Holding In The Pool

By Eliot Waistlin

In the fifth installment of the hot Holding series, Jing needs to find somewhere to cool down on the sweltering summer days. Her creepy new boss has a pool, but Jing is more interested in the gorgeous girl swimming in it. She can make a new friend with the boss's daughter-in-law, but what happens when she gets stuck in the pool with an extra-full bladder and nowhere to go pee? Another sexy, tension-filled story full of bikinis, lesbian eroticism, and thigh-twisting pee desperation! Omorashi erotica at its best!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eliot Waistlin
• Release date: Aug 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005262778

Eliot Waistlin

Eliot Waistlin is a fiction-writing fool. He writes NSFW kinky erotica in a variety of genres, and insists that you read them all.

Book preview

Holding in the Pool

Omorashi Erotica

By Eliot Waistlin

Copyright 2020, Eliot Waistlin.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Cover photo by Andrea Piacquadio.

Holding in the Pool

I stood in the air-conditioned living room, looking out through the sliding glass doors into the back yard. A young woman was swimming lengths in the pool. I watched as she climbed out of the deep end and sat on the concrete edge, wringing the water out of her long black hair, letting it hang in a thick cord over her shoulder. She was about my age, maybe nineteen or twenty, with dark brown skin. She wore a black athletic bikini, and she took a long drink from a water bottle before dropping back into the water and resuming her laps.

The old white man I was there to see arrived at my side with a tall glass of water. He’d put a wedge of lemon in it, along with ice. Checking out the pool, huh? he asked. Have you got one?

No, I said. I live in an apartment. Our building doesn’t have a pool.

Oh, you need a pool to get through summer here. Too damn hot. Same with air conditioning. You can’t live here without it. Shall we?

I followed him into the small office off the side of his living room, not mentioning that I was also didn’t have air conditioning. My mom, her lame-ass husband and I were all crammed into a one-bedroom apartment. We’d had a window A/C unit, but it conked out at the end of last summer, and Mom and Mike hadn’t made room in the budget for a new one, which was yet another reason I couldn’t stand living with them. Working for Mister Thompson wasn’t going to pay enough for me to afford my own place, but I needed income.

We sat down in his little office, which was stacked with boxes of all his crap, along with his computer desk. The job involved typing up material from his old notebooks, then editing