“Let me see what I can do,” he said as Chance finished nursing. He took the baby back, and there was the squeak of a narrow fart. A trail of vapor floated up from his posterior and clung to his upper section, surrounding Chance. And Chance disappeared.
“But can he breathe?” she asked, alarmed.
“Sure. Take a breath and see.” She put her face to the cloud and inhaled. The mist was faintly sweet, like dilute perfume, and made her feel satisfied and sleepy, but not out of breath. It was a rather special magic. She put her hand in and found Chance, nestling peacefully.
“I have to acknowledge that the Spire is apt,” she said. “This will do. Very well, let me see whether I’m fit to pee, as it were.”
She found a rock as the light brightened, sat on, it leaned back, and let fly a long jet of urine. “Measure that.”
Prior paced it off, from her feet to the wet landing spot. “About six feet.”
“I doubt that’s good enough. These folk are competitive pissers. But with practice and a full bladder I’ll improve. Let’s go find a clothing shop.”
She was privately amazed to hear herself talking like this, but this did seem the best way to travel anonymously.
“We’d better tank up,” Prior said.
“Agreed.”
Prior lay on the ground by the steam and sucked in water, man style, while she scoped handfuls up to sip, woman style. They both drank until their stomachs were full. This was uncomfortable, but she, at least, needed the ammunition.
They walked across the terrain, following the stream upstream. Water was usually a good place to find human habitation. After an hour they came to a small settlement. A sign identified it as Piss Creek. Good; a urination contest should be quite in order. Her bladder was already filling.
She took Chance back and nursed him, then returned him to Prior. Not having to carry his weight made her walking easier.
“Here’s our situation,” she told Prior. “We were out walking and lost our clothes in the stream; they just disappeared into the ground. We were part of a tourist tour, and missed our transport. We need to get some clothing.”
“They won’t just give it to us.”
“Correct. So we’ll piss for it.”
They came to the central privy, always a social center. It was posted with ads: MULTI-COLORED TURDS, GUARANTEED. EMPOWER YOUR FARTS: FLOWERY SMELLS, GREATER VOLUME, MELODIOUS SOUND, IMPROVED VELOCITY. MASTER THE POWER OF PISS: THE FAMILY THAT PEES TOGETHER, SEES TOGETHER. While she read the notices, Prior spoke to a likely man, telling the story Tantamount had suggested.
“Nothing’s free,” the man said sourly. “Where’s your money?”
“Lost that too. We’ll have to piss for it.”
The man nodded. “We’re always up for a good pissing, here in Piss Creek. Folk who piss together, have bliss together. What stakes?”
“Clothing for each of us, versus a fast fuck with my wife, who will be the contestant.”
The man looked at Tantamount, seeing her shape. “My wife’s got spares, and my son needs a good fuck.”
“She’s not going up against a man,” Prior said quickly.
“Naturally not,” the man agreed, though evidently he had had it in mind.
“My daughter will take her on.” It was playing out pretty much the way Tantamount had planned; her research in the Tower now stood her in good stead. Soon the villagers gathered for the spot show; pretty women were more fun to watch urinating than men.
The man’s wife showed off a good used farthingale dress that looked as if it would fit, and a pair of pantaloons. The son and daughter come out.
“First pissing,” the man announced. “For the dress.”
Oops—they wanted to contest separately for the items, instead of making it a package deal. They were stuck for two contests. The daughter, who was a halfway comely teen girl, removed her dress, sat on the pissing stool and let fly with a good stream that cut off abruptly. The spectators applauded. Trust the villagers to know how to do it well. It was necessary to have a sufficient amount to maintain a steady flow, however briefly, and the girl had done that.
Tantamount took the stool, held her breath, compressed her bladder, and forced out a powerful stream. It splashed just beyond the girl’s effort. The villagers applauded again.
“You won it,” the man said, handing Prior the farthingale. Now for the pants.”
The daughter let fly with another jet, the same distance as the first. But Tantamount, her pressure diminished, fell short. She had expended too much urine the first time, her inexperience costing her.
“Well, now,” the son said, stepping forward, his member stiffening.
“Hey, we didn’t say public,” Tantamount protested. She knew she was stuck for the fuck, but there were limits. There was a sigh of regret among the villagers. But they went along, allowing Tantamount to take the young man into the closed privy. She put her hands on the seat, presenting her bottom.
“Hey I want it from the front,” the boy protested.
“You can’t feel my breasts from the front,” she pointed out. “This way you can reach around me.”
“Say yeah,” he agreed. Without further argument he stepped up behind her, put his stiff penis to her cleft, reached around to grab her breasts, and rammed home. He jetted on the first thrust, being young.
That was it. One advantage of doing it with a teen boy was that it was fast. He was out in a moment, and she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped herself dry.
But they still needed the pantaloons, and she had little urine left; she had let too much flow in the contests. “Let me consult privately with my husband,” she said as they returned to the plaza.
The villagers smiled. Women paid off their bets, but often preferred to have follow-ups with their own men, to erase the feel of foreign intrusion. Prior joined her in the privy. “Give me Chance,” she said.
“Oh.” He obliged. She nursed the baby as she talked. “I need more urine.”
“That will take time.”
“No. I want it now, so we can win the pants and be on our way. You have it.”
“I’m no good at power pissing.”
“I need you to give it to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Put your penis to my urethra and urinate with sufficient force to transfer it to my bladder.”
He stared. “You can’t be serious!”
“You do want clothing?”
“Yes, but—”
“We don’t have time to debate this.”
She took his penis and lifted it as she sat on the potty hole. “Do it.”
“I don’t think it’s possible.”
“I’m a doctor, remember? This would be much easier with a catheter, but we don’t have one, so will simply have to make do. Hold it tight to the mark and urinate, hard.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a hard-on.”
True; his penis had swelled with her manipulation, and that blocked off the avenue. He had recovered from the vampire depletion.
“Very well, abate your lust,” she snapped, and directed his stiff member into her vagina. She clenched on it, then used her hand to draw his bottom forward so that he entered her without delay. In a moment he caught the fever and thrust on his own, and in another moment his orgasm sent his semen surging into her. Good; that was out of the way.
She drew out his softening penis and set it against her urethra, but the fit wasn’t tight. “Hold Chance,” she said.
He took the baby back and stood there, his diminishing penis at her cleft. She used both hands to hold it there, actually forcing the lubricated tip part way into her urethra. “Urinate. Now.” Still he hesitated, his reactions not cooperating.