibilities. She removed her dark blue jacket and skirt, unbuttoned her blouse, and enjoyed moving about wearing tights, panties and bra. For some reason hotel rooms made her feel erotic. Could be the undressing in strange quarters, knowing there were people behind the walls; maybe the dominating, inviting double bed; maybe the chance to meet someone in the bar or restaurant. She touched the nylon roundness of her belly, conscious of a need to relieve herself. She smiled, recalling stories of peeing in hotel beds. She had done that once, only once, in a dirty Italian hotel, after tiring of the maids looking through her things and using her perfume. The last morning she had slipped a hand down her panties and fingered herself; relaxing all muscles she had felt her bladder empty itself as orgasm shuddered through her body. Oh well, she could pee in the shower. She undressed, looking at herself in the mirror. A fit, divorced forty–five years old, with the expected softness of hips, belly and breasts making her feel even more feminine. Her reddish shoulder–length hair owed something to chemicals, but her breasts were her own. She could hold a pencil, all right, but she was no longer eighteen. She was no longer thirty, for that matter. She liked her body. Elizabeth turned on the taps. Before stepping in she released her pee, feeling the warm liquid run down her legs. After soaping and rinsing she reached for her razor, intending to trim her bikini line as she had noticed a sign advertising a swimming pool in the basement. A sudden impulse had made her shave her lips, leaving only a small triangle pointing to her slit. She dried herself and opened a bottle of body lotion. The nakedness between her legs really added to her erotic state of mind. She decided to go for a swim before eating. For convenience she put on her black swimsuit while still in her room, before slipping into jeans and a sweater. She fetched a towel and rode the elevator to the basement. After swimming for thirty minutes along with a couple of other women she returned to the dressing room. Swimming always made her want to pee, so she entered the toilet. With a smile she sat on the bowl without removing her swimsuit, enjoying the warm wetness spreading in her crotch. She showered and toweled herself, wrung out her swimsuit and dressed. She shuddered with pleasure as she pulled her tight jeans up over her naked bottom and zipped up carefully to avoid entangling her curls. Why not go for a beer before dressing for dinner? She sat on a bar stool, feeling the touch of the rather coarse fabric against her shaved lips, scanning the area. Any interesting people around? She was not averse to inviting a man to her room if it felt right. A couple of guys from the seminar seemed nice, so things could well happen. But the bar was quiet, only seven or eight people present. One of the women from the pool nodded at her. Anyway, sitting by herself felt OK after a strenuous day. Downing the second beer she rose to leave, feeling quite a pressure in her bladder. She smiled at a dark, handsome man at a table, and nodded to the dark woman from the pool. Back in her room she made for the toilet, but halted. She loved the feeling of a full bladder and the expectancy of relief. She wanted to prolong the moment. She opened a bottle of mineral water, fetched a magazine from her suitcase and lay down on the bed. It did not take long before she was unable to concentrate on her reading. She lay cross–legged, one hand on her belly, straining. She imagined a sexy guy beside her, touching her, kissing her nipples, and feeling her bursting bladder. Christ, she was nearly wetting herself. Elizabeth rose carefully, pressing her knees together, holding herself the few steps to the bathroom. Inside she looked at the woman in the mirror. –I’m almost peeing my jeans, she said. –I’m so hot I’m peeing my jeans. She felt an incredible urge to just let go right there; just give in and watch her jeans get soaked. She stepped gingerly towards the toilet, almost unable to hold it. She recalled the feeling of her warm urine in her swimsuit. Slowly she lowered her bottom to the bowl and sat down, looking at the blue denim stretching tight over her thighs and belly, feeling her lips parting as the stream burst from her, feeling the pleasure of warm pee spreading around her buttocks. Elizabeth showered for the third time before preparing herself for dinner. She had brought a rather tight black dress that really accentuated her shapes – the full breasts, the rounded hips, and the curved belly. The thin straps did not hide the red silk of her bra. Her panties were the same color. Her tights were almost invisible. Maybe a cute guy would get to see them later on. She slipped a short jacket over her bare shoulders and rode the elevator down. The restaurant was quite full, but there was a small, unoccupied table at the back. She ordered a drink and looked at the menu. When the waiter returned he asked if she would mind sharing the table with another single customer. Elizabeth had no objections. Who knows, it might be him. It was a woman. The black–haired, olive–skinned woman from the pool sat down opposite her with a friendly smile and twinkling eyes. –I am Ayshe, she said, stretching out her hand, –from Bodrum. Turkey. –Elizabeth. You’re not with the Johnson crowd? –Travel agency. Hotel marketing. The waiter approached, and they ordered. They talked through dinner, exchanging traveling experiences. Elizabeth found herself liking this outspoken woman. She was forty and single, dressed in a flowing pantsuit with a long jacket. The fabric seemed incredibly light, almost see–through when the light shone from behind. Her breasts seemed small, but there were curves under the black folds. Elizabeth didn’t know what happened. Suddenly she was locking into Ayshe’s glance, realizing she was mirroring the desire she saw in the almost black eyes across the table. This was a totally unexpected experience, as she had never considered having sex with a woman. But the throbbing in her sex told her something new had entered her life. She felt as if she was on the verge of wetting herself. –Excuse me, she said. –I need the ladies’ – –Please, Ayshe interrupted, putting her hand on Elizabeth’s. –Let us pay and then go. Elizabeth nodded, discreetly pressing her knees together, and signaled a waiter. On unsteady legs she followed Ayshe through the restaurant, her eyes fixed on the almost invisible black hot pants under the soft viscose in front of her. Ayshe moved gracefully, rolling her hips with each step. They entered the restroom. Although her need was strong, Elizabeth first went to the mirror to look at herself. Ayshe stood behind her, watching, then unexpectedly put her hands on Elizabeth’s hips. She let them glide down to the hem of the skirt, and then she slowly slid the skirt up to reveal the red panties under the tan tights. Elizabeth felt a small trickle of pee escape her. She didn’t care. She just turned, slowly, and made for a cubicle. Without shutting the door she pulled tights and panties down and peed as Ayshe watched. She didn’t wipe, knowing her panties were already moist. They kissed in the elevator. Long, soft kisses, Elizabeth holding Ayshe’s bottom, pressing close; the scent, the breasts against her own, the touch of Ayshe’s sex against her thigh – Elizabeth felt faint with desire and expectation. Ayshe cast a glance at the wet jeans on Elizabeth’s bathroom floor and smiled. She pulled towels from the rack and stepped up to the bed. Carefully she removed Elizabeth’s dress before slipping out of her long jacket. Her underwear was now quite visible – simple but expensive bra and hot pants. She pulled her top over her head and let her pants fall to the floor before lying down on the towels, beckoning to Elizabeth. She knelt between the Turkish woman’s legs, staring at the curves of her crotch. There could not possibly be a single strand of hair underneath the tight black nylon; her lips were perfectly outlined. Trembling she reached out and touched her belly. Ayshe shuddered and made a squirming motion, as if needing to pee. Elizabeth laid her palm on her sex, feeling her push back. The darkish smell from her hit Elizabeth’s nostrils. She stroked Ayshe’s crotch, imagining a dark spot growing… Ayshe gripped her head, pulling her down until her lips touched the black nylon. Elizabeth lay with her face pressed to another woman’s sex, rubbing her mouth against the hidden openings. Suddenly she felt a trickle penetrating through the nylon. Astonished she realized Ayshe was beginning to wet herself. Even more astonishing was the wonderful taste of her pee. Elizabeth sucked on the fabric, hoping for more. Her hand made its way to Ayshe’s belly, pressing gently on her bladder. Ayshe responded by releasing another spurt. Elizabeth lifted her head and looked at the wet circle, touched it just as the flow started again. She bent down and drank. She pressed her thumb between Ayshe’s butt cheeks, getting a moan in response. She lifted her head again, looking at the beautiful woman wetting her panties on her bed. Carefully she straddled her, letting out small trickles of pee through her clothes, dripping on Ayshe’s belly. Ayshe touched her wet crotch, prompting a large spurt. –Do it, she said. –Just do it. Elizabeth let it flow. Still dripping she lay down, slipping a hand into Ayshe’s panties. She was completely hairless and smooth, and Elizabeth’s finger slipped easily into her opening. –Pee on my hand, she whispered. Ayshe let go, pressing against Elizabeth’s palm, shuddering in orgasm. –I want you naked, she said, after regaining her breath. Elizabeth undid her bra strap and pulled off her wet tights and panties. Pulling her legs up she offered herself to Ayshe. At the first touch of Ayshe’s tongue she realized her bladder was not completely empty. At the last touch it was.
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