Melissa, a busty brunette

The door opens to reveal a girl in her early twenties. She's a perky little thing, almost a full head shorter than you, with hazel eyes and a cute button nose framed by wavy, shoulder-length black hair. She has a spattering of faint brown freckles across her face and shoulders. Her body is all soft voluptuous curves, from her ample bust to wide hips and thighs that hint at an equally healthy ass. She's wearing a midriff-baring, low-cut top of a lacy blue material, which does more to emphasize the heavy breasts it only barely contains than it does to conceal them. Firm pencil-eraser nipples stick out through the openings in the lace, and you can faintly see the outlines of her large areolas through the gauzy fabric. She also has on a pair of form-fitting white shorts that reach to mid-thigh. Or on second glance, it would be more accurate to say they used to be white at one point; the shorts bear heavy yellow stains at the crotch and along the inner thighs from repeated wetting, although at the moment they're dry.

She looks at you with a slightly surprised expression. "Um, hi, can I help you?" she asks, and gives two quick little hops up and down on her toes that make her big soft tits bounce conspicuously. It's the same gesture you saw from Hayley earlier, and from the way she does it you'd guess it's something she does habitually, not just to you in particular. Maybe all large-breasted women do the same thing, or something similar, to show off their tits when meeting someone for the first time, to make it clear to new acquaintances that they're free to use.

You've been so entranced with looking at her that it takes you a moment to find your voice, but when you do you manage to reply, "Please tell me you're my new neighbor."

Her surprise is quickly replaced by a warm smile. "Haha, I guess I am! Hi, my name's Melissa." She holds out her hand for you to shake.

You take her offered hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm John, I live just across the hall. It's a pleasure to meet you." Which, to be fair, is somewhat of an understatement. You're ecstatic to meet her—having a fat-titted fucktoy like her so close at hand is a very attractive prospect. Even the smallest apartment can feel like a palace if hot and cold running pussy is available just outside the front door. "Are you new in town?"

"Yeah, I just moved here. I'm going to be starting my graduate work at the local college," she explains. "You probably know the area better than I do, then—what's good around here?"

You talk with her about the town and local restaurants and so forth for a few more minutes. As the two of you chat, your eyes keep being drawn to the stained splotch on Melissa's pants. You can't help feeling a residual anxiety that it would be rude to ask her about it directly. But would it, really? The whole point to this world (well, one of the points, anyway) is that it's normal for women to piss themselves, and for that fact to be fully acknowledged in society. Here, asking a woman about her urination style should be no different than asking about her hobbies or fashion preferences: a common topic of casual conversation. In any case, there's little risk of offending her either way—no matter how other women might react, you should be able to ask big-breasted Melissa in particular about nearly anything as long as you can say it's for sexual purposes.

Making up your mind, you point to her crotch and say, "I'm guessing you're a wetter, right?"

"I sure am! No great secret there, haha," she replies brightly, and idly runs both hands up her inner thighs, smoothing the fabric out against her skin and outlining her mound with her fingers as they reach the crease of her groin. She does it with the habitual air of a gesture she's made many times before, like pulling her hair back or glancing at a watch. However, when her fingers touch the dry fabric at her crotch, she looks down in surprise. "Oh, but I guess I haven't wet myself since I got dressed. Excuse me, where are my manners?" She chuckles a little self-consciously, and a dark spot of wetness appears between her legs and rapidly starts growing. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting company today," she continues offhandedly as she pisses her pants. Urine streams down her inner thighs and drips from her crotch, where it's already soaked through the fabric of her shorts.

You've been at half-mast for most of this conversation, staring at her big soft tits and generous curves, but now your erection grows to full strength as you watch her pee herself. The desire—no, the need to feel her piss strikes you with an immediate urgency. "No, that's fine," you say. "This way I get to watch you do it." You take a step forward, grab her waistband with one hand, and stuff the other hand down the front of her shorts, reaching deep into the warm wetness until your fingers meet her pussy lips and slide in between them. The hot yellow liquid pours over your fingers as you slowly rub back and forth along Melissa's slit.

She lets out a little oh! of amused surprise when you touch her lips, but makes no move to stop you. On the contrary, she smiles at you as you continue to grope her genitals. "You like it when girls wet themselves, huh?"

"I... yes," you say, too distracted to come up with anything more intelligent-sounding while her piss is still gushing into your hand. You're absently rubbing your cock through your own clothing with the other hand without even thinking about it. "Yes, very much so."

She laughs lightly. "I'll never get over how such simple, everyday things can sometimes get a guy ready to go so quickly," she muses. "Just the way a girl brushes her hair, or the way her tits bounce, or the shape of the stream when she pisses herself, and suddenly he's got one appendage or another down her pants!" She rocks her hips back and forth gently, rubbing her pussy against your fingers as you continue to grope her.

After a few more glorious seconds, her stream of urine weakens and then ends. Once you're sure it's stopped entirely, you pull your hand out of her pants, dripping wet with her urine. You lift your hand up to your nose and sniff it, tentatively at first and then inhaling deeply of the sour smell of her piss. After a moment's consideration you wipe your hand off on her shirt, leaving a wet spot over her left breast that leaves her nipple even more clearly visible than it was before. "Anyway, make yourself at home," Melissa continues, unperturbed by you drying your hand off on her chest. "I've got most of my things unpacked, so I have time if you want to hang out for a while and get to know each other. Or if you just need a warm hole to jerk off into, feel free to use my cumdump body to do it." She says this last part in the same tone of polite invitation as the rest, not thinking any more of offering you her body to fuck than she would of offering you a glass of water to drink.