Tea in Bed

As an attempt to thank you for all the stories I’ve enjoyed at your site – here is an offering. It’s not all true. There are in total 19 episodes and some are written by me (Robert), some by me and May, and some only by May. Here’s episode 1:
While cruising around the canals of England I stopped for the night in rural Warwickshire and wandered back along the towpath for a mile or so to an eighteenth century pub for a pint or two. On the way back the urge to pee arrived which is never a problem either in the country or on a boat, there’s hardly ever anyone around. Being a half decent sort of chap I hopped over a gate into a field of sheep and had just opened up when a voice shouted, “There he is.” I closed down, zipped up and saw two strapping girls coming through the hedge to my left, which separated the sheep from the next field.
The girls were angry but as I had no reason to be worried I waited while they jogged up to me. “We know what you’re doing,” said the shorter of them (sharp face, yellow sleeveless vest, businesslike blue jeans, and about my height). Her associate was bigger than me, blindingly beautiful with the most gloriously shining head of deep copper colored hair, she wore a checkered shirt, very brief hiking shorts, and woolly socks with hiking boots. She grabbed my wrist and said to her friend “Get his other arm.”
I said mildly: “What’s the problem?” After all when does a middle–aged bachelor have any dealings with lovely young women in the middle of nowhere?
They refused to reply but dragged me back through the stile in the hedge they had just burst out of. In this neighboring field was a cluster of tents to which I was led. “We’ve got him,” shouted the “arresting officer” as I shall call the copper haired beauty. Her sharp friend said to three more girls who came out of the nearer tent. “We caught him with his thing out looking through the hedge near where you saw him earlier.”
This was beginning to be serious. It’s amazing how people look less attractive when they dislike you. On a more auspicious occasion I’d have seen these as pretty girls but the suspicious glares and, from one in a short loose skirt, definite fear, made them seem hard on the eye.
Of the other two, one was chubby and stood back. The third was small and seemed younger but she, slight and pale, came right up to me while I was still held and looked closely. The group appeared to be between 16 and 20 so I could theoretically have been father to them. In my mind’s eye was a newspaper headline ‘Pervert caught.’
The “arresting officer” said to the frightened one in a loose skirt: “Is this the one you saw?”
She replied: “I only saw his bald head.”
I’ve got one of those. Already surrounded by five girls, two more came from the further of the tents. One of these was obviously much more angry than any of the rest. Her chest heaved as she clenched her fists. In an effort to look away from her infuriated gaze I made the mistake of dropping my eyes to her cleavage, visible in an “I like it hot” T–shirt.
“People like you should be kept in cages, look he’s caught in the act and still he’s gawping at my boobs.” The last of this group of seven campers had immaculate blonde hair to her shoulders, a bold stare and the rest of her in skintight shirt and jeans. Perhaps she was a pound or two beyond recommended weight but nevertheless a beauty and as it turned out, from America. “You get a buzz off a young girls tits, hey? Guy comes snooping round making a girl piss herself he deserves all that’s coming to him.”
They all looked at ‘loose skirt’ and ‘chubby’ put an arm round her.
I worked out what must have happened. Someone with a baldhead had surprised ‘loose skirt’ and made her piss herself.
‘Sharp’ jerked my arm and said to the ‘arresting officer’: “Lets peg him down and decide what to do with him.” ‘Cleavage’ suggested castration and ‘America’ said, “Phone the cops.” I was terrified, who would ever believe I was an innocent party.
All this had happened within a few minutes and I’d had no chance to put my case and they didn’t seem in the mood to listen. When I said I only nipped in the field for a pee behind the hedge, ‘Cleavage’ said sarcastically: “Like a bit of wet sex then?” I made another mistake and replied “Nice if you can get it” thinking that a small joke might lighten the atmosphere.
“Peg him out,” said ‘Sharp’. And they did.
I realized that if I struggled someone would get hurt and even if I escaped I’d have little chance of outrunning them and I’d be trapped at the boat which was only a few hundred yards away. The arresting officer and Sharp dropped me to the ground while Cleavage drove a pair of croquet–hoop tent pegs over my ankles and America did the same to my wrists. The task was completed with ropes from wrist and ankle to a further pair of pegs some distance away. I was between the two main tents and behind a third, which appeared to be for a toilet. Lying there wanting to piss, in mortal danger of arrest as a pervert I wondered how a pleasant June evening could have gone so wrong.
The girls retired to their campfire at the other side of the toilet tent. Their discussions were inaudible till Cleavage said loudly: “I’m going to piss on him, not in the tent.” She appeared with Sharp and the arresting officer who stood on my wrists, she straddled my waist dropped her jeans and panties (slightly yellow) and peed over me whilst staring me in the eye. This time I had no choice but to look down her salient feature. Still hoping to extricate myself I said: “This could be a mistake.” The words were all right but as she stood up it was clear my cock was letting me down by trying to stand up. She was not amused.
There followed what should have been a watersports enthusiast’s delight. Sharp did exactly the same as Cleavage but facing my feet. “Get your jollies did you?” Sodden and, I confess it, embarrassed, I made no reply. Next came America who chose my neck and face while the arresting officer ensured that I was wet from head to crotch. Any peeping tom would have enjoyed all this immensely. Lastly Chubby and ‘slight and pale’ squatted above each leg. Loose skirt wouldn’t come near.
By now it was dark and much cooler. They returned to their fire and I took the opportunity to warm myself with a strong pee. A noise round the fire drew my attention, someone was coming, Loose skirt and Chubby. Although I couldn’t distinguish the words it seemed that Loose skirt had to pee but was still too frightened to come anywhere near me on her own. The back of the toilet tent was less than two yards from me as I lay looking up at the stars and still dreading the arrival of a police car.
“It is him, he’s there.”
“Who?”
“There by the stile.”
“It is not.”
“It is, I can see his beard.”
That’s what I heard. Then there was a rushing and commotion, girls running to and from, shouting, the sound of someone crashing about in the bushes, a scream from a male voice then more sounds of running off into the distance. Lastly I heard the noise of a car engine and someone driving furiously on a bumpy track.
‘Slight and pale’ carried a pair of binoculars, the others were out of breath describing how the man with a goatee beard had crashed through the thorn hedge and run off leaving the binoculars caught in the bush. The girls came back to the fire and there was a hurried conversation getting louder as the group moved closer to where I was.
Sharp spoke first: “we are in trouble; you’re not the man. We thought you were the peeping tom.” The arresting officer was clearly very upset, she heaved the pegs out of the ground as if she were Hercules himself. Untying the ropes she said: “we have got to put this right somehow. You could have us all arrested for what we did to you. We are very sorry.”
Cleavage was as good as she had been bad. She helped me stand up put her arm round me saying: “Look at the poor soul whatever must he think of us. I was seething for what happened to Rissa (Loose skirt) and now we’ve just got to ask for mercy.” ‘Slight and pale’ suggested that they should wash out my clothes while I warmed up by the fire.
The changed expressions turned them from harridans to young girls in a pickle. My turn to speak: “Did you call for the police?” The relief when they said no, made me feel magnanimous since there was no hope of making any sense with the police. I accepted the offer of washed clothes, a cup of tea, a plate of risotto, a blanket and a chat by the fire. It was delightful to find that neither they nor I was in the least embarrassed as they undressed me. I was amused to find that they felt I was incapable of undressing myself. After all they had shown me their inner secrets and now they were determined to be kind and, truth to tell, they were really very nice. They’d been at a secretarial college and had come that day on a camping weekend to celebrate the end of their exams.
My guesses at their ages had been wrong; all were between 20 and 27. Janice (the arresting officer) was married. Rissa (loose skirt) was engaged to a football player who thought she was upper class because she was called Clarissa. America (Janey) was with the USAF. After an hour or so the atmosphere relaxed enough for us to chat quite happily though I still felt a bit shaken. Chubby (May), whose full name I can’t give, took an especial shine to me and was the eldest at 27 and confided to me that when I said “wet sex is nice” started to see me in a different light. She told me confidentially that it was one of her ‘little twists’. We spent the rest of the hour till midnight swapping intimacies though I’m nearly twice her age.
When the clothes were warm and dry May took me by the hand and told the rest that she would be back in the morning. I opened my mouth to comment that I didn’t know where she would sleep but having put my foot in it already that night I remained silent.
Back at the boat she made more tea, tested the bunk then asked if there was a toilet on board and on being told you had to go out on deck to reach it she smiled and said: “Oh well we shan’t need it shall we? I’ll hold out till the morning.” She finished her tea, took a full glass of water then said sweetly “Shall we cuddle up and you can try to forgive us all?”
She didn’t manage to hold out all night but as far as I could tell slept soundly. In the morning she opened sleepy smiling eyes pulled me closer and asked what time it was. Not knowing I said, “Breakfast time.”
She smiled more broadly saying: “Tea in bed?” I mumbled Yes thinking perhaps she really is a kindly girl and not just trying to make sure I don’t cause trouble over the evening’s exploits by offering her body. We hadn’t yet done more than explore each other thoroughly.
She rolled on top of me, as I thought preparing to get out on my side, but she remained on top facing me and grinned again saying: “Sure you like wet sex?” I knew what would happen next so I said, “Yes,” and she did. A hiss and a sigh and a smile like the Cheshire cat she kissed me wetly and said “Tea in bed.”
The boat and I stayed there till the weekend was over. It turned out she had read the Allday Girls so we played ‘Hold it’ from Sunday at 8.00 till 2 in the afternoon when I lost but she couldn’t make the last twenty minutes. Then we had dinner round the campfire and went for a long walk with Rissa and Janey who were also into watersports. Imagine trying to walk 7 miles along the canal bank carrying 3 pints inside. Rissa was so happy that she won– only giving way as she climbed the gate into the field. Wet and happy we said goodnight there and May taught me a new game.
We sat either side of my dining table with a pack of cards. Whoever turned over a Jack (Knave) first had to drink a mug of warm water. The next Jack, it was two mugs, the third it was three. All of these fell to me, and then the fourth to May who had to down four (two pints, 45 fluid oz.). Then we had to shuffle, change places to shake it all down and start again. This time round, it was one mug per Jack after which there was a half hour break with no release allowed. During that time we talked about how there are two parts to the hold it game. The easy one is the aching bladder, its just a dull pain that gets stronger but then there is the tingling, twitching right at the opening, the cock end, the pee hole, with its constant message “Pee now.”
Every effort to clench the opening sends another twitch saying “Pee NOW.” May had found that an absorbent pad and plastic pants allowed her to relax the mental pressure and slightly reduce the frequency and urgency of the messages shuddering the length of her body. Neither of us was equipped that evening so we wriggled and fidgeted and giggled.
The third round was wicked. As we turned the cards alternately there was the anticipation of relief since this time turning a Jack meant we could fill a mug and the other had to drink it. Fine, but you had to stop the flow and regain control. By this time I had only a single mug disadvantage since May had lost three of the previous four. In the ‘You drink mine’ she had to take the first two of mine. She wasn’t just desperate she was squeaking, unable to breath steadily and quivering like a nudist on a winter’s day. I didn’t tell her at the time but it impressed me that she could still hold on. She sat there in a T–shirt with bunny rabbits and soft pink cotton panties barely covered by a short flared skirt. Waves of ‘PEE NOW’ came every 10 seconds with only a moment’s ease between each one. She held with one hand and turned with the other giggling like an idiot trying to say she was a feminist and didn’t give in to men. I thought I was on a winner but the last two of hers were mine.
The last round should not have started for another half hour but we mutually agreed it would never happen unless we reduced the waiting time to 15 minutes. This time whoever picked the first Jack came to sit on the other’s lap the second Jack had to drink a mug of water, the third could try to pee a mug full and pass it for the other to drink the fourth could let go.
It went like this. May turned the first and came to sit on me. She had several attempts to do this but opening her legs to straddle (it had to be face to face) proved nearly impossible without letting go. Her will power triumphed but turning to reach the pack of cards was excruciating as we were both shaking so much. The second was mine. She produced the third and after a hilarious and almost fatal argument insisted that she would not move off my lap and I had to hold the mug and funnel. That bit was messy since she hadn’t gauged when to shut off. My sawn–off jeans got wet and I squirted involuntarily but she didn’t notice.
Knowing the end was only seconds away I downed the lot. Turning each card was becoming ludicrous as neither of us could reach the pack without spurting. The pressure on my stomach was awesome whenever she wiggled which was continuous. It was my turn to pick a card. I clamped every muscle shut and lunged hoping it was the last Jack as I had little chance of holding while she turned to the table. The winner had to show a dry pair of undies. Neither of us could have done that already. In the event it didn’t matter. As I made my lunge May giggled again, wobbled on my lap, cried oh and lost it copiously, into her knickers and all over me and the chair and the floor. Whether she burst before me I can’t tell because before I slumped back into the chair I’d lost it too. We gave up holding ourselves and held each other pissing like donkeys and laughing with abandon. It seemed like ages we held on to one another panting and sobbing, tears ran down our faces and rivers down our legs, hot and steaming it pooled on the floor and trickled through the deck boards into the bilges.
It was 9pm and the game had taken almost two hours. We sat there exhausted looking closely at each other unable to speak for a while. The moment passed and we came back to reality. May gazed around at the mess and said simply ‘Gosh’. Being older and supposedly more sensible I smiled at her and said: ‘What have we done?’ She hung her arms round my neck and said: “We’ve still got the final act to complete, shall we go to bed and have a nice cup of Tea?”
Strangely the final act wasn’t what we both expected. Instead of leaping for the bunk we stood holding in a close embrace and dripped for a few minutes feeling our whole bodies sensitive to the slightest movement. May shuddered once moaning, then again, and again pushing against me each time. Her eyes had a faraway look as my cock grew and grew. She leaned back and gently said: “Let’s clean up first or it’ll stink in the morning.” My heart sank; surely she wasn’t going back to her tent.
“Aren’t you stopping?” I asked.
“Course I am, silly, how could I go back like this? You clear up and I’ll make the tea.”
Mopping and rinsing took longer than the tea. Two bare and randy people slid into a warm dry bed with comforting cups of tea. A few minutes chatting and we were ready to let our bodies have what they wanted. We’d put our cups aside and taken hold, quivering but still holding back when May said: “I’m going to have to pee first.”
“What!” I said. “Go outside or pee in the bed like last night.”
“No,” she said. “I can’t leave you with a wet mattress again, just see that there’s no one on the towpath and I’ll pee like a proper little lady.” Plump she might be but she was beautiful there in the moonlight, bare as the day she was born. A warm sultry breeze wafted around us while we held our excited bodies together. It began to rain as heavy cloud drifted over. Before we had accomplished the final pee, it was falling in stairods (an old–fashioned expression) and we staggered laughing back into the cabin.
Lying there wrapped round a lovely woman listening to the hammering of a deluge on the metal roof I knew there wouldn’t be another moment like it in my life. May whispered: “I wish I was old enough to propose to you” and I knew then that she had never had a boyfriend. I couldn’t say a word; the events of the weekend had been so far out of my own placid life’s normal routine that I would have wept. We held on so tightly moving slightly so that every nerve called out and the thunder surrounded us. Did we fall asleep or pass out? I don’t know but in the morning the mattress was more or less dry but we were both very sticky. May sat up running her hands over her breasts. “I want to do it this weekend again,” she murmured. “Where do you live?” I told her and we did.
How much of it is true? I’m not telling but try the game with a friend. To be continued in May’s Days – Tea in Bed II
Robert