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A Funny Guy's Biker Fantasy.

Good. Now just make it to the next lamppost. Now the next street. Now the pub door. Now... oh God!

Three men were smoking outside the Plume of Feathers, pub number seven. They were young, working class, one of them black, already a bit drunk. They leered openly at the three women as they approached. And then they were treated to the extraordinary sight of a pretty redhead in what was already a pretty brief black minidress suddenly hike it up to reveal black stocking tops and a tightly clinging pair of wet panties. But they had barely managed to get out a drunken "Waaayyheeeeyyy!" when they got to watch open-mouthed as Kate groaned in relief and humiliation as golden liquid cascaded from between her tightly clenched legs, gushing from the crotch of her little black panties, rivulets forming on her stockings and flowing down her slim, black-stockinged legs, saturating her ankles and shoes. Kate simply stood there, red faced, clutching the hem of her dress around her waist, as she allowed herself the luxury of forcing every last drop from her bladder, wisps of steam rising around her.

"Holy shit," one man whispered in awe.

"Are you all right, love?" another, perhaps more chivalrous, volunteered.

But suddenly everyone's attention was drawn to Sam. "Damn, damn, damn!" she shrieked. Watching Kate lose it had been the final straw for her, and she could no longer stop the inevitable. Her hands were balled into fists and tears were rolling down her cheeks with the effort of trying to keep it in, making her mascara run, but it was too late - two and a half hours and three pints of drinking suddenly exploded from her in a veritable Niagara of piss. Her lacy white knickers and black tights served only to spread the flow as it emerged, like a lawn sprinkler. Sam wailed in despair as her thighs and the inside of her skirt were rapidly saturated, and the tight pin-striped pencil skirt acted as a funnel, so that it looked as though a splattering spray of golden droplets simply emerged from the bottom of it, across her calves, shoes and the pavement for a foot around her. She simply stood there, shaking and sobbing in both relief and humiliation.

"What the fuuu...?" the third man began.

"Erm..." a slightly taut-faced Liz said. "I suppose you'd better be told about the Bursting Game, then."

The three men turned out to be Dave - a shaven headed, beer-bellied man in an England football shirt, Mike, his skinnier, taller friend, and Clive, the black guy, all of them working for a local removals firm. They listened slightly disbelieving as Liz tried to explain the 'Bursting Game' , after which Mike gamely volunteered to go inside the pub and get drinks for the women, as neither Kate nor Sam were really in a state to go inside a pub at the moment.

"There is just one more thing," Liz said, her voice now - finally! - starting to sound strained from the effort of keeping her own pee in, though her face still betrayed no obvious discomfort. "Forfeits."

Kate and Sam groaned, guessing what was coming next.

"Kate, you were first," Liz said, "I think it's about time you got to drink some piss. Can one of you gentlemen fill up a pint for her?"

"You kinky fucking bitches," Dave couldn't help saying out loud. But still, he picked up someone's discarded drink from where it had been left next to the wall of the pub, emptied out the dregs of beer from it, and fumbled at his zipper to reveal his cock, already tumescent with arousal at the strange antics unfolding in front of him. Then, with an "aaaaaah" of relief, he began to spray the inside of the glass with piss. Dave had been drinking beer all night and this was his first 'visit'. The pungent, thick yellow flow filled the glass in seconds, almost to the top, and by the time he was shaking the last drips into it there was only an inch of clearance between the liquid level and the top of the glass. He handed it to Kate, who took it, her big doe eyes seemingly hypnotised by the glass of yellow liquid before her.

Liz and Sam smirked at her, Sam even in spite of her sopping wet tigh

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