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The Gold Rush
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Ok, here's a taste of the book I'm working on titled "The Gold Rush." If
this is something you like, rsvp. I'm already 14 chapters into it, but
ASFW will be the preview audience if a few "test pieces" go well. It's all
female (lesbian, of course), strictly ws (no scat), and based on some real
experiences even though most are fantasies. Hope it's not too long!!
No threads
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She sat staring down at the crotch of her faded jeans, still clinging to
the tea cup she'd just drained for the fifth time in half an hour. She
knew she was bursting, and that she'd begun to relax the right muscles,
because at last she could feel the warmth of her pee push out through her
inner lips, giving her the first shudders of that luscious sensation she'd
grown to indulge in frequently of late. But still nothing showed. A
pause, another distinct burst overwhelmed the natural hesitation, and
still no sign.
Wow, she thought to herself. These darn adult diapers really do work!
All I can feel is the wet heat and hot wetness, but none of the mess of
soaked pants!
The recognition of the nasty possibilities began to arouse her as she
slipped her free hand down between her dry thighs, just to be sure.
Nope, no leaks. A big grin spread over her face as yet another squeeze
overcame reluctance and spread her now slightly puffed crotch with more
golden pleasure. She knew she was addicted to the "gold rush" as she'd
begun to call those sensations called up in the adult decision to liberate
her pent-up child inside though pee play.
Only now as an adult the peeing did more than wet her panties--or in this
case the quite comfortable pad of the adult diaper which she was trying
for the very first time. As she set the cup down and reached for the
teapot for a refill, she slid her other hand from between her thighs to
the buttons at her jeans' fly, and deftly popped the top two with a quick
flick, and tucked her long slender fingers downward along the soft skin of
her belly. So glad she'd long ago become a regular shaver, nothing
interrupted the glide of her fingertips to and then beyond the wonderous
place where her mound's firm plain lifted up into two tender bulges. She
steadily pressed on along the swollen clit's shaft, past the electrified
pearl lurking beneath its supple shroud, down into the crevass
which...yes, just as she expected..now had become a slippery tunnel from
which slowly seeped yet a different liquid joy.
Yet to her surprise, the back of her fingers sensed no anticipated
sogginess. Withdrawing them and brushing them against the
moisture-sensitive skin of her cheek just to be sure, indeed they were
completely dry.
Such a success! she remarked silently, and grinned again at herself in
remembering how timid she'd felt just two hours ago in buying the diapers
at the drugstore. It was that old, kidhood funny dread of "getting
caught," which she had so many times in those younger days...and even
though she knew--or hoped to hell she was right--that no one would
particularly notice her pawing over the packages trying to decide which
was the right brand, the right style, the right size, there was
nonetheless the sense that she was doing something really extreme for her,
something really dirty and exciting and freeing all at the same time, and
still she'd had to fight the urge to run back out empty handed. Her eyes
never met the cashier's as she handed her the paper money and received
back the coins in change, fearing that maybe her panic would leak out more
freely than her pee desparately wanted to do at that moment.
Back home she'd pulled down her jeans, sat on the toilet and peed a great
relief in several senses right through her panties, taking comfort as ever
in the flow of the hot gold and in the rush of pleasure which came with
it. Kicking off her sandals, she peeled off the crumpled pants and then
the soggy underpanties which she pitched into the nearby sink to rinse
later, and headed off to her bedroom for a dry pair...and her first
experiment with the Attends liner-type absorbant pads.
For six months she'd been a lurker in alt.sex.fetishes.watersports,
reading nearly every post, downloading nearly every pic that promised a
shot of another woman peeing. It had given her such an encouragement to
find it in the first place; not exactly a license, because that she'd
decided to give herself several years before in college, but the emotional
support that comes from realizing you're not alone in honestly loving the
feelings that come from wetting. And then to have wandered over to a
group on diapers, most of whom were also into wetting it seemed, and then
back to her "home" group to find a few talking about diapers now and then,
too. Even so, steering her cycle into the parking lot that afternoon had
taken that received courage to its limits for her.
And now as she sat at her computer desk, her diaper saturated and
sensuously heavy feeling with her hot pee, and yet her chair and pants as
dry to the touch and eye as if nothing as naughty as did happen had
happened, gave her a new sense of daring. Tomorrow, she resolved, she'd
wear a fresh one under her jeans to work.
And relishing the thought of sitting, getting up, walking around, all
while being able to invisibly wet herself little by little all morning and
have that wetness stay there pressed against her shaved aroused pussy now
made her want to stretch back and give herself a well-deserved reward for
overcoming her fears so well earlier.
So once again the elegant fingers of her eager hand slid beneath the
waistband of her still dry cotton panties with the tiny pink roses
imprinted randomly on their surface...beneath the downy puffy pad under
the panties...down along that taut smooth skin of her belly...down to that
everso familiar and everso insatiably hungry mound in whose secret passage
awaited the goddess of delight with her thunderbolts arched at the ready
to hurl.
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