Camp Piss Prank, Part 1

               Camp Crystal Clear Lake was not the ideal place for the University’s summer remedial class program. The aging buildings sat by the side of an old country road across from a cotton field. There was no lake to be found. The campgrounds were 10 acres of flat dusty land, covered with the stubble of dead grass, wilted strands that barely reached up to your ankles. A few oak trees surrounding the mess hall were the only shade from the shearing heat.

                Inside the mess hall, students talked over each other in an explosive uproar. Crumpled balls of trash flew through the air followed by squeals and taunting laughter.

                Dr. Poole stood at the far end of the hall on the presenter’s stage. She tapped her foot impatiently and looked out over the 40 or so students through the big, bottle lenses of her glasses.

                "Good evening campers!" she said.

                No response. Her voice barely traveled through the ape-like chattering of the college freshmen.

                Dr. Poole grabbed the microphone stand in her skinny hand and slammed its base against the stage floor.

                "GOOD EVENING, CAMPERS!" she screamed at them.

                The campers froze and meekly turned their attention to Dr. Poole.

                She smiled and fixed her frizzy blond-turning gray hair, that was barely held in place by the combined forces of dozens of barrettes.

                "A few announcements, tomorrow we're going to have our annual Gatorade drinking competition!"

                The campers rolled their eyes. They were here to take their remedial courses as quickly as possible and did not appreciate Dr. Poole’s attempts to organize traditional camp activities for them.

                "But this time, there's going to be a fun twist that I'm sure will encourage you all to attend." She said cheerfully. "Next week, construction will begin to renovate the restrooms here at the camp..."

                The students perked up. The camp restrooms were in the hellish concrete block of a building at the front of the camp. The florescent light bulbs hadn't been changed in 50 years and the entire building gave off a permanent piss-y stench. The restrooms doubled as the camp showers, but there were no shower stalls, just five shower heads sticking out the walls in the back corner, away from the toilets, which also didn’t have stalls. The interest on the campers' faces slowly turned to concern, though. Classes had just started. How were they going to renovate the building now?

                "... you might be wondering what that means for you all since camp just started," Dr. Poole continued. "Only one half of the restrooms will be renovated this summer. The boy's half or the girl's half. For the Gatorade drinking competition, you'll be separated into boy and girl teams and whoever wins gets to keep their restrooms for the summer."

                Several alarmed hands shot up. Nikki, a usually very shy girl, spoke without waiting to be called on.

                "Dr. Poole, does that mean we'll have to... share the bathrooms if we lose?"

                "Oh, absolutely not. One hour a day will be allotted for the losing party to use showers in privacy, but you'll be expected to do your business in the outhouse."

                Everyone turned pale. The outhouse stank of mold. The toilet "seat" was a rickety board over a muddy bottomless hole filled with decades of shit. Using it almost guaranteed your ass getting bitten by spiders. And, only one person could use it at a time.

                Dr. Poole chuckled. "Or you can just go out in the field. I won't stop you."

                Fear stirred in the hearts of all the campers. The girls especially were horrified at the sudden reality that they may have to bare their asses to piss and shit, the dead grass offering no cover at all, in full view of the rest of the camp, the winners no doubt jeering and pointing at their absurd, curved huddled bodies as they deposited their waste on the ground like animals.

                Nearly all the students immediately started shouting at Dr. Poole, claiming it wasn't fair, that it was against the law, that they shouldn't have to do this.

                "SO, I RECOMMEND YOU ALL GET READY TO PARTICPATE TOMORROW!" Dr. Poole, a smug smile on her face, shouted at the top of her lungs over the squawking, terrified complaints.

***

                "Hurry up!"

                "I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!"

                Two hushed voices said in the darkness.

                With a crashing thump, two boys fell through an open window and into the pitch blackness of the camp storage room.

                Dylan was the first to get up. He pulled out his phone and shined its flashlight around the darkness.

                Mark, the other boy, pointed to the center of the storage space. There, surrounded by fishing equipment, sports equipment, and rusted lockers, were two five-gallon tubs, basically barrels. The familiar lightning bolt Gatorade logo was covered on each one by big white stickers that had the Greek male and female symbols.

                The two boys stood over the girls' jug of Gatorade. They were wearing the camp-issued sleep shorts and t-shirts. Tomorrow, ice would be added to the tubs and whichever team finished drinking would win the ability to keep using indoor plumbing.

                "So, what're we going to do?" Mark said, after a long pause.

                "What do you mean? I thought you had a plan to like sabotage it or whatever," Dylan said.

                "Why would you think I had a plan? You know I'm dumb as shit!"

                Their hissing argument was cut off by the sound of hushed, high-pitched giggling and many, many pairs of feet crunching on the dry earth outside the storage building.

                Scrambling, the two boys squeezed into a rusty locker barely a foot behind the male tub. The broken door wouldn't close all the way, leaving a tiny crease where their terrified eyes could peer out, watching the knob jiggle in the storage unit front door.

                "Ssshhh," new voices shushed.

                The door opened and dozens and dozens of girls huddled into the tiny storage building. The door had been unlocked. Most of them were wearing their regular clothes but a few had changed into their pajamas or other sleep clothes.

                Sandra, the girl in the lead, flicked on the storage room light, a single yellow bulb.

                "There," she said, pointing in the direction of the jugs of Gatorade and the lockers. The two boys froze in the lockers, trying to contain their shaking fear and not make the rusty metal rattle around them.

                But Sandra went right to the boys' Gatorade jug instead of the hiding place right behind it. She unscrewed the lid off the jug, revealing the unnatural bright orange color of the Gatorade inside.

                "How much should we take out?" Someone asked. Hands passed water bottles over to Sandra and the other girls in the front of the crowd. They began scooping Gatorade into the bottles and placing them off to the side.

                "Like two thirds for now," Sandra said. "If that's too much we can always add it back in.”

                The boys squinted, confused. They watched from the lockers. Their brains had no answers for what the girls were doing.

                The bottles set off to the side, a nervous silence fell upon the girls, but some of them were smirking with impish evil grins.

                Sandra stood up and unbuttoned her jeans.

                The boys' hearts skipped a beat. Sandra turned away from the lockers, hiding her ass from the crowd of girls but presenting it to the boys' bloodshot, staring eyes. She hooked her fingers into the waist of her pants and peeled her jeans and pink thong underwear down to the bottom of her buttcheeks, completely, unintentionally, mooning the two boys. Her buttcheeks were round and soft and spilled over the edge of her lowered jeans. Her tan skin was interrupted by pasty tan lines across her cheeks and asscrack. They were uneven, her right cheek tanner than the other from half of Sandra's bikini bottom riding up her right cheek and into her crack in a wedgie while she fell asleep sunbathing.

                Sandra lowered herself onto the boys' jug, discretely pulling her pants down a little further as her butt squished against the jug's plastic circumference.

                A half second of silence.

                And then,

                PSSSSSHHHHHHHHH

                A wet and thunderous hissing and splashing. Sandra squinted and strained, emptying her bladder into the boys' jug, booby trapping it with her spraying urine. The girls started giggling to themselves, some of them watching Sandra piss and others looking away to give her privacy.

                A single angry thought filled both boys' brains at once, cutting through their horny hormonal haze.                 "THEY'RE GOING TO MAKE US DRINK THEIR PISS!"

                After almost a minute of continuous spraying, Sandra stopped. One of the girls in the crowd passed her a toilet paper roll. She folded up a length of sheets and dabbed her pussy dry, her hand disappearing between her thighs. She tugged up her jeans, squashing her butt upward and struggling to get them past her hips.

                "Let’s see them stomach that at the competition tomorrow!” she said. “Who’s next?"

                Lucy stepped forward. She hadn’t changed into her sleep clothes and was still wearing her leggings and t-shirt. Her granny panties made lines in her tight leggings, which were quickly pulled down, revealing the baby blue sea of sweaty cotton underwear fabric pulled over her asscheeks.

                Like Sandra, she only exposed herself as much as she needed to, pulling the panties down to just bare her butt behind her, unaware of the boys’ eyes widening, absorbing the sight of her squishy pale, dimply cheeks, decorated with occasional flame-red zit. She sat down on the jug and only then pulled her clothes a little further down her thighs.

                PSSSSSHHHHH

                The harsh hiss of piss cut into the boys’ brains. It burned into their souls that they were witnessing the girls weaponize their most private bodily functions, watching them debase themselves like animals in front of each other in what they assumed was the safety of their crowding, flocking bodies.

                “hey… hurry up…” someone said from the crowd. They were moving, wiggling now. Apparently, some of the girls had been holding their piss for a long time so they could fill the jug as much as possible.

                “Almost done,” Lucy said. Still pissing, she took the offered toilet paper. She paused, looking down at her pressed together thighs, waiting for the trickle of pee to die down, before spreading open her legs and huddling forward to wipe herself from the front.

                The boys craned their necks. The exposed asses, the intimacy, the pulse-pounding secrecy, had made them painfully hard, but their greedy brains desired to see more.

                Lucy got off the jug and was almost pushed to the side by Emma, who barreled out of the crowd. Emma’s hand was hard at work between the enormous globes of her asscheeks, pulling the much-too-small camp issued sleep shorts out of her asscrack. The deep crease of fabric riding up her pussy made it clear that she wasn’t wearing panties.

                The deep twisting urgency in her bladder overwhelmed any sense of humiliation, and she yanked the cotton shorts down to her ankles – almost ripping them – and slammed her fat ass down on the jug.

                “Oh shit!” she yelped. Her weight crashed down with such force that the jug and her on top of it started to topple backward. Her bladder began to empty itself at the same time, a faucet roar of terror. The boys cowered in the locker, Emma’s falling shape heading right toward them. But the girls at the front of the crowd grabbed Emma’s wrists and yanked her and the barrel upright again, the contents of the barrel making splashing sloshing sounds.

                “Shit… shit…” Emma winced. Still-warm urine splashed against her ass, her thighs, onto her peeing pussy. Without thinking, she pulled herself off the jug in a sudden instinctual fit of discomfort. Pee rained down from the dark wavy folds of her waxed pussy, splattering against the rim and sides of the jug and down her leg and onto her shorts on the ground.

                The other girls glared at her, at the mess she was making. No one offered her toilet paper.

                “Sorry…” Emma muttered. She pulled the soaked shorts off her ankles and used them to awkwardly dab at her dripping piss-soaked ass and pussy. The rest of the girls gave her a wide berth as she waddled bottomless and wet back into the crowd, her ruined shorts in one hand and her other hand cupped over her crotch.

                Nikki was up next.

                She stared at the piss soaked jug in wide-eyed horror. She didn’t dare sit down on it now. Her hands played with the edge of the long t-shirt she wore like a nightgown. She was so short that it reached to her knees.

                Swallowing hard, she stood in front of the jug and bent over slightly, her ass hovering. The shirt remained at her knees. She was too shy to lift it.

                She bit her lip and started to pee. But it wasn’t a powerful stream, it was a limp, cowardly trickle that ran down her left leg and onto her sneakers.

                Nikki turned bright red, watching mouth agape as she pissed herself.

                “Bend over more and really push,” someone in the crowd suggested.

                Her face squinched up and she made fists with her hands. She doubled over, really committing to the squat and pushed.

                PPSSHHHHH

                Pee sprayed against the back of Nikki’s shirt-dress, immediately turning the gray fabric black. Sweating in terror, aware of the eyes of her classmates in front of her watching her utterly fail to hover squat, watching her ruin her clothes, Nikki grabbed her shirts and lifted it up, bunching it around her body at her chest like a crop top.

                The boys covered their mouths, trying not to gasp.

                Her pee sprayed backward into the jug, unobstructed except for the tangled nest of her dark, curly pubic hair. Droplets of glistening piss clung to her dangling pubic hair. Her exposed asshole winked and her pussy pulsed, twitching from the forces of her pushing pelvic muscles trying to wring out each drop of pee from her bladder. The curves of her bony ass led upward to the curling shape of her slim, narrow, back, the bones of her spine prodding through her skin. Her skinny naked legs wobbled and tensed from the force of her tensing pee.

                When Nikki was done, she gave the leg that she peed on a shameful little shake and then wiped it as best she could with the toilet paper.

                The other girls followed Nikki’s example. Each of them doubled over in a hover squat above the soaked jug, unknowingly presenting everything to the staring boys. Mark and Dylan’s hearts pounded in their chests. They felt light-headed. It took all of their self-control to not start hyperventilating. The seemingly endless procession of ass and pussy barely a foot from their faces was almost too much for their souls to handle. They watched as each of their classmates bared their most private everythings to them, pants and shorts and skirts and panties descending from their waists, down their asses and hips -- wide or narrow, high squarish hips or low sloping ones, long canyons of asscrack or small short creases, firm athletic cheeks or squishy doughy softness, a kaleidoscope of skin tones and tan lines and freckles and occasionally acne – every single ass was perfect and gorgeous and breathtaking in the eyes of their hidden audience. With tensing naked thighs, each of the girls bent over, asscheeks pulling apart and assholes exposed, winking between them, pee pouring out of gorgeous pussy lips, some shaven, some trimmed, some framed by matted overgrown hair, some with the dangling white strings of tampons trailing between them, every pussy a hypnotic, captivating, unique secret shape, each a different texture and color, a different fleshy flower drawing in their eyes and numbing every cell in their short circuiting brains as they burned the images of their peeing classmates onto the deep walls of their minds.

                Chelsea was last, and the tall blond girl who never talked to anyone was feeling adventurous. She dropped her pajama pants and frilly panties to her ankles and stepped completely out of them. Standing bottomless, she hooked her fingers into her wiry strawberry blond pussy hair and peeled herself open, lifting her hood, exposing the soft pinkness of her vagina and urethra. She stood with her naked legs wide and her hips angled forward and sprayed piss into the jug like a man at a urinal. The other girls whooped and cheered her on, her piss splashing and splattering into the rotten miasma, now gallons of urine.

                The boys’ cocks had been fighting for their lives in their shorts, which felt seven sizes too small. They had held their erections for so long, that their dicks and balls hurt with an almost-cramping soreness. But, at the same time, the tiny storage room was filling with the smell of piss. The acidic stink was making their eyes water. Discarded lumps of wet toilet paper littered the floor, stained yellow with pee.

                “Jesus Christ…” Sandra said. She leaned over and looked into the boys’ jug. The urine was already fermenting, a rotten stink. The unnaturally bright orange of the Gatorade had turned foreboding, dark and stormy. Fallen pubic hair floated on the water’s surface.

                Grinning from ear to ear, she screwed the lid back on the jug.

                Giggling, proud, glowing with smugness, the girls filed out of the storage building. On their way out, Sandra kicked the discarded clumps of toilet paper into an enormous mass and then kicked that behind some fishing equipment.

                The door closed.

                Panting, finally able to breathe deep, the boys stumbled out of the locker. They were shaking, vibrating, like their bodies were about to fall apart, ripped to atoms by their uncontrollable stress and horniness.

                “What are we going to do?” Mark asked, practically wailed. “I don’t want to drink piss!”

                “Shhh…” Dylan said. Both of their eyes were pointed at the male jug of Gatorade, the sides still glistening from Emma’s pee. They tried to avoid looking at each other’s rigid cocks. It felt like the blood and skin and cartilage in their dicks were permanently fused into an erection.

                Dylan crouched down next to the jug.

                “What are you doing?” Mark said.

                Without saying a word, Dylan peeled the white male sticker off the Gatorade jug. Then, he peeled the female sticker off the other. He turned to Mark with a big smile on his face, his hands applying the female sticker to the piss filled jug…