The Pee Tape

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DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this story are at least eighteen years of age.



Kat Peoples stared, perplexed, at the doorknob that would not turn. She tried it clockwise, counterclockwise. It was definitively locked. And then she clocked the sounds coming from inside the room: the high melodious girl sounds, the rhythmic baritone boy sounds, and the insistent wooden drumming, as of a headboard thumping a wall.

“Well, this is an unexpected development,” she said, turning to her twin brother, Rufus, who was swaying sleepily behind her in the hall. “Is that Ash?”

“I’ve never heard him moan like that,” said Rufus. “But it sounds like his voice.”

“Hmm,” said Kat. “I thought Ash was supposed to be gay.”

“That’s what he says. But celibate. ‘Cause of Jesus.”

“Sounds like he’s breaking his vow…and not with a dude.”

Rufus shrugged. “Now that he’s graduated, he must be branching out, trying new things. He also lost his beer virginity tonight. I saw him drink at least half a bottle. Come to think of it, he was sharing that bottle with Keri Lobl. I wonder if she’s-“

“I saw him rubbing sunscreen on Keri’s back this afternoon. I thought he was being oddly non-awkward about it.”

“Damn.” Rufus scratched his chin. “Ash and Keri. That’s…an unusual couple. She must have worked her pagan magic on him. Well, good for them, I suppose.”

“It’s good somebody’s getting laid tonight,” agreed Kat. “But Ash could have done better than Keri Lobl.”

“I dunno. She’s attractive, in a hairy, dirt-under-the-fingernails sort of way.”

“She’s dumb. She believes in elves. Like, literal elves. She thinks they exist.”

“You sound a little jealous.”

“If I’d’ve known Ash was into girls…” Kat frowned. “He could have turned to me for his deflowering needs.”

“He probably thinks of you like a sister. Y’know? It’d be weird.”

“Why? You hooked up with Ash’s sister, didn’t you?”

“Sure, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“You know Tish. She likes to spread it around.”

Kat nodded. “I heard she gangbanged the entire men’s lacrosse team at Penn State.”

“Nonsense,” said Rufus. “People like to start rumors. I mean, Tish may well have banged the entire lacrosse team. That I can believe. But one at a time is more her style.”

“Anyway…so now what, R.P.? We’re obviously not sleeping in there.” Kat poked her thumb in the direction of the sex sounds. “This is a conundrum.”


Ash Haushauer was hosting the biggest, albeit somewhat belated, graduation party for the Conestoga Valley High class of 2018. Graduation had actually occurred two weeks earlier, but it wasn’t till this weekend that Ash could host his party of parties. This weekend, his parents were out of town, attending yet another graduation. Their fifth eldest daughter, Tess, was receiving her law degree from the University of Chicago. This left Ash alone on the family farm.

Festivities had commenced that day around noon. Kat and Rufus had competed in spirited cornhole and wiffleball tournaments, had swum in the pond and ridden the Sea Doo, had shouted, flirted, and danced to loud terrible music, and at dusk had sacrificed and devoured a pig.

The Haushauers, including Ash, were devout Mennonites. Ash was a non-drinker (at least, prior to that evening). Although he’d not, himself, provided any alcohol for the party, he’d not disallowed others from bringing their own. And bring it, they did. The booze had flowed copiously.

On the other hand, Ash had been a stickler about drunk driving. To that end, he’d collected everyone’s car keys and locked them away in a big metal toolbox, to be returned the following morning, or upon proof of sobriety. He’d rather everyone crash at his house, he’d said, than anyone crash their car.

The Haushauers’ commodious old farmhouse had many spare bedrooms (for Ash was the youngest of eight siblings, all of whom, save Ash, had left the nest). There were also numerous couches and recliners, a passel of chaise lounges on the back porch, and if nothing else, there was plenty space on the floor. Ash had encouraged people to bring sleeping bags. Some had pitched tents on the hill behind the pond.

Ash had given up his own bedroom to guests and was instead sleeping in the master bedroom downstairs, his parents’ bedroom. He’d invited Kat and Rufus to spend the night with him, as they were among his closest friends, and he trusted them not to steal, befoul, or break anything. His parents’ bed was an enormous California king, with plenty of room for three people to sprawl without touching. To minimize temptation, they were to have arranged themselves with Kat in the middle: boy-sister-celibate gay boy.

Actually, Kat and Rufus had each secretly hoped to find a hookup partner for the evening, and thus avoid Ash’s bed of chastity. However, this did not come to pass. Instead, Ash’s bed, improbably, had become the gaziantep bayan escort ilanları bed of fornication. And now Kat and Rufus were left without a place to sleep.


Behind the bedroom door, things seemed to be reaching a crescendo. The thumping of the headboard quickened, bedsprings screaked precariously, Ash huffed like a wild beast, and Keri wailed in a shrill, hyphenated falsetto.

Kat’s lips scrunched into a pout. “This sucks, R.P. Now it’s late, and all the other beds are already taken, I’m sure.”

They checked the other bedroom downstairs, the guest bedroom. At least half a dozen people, all guys from the looks of it, were crammed sardine-like onto the bed, snoring like a chorus of mechanical frogs. The room smelled of foot fungus.

Kat sounded a sad trombone. “Wah, wah, wah.”

In the living room, the two sofas and two recliners were occupied. The floors, too, were littered with bodies, some curled up on the rug, some lolling and drooling on the bare hardwood. Scattered amidst them was a wreckage of cups, cans, bottles, paper plates, discarded clothing, shoes, fragments of smashed pottery, a spray of blackish soil, and an uprooted fiddle-leaf fig.

Rufus thought a spot on the floor between the piano and the fireplace looked adequate, but Kat tugged him away by his sleeve.

“You don’t have a sleeping bag,” she admonished.

Kat went to investigate the back porch. Meanwhile, Rufus poked his head into the den. His eyes nearly poked on out of his head when he beheld the spectacle within.

Ottavia Putkowski and Lucy Gruetzmacher were spooning on a blue leather sofa, wearing nothing but skimpy panties, watching anime on an ancient black-and-white TV. Or rather, their eyes were open and their faces aimed at the TV, but they appeared to be in a catatonic state. Their mouths were slack, and Lucy was drooling. They didn’t react to Rufus’s intrusion.

In the corner of the room, another girl was wearing not even panties. She knelt, fully nude, before an old wingback chair in brown and green plaid, her head down, dark hair ensconcing her face like a veil.

At first, Rufus thought she was vomiting (perhaps inspired by the chair’s colors). He’d seen a number of his classmates in a similar posture that evening. But then he heard the slurping and saw the slow bobbing of her head. Whoever was sitting in the chair was obscured by its angle, its wing, and the girl’s naked body.

Although her face was not visible, Rufus knew the body: short but sturdy, somewhat stubby of limb, wide of hip, thick through the thighs and rump, with a good bit of muscle and a little pudge-not too much pudge, just enough to make everything soft and round. Her skin was tawny, with complex and diffuse tan lines left behind by various cuts of summer clothes. From where Rufus stood, to her rear and diagonal, he could have easily mistaken the girl for his sister, except that Kat was currently accounted for. Which meant that she could only be Rose Gillogly.

Kat and Rose had played volleyball together since junior high, and had often been mistaken for sisters. They could have nearly passed for twins, except that Rose was a hair taller, had a higher and rounder forehead, a less complexly-faceted nose, no gap between her front teeth, and smaller boobs. She also spoke in a squeaky cartoon voice, in contrast to Kat’s husky mezzo. However, despite being longtime teammates and semi-doppelgängers, Kat and Rose were more rivals than friends.

When the kneeling naked girl’s hair parted, momentarily, to reveal a wedge of her face and a pale, swinging, teacup-sized breast, Rufus determined that she was, indeed, Rose. Sweet, bubbly Rose from his Spanish class, the cheerleading squad, and his sister’s volleyball team was sucking a cock. It felt very wrong to watch. He knew he shouldn’t. But in the flickering light of the vintage TV, the whole scene seemed not quite real. So, he watched.

Rose didn’t see him. Her eyes were closed, or at least the one he could see. Like Kat, Rose had large, wide-set eyes, slightly bulgy, with big smoky lids and long curling lashes. Her lips were puffed out like a volcano. Slowly, methodically, her head bobbed on a shiny penis.

Her hair-curtain closed, then parted again, but this time her eye was open. She glanced back over her shoulder. Rufus backed away a half step, but she held him with her gaze. Her expression was hard to read from his angle, plus with the big cock plugging her mouth, but her eye was glassy calm. She didn’t miss a beat with her bobbing. However, she blocked out his view of her suckling face by shuffling around on her knees, squaring her body to the door, aiming her ass directly at Rufus. He gasped, audibly.

Among his circle of friends, consensus held that Rose had the finest ass in their class, in their entire school, in fact, and probably in their entire geographical region. It was a world-class gaziantep escort bayan ilanları ass. And here it was before him, so plush, so spacious! Two perfect globular hemispheres smooshed lovingly together, punctuated in the middle by a pucker and a slit-an upside-down exclamation point! Silently, Rufus thanked the universe. He felt blessed to witness such beauty in the flesh. It was like sighting a rare and elusive bird.

It started to move. It moved like the slow swishing of a feline’s tail. This puzzled Rufus. What does it mean? Am I being taunted? Is this a mooning? Is she showing off? Or…could it be…an invitation?

“What’s up?” Kat’s voice came from behind.

Rufus jumped. “Nothing!” he said, jerking the door shut. “Occupado. Porch?”

“Nope. Well…the porch swing is free, but it’s still damp with Talia’s piss.”

“Let’s try upstairs.”


Rufus trailed his sister up the stairs. He was exhausted after a hard day of drinking and playing in the sun, but also unexpectedly stimulated after his encounter with Rose Gillogly and her ass. His eyes, by chance, fell upon Kat’s ass as she climbed. Normally, he would never ogle his own sister, but in his current state of zombified arousal, he lacked the willpower to look away. It was right there in front of his face, in a pair of snug denim shorts, swinging like a meaty pendulum. He could almost hear it intoning, “You are very, very sleepy…and horny.”

He also couldn’t help but compare his sister’s ass to Rose’s. Rose may have semi-officially had the best ass in their class, but he thought Kat’s compared favorably. It was very much the same type of ass as Rose’s, with quite similar proportions: broad and bubbly, well-muscled and well-padded, with grandiose curves. Kat’s ass was underrated, Rufus felt.

The problem was, probably, that Kat’s ass was overshadowed by her boobs. Just as a consensus had formed around Rose’s ass, one had also formed around Kat’s boobies. Most of his friends (save Ash) coveted them, thought they were the best in town. Martin Hamschlinger called them “rocket titties,” because they were massive (especially for her diminutive frame), pointy-tipped, and gravity-defying, dangling down but curving back around to aim for the stars.

In the gloom at the top of the stairs, Kat almost immediately stumbled, and Rufus nearly plowed into her. She flipped on the light in the half-bath to her left and discovered her stumbling block: a pair of feet protruding into the hall. They belonged to Madeleine Hinz. She lay face-down on the bath mat, ass humped in the air, wearing nothing but a silver anklet and a pair of men’s tighty-whities. The briefs hung loose and low on her hips, exposing a sliver of her crack.

Kat shook her head. “Tsk-tsk.”

Rufus pointed to the toilet, backed up and overflowing, due to someone having tried to flush what looked like a stuffed toy frog. A thin pool of water spread amoeba-like on the tiled floor, and had already reached the fringe of Madeleine’s bath mat. “She’s about to get a rude awakening,”

“Not as rude as Jerene’s,” said Kat.

Rufus chortled. “What was Talia thinking?”

Kat shrugged. “She was probably thinking Jerene looked like a toilet. If you’re drunk enough, I can see how you’d make that mistake.”

“How do you even get that drunk without being unconscious?”

“Dunno, but I think I’ve got a new fetish,” said Kat. “Come to think of it, young Maddy here looks like she’d make a fine toilet.” Kat leaned back, squinted, gauging her aim, and reached for her zipper.

Rufus took hold of her wrist. “Don’t be a dick,” he said, chuckling. “I mean, don’t be a Talia.”

“Kidding,” said Kat, removing her fingers from her fly. Instead, she burrowed into her pocket and came out with some coins: two quarters, a nickel, and three cents. She repocketed the silver coins and slipped the pennies one-by-one into Madeleine’s crack, like a vending machine.

Madeleine’s fingers twitched, and she let out a beevish groan.

“Wake up, sleepy Maddy.” Kat prodded the unconscious girl with her sandaled foot. “You’re fixing to get a toilet-bowl facial.”

Madeleine muttered some unintelligible curses. But, slowly, and after a few more prods from Kat, she hefted herself, in fitful stages, to her feet. In the process, she gave Rufus a nice eyeful of her small, perky, pink-tipped boobies.

She stood, reeling like a newborn foal. One by one, the pennies dropped from her Fruit of the Looms and clacked onto the floor tiles. A moment later, she lost a brief struggle with the oversized undies, and they slipped entirely from her slender hips and crumpled around her ankles.

Rufus goggled at her mousy-brown pubic thatch, before he remembered he should avert his eyes.

Kat flipped off the bathroom light to allow Madeleine to get herself combobulated in the relative privacy of semi-darkness.

After escort gaziantep ilanları gathering up her underpants, Madeleine tottered off down the dimly-lit hall, stopping at the first door on the left (which happened to be Ash’s bedroom).

Before she could disappear, Kat asked her, “Hey, we’re looking for a place to crash. Is there any room in there?”

“Room in there?” echoed Madeleine. “Well, there’s me and Jeff…and Clyda Klir. That’s…” She furrowed her brow, as if trying to work out a difficult equation. “Actually, this room is not… You can’t come in. I mean, because of…activities. Sorry.” She paused. “But you could try a different room. There are other rooms,” she added, her voice rising to an encouraging falsetto. Then she lost her briefs again. She opened the door and slipped inside, nude. The lock clicked behind her.

Kat shot Rufus a smirk. Before she could speak, a single high note pierced the air. It was unmistakably a sex sound, feminine. But it didn’t come from Madeleine; it came from another room further down the hall.

“Jeez,” groused Kat. “Everyone’s getting laid tonight…except me.”

“And me,” said Rufus.


According to Ash, his family’s farmhouse was older than the United States. Originally a tavern and inn, the ivy-covered fieldstone structure dated from the eighteenth century. Although the downstairs had been heavily renovated and modernized, the upstairs hallway had been carefully preserved, and still looked much as it would have nearly 300 years earlier, with exposed gray stone at either end, rough-hewn wood beams supporting the ceiling, and wood planking completely lining the interior. Six heavy oaken bedroom doors, with blacksmith-forged iron fittings, faced off in three pairs. Between them hung two pairs of curving iron candelabra, fitted with electric candle-bulbs, whose flickering orange tongues cast skittery orbs of muted light, separated by long stretches of shadow.

Kat and Rufus worked their way, one door at a time, down this dark and ancient hall. Behind door number one, on the left, were Madeleine and friends. Rufus tried door number two, on the right, and found it locked. Ditto for door number three, per Kat.

The sex sounds started in again-this time, not an isolated moan, but a full barrage of aahs and oohs and mmms and nnnghs and other, more guttural ejaculations. These issued from behind door number four.

Door number five was locked.

This left door number six. Kat tried the handle, and eureka! She cracked the door to a deep red glow and a thick haze of marijuana smoke, warm and herby and pleasantly skunky. She opened the door a bit further.

A pair of ruby glass hurricane lamps burned on twin nightstands, lighting the room like a Martian boudoir. Where the lamps’ crimson aureoles crossed, an overweight goth girl, Adeline Lare, lazed on the bed in a silk kimono. She had shiny raven hair, ruler-straight bangs, and squared-off and serious-looking eyebrows. Her skin was alabaster. Her big, luxuriant body was well past voluptuous, but nicely-proportioned: an extra-large hourglass. Her face bore her excess weight handsomely.

Rufus was not normally into big girls, or goth girls, but he’d always found Adeline attractive, at least physically. He’d never found her particularly friendly. She looked at him now with a deadpan expression as his head peeked into view above Kat’s in the doorframe.

On the floor at Adeline’s feet were six young Amish men-neighbors and acquaintances of Ash, not classmates-fully dressed in their broadfall black trousers, plain blue shirts, and suspenders, straw hats in their laps, sitting Indian-style in rows of three. Half had beards; half did not. They quietly passed a glass bong amongst themselves, whilst staring at the wall beside the door.

Rufus and Kat both craned their necks to look up at the wall, where an almost cinema-sized flat-screen was mounted. They immediately recognized the scene.

A lovely redhead lay curled on a porch swing, eyes closed, mouth set in a wobbly grin, long ginger locks dangling through the swing’s wooden slats, swishing back and forth across the steel blue floorboards, pushed by a gentle breeze. Behind her, shafts of evening sunlight punched through a lush, rustling canopy of foliage, bleaching the girl’s already-pale features to a luminous white, and glinting off her hair as from a sheet of polished copper. All around her, boisterous partygoers jostled and swigged from red plastic cups. Belligerent hip-hop thumped in the background. But amidst the commotion, the redhead was an island of tranquility. This was Jerene Mollette. Earlier that evening, she’d drunk too much hairy buffalo and passed out on Ash’s porch swing.

Jerene made such a pretty picture that someone had decided to film her. For several minutes, the camera gazed on her loveliness. It zoomed in on her blissed-out face, focusing on her constellations of freckles, her dimples, her adorable upturned nose. It tilted down to show the tips of her hair sweeping up bits of leaves, tiny twiglets, and other detritus from the floor, plus a big black ant. It panned to the hem of her cotton print dress, fluttering against her milky thighs. It panned some more to her dainty feet, with one sandal off and one still on, her toenails polished scarab-green. It zoomed out again to take in the whole of her petite, recumbent form, swinging in the breeze.

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