Whilst The Cat's Away

Outside it was raining hard and the leaden skies looked forbidding through the gap in the lace curtains. It had been forecast to be cold, wet day and in some places snow was expected. Anne stretched and gave a yawn as she awoke. Glad of the warmth of her bed -- and of a centrally heated house -- she decided that today would not be a day for going far if at all possible. The clock radio, tuned to Classic FM, proclaimed that it was twenty past nine. Twenty past nine on a cold, wet Sunday morning. Having woken and checked the time, Anne snuggled back down under the duvet. There was no need to get up for a while.

The vacant expanse to her right reminded her, as if she needed reminding, that Brian was away on business. She taken him to Heathrow to catch his flight less than 24 hours earlier. He was going to be away for a week and she knew that she'd miss him a great deal. She'd miss the shared meals and bottles of wine, the conversations, silences, arguments, mutual nagging as well as the smiles, hugs and kisses.

Much though she'd miss him, there was another side to Brian's absence however. For the first time since her student days at Cambridge, she'd spent the night totally nude and the feeling of freedom had been amazing. She could feel the nipples on her tits brushing against the duvet cover, the moistness of her sex between her legs, her peachy-creamy bum cheeks against the sheets and the smoothness of her immaculately shaven legs extending below. Brian was funny about nudity, a fact which was all the stranger in view of the fact that he was a man. So far as he was concerned, nudity was something reserved for the rare, brief, and increasingly infrequent occasions when they had sex. He regarded people who insisted on sleeping in the nude as lazy, dirty, possibly bed wetters and probable candidates for lumbago. Almost always fully clad in pyjamas for twelve months of the year, Brian had insisted in the early days of their marriage that Anne had to at least wear panties in bed if nothing else. In recent years he'd become more difficult and insisted on her wearing a nightdress as well. Anne knew she could have refused to yield to his demands and practised open defiance. However she was keenly aware of the fact that they spent eight hours together in bed every night - longer at weekends -- and giving in to his demands was a price worth paying for the sake of marital harmony. There were other areas of their shared life where she could get her own way. Being able to lie there in complete nakedness, free as a bird and able to reach everything as well as pleasure herself in whatever way she wanted, was sheer bliss. Moreover the bed was still dry, despite the ten unbroken hours she'd spent in it, although she was becoming acutely conscious of her full - and by now aching -- bladder. Brian would have a duck fit if he knew she was lying completely naked in their bed with an early morning bladder that cried out to be emptied.

As Brian wasn't around to get on to her, Anne toyed for a few minutes with the idea of being really disgraceful, parting her legs and discharging all that pent up pee between the sheets. After all, they had a mattress protector -- something else that Brian insisted on 'just in case.' As it happened, the protector was needed only on very rare occasions and he was as likely to the source of those 'occasions' as she was. Neither of them were completely dry although Brian admitted his weakness less readily than she did hers. Remembering that she'd only changed the bedding a few days earlier and reluctant to have the hassle of stripping the bed again, Anne resisted the temptation to pee in situ.

Throwing aside the duvet she reluctantly abandoned the warmth and comfort of her bed and crossed the landing to the bathroom. Not even bothering to look at the toilet, she went straight into the shower and stood with her legs apart. As she prepared to release ten hours' worth of pent up pee, her nipples hardened. Brian knew that she peed in the shower but it was something of which he disapproved -- or at least pretended to disapprove of -- whilst ducking the question when asked whether he ever did it himself or not. Knowing that he disapproved (or at least pretended to) made it seem all the naughtier and that naughtiness made her feel all the hornier. Unable to hold for any longer, Anne released a powerful stream of warm, rich, coppery coloured pee. It felt absolutely amazing. How Brian could go through life without finding pleasure in a good pee, especially an early morning one, was beyond her. The yellow liquid foamed around her feet before find its way down the drain. At length her stream died away before eventually stopping. Words could not describe the feeling -- a curious mixture of naughtiness, relief, arousal and and pleasure at something which was so simple and so natural. Resisting the urge to frig herself completely, Anne couldn't resist giving her clit a bit of a rub. Turning on the shower, she felt that showering, washing all this copper amber away was a bit of an anticlimax. Still shower she must and it had to be done.

Stepping out and towelling herself down, she decided that it was a day for dressing casually. Last Sunday -- Remembrance Sunday -- she'd been on parade with Brian at what for him was an important civic occasion. She'd had to dress formally and do her 'dutiful wife' stunt. It wasn't a role that came naturally to her, being a woman of independent mind, and had involved no small sacrifice. Fighting to control a full bladder for over an hour and a half, making sure she didn't wet herself in front of his precious councillor friends, had been the hardest part. She'd not wanted to go to the loo when they'd left home and, despite his gentle urgings, wasn't minded to break the habit of a lifetime. At least it hadn't been pouring with rain -- or as cold as today was billed to be. Looking through he wardrobe she decided that a pair of sheer white maxi cotton panties with matching bra would make a good start for today. A white and blue striped blouse followed next followed my a nice warm Highland sweater. Last of all she donned an old pair of faded blue jeans. Brian hated it when she wore trousers but he hated seeing her in jeans even more. Of course his protests fell on deaf ears as she always went ahead and ignored him. However he wasn't around to moan today and she was determined to dress for comfort rather than style. Slipping into a comfy pair of practical shoes she felt resolved that today would be her day with no nagging, chiding, chaffing husband around to spoil it.

Once downstairs Anne went to the fridge and poured herself a nice large tumbler of chilled, fresh orange juice. Needing to satisfy the needs of the inner woman, she set about making herself some toast -- something she adored when spread generously with tangy Oxford marmalade and washed down with a large pot of coffee. At least she wouldn't have to make Brian one of those horrible, greasy cholesterol ridden fry-ups that he insisted on having at weekends. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd let her use olive oil or even some other vegetable oil, but the Yorkshireman in him insisted on nothing but lard. Anyhow there would be none of that nonsense today. Deciding on a leisurely breakfast she took her time and it was nearly eleven o' clock when the remaining crumbs of toast were despatched and the modest amount of washing up done.

By now, that large glass of juice and pot of coffee were beginning to make their presence felt. Anne needed to pee again but she had no intention of going upstairs to the toilet. Grabbing a couple of large towels from the utility room she laid them out carefully on Brian's favourite armchair, a seat which for once she intended to occupy. Picking up the morning paper, grabbing a dictionary from the shelf and hunting down one of the few sharp pencils in the house, she settled herself into Brian's chair. It was time to have a crack at the Telegraph crossword, one of her favourite Sunday pursuits. Once in the chair she resolved to stay there until the crossword had been completed , no matter how decisively nature called. As eleven thirty came and went she could feel herself needing to pee quite badly. She was going to be desperate -- and enjoy it. Whilst her bladder filled she worked steadily at it, giving a little yell of triumph at eleven fifty five as she filled in the last clue. Anne put the paper down with a triumphant flourish. By now she was getting desperate and absolutely bursting for a pee. Should she be good or bad? Well, Brian's chair was well protected with towels so she decided to be incredibly naughty and, as the clock struck twelve, she released all the pee that had been building up since breakfast, soaking her panties, jeans and the towels on Brian's chair . This felt good! Undoing her jeans she began to pleasure herself. Having brought herself to climax she zipped up her jeans and wondered what to do next. As she was debating the doorbell rang. "Drat. Who could it be?" she wondered. Reluctantly answering the door she found her old friend Wendy on the doorstep.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's wet," Wendy remarked. "Now I wonder why I'm surprised. Obviously you'd forgotten we were going out to lunch today."

Blushing, Anne felt she had to apologise.

"I'm sorry, Wendy. Come in. I'll have to get changed. You won't tell Brian about any of this, will you?"

Wendy smiled triumphantly.

"Not if you pay for the lunch dear!"

Anne swallowed hard. Buying her friend Sunday lunch would be a small price to pay for her silence. After all, she could take the credit card and spend some of Brian's hard earned cash. He might be a sore trial sometimes but he was a sweetie really.

THE END