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Watching the rain slash across the parking lot on a dreary afternoon prodded Ellen’s bladder to jet a teaspoon of pee into her gummy cotton panties. She hoped to make it to her car without getting too damp leaving a noticeable stain on her white slacks. Glancing around her laboratory to see that all was secure, snapped off the lights and closed the door behind her.
Screwed to that solid fireproof door was a metal plaque bearing the name Prof. Ellen Hull PhD. A thirty-eight year old spinster and an only child who grew up solitary, she relied upon herself for her sexual pleasures as well. Blonde hair, curvaceous figure and absence of decoration on the “taken” finger drew the notice of many, but few to none sparked her attention. While brilliant, eccentric and did not suffer fools, Ellen was open to sharing her life with the right person, their gender not an issue. Outside of the laboratory and classroom she was generally left alone but sparkled professionally. This state of affairs might have comfortably continued, except that the gods were provoked to laughter and meddled.
Earlier in the day, an improbably black-humored scene touched Doctor Hull while she stood in the cafeteria line buying a morning cinnamon bagel and tea. This drama involved the preserved whole head of a mass murderer and a day worker cleaning the building’s sub-cellar for a large computer installation. The mass murder’s head, stored in a whole brain collection by a legal catch-22 was ensconced, presumably for all time, in a white enamel stew pot. The lid was attached with ancient masking tape. To Ellen’s left, a nondescript gentleman was buying coffee when a soul-curdling scream erupted from a nearby stairwell. While she stared into the coffee drinker’s blue eyes, he was “transformed” into a horror-struck man holding an empty white enamel pot. Ellen listened to his nightmare tale of a severed head falling on the floor then trying to gnaw his ankle as he attempted to get away. Security soon had the chaos under control, but no head was found, publicly or officially.
Now, as Ellen tapped her ceramic key on the lab’s electronic lock and turned towards the elevator, she found the nondescript coffee drinker standing quietly before her. He was holding a cardboard box under one arm and looked disarmingly innocent. After a knowing look she offered, “Does that box need a home tonight, Dr. . . . er?”
“John Sparr, yes, if you please, Dr. Hull,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
The urge to pee disappeared only to be replaced with a crick in her neck. She
reopened the lab and between them decided to place the box, with suitable suadiye escort cautions attached, under the glass hood in plain sight. The content of the box was never mentioned, but it was delightfully plain that they were on the same page. His offer of supper was accepted promptly and with a smile.
Intuitively, Ellen felt Dr. Sparr had suspected (and been drawn) to her lascivious nature and may have detected her redolent aroma. He had, in fact, a well-developed sense of smell and Ellen’s sullied scent sparked his libido. They agreed to meet at her favorite restaurant and drove off in their own cars.
Over supper, they realized how alike they were. They spoke of their predilections about “wet” sex, that is, sharing of fluids with an emphasis on urine. Two pairs of eyes met and played with the odds of finding what each was looking for and possibly found. Their goodnight kiss was warm. John brushed his fingertips over her left breast, the larger one, as she sat herself in the car. Ellen impishly opened her legs displaying whatever wetness might be visible and offer John the tang of her quim. John responded by sliding his fingertips along the inside of her thigh to cup her offered crotch. She reciprocated by rubbing the tip of his cock, slippery, even through his trousers.
“Follow me home, Elle.”
She said yes with her eyes.
Ellen parked on the street and walked sedately through the door John held open. In an instant, the door was shut and they were in a passionate embrace. They knew what the other wanted; not just a grope and a fuck but a copious ejaculation and a flood of hot pee over their fingers. Urine soaked clothing and a torrent of cum smeared over their bodies and clothes pleasured them more powerfully than unalloyed sex.
John’s fly was unzipped and eager fingers fumbled over his slippery prick before he had freed the waistband of Ellen’s slacks and explored her malodorous cunt. They were both uncontrollably squirting piss into their underwear as they slid their hands over and into the slimy gashes and sacks encased in their hot, yellowed cotton pants.
“I have to really pee now, John. I won’t be able to stop once I start.” In answer, John laid on his back in front of her. He drew her down so that her knees straddled his chest. Ellen’s white twill slacks were soaked over the panty area and down the inside of her right leg. Her beige blouse had been tugged out of her waistband, wrinkled and soggy below the water line and unbuttoned below her breasts. Freed from their halter, her nipples stood proud and glistening.
She looked around his kitchen, noticed the yakacık escort small rugs accenting the tile floor and slid one under John’s head as he reached up to message her left globe. It was obvious he wanted her to piss herself empty over his body, clothes and all. And she did. Relaxing her bladder, the strong stream poured over John’s shirt and tie up to the collar then down the sides to make a puddle under his back. His hands on her hips rocked her rhythmically back and forth while his thumbs stroked her swollen clit through her panties.
When the hissing flow faltered, Ellen leaned forward in a near swoon, resting her head on his chest. He helped straighten her legs, then cradled her in his arms, his prick soaking in her hot piss. After a while, John rolled her over and her smile of complicity left no doubt as to what she wanted. His hard stream washed over her breasts and neck, wetting her hair gathered beneath her shoulders. As they relaxed in the afterglow, he glanced at the kitchen clock amazed that more than an hour had elapsed. It was almost 9:30 and here they were – urine-soaked wrecks clinging to each other on the kitchen floor surrounded by a puddle and three soggy rugs.
“Dr. Hull.”
“Yes, Dr. Sparr.”
“Let’s go to bed.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
They removed each other’s cooling clothes until they stood naked before each other. Although her torrent of urine had sluiced away two days of lubricity, broad light-brown stains remained over her panty seat. John gazed frankly at Ellen enraptured by her loveliness. He put his hands under each breast holding them gently, rubbing his thumbs lightly over the nipples. Ellen felt his force behind the tenderness in his eyes and in the soft but heavy length of his cock she fondled in her hands. All was silent until John cracked a fart, startling them both. “Excuse me,” he blurted, but Ellen, quick to smile said, “Darling, the more you fart and the smellier it is the more I’ll love you.”
“Well then, my smelly love, let’s go to bed and dream up other ways of pleasing each other.”
With no further ado he led his newly-found soul mate into bed and pulled the sheet over them both. Fingers explored deeply into each other’s body. By drips and drops, their fragrance enveloped them in its soothing fog and Ellen snuggled deeper into his arms. “What a wonderful day, my love.” She held John’s pendant cock to her upper hip, cupped the helmet and thrilled to a hot surge that washed over her belly and channeled down the small of her back. She sucked his nipple then joined him in sleep.
He looked at her in the morning şerifali escort sun – hair tousled, eyes radiant, body partially covered by a sheet. She kicked it off and rolled toward him in gleeful disorder. John leaned over and kissed her deeply, gentle fingers playing lightly over her stiffened nipples and the smooth rosy lips of her labia. Ellen’s fingers squeezed lightly up and down his cock, capturing his morning spend in her hand, “Pee on me,” she whispered. Jetting a stream over her breasts, he cupped the excess and messaged her neck and shoulders, kissing her lips lightly.
“Johnnie, how did you discover you enjoyed this . . . incredible way of . . . loving?”
He pulled the sheet back over their bodies and quietly began. “My dad worked on cruise ships and was away for weeks at a time. My dad’s brother Bill came over all the time and I guess they’d gotten nervous that I’d mention him to my dad if he was there a lot when I visited her from university. She even asked me to call up before I came home, just in case. Anyway, mom asked my Aunt Millicent to let me stay at her cottage during school breaks so Bill could come over. I had a great time with my aunt.
“But how did you get interested in wetting your pants?”
“We were swimming in the lake and as she was climbing onto the raft, I swam up behind her and found myself in warm water obviously jetting from between her legs. She stopped before she climbed onto the float but the smell of her urine trapped in the bathing suit material plus her bottom being so close to my face made me hornier than I’ve ever been. The seed was sown. She saw my reaction and it fired her imagination too. Within a week we had both let ourselves be ‘caught in the act.’ After that we never peed in a toilet again.”
“Where is Millicent now? Still see her?”
“Yeah, she and Vince live over in Evansville. All I knew is that my mom had the house to do whatever she wanted with Uncle Bill. It was funny in a way, but that’s why wetting in our pants is such a turn-on for me. How about you Ellie, what got you into it?”
“Well, similar but different, Johnny. I was – oh shit, look at the time!”
In the shower, they danced outside the cone of spray, savoring the heat and pressure of their uninhabited morning flows, then reluctantly washing and rinsing to rejoin the world-at-large. Ellen put on John’s smallest cotton brief before they performed damage control on the bedroom and kitchen. Bed linins, discolored in delightful ways cycled through the wash while the kitchen floor was mopped. Exhaust fans efficiently moved the stale air out and fresh in. In an hour, the bed was fresh and crisp, the tiles gleamed and the laundry dried and folded. To say John and Ellen were astonished at their good fortune would be a serious understatement. Somewhere, driving in together on that Wednesday morning, neurological research became a job.
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