Ouch! My head hurts. It's getting light but nowhere near getting up time. You are hidden somewhere under the duvet. Little by little, my poor brain begins to bring up to speed on the night before.
Oh, God! I tentatively feel my bottom parts. Ouch! Sore. Remembering more now, the riding crop, the knobbly glass dildo thingy.
I need a pee and, once in the bathroom (too bright), more memories. And the red marks on my bottom and the insides of my thighs. My little oyster is a bit red too, but it doesn't hurt to pee, and I don't think any harm has been done.
Fuck. Amanda made me cum so many times. And I had my first purely anal orgasm! That's when we ordered more champagne. The Do Not Disturb sign is on our door, and Room Service must know and leave a tray outside our door. I had never had lobster before, and it made me feel all wicked afterwards.
There is a big park across the road. It's called Hyde Park, and it's simply enormous. Standing at the window, I can see people running, and I can see passers-by in the street. I stand on the windowsill and press my tits against the glass, but we are too high up for anyone to notice.
But one person has noticed, coz I feel a warm hand slip between my legs. And Amanda is softly kissing the red marks she made on my bare bum.
"Oh, Suzy, I'm sorry." You say, between kisses. "Shall I put some salve on your poor bott?"
(I don't need to tell you the rest!)
Now we are in the shower again. It is called a wet room which means that there is no inside part and it's all open everywhere, and it's simply fabulous. I sit on the loo seat and watch as you squat down and pee on the bathroom floor. I know how much you love doing this, and I know how much you need to be watched while you do it.
It's the expression on your face that I most enjoy during these moments. The mix of naughtiness and bliss is just so delicious. I have to reach out.
Your smile says it all. The scalding liquid fills my cupped hands, and I drink you. Your eyes are locked on mine. No word is spoken. You kneel on the stone floor and looking up, you open your mouth, ready to receive my golden liquid.
Now we kiss. It's a sort of tradition after urolagnia. It's a sacrament or something. Now the gush of water from the massive shower head high above us. The way you hold my face as you kiss me makes me cry (it always does.)
We curl up together under the monsoon rain. We wriggle round so that our mounds are pressed together. Our hands clasp and pull, and the rhythm begins. Our bodies know how to take it from here. And we rock in a gentle rhythm.
"So, any plans for the weekend?" you say as if I was at the hairdresser's.
Tribbing and giggling at the same time, it can be done.
Now it's time for fresh air, a walk in the park, and then lunch somewhere quiet, perhaps in Shepherd Market. I have arranged a surprise for Amanda sometime this afternoon. It was a long search to find the perfect gift, but I am confident she will be thrilled.
So, now we have successfully crossed Park Lane. This ain't no 'Lane' - it's a fucking Motorway!
But we are safe and strolling now on the warm grass, holding hands in our Summer dresses and carrying our sandals. The sight of two young women holding hands attracts no attention. And two young women passionately kissing might raise an eyebrow or two. But the sight of one young woman, her back against a tree, being touched up in public, is unusual. Several shouts of "Get a room!" make us giggle. But it's okay, and so we separate and try to behave. We certainly don't want to get arrested.