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There was no way it would work. Anthony wasn’t sure he wanted it to. Just another pee-related fantasy played out behind the safety of the keyboard. Tess was supportive of his writing, even the more dangerous topics, but that was partly because her fantasies were not altogether safe either.

Ten years ago, their sexual chemistry had been explosive. It wasn’t uncommon to lose an entire Saturday to silks ties and vibrating silicon and the slow, methodical build of orgasms… vaginal, anal, whatever. Laundry those evenings would be all towels and sheets, and the house would wreak of human desire. A lot changes in ten years.

It was more likely that Tess was supportive of Anthony’s writing because she felt guilty. It had been over two years since they’d touched each other. It took about fourteen months for Anthony to stop coming on to her. Kisses happened in passing. Intimacy was snuggling in bed. It was nice. They both said so. When Anthony started writing erotica, Tess was all for it. She said that she loved thinking about all those people getting off to the words that her husband set down. Eventually she read a few stories while Anthony touched himself next to her. She even said she got wet. And then they brushed their teeth, and Tess crawled into bed, and Anthony finished masturbating on the bathroom floor.

Anthony’s stories weren’t all great, but they weren’t all bad. Like all effective writers of erotic fiction, he tended to write about the topics to which he masturbated. One topic was at the forefront of his fantasies almost constantly… Tess masturbating while she peed. In these fantasies, she would splash a warm stream of piss up onto her little nub and arch her back and rub. But the idea of it just wasn’t enough. It got to the point that Anthony had taken to seated urination, peeing into his hand while rubbing his dick hard. Then he’d masturbate and imagine it had been Tess peeing on him while he stroked. It was this recurring fantasy that drove him to publish a story about golden showers.

He was surprised at the response, at how many people could relate, and then he started writing pee-related stories almost exclusively. It was such a relief to connect with other humans sexually, to not always feel so alone.

Tess knew this, and so she was supportive. Even when Anthony started writing about adultery.

They’d talked about it. What if Tess’s libido was gone for good? Would Anthony be in for another fifty years of masturbation? And so when Anthony told her what he was writing about – he always told her – Tess just nodded and said it made sense.

But this story was very specific. He was going to expose their lives, a little bit of truth in the safety of anonymity with a bit of dangerous thrill mixed in. And he did. And he published.

Initial responses were mixed, as usual. There were a number of attempts to shame him in the comments. He always thought it was funny how the people shaming him still read the story, though… Guilt does things to all of us, he thought. A week passed. Two. Not that he really expected anything to happen. It was just a story after all.

Then he received her email, a semi-anonymous push to his inbox through the author feedback system. Her name was Molly, and she’d been reading Anthony’s work since he started publishing. She was a lit author as well, lesbians and lactation mostly. Some daddy stuff. She couldn’t bring herself to write about urination.

Molly confessed, upon reading his latest story, that she wanted to write to Anthony immediately, that she had almost written to him a number of times. There was something so… human… about the way he wrote. Even when the characters were choking down a mouthful of piss “lol”, they were still just people. Urination wasn’t a particular fetish of hers, but it wasn’t at all unappealing, especially given the way Anthony’s characters tended to guzzle it down in ecstasy, taken entirely by their partners and the moment, with rarely an expectation of reciprocation. Just a desire to be liberated and deeply intimate.

Of course, she wouldn’t be writing if she didn’t hope the story held a kernel of truth, that Anthony wanted that kind of encounter in his life, that he was willing to meet with a reader and give it a try.

When Anthony read Molly’s email, his stomach turned. It turned with excitement. It turned with shame. He felt his muscles quaking, and the movement of pre-cum emerging from the tip of his penis. In fact, by the time he finished reading her email, he’d soaked his underwear. He went to the bathroom, masturbated with abandon, and got fresh pants from the big drawer.

That night as Anthony was crawling under the covers, he told Tess what had happened.

“Huh,” said Tess, not taking her eyes off her book. “That sounds sexy as fuck.”

“Doesn’t it though?” said Anthony. “It would be fun to write her back.”

Tess turned the page. “It’s good to connect with people.”

In that moment, Anthony’s mouth dried out. “You Pendik Escort think so?”

Tess hummed. “I mean, it’s not something I would think a partner wants to know about. But I can see how someone would get a lot of fulfillment out of something like that.”

Shaking his head, Anthony shifted further under the covers. His thumb was lightly rolling over the head of his cock, trying to keep the pre-cum from soaking his pajama pants and sheets. “It really would,” he said. “But I mean, something like that is a bad idea, right? Sex isn’t just sex. Someone always gets hurt.”

“I guess that depends on what sex entails,” said Tess. “A personal relationship would be a problem. I mean, I can imagine a spouse in your scenario wouldn’t want the sex to be recurring, not when the couple already has so little time for each other. I think that’s key to making something like that work.”

Anthony closed his eyes and rolled away from Tess’s lamp light. “Still, pretty silly, right? The things people say. I do feel bad for her, though. She sounds like she needs a solid fuck.”

Tess made a little chuckling sound. “I guess everyone has needs.”

Anthony had no idea what Molly looked like, but he imaged she looked pretty normal. A little older than Anthony by her descriptions, married to a man that preferred video games to fucking her. And yet, Anthony found himself imaging her with a little belly pooch, and large swollen breasts, and a full bush that carried her scent. What it could be like to bury his nose in that fragrant thatch. Her writing was spectacular, and he spent mornings and evenings reading, imagining Molly was the lead in her stories, that Anthony was the one tasting her arousal. Her words carried a certain realism and humanity that Anthony valued. Of course those things would resonate with him; that’s what drew Molly to Anthony’s work as well.

It took him fifteen days to finally respond, give or take. He wasn’t really counting.

PrittyPleeez (Molly), I’m sorry it took me a while. I had to build up the nerve. I’m sure you can relate. Anyway, if you’re still in, so am I. Let me know when you’re coming through town.

He gave some details and hit send. Five minutes later, a response arrived.

Friday, 2pm. Airport hotel.

Molly had explained in her first email that she traveled for work, and she had a crazy number of trips and airline miles. She could announce she was going wherever, whenever, and her husband would just nod and go back to not paying attention.

Anthony did what any man would do. He went on a cleanse, switched from coffee to tea, and plucked the pubes around the base of his cock. He shaved (his face). He only had three days to get ready, but he couldn’t not do something.

And he kissed Tess more frequently. In the kitchen, passing in the hallway. And she always smiled and kissed him back. He imagined, in those moments, that he was meeting Tess on Friday. That it was all a ruse, and she had this planned from the beginning. But he knew it wasn’t. He only prayed – prayed – that he wasn’t making the most foolish mistake of all time. That mistake men throughout history have made, on the assumption that consenting adults have some right, any right, to sexual congress. Would it be worth it? One hour of sexual gratification against another fifty years of guilt-free marriage…

Getting Friday afternoon off work was easy. Anthony worked from home half the time. All he had to do was book himself a long ‘meeting’, and he was clear. He sat in his car, in his driveway, for almost an hour. The airport hotel was only fifteen minutes away. He could count the planes overhead if he had the desire. His original plan was to get to the hotel early, to have a shot of liquid courage or three, probably a lot of water. If he didn’t leave now…

He put his foot on the brake and put the car in reverse.

The hotel parking lot was fairly full, as it would be connected to the airport. As he locked his car, the air was biting cold, a breeze that stole warmth from any opening in his coat. It added to the adrenaline making his limbs shake, making his heart flutter in his chest. In the lobby, he checked his email again and headed for the elevator bay. The doors opened, and he stepped in, found the number 8, pressed it.

An elderly couple shuffled in as well, and Anthony held the doors open with a smile. The old man placed a hand on the small of the woman’s back, a thick wedding band glinting in muted gold between silver hairs. The couple was bent and fragile, but they were smiling. “What floor?” Anthony asked. His voice was loud in his ears.

“Eleven,” said the old woman. Her voice was steadier than his own. Anthony pressed it. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the numbers increment in their slow, stately march. The elderly couple were talking about something – but Anthony couldn’t understand them through the pulse pounding in his ears.

He stepped out on the eighth floor. Left Kurtköy Escort or right. Damn, why was it always so hard to read these fucking signs? Left. No… no, right. He reached 814.

And stood there.

He looked down at his watch. 2pm on the nose. Yup. All he had to do was knock. But the only way he could lift his arm was to look at his watch. 2:03. 2:04. He stood thinking, his mind spinning, his stomach near the edge of expulsion, especially when he thumbed his wedding band, which he refused to take off. 2:07. At 2:08, he turned to leave.

Molly would be disappointed. But fuck Molly. Tess was his partner!

The partner that knew how lonely he felt. The partner that had said certain… things… about needs. And Anthony knew. He knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. He knew that he couldn’t go on masturbating in the bathroom, the closet, or even in front of a wife that put her book down to watch him cum in the corner chair, only to pick it up again when he went to clean off. Something had to happen. Anything.

Anthony wheeled about and knocked. The door opened immediately.

Molly had dark hair, chocolate brown, with large honey eyes and chubby cheeks and a small mouth. She wore a bathrobe cinched about her middle, between what appeared to be heavy breasts and only slightly smaller belly. She was barefoot, her toes wiggling anxiously over the carpet. There was a tightness in her voice when she said, “I didn’t think you were going to knock.”

“I wasn’t,” said Anthony.

“It would have been okay if you didn’t,” she said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Something about the quirk at the corner of her mouth made him nod and step forward. His hand brushed the fabric of her gown against her hip, and it set his skin aflame. He could feel his cock swelling against his pants, already leaking that slick arousal into his boxer briefs (it had been doing that since his driveway, and frankly it was a wet mess in there). He heard the door close behind him.

“Nice place,” he said. The room looked like any. Every. The heavy curtains were closed, the lamps on. There was a case of bottled water on the desk. Half the bottles were empty.

When he turned, Molly’s robe was on the floor. She stood naked, the roundness of her looking soft and tempting. Anthony’s eyes moved immediately to her large nipples, possibly the widest he’d ever seen, hard nubs beneath the active pinching of her fingers. The diamonds along her wedding band sparkled in the bright light pouring from the bathroom. Then his eyes ranged over her skin, pink and flushed and dotted with moles and freckles. Then down to her crotch. A dark, bushy curve matted against her roundness, two dark, meaty flaps emerging from her crevice.

“God…,” he said. “You’re so sexy… Jesus Christ.”

“Well, thank you,” she said. “But I didn’t fly a thousand miles for small talk. I did it so you could eat my pussy while I piss on you. I thought it would be easier if we just get started.” She nodded at Anthony’s pants. “Do I get to touch it, or are you going to keep those on?”

Antony’s anxiety shifted momentum completely, and he rushed to unbuckled, unbutton, unzip. When he was equally naked, he felt his skin heat as Molly looked at his belly pudge and underwhelming erection, mouth quirked. He glanced down and then shrugged. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t figure it mattered.”

“Please,” said Molly, blowing air through pursed lips. “You think I’m going to judge? We’re adults for God’s sake, not college athletes. And you should know, I was just thinking I could fit my entire mouth over that thing. Aaaaand also that it might feel really nice in my ass.”

“Um,” Anthony said, “I… hands and mouths. That was the deal. And this is a one time thing, right? Never to be repeated.”

“I’m willing to revise the terms any time you are. I haven’t been fucked by someone that was actually into me years, and that’s worth an open mind.” Molly’s hand dropped to her crotch, and her fingers pressed deeply into her furry crease. “Now come over here and taste how badly I want you.”

Anthony is against Molly’s warm body in a breathe, his erection pushing into her soft belly, and his mouth settles supple upon hers. She closes her eyes and hums, and Anthony can feel the muscles in Molly’s arm moving as she pleasures herself. He takes her by the wrist and raises her hand until it’s at the corner of their joined lips, and then opens his mouth to admit her fingers. With a deep inhale, he smells her strong musk, and together they lick her sour arousal, tongues sweeping against one another until the flavor and scent are depleted.

Molly breathes out slowly, her breath ragged. “Oh, fuck,” she says, her hand free and digging around in her snatch once more. “That was so fucking hot.” Anthony goes to his knees, but Molly says, “No, no. Into the bathroom. I’ve been holding this for hours. I need to piss now. Right now.”

“Now, but we’ve only…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Maltepe Escort sweetie,” she says, a touch of franticness in her voice. “There will be more. Much more. We’re not stopping until we’ve done everything in your story.” She grabs a clump of Anthony’s hair, and pulls him along like a dog. As they reach the bathroom counter, a layer of towels cushioning his knees, Anthony is grinning.

Molly throws her leg up onto marble, her swampy cunt spreading. Anthony can smell her immediately, her inner lips already petalled and glistening in the light of bright cubist sconces flanking the shower, the mirror, the toilet. He can see the wet glistening of her vagina and the small, dark hole of her urethra.

Unable to resist, Anthony shoves his nose into her bush and inhales, and Molly moans with pleasure as his tongue carves a slow swath through her gusset, clit to taint and back. The taste of her is just overwhelming. He’s already handling his cock, pre-cum smeared over his circumcised head, stroking himself as his tongue flicks Molly’s delicate nub. Her hand grabs the back of his head and forces his face against her wetness.

“Do you remember this part of your story?” she says. “Go on. Work that cock for me while you eat my puss. But don’t cum until I’m done peeing. I get to swallow your first load.”

Anthony recalls another nuance of his story. With his free hand, he wraps his arm around Molly’s supporting legs and lets his fingers rub the inside of her thigh.

“Oh, baby. Higher,” she says breathily. “Yes, against my asshole. Yeah, can you feel me pushing? Can you feel me trying…” Her words pinch. “…To get the pee to come?”

“Uh-huh,” grunts Anthony, circling Molly’s clit with his tongue. “Yes! Fucking piss! I’m going to suck it out of you!”

“No!” says Molly pulling his mouth a fraction higher. “That’s later. Suck my clit! Suck it while I’m pissing. You have to feel it – uuuunnggg – running down your body. Use my piss to lubricate your cock!”

Anthony can feel her sphincter expanding and contracting, his finger slipping just inside as Molly pushes against her bladder. “Fuck, you’re so hot!” grunts Anthony, his mouth working against Molly’s cunt.

“Yes, push your finger up my ass. You like that, you filthy boy?” She moans. “Here it comes. Here it comes. Fuck! Here comes my piss!” Molly’s supporting leg begins to shake, and Anthony continues to work one hand over his cock. He can feel the load building in his balls.

Anthony has been masturbating to this moment for years now. The moment when a woman would liberate herself into his mouth as he pleasured her, as he pleasured himself. It’s almost too much. He has to stop jerking, or he’ll cum too quickly.

Molly’s breathing is labored as the tongue flutters over her clit. Anthony can tell she’s trying to relax, but he wants everything out of her. “I’m… I’m… gonna’ cum!” says Molly. “Don’t stop! You’re going to make me piss and cum!”

What comes out of Molly’s throat is a wail. What comes out of her urethra is the hissing of hot, fragrant piss and ejaculate. Molly’s wail becomes a moan as the liquid splashes against Anthony’s chin, warmth flowing down his neck, through his chest hair, down his belly. He can’t stop himself from dipping his tongue into Molly’s raging torrent. It’s salty and nasty and so fucking perfect. With his hand, he rubs the gushing fluid over his cock, and it’s a constant battle not to cum.

Finally, Molly has to lower her other leg, and she staggers, but the pee doesn’t stop. It flows down her milky thighs as Anthony catches her in his significant arms. She’s kneeling now, and giggling euphorically. She guides his hand between her legs so that he can feel the last of the golden water dribble out of her, and Molly runs her hand over his broad, soaked chest, then down to swirl her finger around his navel.

She looks down at his drenched body. “Fuck, did I do that?”

“Was that good?” Anthony asks, trying to ignore the throbbing in his cock.

“You tell me,” she smiles. “You were closest to the action. Has your dream come true? Was it worth all the stress?”

“Words aren’t enough. Yes, yes I can’t even believe how incredible that was. You’re an amazing woman.”

Molly leans forward and kisses him hard on the mouth. When she pulls away, she says, “You beautiful man. I may be ruined for all other men.” She licks her lips. “Salty… more salty than I thought?”

Anthony smiles and nods. “Sorry. I know you said there was no way piss was going in your mouth.”

“Ummmmmm,” says Molly, wincing. Then she bites her lip. Her tongue emerges and she licks droplets of her golden nectar from his nipple before looking up at him with a grin. “I changed my mind.”

His cock practically jumping, Anthony’s jaw slackens.

“I mean, did you think I was going to make you wipe off your cock before I sucked my piss off it?” says Molly, grinning broadly. “And, uh, since you said yes to this, I found myself imagining what it would be like to drink the pee from your dick like a straw. I see I have your attention. Mmm, but I’m still drinking your cum first.”

Closing his mouth, Anthony smiles. “You know, in my story, I get to clean you up with my mouth before you suck me off.”

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