My Boyfriend
=============
I had been waiting most of the day for my university classes to
end so I could get home to the privacy of my
apartment. I had purposely not had a pee since the early
morning, so my bladder was full, and the urge to pee
was almost overwhelming. In fact, as I climbed into my car
in the parking lot of the university, I "accidentally"
let
a little pee slip--enough to make the crotch of my panties nicely
warm and wet, and to provide a small, dark spot
in the crotch of my faded blue jeans. I then drove home
one-handed, with the other hand lovingly fingering the
slowly-growing wet spot of my jeans.
I had not any more than the usual amount of juice and coffee that
day, because when I play "wet" I prefer my
urine to be a bright, golden yellow, and to smell, well, like
pee--sort of a quality-quantity tradeoff. By the time I
parked in front of my condo, I was so excited that the wetness
was as much from pussy cum as it was from
pee, and I had to pee so badly that I could barely walk to the
door of my condo, which, fortunately, was only a
few feet from my parking space.
Holding my book bag in front of me to hide the now at least 5
inch diameter wet stain on my jeans from any
prying eyes of my neighbours, I unlocked the door to my condo,
and rushed in, closing the door quickly behind
me with my ass. It was only on pressing my ass up against
the door and feeling the cold wet there that I
realised that virtually the whole ass of my jeans was soaked, and
I had been worried about the much smaller
stain in the front! I giggled, wondering what the
neighbours might have thought of my wet ass!
I dropped my book bag, kicked off my sandals, and quickly ran
upstairs (well, as quickly as one can while
squeezing ones thighs tightly together!) to my bedroom and
stood in front of my full-length mirror to admire the
wetness stains on both the front and back of my jeans.
Cupping my crotch tightly with both hands, one front
and one behind, I let go a slow stream of pee, and helped spread
it with my hands up both the front and back of
my jeans, while I watched the wetness grow down the material
covering my tightly-crossed legs. Within
minutes, I was soaked both front and back from the waistband of
my jeans to the knees, and there was a small,
golden puddle forming at my feet, which I promptly sat in to
absorb it (if possible) into the ass of my thoroughly
wet jeans. The tangy smell of all that pee was heavenly.
Looking at my completely-peed jeans in the mirror, I unzipped
them and slipped one hand down the front of my
panties, which were so soaked that the mere pressure of inserting
my hand sent a delightful puddle of urine
down the crack of my ass. It took only a couple of strokes
of my clit to bring on an orgasm that left me
exhausted and panting, curled up into a fetal position on the
floor, happily and blissfully wet.
I lay there for about 10 minutes, half-dreaming of first my boy
friend and then my mother finding me curled up in
a puddle of urine, having completely wet myself, with my pants
undone and my finger slowly rubbing my clit. I
dared not imagine what they would do if it were to happen, but
just the thought of being caught like that was
enough to bring on yet another orgasm.
Slowly and somewhat dejectedly, as I always get a little morose
when the fun is over and the clean up begins, I
got up and stripped off the wet, and now slightly cold
jeans. I then attempted to peel off my panties, but they
were so soaked that they released a stream of cold urine down my
legs as I struggled to roll them down like
nylons, leaving a puddle on the floor. Shivering and
feeling a slight chill as the urine began to evaporate from my
lower body, I used the few remaining dry portions at the very
bottoms of the pant legs of the jeans to wipe up the
urine on the floor. It was then that I noticed that the
bottom 2 to 3 inches of my t-shirt were also wet, so I pulled
it over my head, inhaling deeply the erotic smell of the pee as
it passed by my face.
I bent over, adding the t-shirt to the pile of wet jeans and
sodden panties, and noticed how the pee sparkled as
the changing light reflected and refracted off the golden
droplets in my pubic hair. I had just turned to admire
that image in the mirror, when I heard the door to my condo open
and slam closed, coupled with my boyfriend's
voice calling "Melody, Melody are you home?" and
the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. I froze. I
didn't
know what to do. I had just decided to try to make a run
for the bathroom, when he walked into the bedroom,
sniffing the urine-redolent air and looking at me quizzically.
"Aren't you a delightful sight!", he said, taking in my
complete nakedness, staring first, as always, at my
breasts, and then slowly focusing on my sparkling, dripping
pussy. He walked toward me, undoing the belt and
zipper to his jeans as he did so. Without saying another
word, he bent me face-down on the edge of the
waist-high dresser next to the mirror, cupped a breast in each
hand, and proceeded to fuck me and my
urine-soaked pussy senseless. I don't think I have ever
orgasmed that often or that intensely. He then told me
he loved me, and suggested that I take a shower to get ready to
go out to a fancy restaurant that evening--his
treat!
I climbed into the shower and evisioned various scenarios that I
could use to sneak back into the bedroom to
hide my pile of peed clothes, hoping against faint hope that he
really hadn't noticed the heavy smell of urine, the
pile of steaming, peed clothes in the middle of the room, or that
I had been wet with pee from my waist to my
toes as he (wonderfully, as it turned out) fucked me. He
was standing in the doorway of the bathroom as I
stepped out of the shower, now thoroughly clean, urine free, and
smelling of raspberry body-wash. He told me
with a salacious wink that he, too, needed a shower, and that he
would meet me downstairs in 15 minutes.
I rushed to the bedroom, closing the bedroom rapidly behind me,
breathing heavily, only to find that my pile of
peed clothes was gone! I was dumbstruck. I started to
panic, and then, feeling totally embarrassed, I began to
cry. He had obviously moved them somewhere, which equally
obviously meant that he knew at least something
of what I had been doing, even though he had said nothing about
it. Still crying, I began to get dressed for
dinner, but got no further than the Victoria's Secret bra (and
matching panties) that he likes so much (it's a bit
heavy to wear all day, but it does make my breasts look much
larger), before I collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
He came in about 10 minutes later, looking for me, his long hair
still damp from his shower.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?", he asked, the concern
heavy in his voice.
"I'm so embarrassed", I said. "You must
think I'm disgusting, a pervert." There, I'd said it.
He didn't ask why I felt that way. Instead, he said:
"I think you are a lovely, sweet, young women, with unique
passions and desires for which I can only love you
more." He always speaks like that. It made me
smile.
He said nothing more about it (or the location of my clothes)
later at dinner, nor while he gently and lovingly,
slowly fucked me to sleep later that night, while I fantasised
about him making love to me while I wore my peed
clothes, in a sopping wet, warm bed that I had just peed.
I awoke late the next morning. He was already gone. I
sat on the toilet and had a pee, reminding me vividly of
both the delight and the embarrassment of the day before. I
must admit that I thought of saving that pee for a
little "wet" fun later, but then thought better of it,
and let it all drain away, although not without some
regret. That
pee also led me to wonder again where my clothes had gotten
to. I went down to the kitchen. As I drank the
coffee and munched on the bagel my boyfriend had prepared and
left for me, I wandered into the laundry room.
There, freshly laundered, were my clothes, neatly folded on top
of the dryer. I think I'll marry him.