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I didn’t think piss play would stay with me the way it has.
It started with a girl I was seeing a few years ago. We were already pretty open with each other sexually, and one night after we’d been making out for a while she told me she’d always been curious about watersports and asked if I’d ever tried it. I hadn’t. She said she wanted me to piss on her. We ended up in her bathroom, her kneeling in the tub while I stood over her. I was already turned on from the way she was looking up at me, one hand between her legs, waiting.
When I finally let go it was hotter than I expected. The stream hit her chest and ran down between her tits, and she moaned and pressed her face into it, letting it soak her skin and drip off her chin. Some of it ran down her stomach and over her fingers while she touched herself. I reached down and spread it across her collarbones and breasts, feeling how warm and slick her skin was under my hands. She stayed there the whole time, rubbing it into herself, and when I was almost finished she pulled me down into the tub with her so the last of it ran over both of us. We kissed while she was still wet with it, her hands sliding over my ass and between my legs, and I came with her fingers inside me, the mess making everything feel thicker and more intense. Afterward we just stayed tangled up for a minute, both of us breathing hard, skin sticking wherever we touched.
With a guy I dated after her it was different. He liked the desperation side of it. We’d be out and he’d keep handing me drinks, then when we got back to his place he’d tell me I wasn’t allowed to go until he said so. One night he had me on the edge of the bed, skirt pushed up, while he fingered me and kept his other hand pressed low on my stomach. I was already leaking, little spurts I couldn’t hold back soaking into my underwear and his fingers, and every time I shifted he pressed harder and told me to keep holding it. When he finally said I could let go I pissed all over his hand and my thighs, the relief hitting so hard my legs shook. He didn’t stop touching me. He just kept working his fingers inside me while it ran over both of us, and I came with my hips grinding down against his palm, everything hot and slick and messy. He made me stay like that afterward, wet and open, while he told me how good I looked covered in it.
What I remember most from both of them is how quickly the usual self-consciousness disappeared once it started. Something you’re supposed to do alone and get rid of became something shared and deliberate.
The heat of it on skin, the way it made every touch feel sharper, the slight wrongness of it flipping into arousal the second the other person clearly wanted it—those parts felt better than I expected every time.
It never became the main thing with either of them, but the memories stuck.
I still think about how it felt sometimes.
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😘💥 Kiss, Kick, Repeat! 😘💥
Get on your knees. That’s right—right where you belong, with your mouth hovering near the gleaming red leather of my stilettos. Every curve and seam of these boots tells you exactly what you are and where you land in the human hierarchy. Go on, worship them. Kiss the arch. Lick the toe. Suck the stiletto. Show me how devoted you are, as if your very existence depends on pleasing me.
Now that your lips have met these boots, it’s time those ugly little jewels between your legs get a proper introduction. My swift kicks will make you rethink every decision that has led you to this point. Feel that pain radiate through your body as my strikes land with surgical precision on those nuts.
Now back on your knees and thank the boots that just annihilated your manhood. Rinse and repeat!
Worship and pain go so well together, don’t they?
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