A Perfect Storm

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Deliberate & Accidental Wetting, and Foreplay.
He watches her openly, appreciatively, from across the park. She is awkward, appearing unfamiliar with her body. Even so, he likes the way she moves. There is something there. She is no teenager with a perfect body, but he knows she could and has looked much better. He senses her weight is a recent development. John Alden knows things about women. She sees him looking her way but cannot even muster the thought that he is looking at her or finds her in any way attractive. She assumes he is watching RudeDog’s antics. He thinks she is probably in her mid thirties and he is correct. Jenny Donner is 37. He thinks she is probably using the energetic little terrier leading her around as her ticket to get away from an ignoring insensitive husband and unappreciative kids. He is wrong. No longer even In search of who she is, or used to be, Jenny’s descent into apathy is nearly complete. She simply no longer cares. Her not quite short curly dark red hair, luxurious in color, lies in dishevelled array in the still shroud of humid summer air.
Her jean shorts are tight, too tight, a size or three too small. Her still shapely but chubby rear overflows them. Her tee shirt provides an unattractive match, helped by two large breasts in a too–tight worn–out bra, which destroys the shrunken shirt’s intended shape as surely as it destroys her own. He tries to see the shirt’s faded words but they are too distorted to read. She is, by appearance, a neglected mess, this but a symptom of her state of mind. She realizes the physical manifestation of her mental neglect has produced but accepts wrongly that she alone is responsible for it. After all, her hopes and dreams seemed to mean little to Richard, her ex–husband, so they must have been trivial. Why waste the effort to look nice? Who would notice? Who would care? Richard had made that very clear. John thinks her neglect began with a husband paying no attention to her; it seems to be a common theme among women like her. You know the kind. Victims. 30 pounds overweight because their husbands never notice anyway and since they don’t care why bother to get dressed up or even buy new clothes that fit well.
Besides, they know another 10 pounds is waiting in their freezers to comfort them in their lonely passionless lives. Chocolate ripple or Rocky Road are popular. Even as she is now, though, he senses it… something is special about Jenny. He tries to discern a beautiful sensuous woman trapped in that inflated body. As her dog amuses her, the miracle appears that is her. She smiles and the universe smiles with her. Her smile is, has, a brilliance that is beauty itself, flashing on for an instant then fading like a shooting star. His heart aches with the warmth and beauty he has found. He is smitten, knowing he could, would, spend a lifetime inspired by, and inspiring her smile. How could any man have been so inattentive as to lose such a treasure? He has always loved voluptuous women in flowing low–cut gowns; he decides she would look magnificent in one. As she had settled into middle–aged oblivion had she forgotten her most valuable asset, her most treasured gift? Many did, he had found. Most all do at times, but the smart ones recover it, the joy, the awe–inspiring beauty, and the sheer sexual power of being a woman. They nurse it back to health. They know that is where true passion lives. So does he. He is, at 55, a little older and wiser, but he is also a lover of women, able to see and bring out the passion, the beauty all women possess. He is not rich, powerful or handsome, though, and in spite of his talent for bringing out a woman’s beauty has still found himself alone, and lonely. It is a double–edged sword, a cursed blessing so to speak. He is attracted to the women who need him. When his attentions wake up the real woman she blossoms, beautiful and desirable because she chooses to be, putting her hopes, her soul into view. This tends to bring out negligent lovers and estranged husbands, again attracted by the beauty their indifference had unknowingly killed.
His bladder spasms hard; he nearly pisses himself before regaining control.
Yes, then, there is that little matter. Not many have fared well with his fetish, other than Mary. She had liked nothing better than surprising him by pissing herself, and often him, without warning. He missed her still, daily.
In the time since her passing, his fetish had been the grim reaper for those relationships surviving old lover’s rekindled interest. A sudden jarring blast of sound and light rips him out of his musings as thick warm blobs of warm summer rain come crashing out of a black sky. He glances around, surprised.
Dark foreboding sky, brilliant flashes of lightning, and rain fill his vision. He has completely missed the summer storm’s mute approach. A sheltered park bench lays a few yards away. He notes the park is nearly empty now, those paying attention having heeded nature’s visual warnings and left. He starts to run for the shelter but slows, there is no rush; he already is wet. His little dog Sussy, a mutt of undetermined ancestry and numbingly miniscule mind, stares at him, oblivious to the rain, and most everything else. Sussy is also a victim of life’s casual cruelty. He had found her, brain damaged and left for dead, on the side of the road the week after Mary’s funeral. He discovered a soul–healing love in those dark brown eyes and Sussy had never left his side from that moment 7 years ago. Would but a woman give so freely of her love, he thinks, his heart swelling to contain her unconcealed adoration. He approaches the shelter, head down against the rain, looking up as he spots two dirty wet white tennis shoes in front of the bench. They are attached to a body apparently, he realizes as they shuffle momentarily and come to rest, crossed at the ankles. He looks up, and into the most sorrowful lonely eyes he has seen since…a mental self–image appears which he quickly dismisses. No need to go there now, he thinks. It is the woman he has been watching. He manages a smile as she speaks first. “My, but you are soaked” she observes, eager to converse with a human male. His smile is warm; she feels he too is eager for human contact. He looks to be late forties–early fifties, in fair shape, a bit of belly her mind calls cute, but his eyes speak loudly of sadness, loneliness. She, too, knows the look well. They talk dogs first, as all pet owners do, and then of the summer storm which has brought them together. As they speak, they become friends of the heart, the kind you feel as if you have known forever. Jenny and John speak quickly, intimately, neither willing to let the moment end. Moment? Two hours into the conversation Jenny realizes John must be noticing her constant fidgeting now, God how she has to pee! She doesn’t want the meeting to end and won’t risk leaving to pee for fear he might need to leave too. It is at this moment she realizes he isn’t exactly sitting still either. She has no idea he has already peed his rain–soaked clothes and is getting desperate for the second time since they met. She is quite damp also, but not enough to hide the bladder full of hot girl piss pushing against her tight shorts and too–small cotton panties. The pee and his attention work their magic; waking a passion in her she has not felt in many months. Her gestures become more animated, that wonderful smile appearing often, engaging and electric. Her pupils widen as her lids lower a minute degree. She begins to wonder which will consume her first, the liquid fire slowly seeping into her panties or the impending warm flood fanning her desire. The decision is no longer hers. Jenny clamps her muscles down hard, her body stiffening in the effort. It is useless and she feels her aching heated crotch slowly release a tiny dribble of hot girl piss into her panties. She cannot stop it and feels her piss respond to the weakness, the pressure increasing as her flow begins to grow. Jenny is wetting herself and knows John will see her piss her panties in a matter of seconds. She wonders if she is really as close to cumming as she feels.
It takes every ounce of self–control she possesses to keep from touching her swollen hot mound. Her nipples betray her as well, red turgid points of raw nerves rising against the tightness of her threadbare restricting bra in their aching need. Each minute movement she makes, her heavy beasts sway, slightly rubbing her nipples roughly against the stiff fabric. Each touch transmits an electric jolt straight to her wet burning sex. John sees her sudden sucking in of breath as she starts to panic. He wonders what she is afraid of, but it doesn’t fit. Her eyes smoulder; heavy–lidded and sultry, indicating there is more. Jenny isn’t really in true fear, but what has widened her smoky green eyes so suddenly? She looks positively electrified but makes no move. Then, he recognizes it. It had thrown him at first– that look– it is a familiar look on an unfamiliar face. It is a look he has seen many times before, on Mary’s face. It is the look she had when she had miscalculated her ability to hold it, just before she lost control. He already knows Jenny is quite aroused and now she appears to be about to burst! His dick twitches in anticipation. At that instant the storm, that perfect storm, intervenes. An ear–splitting crack issues from the heavens sending them both to their feet. A second later another lightning bolt explodes overhead, so close the thunder comes instantly, the very earth shaking with it’s fury. Jenny jumps into his arms and he holds her, close, his eyes closed, drinking in the sweet clean scent of her hair. Her tired muscles, startled, limp in their exhaustion, fail completely. A flash flood of hot hissing girl piss streams into her pre–moistened panties. Her mouth opens wordlessly as she looks up at John. She is soaking them both with her warm piss, too shocked to react, too much in need to try. He looks into her eyes, smiles and pulls her closer, close enough for her to feel his hardness and his own warm river. It is the touch she craves and she quietly surrenders to her passion, shuddering in orgasm in his arms, her cunt quivering, pushing unashamedly into his own spewing jerking hardness.
Seconds later, no words suitable, they simply look into each other’s eyes and laugh– hearty, healthy belly laughs, without fear, without embarrassment. It is the bonding moment for them, after this their hearts are merged.
Jenny, tired of a lifetime of suppressing her wet desires, even from herself, openly admits her pee play arousal as they began speaking freely, honestly of what has occurred. John’s hard dick distends his pants again; clearly spelling out his approval without need for words as his hands caress her wet warm butt. By now each one’s sadness and loneliness is already fading, but a memory in the eternal hope of love and acceptance so persistent in the human race. They look down at their respective pets.
Butt–sniffing has apparently gone satisfactorily and the two dogs lay contentedly side by side, waiting for their masters’ move. The rain storm has long ended but even the two dogs know, it is going to get a lot wetter because of this storm, this perfect storm.
Hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them!
By: King Neptune