Don’t watch Dolly Orchid piss. Watch what she does with it after.

Dolly Orchid came out in the beige knit dress and the silver heels and sat on her heels on the deck like she had all afternoon. Slit open. One hand on her chest. The other already between her legs. She looked at the camera and started slow, still dressed, still smiling a little, rubbing herself through nothing but her own fingers.

She pulled the neckline down. Tits out in the sun. Heels planted. She kept going, mouth open, eyes half shut, the dress bunched and useless. I thought she was going to finish like that.

She didn’t. She shifted her squat, held the dress up, and pissed. Right there. I heard it on the wood. She watched it leave her. When it stopped she didn’t stand up and she didn’t reach for anything to clean herself. Her fingers went back, wet, and she used it. Slow at first, then like she meant it. Eyes closed. The piss still on her hand.

She dropped onto her back and opened her legs. It had run down her chest and her stomach. She looked at it, looked at me, and kept touching her pussy. Then the dress was gone. Nude, squatting again, one hand on her tit, the other hand working it, heels off, the garden still right behind her.

Fourteen minutes. Dolly Orchid. I thought the piss was the end. She put her fingers in it.