Madame B - Ecstasy

"Of course, for the ultimate release of tension, you can piss and come at the same time. Guys can't do that. But we can make you do it. Have you ever pissed and come at the same time? Have you? Would you like to?" His voice was urgent, rasping.

His free hand wandered around to the back of my tiny skirt, and he slipped three fingers into my aching pussy, stretching it, filling me up, and making me feel as though I was about to burst. The once-dull ache in my lower abdomen developed into acute pain. I bit my lip to fight back the tears of pain and frustration. I didn't want Greg to stop, but I wasn't sure how long I could hold on for. I could feel his thumb pushing aside the lace of the back of my thong, and I knew that the next thing he did would be to slide it up my asshole. If he did that, I'd feel so overwhelmed, so replete, that I'd be past the point of no return. No way could I let that happen, no matter how good it felt. I was just about to remove Greg's hand when the bathroom door opened. Thank God, we were free to go in. I could let go-lose control-of all my body.

In considerable discomfort I walked forward. Greg moved with me, keeping both of his hands inside my panties. The bathroom was opulent, black-tiled and lit only by one onyx candelabrum. In the flickering light I could see how erect my nipples were, poking through my blue top. At last we had some privacy. Now Greg could touch them. When I was this close to coming, a flick on a nipple could tip me over the edge into a climax. At this stage, so what if I wet myself. I couldn't work out whether the need to orgasm or the need to piss was more overwhelming. I turned to say this to Greg, who just at that moment whipped his hands out of my panties, pushed me forward so that I staggered into the bathroom, and pulled the door shut behind me. I think I heard him whisper, "Next time," before I found myself alone, turned on, more than a little confused, but above all desperate for the bathroom.

I didn't have time to open the door and run after him. I had to sit down on the toilet and let it all go, finally releasing the tension my whole pelvis had held on to for the last hour or so. Greg was right. It was like an orgasm, a massive orgasm. I could feel every muscle in my body melt as the stream of golden liquid soothed and calmed my throbbing pussy. I thought it would never end, but when the stream had finished, I sat there in the half-lit stall. I may have satisfied one primal urge, but another pressing need remained unfulfilled. I didn't need to think twice: my hand was between my legs, pinching and rubbing my clitoris to provide the rapid stimulation I needed to finish what Greg had started. I came in seconds, detonating like a time bomb that had been ticking for years.

I splashed water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes glittered and my face was flushed. I reapplied my lip gloss. I rearranged my top so that the fabric was extra tight across my still-erect nipples. I wanted Greg to see what he'd just missed. I went out to find him at the bar, intending to tell him off, hoping he'd come home with me.

Instead of Greg, I saw Sheila. "Darling!" she said, flushed and happy on her birthday champagne. "A few of us are going to a club. You coming?"

"Oh," I said, looking for Greg over her shoulder. "Who's going along?"

"Well, Greg's disappeared off home, so it's just the eight of us. Come on! But don't worry, it's not like he contributes much anyway. It'll be fun!"

My mind was reeling. Why had Greg got me stoked up like that only to abandon me at the crucial moment? Knowing I wouldn't have him that night made me want him even more. The taxi ride to the club took us over cobbled streets. As the vibrations from the vehicle traveled through my pelvis, I was astonished to find myself becoming aroused for the second time that evening. Once I'd had an orgasm, it was usually a good couple of days before that unmistakable tension would start to build and swell again. Having arrived at our destination, we piled into the club and onto the dance floor. I wasn't really feeling the music that night, but I was aware that I was attracting a lot of male attention. I toyed with the idea of taking one of them home to satisfy my burgeoning lust, but it was Greg, Greg and his fucked-up mind games that I really wanted. At two a.m., I made my apologies to Sheila and hailed a cab home.

The night was sweltering, and although I lay naked on top of the sheets, I couldn't get comfortable. Sleep was out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Greg's face and replayed our conversation. I fantasized that he had stayed with me in that bathroom, that I'd let him bring me to orgasm, that I'd let go-really let go. I began to shiver with desire despite the heat. At four a.m. I was as horny as I'd been when Greg had been standing behind me with his massive hard-on prodding me on the back. I padded across my bedroom and took my vibrator out of its hiding place in the wardrobe. I lay on the bed, holding it against my clit. In two minutes, I experienced another orgasm, gentler than the first. It was the sleeping pill I needed. I drifted off to sleep as the sun came up, my vibrator lying beside me on my bed.

I woke up aroundmiddayto the sound of a persistent beeping noise that told me that I had an unanswered text message on my phone. As I fumbled for my cell phone in my handbag by my bed, I saw the vibrator lying next to me on the pillow, and the confusion and sexual high of the previous night came flooding back. I had finally worked out what made Greg tick. I could confidently report back to the group that he was not gay. But could I tell them how I found out? Already, the curious, highly charged experience we'd shared felt like a secret no one but Greg would even begin to understand.

The text message was from him. It was nothing if not to the point.

"Fancy a drink?" it said.

I never wanted another drink in my life. I still had my makeup on and could still taste last night's champagne in my otherwise dry mouth. But I had to see Greg again, find out if last night was just a weird one-time thing or the start of something incredible. I texted back: "Sure, why not?"

I needed a shower. Wrapping myself in a towel, I walked into my bathroom. Brushing my teeth woke me up. I stood under the shower lathering up with my favorite scented shower gel. I took a piss standing up in the shower, thinking about how it felt. No more or less enjoyable than going to the bathroom ever was. I shook my head. This was madness. Was I ever going to have normal bodily functions again without getting horny and thinking about Greg?

I toweled myself off and was applying body lotion to my legs when the doorbell rang. I huffed downstairs, cursing the tiny mailbox that meant I had to open the door every day to get anything bigger than a postcard.

It was Greg. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow and upper lip, and his hair was damp, curling a little around his neck. He wore cut-off jeans and a white T-shirt that outlined his pecs and made his tan stand out. He was carrying two huge, bucket-sized cups of Coke from a fast-food restaurant.

"Hello you," he said. He wore the same hungry, serious look I'd seen on his face last night.

"Hello you," I said, suddenly shy and embarrassed and very conscious of being naked under my towel.

"I thought about you all night," he said.

This suddenly seemed like a very odd conversation to be having on my doorstep on a Sunday morning, while the passengers on city buses stared at me in my towel. "I guess you'd better come in," I said. "Wait in the living room."

I left Greg and his drinks in the living room and dashed into my bedroom, where I pulled on a tank top and pink cotton hot pants. I didn't bother with underwear; it was hot already, and I wanted to get dressed as quickly as possible.