Topping up a Puddle

She’s on her haunches in the middle of a dirt road, long brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing nothing. The puddle’s already there, muddy and still, and she’s making it worse. You see her from the side first — slim build, smallish tits, legs spread wide — then the camera swings around for a tight shot right between her legs. The piss hits the water with a steady stream, splashing back a little. She doesn’t flinch. Her fingers dig into her thighs, not from effort, just holding the position. The light’s natural, late afternoon, everything looks real, no staged backdrop. They hold the close-up for a long time, letting you watch the flow, the way the puddle swells and ripples. No music, just ambient sound — birds, wind, the trickle of urine hitting water. The wide shots show how isolated it is, just her and this puddle in the middle of nowhere. Her nails are long, painted, look expensive, which contrasts with the dirt and gravel under her bare feet. She stays in that squat for a while, not rushing, like she’s actually going full bladder. No cutaways, no edits in the middle of the stream — one continuous piss, starts strong, tapers off slow. At the end she stands up, shakes her legs a little, steps out of the puddle like she just dropped a bomb in it. No one else shows up. No sex, no touching, just pissing. But it’s well-shot, patient. The kind of thing you don’t see often done this straightforward.