Carla - The Wet Angel (2)

Carla – The Wet Angel (2)2: Carla and Margie
That night, as Carla lay next to the sleeping Jenny, she replayed the whole scene in her mind. The point where Margie thrust out her pussy, all bulging and covered in those damn sexy panties she wears, oh it was too much. Jenny was dead to the world, so there was no fun to be had there. She reached down just on the off chance, and stroked the warm silky material between her thighs. Jenny murmured, but stayed asleep. Damn. Horny. Carla slipped out of bed and walked onto the landing. The house was silent. No lights on, and by the half light from the faraway street lights found her way to the bathroom. Closing the door, she thought she heard an odd metallic click. She paused, trying to identify what it was. Frowning, she thought, bugger it and sank down into the little Lloyd loom chair that was deceptively comfortable. Her hand reached up and took the mirror from the windowsill. Holding it at arms length she could see the tight crotch of her little red panties. Funny, it just makes me hornier, looking at myself. Isn’t that strange. And isn’t it funny what turns me on. It really is pissing. No, not just pissing. Desperate panty pissing. Seeing Margie explode into her underwear was just so damn hot. But she had never thought of Margie in any other way than, well, Aunty Margie. But then, what did Aunty Margie do for, erm, fun? She had been married, but Jenny’s dad left years ago, and she never had had any boyfriends to speak of. Maybe… Damn. She was actually fantasising about her now. Well, if she was anything like Jenny, she would be not only hot, but always desperate for some casual girly sex. She ran her fingers over the outside of her panties. Mmm, they do feel nice, and I feel nice in them. She loved making her underwear wet. Whether it was, errm, accidents or whether it was a full on pussy juice damp, made no difference. And Jenny appreciated them too. She studied the crotch of her panties in the mirror, then pulled them to the side and ran her finger along the slit of her vagina. That feels so good. The area around her pussy was soft and fleshy. She put her finger to her lips and let her panties slip back into place. Damn. Then she noticed the clothes hamper. Not that she had never seen it before. Just never really noticed it like now. All of a sudden, the clothes hamper was there and begged for investigation. If only. Perhaps. She put down the mirror and delicately lifted the lid. And there were all the clothes. What else? It’s clothes hamper. Yes, she thought, but I am looking for something rather special. Something in the underwear line. She rummaged around and came out with a pair of Jenny’s grey Jockeys. Ooh baby. Let’s see what my lovely wet Jen has been doing today. This bathroom was getting warm. And it was 3am. All on my own with Jen’s worn panties. She held them up to her face and examined them. By the looks of it, she hadn’t been naughty at all today. Upon getting a little closer, although they had the scent of her, there was nothing really to say that she had worn them. Damn again. Carla went to put them back. It was just not her night. Then she found the other pair. The other other pair. These were them. No mistake. But then, why wouldn’t they be here? This was the dirty laundry hamper after all. Dirty laundry is added to it until it is full. There was no reason why they should not be. That was when Carla had to stop. Okay, so her friend, Jenny and her, errm, helped each other out. They were not and had never been interested in boys, or, as they got older, men. They were into girls. Each other. But this was going too far. Or was it? Margie was a woman. A bit older maybe. So why not? She found her fingers had strayed inside her panties and was absently playing with her clit. It was her other hand that she was concerned about as it had already locked around the pair of panties that Margie had had an accident in earlier. She watched in helpless horror as her hand brought them level with her face. She examined them carefully. No harm in looking. There were the obvious signs of a struggle. The crotch was a bit hard, but that would have been caused by heavy thigh strain on the journey home. Margie had insisted on taking a shower the very moment they got home. They were however, still slightly damp. She fingered the material, imagining what torments they, and indeed Aunty Margie, had suffered that day. It’s strange really that we put ourselves through it, she thought. Really. In the end, we cause ourselves hours of straining and pain, for what? For an item of clothing that gets washed just like any other. To save our underwear, we will undergo all manner of agonies. Or is it deeper? Is it the feeling of helplessness, that we are not in control, that we are so frightened of. Carla was okay. She had made sure of that. She had no problems there. Since being young she had suffered with a weak bladder. This had meant that all her humiliation was drained out of her at an early age. Instead of trying to stop it, she became more addicted to it. She would deliberately drink too much liquid and not allow herself to use toilets. Many was the time, bent double, yet discreetly hidden by a convenient building or tree, she would just give up and just let it all go into her panties. This usually got her so hot that just a squeeze of her wet sopping thighs and the gorgeous squelchy feeling that this sent through her would cause her to come on the spot. And this in turn caused even more piss to be sprayed onto her panties. Then there was the other thing. Most people hated public toilets, but Carla had a peculiar taste for bizarre vandalism. If it should coincide that her desperation reached a peak just as she was passing some grotty bogs, she would go in and stand in the filthy area where the broken washbasin was, pull the hot wet crotch of her panties to one side and spray piss all over the floor. She was merely adding to the efforts of others before her, it seemed, but this also was a strange turn on. Sometimes she would not bother to move her panties, and just force her piss into them, soaking them first before splattering to the concrete. You had to get the leg positioning just right for that though, otherwise you got filth all over you. Horrible. Carla realised that the panties were just a couple of inches away from her. She could smell them. There was no escaping it. She held them over her face and breathed in deep, which caused a huge rush of giddiness which started in the pit of her stomach and spread to her vagina, which burned and itched terribly all of a sudden. She had to rub her pussy, it ached. Just to stop the aching. Carla could just tell, you see, that Margie had been seriously horny after her accident. During the journey home she MUST have been secretly massaging her thighs, or rubbing her lips together and the wetness must have felt so good as we bumped along the track home. And she hadn’t actually finished her piss, so she would have still felt full. Oh she must have been desperate to play with her pussy. Carla wished she could have done it for her as she drove. Carla could have slid her hand up Margie’s leg, slowly. As she reached her thighs, Margie would have opened her legs slightly, just to get a bit more comfortable. Carla could run her fingers over the wet material of her soaked panties, feel the heat from her pussy and the little bump of her clit. She would rub against it through the material, and then, as Margie opens her legs a bit more, slip her hand under the elastic and into her trimmed pubic hair. Moving down, she would find her clit and frig her until she screamed. And now I really am fantasising about her, thought Carla, breathlessly, and I don’t care. Then she whispered to herself “I’m going to rub my pussy till I come in my panties. I’m going” breath, breath “to sniff her panties. The one’s she pissed in.” She grabbed the mirror and sank to the floor. Arranging the mirror for a better view of herself, she began to get serious. Her fingers danced over the material of her panties and dragged them up, splitting her lips and making sure that there was no going back now. The lovely soft satin was roughly pulled over her clitoris, which provoked a nice gush of moisture from deep within her sopping vagina. This was transferred to her crotch, soaking her and making her thighs feel slippery. She moaned softly and very delicately touched the held panty crotch with her wet tongue. By now Carla was lost in it, beyond the point of no return. Whatever happens now is the heat of the moment. All is forgiven. And she couldn’t stand it any longer. She slipped the whole abused area of Margie’s sexy panties into her mouth and sucked and sucked. This tipped her over the edge. Her hand became tense and the movements rapid as she manipulated herself towards a back breaking orgasm. Faster and faster she rubbed at her clit, then at the moment she came, she slid two fingers deep inside her pussy. The sudden attention that her G spot received caused her vaginal muscles to go into spasm and then Carla lost all control. Her abdominal muscles relaxed and by a result, so did her urethra. Piss seeped out into her panties as she fought to keep quiet. The waves began to recede and her involuntary piss stopped as soon as it had started. She sat back against the bath, catching a glance of her sopping genitals in the mirror. They looked gorgeous; wet and warm. What she could do with now is either Jenny waking up and licking her pussy clean or at the very least Jenny’s hand between her thighs all night to keep her warm. She was surprised by a very gentle rattle of the door. Whoever was out there was obviously trying to convey urgency but in a quiet way. Carla froze. Not only were the very dangerous exhibits that had played a major part in one of the biggest orgasms of Carla’s life still strewn around carelessly, but she had a big wet patch on her panties which she had no hope of hiding. She prayed Jenny was on the other side of the door and swallowed hard. “Hello?” said the soft non–Jenny voice. Oh shit. Carla silently slipped the panties into the hamper whilst replacing the mirror on the windowsill. The smell of her pussy hung heavy in the bathroom, and she briefly considered spraying deodorant around. No time. The rattle came again. Hope for the best. “Aunty Margie? Is that you?” Stupid question, she thought. “Carla? Will you be long?” “No. Just be a minute.” There was a pause on the other side of the door. “Only, I know it seems just stupid after this evening, but I’m dying for a wee. You see, I was having one of those dreams, you know the ones?” Oh Carla knew the ones. Her pussy reminded her it was there. Oh no. “Yeah. Like I say after this evening, you know. But, I was having this dream, ooh, I don’t know if I should tell you. It’s a bit rude really.” Ohh noo. On the other side of the door, there was another pause. “Well, anyway, I dreamed I was in this toilet and I was desperate and for some reason I couldn’t do it, then I went to another one, and I still couldn’t. Then, well, I almost managed it, then I woke up. But, I almost” she dropped her voice more “did what I did this afternoon. In my sleep.” Carla felt dizzy. Did she have any idea what she was doing to her? “And did you, you know, have an accident?” asked Carla hoarsely. “No. Well, not really. Well, a bit. Are you finished now?” Yes, thought Carla, and I am going to the bedroom to frig myself into oblivion. She walked unsteadily to the bathroom door and turned the handle. It remained shut. She bent down and examined the lock. It didn’t appear to be locked. She jiggled the lock bolt about, but the door remained closed. The door handle rattled, it seemed Margie wanted in. “What’s wrong?” she asked from the other side. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be locked, yet it is,” mused Carla. “I hate to say this but I really do need to go to the bathroom,” said Margie. “Do you think we could force it? You pull and I push?” “We could try.” They tried. No joy. Margie groaned. “Oh this is bloody mad. In the old days, people had guzundas and this sort of thing wouldn’t be a problem.” “Do you have one?” asked Carla. “I do somewhere, but it’s got a plant in it. And I don’t think I can move from here now. Try the lock again Carla, please. I’m crossing my legs out here.” And Carla could well imagine it. Then the thought drifted into Carla’s mind. Don’t bother trying to let her in. Make her stand outside. Even if you can fix the lock, don’t. Let’s try to get rid of some of her embarrassment and the only way to do that is… “I’m sorry Aunty Margie. I think you’re stuck. Is there no way you could get downstairs to get a bowl or something?” Margie appeared to think about this. “No. I don’t – although, I could sit for a bit then try in a little while. Maybe it’ll ease if I relax, then I can go to the kitchen to find a bowl. This is daft.” Carla settled down on the floor, with her head pressed against the door. Reaching in the pocket of her dressing gown, she lit a cigarette. Thank god she had them, for she was a prisoner in the bathroom now. Maybe. If Margie was really desperate, it wouldn’t do to ask her about it. Maybe try to take her mind off it. “So are you at bursting point yet Aunty Margie?” Carla grinned. “Ooh not until you mentioned it. That’s funny, it’s never so bad until you think about it is it? But yes, I am bursting. You know, it’s a good thing you’re in there and you can’t see what I’m having to do. Oh I do find it humiliating. Do you think you could have a look around the bathroom and find something to slide into the doorframe to push the lock open? Maybe there’s a knife or something.” Carla made the noises of someone looking for something like a knife. “Sorry, there’s nothing in here that would work. Do you think you can hang on much longer? Maybe you could wake Jenny up and see if she could help?” There was a pause. “Better not. She was tired out, she needs her sleep. No. I think I’ll just try to stagger downstairs. But god, I don’t think I can move without – oops” another pause. Carla felt a shock wave go through her. “Are you alright Aunty Margie?” she asked. “Oh. I nearly lost it then. I only tried to turn round. You know I don’t think I can move without, without having an accident. Not again. Not twice in one day. I must be going senile.” She sounded distressed and bothered, and Carla felt guilty. Try another approach. “Well, did you do some?” “Ooh. Yes, a little bit. I lost control when I turned round. I can’t see very well, but I think I felt it.” “Don’t you think it’s, well, nice?” Carla thought she may have gone too far too soon. “I mean,” she added quickly, “that when you are really bursting, like this evening, that it’s much better to let some out and only have wet panties than to keep straining and do yourself an injury.” The logic of this was absorbed. “You mean,” said Margie, slowly, “that you should just let it go, rather than hold on?” “Why not? Who are you suffering for? After all, they get washed,” (eventually she thought). “Why don’t you let a little bit out now, just a tiny bit, and that will make you feel less full.” This seemed logical. Margie considered this. “So I could just wee a bit in my panties, just enough to help me hang on? Then I can go properly when I feel better? That sounds right. I just don’t know, and this is daft, whether I can go. Now.” This was Carla’s territory. Make way for the queen of relaxed bladders. She began. “Remember like this evening? You’re sitting down right, so lie back slightly and lean against the door. Then guide your senses to below your bladder, and relax your pelvic floor muscles. The trick is to forget you are wearing any panties at all.” There was a dull thud as Margie leaned her weight against the door. “Just think of being sat on the toilet, with no panties on.” Oh this is too much, thought Carla, I just can’t stand it. She was very wet and her pussy was throbbing. She must help Margie, not enjoy herself. Well, not too much anyway. “You’re standing over the toilet and there is nothing to stop you just letting it go. Relax and let it come out.” On the other side of the door, Margie was leaning back against the bathroom door, trying to tense her back to relax her abdomen. Suddenly, she felt a movement, and a little spurt squirted into her panties. It stopped immediately. “Oh. I did some Carla, I think I’ve wet my panties a bit.” Oh desire. “Did you do much?” “No, it was only a little spurt. It’s not done much for me, though. Try the door again Carla. Please.” Carla poked the lock again and the bolt snapped out. She opened the door. Margie was still sitting on the floor in the semi–darkness, both hands between her thighs. She looked up sadly. “I can’t get up. I want to explode.” Carla felt very guilty. “I’ll help you up. I’ll look after you. Just do what I tell you and don’t worry about anything.” Margie nodded blankly. “Right, on three, we’re going to stand up. If this causes more leaks, let it happen. One two – three!” Carla dragged Margie to a standing crouch whereupon she started shivering. “Ooh help… too full… ooh I’m wet…” Carla manhandled her into the shower stall, where Margie managed to stand up straight. “Open you legs wider Margie. This will help your muscles relax,” she said, sitting down. Margie was almost crying. “I can’t go. I can’t go. I’m going to burst. Should I go to the hospital?” Carla surveyed the scene. A beautiful woman was standing in front of her in her sexy underwear which was decorated with a nice damp patch. Margie’s swollen abdomen was level with her face and she could smell her. A heady intoxicating muskiness that was just begging to be tasted. Oh god she was gorgeous. Carla suddenly knew what she had to do. As Margie stood helpless, Carla slid her slim cool hands up the inside of Margie’s legs up to her inner thighs. Too weak to protest, the agony seemed to drain away from her face. Carla’s hands continued slowly up to the edge of her panties, then slid over them to her swollen belly. Here she pushed ever so gently which caused Margie to relax further. Then back down, and her little fingers slid inside the silky material of Margie’s panties, lightly brushing her damp pubic hair. This was the fantasy. Or was this the reality? Margie moaned as Carla’s probing fingers brushed against her swollen clitoris. As she traced a line along the inside of her labia, Carla felt a renewed wetness, but thick and sticky. Margie was obviously enjoying herself. “Oh yes… Carla. Oh god yes. Carla, lick me. Lick my pussy. Make me come and I think I’ll be… able to… oh lick me baby…” Eagerly, Carla pulled the panty crotch to one side and drew close to her best friend’s mother’s pussy. Margie’s hands had dropped to her thighs and she held herself open to make things easier for Carla, who got straight to work. Just as she’d imagined, Margie tasted so sweet. All too soon, Margie began to tremble and shake. Carla gripped her thighs tighter. “Mmm Carla baby you’re… uh… oh fucking me with your tongue… I’m going to come soon… oh it’s been so long I… oh fuck… me Carla… oh sweet baby… I feel soo… oh god you are… sooo… good I oh Carla I’m going to come and piss myself at… the… same… oh oh oh… itscomingitscoming oh yes oh here it comes!!!!! Carla bite gently on Margie’s clit which sent her off into orbit. Margie snatched the panties back, gripped her thighs and pushed down just as the spasms hit her. The one met the other and a ferocious jet of piss bore into her panties as she bucked and writhed. The strength was such that they ballooned out a way, before the jet itself spurted out from the front and splattered against the shower wall. She continued to buck and shake for almost a minute before collapsing in a soggy, knackered, but contented heap on the plastic floor. When her breathing returned to nearer normal, she said: “Carla, my pussy’s throbbing. It’s all tingly and throbbing. I have never, ever, in my life come like that.” Shocks were still running through her. A look of pain crossed her face. “Carla, you realise what we just did?” Margie looked worried. “Relax,” replied Carla, stroking Margie’s creamy skin, “we both enjoyed it. Anyway, it was medicinal.” They both giggled, then Carla said: “Is this a one off? Or will you need help again, do you think?” Margie thought for a minute. “Let’s play it by ear.” Then: “Carla?” “Mmm?” she murmured, not looking up. “I think I’ve wet myself.” And they both giggled again.
More later…
Cresta, September 2000
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