Pissing Kay

Curled up together in the cave of the bed, it was as though we were both inside a womb of piss, where all our senses were saturated by the feel and smell and even the taste of piss.

When Kay had finished, her eyes were closed and she had a beatific expression on her face. She began to stretch out, sensuously, like a cat; then she started roll on her back, mashing the piss-soaked mattress, rubbing her shoulders and back as a cat rolls in dust. That done she turned onto her stomach, and again began pressing herself into the piss-soaked mattress, rubbing her tits, her arms, and even her face, savouring every moment, extracting every atom of sensual pleasure from rolling herself in her own warm piss.

Then, without speaking, she started to rub herself up against me, rubbing her body against mine, draping her legs around me, drawing me to her, making sure that I, too, was covered and smothered in piss. Whatever my reservations about the bed, this was something I couldn't resist: I always loved it when she rubbed her whole body against me, letting me have my fill of her, of the smell and taste of her, her breasts, her mouth, her legs, her pussy and her arse. At one point she dived down, lowering her face into the wettest area of the bed, lying on top of me and presenting her piss-soaked mound for me to lick. I licked and sucked at her pissy saltiness, let my tongue roam over her bum-cheeks and into the tight little bud of her arse. Then I got two fingers inside her; she bucked and moaned and rode my fingers in rhythmic movements, gyrating her pelvis. Down in the bed I was aware of her sucking my penis, but I tried not to go with the sensations, concentrating instead on pleasuring her. Still something was not quite right: I tried inserting a third finger, then a fourth, stretching her, opening her right out; but she squirmed in a way which conveyed to me that was not what she wanted. Instead I probed at her little arsehole with the middle finger of my free hand. This time she bucked and pushed down on my finger, and made a muffled sound of pleasure. I took out my finger, coated it with saliva, then slid it just inside her sphincter once again. This time she went frantic, pushing down on my finger, clearly desperate for me to sink it inside.

So I slid it inside, down into the warm dark heart of anus, and twisted it gently, this way and that, not forgetting to work away inside her fanny with my other hand. Through the membrane which divided her fanny from her arsehole I could feel the fingers of each hand with the other hand. Down in the piss-soaked cave of the bed she was moaning now, thrusting and twisting her hips, such that it was hard to tell whether she was enjoying the friction of my fingers or desperately trying to escape them. But I knew of old how much she loved this, having my fingers up her fanny and her arsehole at the same time, and I carried on probing and twisting until all of a sudden she bucked her arse furiously into my face, and a scream came from deep down under the bedclothes as she reached her climax.

She was gasping for breath as though she had just run a marathon. Still I had three fingers inside her vagina and one up her arse, but I kept them still, now, as her movements subsided.

Slowly I pulled my finger out of her arse: the strong, musky smell of her filled my nostrils. I withdrew my fingers from her fanny, gently: then she swivelled round under the bedclothes and came up for air. Her hair was wet with sweat and piss, and strewn across her piss-streaked face. She put her lips to mine and as we kissed I rolled on top of her and she opened her legs. All the warmth had gone out of the piss by now, and the sheets felt clammy and wet as I slid inside her and we started to fuck. She came and came: one wild pissy orgasm after another, each one wringing more piss out of the mattress, until I could hold on no longer and emptied my load gratefully and ecstatically deep into her body.

Then we lay still, clutching each other in the piss-soaked sheets.

"Wasn't that just the best sex you ever had?" she breathed, before she fell asleep.

I couldn't deny it was great sex: but at 3am, when I woke up cold and wet and unable to escape the stench of stale piss, I wondered if it had been worth the price.

I could tell you more about Kay: about how she became more and more of a piss junkie; about how she demanded, when I told her I loved her, that I should prove it by drinking her piss; about how, in the end, our relationship deteriorated until we both acknowledged we were not right for each other.

But I'd rather end on a high: with Kay at her wildest and sexiest, asleep in my arms in a bed drenched with piss, her demons temporarily exorcised, her body and soul temporarily at peace.