Date: Tue, 11 Apr 2006 13:26:58 -0500
From: Amber Fountaine <amber_fountaine@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Ritual"

Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual
sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of
18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts may include gay
and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play, diapers,
cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please the
author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are based
on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others he
has met.

The following is a good example of that. This story is pretty much verbatim
from an audiocassette I received from a couple that I met over the Internet.
They also sent me several pictures so I know they're for real. As Anne would
say, "Enjoy!"


                             The Ritual
                           (Bi, Urination)
                         by Amber Fountaine


	I'm not the kind of guy that likes to brag, but when it comes to being
married to the most wonderful woman in the world, I have to admit to
boasting about it at every chance. Asking my friend Amber to write this
story for my wife and everyone else to read seemed like the perfect way to
show Anne just how much I love her.

	In a way, this story is an Anniversary Present. About the time that Anne
and the rest of you will be reading this in the Nifty archives, we will be
celebrating 17 years of wedded bliss.

	No, wait. I want this to be a true story so let's start right there. Let's
make that 16 years of wedded bliss with a year of pure hell. Fortunately for
us both, that year of pure hell is a collection of days here and there over
the near seventeen years since she became Mrs. Carl Norman. I think all of
you that have been married to the same woman for any length of time can
relate to that.

	Our marriage has survived a lot in those years and I credit a good part of
that survival to what we call, 'The Ritual'. Anne does too. Actually, I
suppose like many old married couples, we've made a ritual of sorts out of a
lot of the things we do, especially when it comes to our lovemaking. But
unlike a lot of rituals that become tired and boring, ours never have. Anne
is a genius when it comes to finding new ways to keep it that way. It's been
like that since before she said, "I do." In fact, it began the night of our
first date.

	I met Anne at an office party for a company that was a big customer of the
company that had just hired me away from the conglomerate that was sucking
the life out of me. For that I felt like I owed them my life and when they
told me to go to this party, be nice to everyone, and to keep my dick in my
pants and my mouth shut, I gladly obeyed. The company where Anne worked was
celebrating the number ten. They'd been in business ten years and had just
been named the number ten company in the area by the local business
magazine.

	For over an hour I did exactly as I'd been told, smiling, pumping hands,
going easy on the booze by sipping Champagne, and keeping my conversation to
polite congratulations. Then I met Anne and my whole life changed.

	Between the caterers, bartenders, employees, and guests, there had to have
been a couple of hundred people jammed into the executive suites of that
company. On top of that, they had a small band that felt obligated to make
themselves sound bigger and louder than they normally were. The moment I met
Anne I knew I wanted to get her someplace where I could talk to her in
private and she must have felt the same way. But I wasn't at all prepared
for the way she suggested it.

	"I have to go pee," she yelled in my ear. "Want to come with me?"

	I nodded my head as I'm sure she knew I would. With that impish smile of
hers, if she'd asked me to come with her to jump off the eighth floor
balcony, I'd have nodded in agreement to that too. She got me out to the
elevators, in with a bunch of other people leaving early, and then we got
out at the sixth floor before she ever said another word.

	"I was really getting tired of all the people and the noise," she told me.
"Besides, I really do need to pee and the line upstairs was way too long.
I'll be right back."

	"OH darn," I teased, trying to be cute and letting my mouth move faster
than my brain. "When you said you wanted me to come with you to pee, I
thought you meant together."

	Now I swear I hadn't had but a couple of glasses of Champagne and I had
never made a remark or suggestion like that to any of the women I had ever
dated. It's one thing to think those thoughts and another to actually say
it. As soon as the words were out, I blushed red as a fire-truck and Anne
realized it had been a slip of the tongue. But she wasn't about to let me
off.

	She gave me that silly, impish grin again. "I suppose you want me to hold
it for you while you go. What where you planning to do for me?"

	The way my mouth was moving and no words were coming out, I suppose I must
have looked like a guppy in an aquarium. I'm sure I looked like a dork, but
she told me I looked cute with my mouth hanging open. Then she said, "Let me
have your glass - it's empty anyway."

	My glass had been empty for a while and I'd followed her blindly, never
thinking to set it down. So she took my empty glass in one hand, her full
one in the other, and told me, "Wait here." Then she disappeared around a
corner.

	A few minutes later, she came back and handed me the glass, now warm and
filled with an amber fluid. I was sure it had to be her pee that she was
offering me as a test of some kind and if she wanted me to drink her pee as
a requirement to getting to know her better, then drinking pee it would be.
I held the glass for a moment, smiled at her, and gulped it down in one
long, continuous swallow.

	Even before she started giggling, I realized she'd tricked me and that I
was drinking the Champagne that had been in her glass. She'd run hot water
in my empty glass and then filled it with the Champagne from hers. She'd
fooled me big time and I was sure I was looking more like a loser with
everything I did. I'd wanted to do whatever it took to impress this gorgeous
woman and instead I was sure I'd blown it. Then she misread the look of
disappointment on my face.

	"You might be a keeper," she told me softly and gave me a peck on the
cheek. "Be right back."

	Again she disappeared around the corner, but this time she was back in just
a moment. And again she had a glass in her hand that was full of an amber
liquid. "I think this is what you were hoping for," she told me, carefully
handing me the long stemmed glass.

	This time I was much more cautious. Logic told me that it had to be a glass
of her pee, based on there being one empty glass when we'd gotten off the
elevator. But the party had been going for a while before I got there and
she might have left another glass on a previous trip to the lady's room. So
I took a large sip to see and discovered it was the real thing. I had a
glass of Anne's piss in my hand and she seemed happy to see me enjoying it.

	It wasn't the first time that I'd tasted pee. Back in my early teens
there'd been two older boys that had loved to hose me down and make me
swallow their hot pee every time they caught me. Of course I always
protested every time they peed on me, but within a day or two I'd find
another way for them to 'catch' me. In college I'd discovered a gay bar
where that sort of thing happened in a back room that was especially
designed for piss play. I wasn't a regular customer like some of the guys
there, although I went often enough to recognize some of the customers that
were regulars. But before I met Anne, I'd never dreamed of tasting a woman's
pee. I was certain that ladies like Anne would never dream of indulging a
man's desire to drink fresh hot piss.

	I was glad Anne was looking me in the eye as I slowly finished the glass. I
knew the bulge in my slacks had to be noticeable. When the glass was drained
she asked, "Do that a lot?"

	Shaking my head, I told her honestly, "I've never tasted a woman's pee
before just now."

	She continued to stare into my eyes like she was reading all the thoughts
in my mind and I could see that her knowing eyes were twinkling. She began
to nod her head in understanding, reading as much into the words I hadn't
said as she did the words that I'd uttered. "If we get to know each other
that well, you'll have to tell me about it," she told me, making it sound as
much like an order or condition than anything else.

	Then she told me, "I've got a date tonight and need to get home. But if
you'd like to call me, I'll be happy to give you my number."

Then she began writing on a piece of paper before I could mumble a "Be glad
to." The next day was a Saturday and I assured her I'd call by noon.

	"NO dummy," she told me. "I meant call me tonight. We should get back to my
place around eleven-thirty. You call me at twelve and I'll pretend you're my
girlfriend so I can get rid of him."

	After she was gone, I spent another hour at the party but couldn't tell you
who I talked to or what I said. All I could think about was Anne. On the way
out of the building, I even stopped on the 6th floor and picked up the glass
she'd peed in and took it home with me.

	I set my alarm for fifteen to twelve just in case and then tried to watch
TV. But again, all I could think about was Anne. I finally gave in to the
urge to pee in the glass and sip it, pretending it was more of her pee and
jacked out two loads of cum over that fantasy. Each time I added my cum to
the pee in the glass and drank that too.

	Exactly at midnight, I called the number she'd given me and while I was
sure it was her voice that answered, asked for her anyway. She'd never said
anything about her living arrangements and I knew that most single women our
age had a roommate or two.

	"Oh hi Carla!" she began, "How was your date?"

	I'd never tried any such subterfuge and explained that to her but
apparently she'd had a lot more experience along those lines. No matter what
I said, she'd answer like I'd said something entirely different and I was
sure the guy listening to her end of the conversation would have thought she
was really talking to a girl. She was acting like we were two women sharing
secrets.

	Then she really floored me when all of a sudden she said, "You lucky girl.
I haven't had a really good fuck in months. All these dickheads I've been
dating grab their pants as soon as they get their nut. I'll bet he loved the
way you give head. You're such a great cock-sucker!"

	Some sort of switch went off in me and suddenly, instead of trying to say
something real while she played a role, I went along with her like I was
really her girlfriend Carla and had just been laid. "Oh you say the nicest
things," I cooed. "I'll bet you're just as good at sucking on a cock as I
am."

	"Maybe," she giggled. "How many have you had?"

	"Dozens," I answered honestly. There'd been half-a-dozen before I got out
of high school, at least a dozen or two while in college, and almost that
many since.

	"Which one do you think was best?"

	"The best one is the next one," I told her, explaining a little of my
philosophy. "But the one I remember best was a guy named Doug that I knew at
the place where I used to work. He'd fuck my face ten times a day if I let
him." What I was telling her was true, but since she was playacting, I felt
like I could tell her later that I had been making it all up too.

	"Oh Carla, you're so lucky. I've always wanted a boyfriend that would do
that. All I get is one shot losers."

	I wondered how much of what she was saying was true and what the guy she
was with must be thinking. "I know a guy that would love to give you the
chance," I told her. "You met him this afternoon at your office party."

	"Oh, you mean that guy that likes to drink my piss. Yeah, he seems like a
great guy but I think he might like other guys more than he likes women."

	"No way. Must be some other guy," I told her. "The one I'm talking about
definitely has the hots for you."

	"I wonder how he is at eating pussy?"

	"He LOVES to eat pussy," I told her.

	"And cock too? Does he drink man pee too?"

	"Yeah," I admitted. "He does love to suck cock. And drink pee. But he might
give that up if he found the right girl."

	"Mmm," she said dreamily. "He wouldn't have to on my account. I'd love to
find a man that liked to drink pee and suck cock."

	By that time I was sporting another erection and playing with it while we
spoke. If we kept up this line of talk I'd soon have another wad of cum on
my belly. I couldn't help but wonder what the other guy that was hearing her
end of our conversation was thinking. "What's your date think about all
this?" I asked. "Is he flipping out yet?"

	"Don't worry about that," she told me. "He hasn't heard a word you've
said."

	"I was thinking more about the words you've said. I'm surprised he isn't
all over you. I damn sure would be."

	She paused for a moment and told me, "What I said a while ago was all true.
The dickhead got his rocks off, grabbed his pants, and was gone ten seconds
after you called."

	I was flabbergasted! This woman I hardly knew was openly admitting to
having just had sex with a guy. Up to then, every woman that I'd been to bed
with had tried to make me believe they were virgins or damn close to it.
And in a way, she'd tricked me into revealing some of my darkest secrets.
"Why are you being so honest with me?" I had to ask.

	"Why not. I know you're being honest with me. I can tell it in your voice.
I admire your being truthful about being bi and liking to suck cock. In case
you're wondering, I'm bi too."

	I wasn't wondering. Actually, I hadn't thought about it at all. I had been
too busy trying to decide if I should deny being bi and then she ups and
tells me that she is and admires me for being honest about it. "I've always
thought that a lot of guys were bi if they were honest about it," I answered
lamely.

	"I'm sure you're right," she answered immediately. Then after a minute of
thought, she said, "Look, there's no sense in us staying up all night
chatting on the phone. There's a coffee shop at the corner of the Inner Loop
and Broadway and I'm supposed to meet a girlfriend there for brunch around
10:30 in the morning. Why don't you join us?"

	I jumped at the opportunity to see her again. I'd had every intention of
asking her out on a real date, but breakfast or brunch or whatever she
wanted to call it was good enough for me. If that went well, I could ask her
out the following weekend, assuming the guy she'd gone out with wasn't a
steady. And if it meant having her girlfriend join us, that was fine too.
The coffee shop was just a few blocks from my apartment and I often had
breakfast there. I asked her where she lived and told her I'd be glad to
pick her up and it turned out she was much further away and offered to pick
me up on the way instead.

	Then, after deciding that we shouldn't stay up talking, she began to tell
me her life story and I started in on mine and we were still talking when
the sun came up.

	That left us with enough time for a quick nap and the lack of sleep showed
I'm sure. At least on me it did. Anne looked marvelous and her friend Naomi
looked like a fashion model, which as it turned out, she had been. I mean,
Anne is cute as a button and hasn't changed much at all in the years I've
known her. She's short with reddish-blond hair and freckles and has the
effervescent personality you'd expect from a cheerleader. I was surprised to
learn she'd never been one. On the other hand, her friend Naomi was tall
with bright blue eyes and long black hair and has a natural olive
complexion. As we sat enjoying our brunch, I'm not sure which of the girls
got the most looks from the men in the room, but the looks I got from them
were of pure jealousy.

	Of course I beamed with pride to be sandwiched between two of the prettiest
women I'd ever met and I'm sure all those other guys would have agreed.
Because of the long and detailed phone conversation of a few hours past, I
was able to follow some of the conversation between the girls. They'd gone
to high school together, had been close friends, and then had gone their
separate ways, crossing paths sporadically. Naomi had recently married a
doctor that was on the staff of a medical school in the same town where
they'd grown up, which it turned out wasn't so far away. Now they got
together a couple of times a year or more to bring each other up to date,
with Naomi supplying Anne with all the latest gossip from home.

	The big news that particular morning was about some guy named Ron that they
both had dated in their teens. Neither were surprised that he had been
caught a few weeks back in bed with the wrong woman. The jealous boyfriend
had tried to neuter Ron with a .22 and the rumor around town - confirmed by
Naomi's husband's friend that was a doctor in the ER - was that Ron was now
shy one testicle. It was also rumored that this guy Ron had suddenly
developed a new sense of morality when it came to using the one testicle
that had escaped unharmed.

	Then with all the gossip from home exhausted, Naomi nodded at me and asked
Anne, "So what about him? How's he rate on the GIB scale?"

	"Haven't tried him yet but he seems promising," Anne told her. "I'm
guessing he'll be an 8 and with a little instruction might be a 10. He's
already drinking my pee and doesn't even know my last name. Has Doctor Dave
shown any improvement?"

	"Some. When I can get him out of town for a few days - and it isn't for
some medical conference where he has to give a lecture. It's not that he
doesn't like sex or isn't good at it, it's getting him to relax and enjoy it
and make it a higher priority. I can walk past him in a slinky negligee
three or four times before he notices and then it's like he suddenly
remembers we haven't fucked in a week. But it might get better. One of the
doctors on his staff has a cabin at the lake with a lot of privacy. He'd
getting divorced and if he gets the cabin, David had talked about buying it
for us."

	"Wow! Your own little love nest."

	I was trying to follow all of their conversation but part of my mind was
still trying to figure out what they meant by a 'GIB scale' and what it
might take to raise my score to a 10. I almost asked, but then they began
talking about the guy Anne had gone out with the previous evening and Anne
told her the guy was definitely not very 'good in bed' and I was able to
figure it out for myself.

	Then all of a sudden Naomi looked at her watch, apologized for not having
more time, grabbed the check away from me, and was gone. It all happened so
fast that I sat there like a dummy for a minute or two before I realized I
was alone with Anne and needed to speak.

	She asked me twice, "What do you think of my friend?" before I became aware
she was talking to me.

	Then it took me a moment to come up with an appropriate answer. "She's, uh
definitely . . . . intense," I told her tactfully.

	Anne laughed at my selection of words. "She's that alright. She sure can
give me some intense orgasms. I was hoping she'd have more time."

	I was slightly shocked by her reply (as were the people seated at the next
table), but at least it answered my tacit speculation as to how close a
friend Naomi had been - and apparently still was.

	Our brunch was long since finished and we both had passed our coffee limit,
so she asked, "Do you need to get right home or would you like to ride with
me on some errands?"

	"No plans at all," I told her, lying a little. I was supposed to go to a
buddy's house to watch a ball game. Then I decided to be a little more
honest and complimentary too. "Besides, if I had any plans, I'd cancel them
to be with you."

	"That's cute," she said, putting her hand on my cheek. "Before we go, I
need to use the lady's room."

	"Please don't take a cup with you," I teased.

	"Aww, last night you acted like you liked the way I taste."

	"Wasn't an act," I told her. "I thought I made that clear on the phone.
Last night we weren't sitting in the middle of a room full of people."

	She had to get in the last laugh. On the way back, she must have picked up
an empty coffee cup off a table that hadn't been cleaned and got a big kick
out of seeing my jaw drop when I saw her walking up with a cup in her hand.

	We were still at it in the late afternoon, working our way through the
third shopping mall we'd been to, when I suggested it was time to eat again
and offered to buy her supper. She countered with an offer to fix me supper
if I didn't mind one more stop at the grocery store.

	"I hope you have better luck buying groceries than you do picking out
clothes," I quipped, "or we'll starve to death." After three malls and
countless stores, she had a blouse and one belt to show for her shopping
day.

	"I do MUCH better at the grocery store, thank you. You better hope you can
carry all the bags."

	It's possible that she wanted to show me up after my remark, but for
whatever reason, she really did do MUCH better at the grocery store. I was
able to carry all the bags, but not in one trip. She also gave me an insight
into what my future held.

	We'd taken a side trip through the aisles in the pharmacy area where she
stopped to throw a package of tampons in the cart. "Don't panic," she told
me. "My period doesn't start for another week. I just like to be prepared
and with a roommate like Francine that uses things and doesn't think to
replace them, it's a good idea to have stuff like that stashed away."

	It was the first time she'd mentioned a roommate so I asked about her.

	"Mostly in name only," she explained. "She spends almost all of her time at
Hal's place and only comes by to grab what she needs. Unless her mom is
visiting. Then she stays home for a few days to pretend she lives there."

	She was about to say more when she spotted something at the far end of the
aisle that made her laugh. When we got closer, I realized it was adult
diapers and she pulled out a bag. "Shall we get you some of these? You told
me last night you were a bedwetter and I think you'd look cute in them."

	"Used to be," I corrected her, blushing as I did it. "When I was about as
tall as this grocery cart."

	"Didn't you tell me you used to wet yourself on purpose when you were in
high school?"

	"That was a long time ago too - and I didn't wear a diaper." I was
beginning to regret having been so honest at three or four in the morning.

	"Maybe you should have," she teased. For a moment, I thought she was going
to put the bag in the cart, but after hesitating, she put it back on the
shelf. "We'll have to try that some other time," she said offhandedly as she
moved on.

	I paused for just a moment to look at the display of incontinence products
and as I took off after Anne, the seed of a desire to pee in my pants was
beginning to germinate in my brain. But I didn't realize it at the time.

	When we got all the bags of groceries to her car, she told me to put them
in the back seat as the trunk was full of boxes. Then when we got to her
place, I discovered the boxes in the trunk were full of booze. She'd stopped
by her office on the way to pick me up and liberated a case and a half of
Champagne and an assortment of hard liquor that had been left over from the
previous afternoon.

	"I really don't like Champagne that much," she teased. "But you seem to
like the taste when it's recycled. And it does make me horny as hell."

	I wondered if that were true or just a way to get me to haul the heavy
boxes with a smile of anticipation on my face. For sure it worked. It seemed
like hardly an hour had gone by, whether we were talking on the phone or in
person, that she didn't find some way to remind me that I'd enjoyed drinking
a glass of her pee. She knew I wanted more and dangled insinuations in front
of me like they were carrots on a string.

	My chances of that happening improved dramatically when she excused herself
to change, telling me to put away whatever I could. The first thing I put
away was a bottle of Champagne. That went in the freezer to get it chilled.
Then I did the rest of the frozen foods. And then it got harder. She had a
much less logical way of putting things away than the system I used.
However, it made sense to her, as she quickly pointed out when she returned.

	All she had on was a very short, very thin housedress over a pair of pink
panties. The housedress was thin enough for me to determine the color of her
panties even before she bent over to put away canned goods. And since she
didn't have on a bra, she might as well have been topless. I tried not to
look down her dress when she leaned over, but had no success whatsoever. By
the time she was ready to start preparing our meal, my mind had turned to
mush. My cock, however, had become stiff as a board.

	By the time we'd finished eating, I'd hit the wall. Anne wasn't any more
energetic. "I'll worry about the dishes tomorrow," she told me. "I'm ready
to crash."

	It was barely eight o'clock, but I felt the same way. "I'll get a cab or
something," I offered. "No sense in you driving me as tired as you are."

	"Any reason you can't spend the night here?" she asked with that impish
grin.

	Of course I'd hoped for something like that, but had been afraid to think
about it seriously. But that didn't automatically mean we'd be sleeping in
the same bed. Again, she must have read my mind.

	"You have three choices and it's up to you. You can sleep on the couch or
sleep in Francine's room, or sleep with me. And before you get any more
excited than you obviously are," she said, pointing at the bulge in my
slacks, "I do mean 'sleep'. If and when we have sex, I want to be awake for
it."

	"I couldn't agree more," I told her and really meant it. That was really a
big load off my shoulders. I was still thinking about that GIB scale thing
and was concerned, as tired as I was, that I'd fall asleep or something
equally disastrous if I tried to make love to her.

	"Can we cuddle?" I asked. "I think I can work up the energy to do that."

	"Of course," she told me, taking me by the hand. "I can trust you, can't
I?"

	"Of course," I echoed. "But can I trust you?"

	"Probably not, but let's try it anyway." As she said it, she slipped out of
her housedress and stood before me in just those cute little pink panties,
making me wish I hadn't been so quick to vow my trustworthiness.

	Then she stood on one side of the bed, watching me undress on the other.
When I was down to just my skivvies, she told me, "Might as well take those
off before you rip a hole in them."

	She was right about that. They'd never been stretched tighter or for a
longer period of time then they had that evening. So without further ado, I
stepped out of them and was rewarded with a simple, "Nice," from Anne when
my erection popped up to slap my belly.

	She hit the lights, leaving one on in the bathroom in case I needed to find
my way and we moved together in the center of the bed. But after a
lingering, passionate kiss, she broke it and rolled away from me. "You kept
me up all night last night," she told me over her shoulder. "You'll have to
stick around 'til morning if you want more."

	I might have argued as to who had kept whom awake all night, but that would
have been pointless. And I had every intention of sticking around until
morning, for as many mornings as possible. So I cuddled in behind her with
my face in the hair on the back of her head. I found the scent of her
shampoo to be as intoxicating as everything else about her. I brought one
arm around her to hold her and my hand, with a will of its own, cupped one
breast. I expected she might protest, but instead she let out a noise that
was somewhere between a moan and a purr and she pushed back against me. I
remember at some point, just as I was about to nod off, that she reached
behind her to hold my cock and I thought maybe she'd changed her mind. But
shortly after that she began to softly snore and I dozed off too.

	The next momentous occasion in our relationship occurred at 04:19 the
following morning. The reason I'm so sure of the time, is that she had one
of those older style digital clock radios that was lighted and had numbers
that flipped down. She'd had my cock in her hand when I fell asleep. She had
it in her mouth when I woke up.

	We'd gotten close to eight hours sleep but it wasn't enough considering the
previous evening. It was 04:20 on the clock before I realized it wasn't a
dream. She definitely knew what she was doing. I'd had my cock sucked by
both men and women. Up to then, all of the men had been better than all of
the women. But Anne was better than all of the women combined and at least
as good as the best of the men. As good as she was, and as much as I'd have
loved for her to finish, I wanted to impress her too. I tried to stop her so
that I could take a turn going down on her, but she wouldn't hear of it.

	"Enjoy," she told me, hushing me and pushing me back down. "Let me finish.
You'll have plenty of chances to do me later."

	So I propped my head up on the pillows and with the light from the open
bathroom door, watched an expert at work. It was a short-lived show,
although to her credit, she did get me right to the edge twice and then held
me off. Then when she knew I was almost beyond control, she moved up and
mounted me and sat still, using inner muscles that I never knew existed to
milk me like she had a fist inside her, griping my dick. Within seconds I
was pumping her full of cum and was amazed her belly didn't swell. I'd never
felt so drained.

	She rested in position astride me for a full five minutes as we regained
our senses and when she was sure I had drifted back down to the world of the
living and breathing, she lifted off to lick my cock again. Then she moved
up and gave me another of those wildly passionate kisses, allowing me to
taste the flavor or our mingled juices. I swabbed the inside of her mouth
with my tongue looking for every bit of sexual essence I could find.

	"I knew you'd like that," she hissed. "Move down underneath me." Then she
lifted up on her hands and knees to give me wiggling room.

	I was sure I knew what she wanted and was happy to comply, using my feet
and elbows to work my way down beneath her, pausing briefly to suck each
nipple before continuing my journey. I'd just gotten past her belly button
and into the fringes of her pubic hair, when she sat up and moved over my
face. I could see the frothy mix of our mingled cream as it oozed from her
slit and raised my head to go after it, not waiting for her to lower herself
to me.

	We'd talked about this the night before. During that six or seven hour
talk-a-thon, the subject came back around to sex on a regular basis. We'd
already discussed all the things we'd done, at what age and with who we'd
done it, and how we felt about doing it again. I'd felt a little funny, when
we'd talked about anal sex, admitting that I'd been fucked several times
too, but she'd made me feel like it was no big thing.

	Then we'd talked about things we hadn't done and wanted to do. "You said
you loved to eat pussy and love the taste of cum," she'd reminded me. Then
she'd asked, "Have you ever eaten pussy after you've fucked it?"

	I'd told her that I'd never had the chance, that I'd tried to a few times
but the woman I was with had always insisted on jumping up to clean herself
first. Then she told me that it was one of her fantasies. Before Francine
had all but moved in with Hal, she and Francine used to have oral sex after
either of them had been with a man. It was sort of a ritual of theirs. She'd
always wanted to find a man that would eat his own cum out of her, but never
had. Of course I'd volunteered to eat mine if I ever had the chance and even
offered to take Francine's place, eating her lover's cum if she wanted.

	She'd moaned over the phone over that suggestion and we'd both admitted to
masturbating as we spoke. She told me about how when she and Francine had
shared a man, that they'd take turns sucking him, then 69 to get themselves
ready, and then take turns fucking him. Then whichever of the women took his
load would get licked clean by the other. "Maybe you and I should share a
man like that," she'd suggested. I'd shot my third load of the night when
she told me that one.

	So while we didn't have a second man in her bed, I had every intention of
making sure the one she did have scored at least an eight on that GIB scale
of hers. Each of the minor orgasms I caused her resulted in more of my cum
being squeezed from deep inside. I shoved my tongue as deeply into her as I
could, using it as a mini-prick, and could feel her squeezing it too, just
as she had my cock.

	"Here it comes," she warned me and before I could consider why I would need
a warning, she began to wail like a banshee and my face was flooded with hot
piss. I closed my eyes and swallowed what I could, as fast as I could, but I
couldn't keep up. Pee splattered off my face and soaked the sheets around
me. When her bladder was drained and her orgasm had passed, she eased down
to lick my face and mumble 'thank you' over and over.

	"Any time," I told her gallantly.

	"Do you mean that?" she asked

	"Sure. I can't think of a better way to start the day. We could make it our
morning ritual. But we'll have to find someone that can sell us mattresses
wholesale."

	She seemed to realize then for the first time that we were laying in piss
soaked sheets. "I guess I'll have to figure something out to take care of
that." Then she asked, "What about you? Rituals shouldn't be one sided.
Don't you need to pee?"

	I admitted I did and she jumped out of bed, pulling me after her in the
direction of the bathroom. "Let's not make the bed any worse than it is,"
she explained.

	Then she sat on the toilet and I assumed she wanted me to pee between her
legs. Instead, she opened her mouth and pulled me toward her, taking the
head of my cock between her lips. It took a while and a lot of effort to get
my flow going, but to her credit, once it did, she got almost every drop
from a very full bladder.

	Then we debated taking a shower and laughed at how silly that would be if
we didn't strip and dry the bed too. "Last one in's a loser," she teased,
like we were jumping into a pool instead of returning to a wet bed. And not
surprisingly, we didn't go back to sleep until once again we'd watched the
night turn to day.

	Later in the day, we discovered that the noise that had woken Anne was the
Champagne bottle I'd put in the freezer and forgotten. She'd heard the
muffled noise of it exploding. Instead of being upset by the mess we needed
to clean up, we laughed it off, considering it a blessing, as by then we
already knew we were in love. After all, she'd decided I rated a 10 on her
GIB scale and didn't need improvement, only more opportunity.

	A few weeks later, when Anne's lease was up and Francine announced she was
officially moving in with Hal and to hell with what her mother said, I moved
Anne in with me. She already had half her clothes at my place, as well as
diapers for us both. But that's another story.

	As I said earlier, that was seventeen years ago. How many times we've
repeated that ritual, I have no idea. But we've repeated that scene, or one
like it, at least twice a week. I think that works out to around a couple of
thousand times. And over the years there have been several men and women
that have joined us, including Naomi, Doctor Dave, and Doug, the guy I used
to work with that loved to feed me his cock. And as a reward for writing
this story for us, Anne and I have invited Amber to fly his sissy ass down
to Florida to join us for a diapered vacation in the Keys. Maybe he'll write
another story about that!


Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com