Author’s note: This story might not contain all the payoffs that my readers are used to. Oh yes, there’s pee play and orgasms (quite a few, I believe). But there is zero intercourse… This is very much an intensely sensory story. Because as much as I love the eroticism of forbidden fluid flowing from an intimate partner, I love the scent of sexual arousal even more. If you’re looking for some hard fucking, skip this one. But it you want to be teased until your bits are hard enough to cut glass, please enjoy.
Love, Coppa
* * *
Victoria leans over her pepper plant, caressing the waxy buds of the serranos that will be ready to tear up her chili recipe soon enough. She touches the dry soil, trying to decide if it’s time for another special watering. A smile forms upon her lips as she recalls the conversation that sent her down this path.
A spice junky just like her father, Victoria had jumped at an invitation to attend the fiery foods festival at the local convention center. The chili pepper contest was one of the most attended events, and Victoria had a chance to chat with the winner after the prizes were announced. The 72yo woman beamed over her prize habaneros. Victoria introduced herself, and after pleasantries were exchanged, she mentioned she’d always had rotten luck with her own chili plants. They just didn’t grow very well.
The old woman said, “That’s because the soil around here is garbage. It’s missing essential nutrients. And you can either pay for a chemist to test and balance it, or you can do what I do. Urinate on it.”
Victoria had blinked at that. “Excuse me?”
But the woman was no nonsense. “Once a week, when the ground is fairly dry, I pee in my garden.”
“You don’t!”
“Damn right I do,” she said. Then she leaned in. “And between you and me, it gives the mister a real thrill.” She winked at that, collected her first place chili trophy, and left Victoria standing next to the judges dais with her mouth open.
When Victoria tried that very technique, what she was not expecting was a two-fold result: her chili’s were indeed growing very well, and she was the one that found garden urination thrilling.
That first morning, looking at her sad little plant, she had the strangest butterflies as she squatted in her garden, pulled her skirt up and panties aside, and sated the dry earth with her personal water. When her bladder was empty, she felt flushed, and as she walked into the house, she knew by the slippery feeling in her vagina that she was going to masturbate.
Now, every Friday morning, Victoria pounds two sports drinks as soon as she wakes. And once Caspian heads to the office, Victoria makes her way to the garden to nurture her little scorcher and warm her cum oven.
She kneels now, legs splayed slightly, the cool morning air kissing her damp labia, exposed to the elements in the shadow cast by her skirt. She could pee like this. In fact she’s finding it difficult to hold it in, but she does like the feeling of squatting, and the idea of her release grows more intoxicating the longer she holds it. Shifting from her knees into a squat, she holds on a few moments longer until she’s ready for the sweet burn as her urethra swells with golden nourishment.
“Hey there, neighbor!”
Victoria nearly jumps out of her skin and then drops out of her squat to one knee.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you,” says the voice over the fence.
Looking over her shoulder, Victoria sees the sun-darkened face and bright eyes of her new neighbor peeking over the stockade fence. “Oh!” she says. “Hi. Hello. Uh…” And she stands cautiously. Did he see? He wouldn’t have seen. No, she thinks, my skirt was down far enough. She dusts her knees.
“Hi,” he says with broad grin. “Sorry about that.”
Victoria smiles and approaches the fence. She is keenly aware of how full her bladder is. “Oh, no problem. My own little world back here.”
The man surveys the Victoria’s backyard landscape. “No kidding. This all looks amazing.”
“Landscaper,” says Victoria, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “That little spot over there is mine, though.” She points at the pepper plant and its neighbors just below the bay windows.
“Those are looking healthy.”
“Yeah well, that’s fairly recent. I’ve been trying a few things.”
The man lifts an arm over the fence. “I’m Grant,” he says.
She takes his hand, a veined and calloused hand that wraps around her tiny, soft one, and gives it a quick shake. “Victoria.”
Grant retracts his arm and thumbs the stubble on his jawline. “I just wanted to introduce myself. Figured a couple of weeks are long enough without being neighborly.”
“Oh gosh, well we, my husband and I, just figured you needed some time to settle in.”
Grant waves his hands. “No, no. Don’t even think about that. People in this town are crazy busy. That’s just the way things are. I saw my opportunity and figured I’d take it.”
“I’m glad you did,” says Victoria. And now you should go before I piss myself, she görükle escort thinks.
“And your husband…?”
“Caspian. He’s in finance,” she says. “Can’t keep him out of the office.”
“It is a Friday,” says Grant. “Makes sense he’d be at work.”
“But not you,” she says, though it’s more of a question.
“I work from home, so sometimes I forget where we are in the week.”
“What do you do?” Shut up, Victoria! Will you let get rid of him already?
“A bunch of things,” he says. “About 50% is carpentry, furniture and stuff, so if you ever hear the saw going too late, don’t be afraid to scold me.” Victoria laughs at that. “And the rest is arts and entertainment. I’ve got a photography setup in the living room and do a lot of video editing and stuff.”
“Oh! I’m a developmental editor. Books and commercial copy. But some scripts. What kind of videos?”
Grant’s face takes on a sheepish grin, and he pushes auburn curls back from his face. “Adult, mostly.”
Victoria blinks. “Oh,” she says. “And the photography is also?”
“Some. Couples like to do boudoir shoots, and there’s some burlesque and nudes, but I also cover cosplay conventions. Aaaaaand there’s the occasional fully erotic session.”
Crossing her legs to help hold things in, Victoria says, “Like what kind of erotic are we talking about? Like, bondage? Or P in V?”
It’s Grant’s turn to laugh. “P in V. Yeah, definitely some of that. And definitely bondage. It’s not my thing, but I’ve got some props. Generally, though, I tend to insist people bring their own gear.”
“Makes sense.”
“It’s just hygienic that way.”
The pressure in her bladder is screaming for her to shut up, but Victoria can’t stop herself from asking the question. “What would you say is your specialty?”
“Well, uh, fetishes. I mean, I’ve got my own fair share of fetishes, like most people, but I’ll photograph almost anything. Fetishes are taboo and edgy, and you get to be more creative with the photography. You kind of have to be, actually. There have been some pretty weird ones, but generally people are respectful and treat me like I’m not there.”
“Why do I doubt that?” says Victoria, grinning again. She hopes her grin looks authentic. She hopes he can’t see her doing the pee-pee bounce.
“I have a no participation policy,” he says.
“Sounds very professional. I thought about working in erotica once. Literature, that is. I like sex as much as the next person. But I could’t get around the idea that it would tarnish my career somehow.”
“I won’t lie,” says Grant. “It takes some optics management and a lot of willpower not to get sucked in. The better content creators keep the work separate from their private lives, and that’s just not a natural state working in the sex industry. But that’s part of the professionalism. And again, there’s more creativity involved than people think.”
“I can imagine.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. Finish it up, girl.
“I don’t want to keep you,” says Grant. “And I’ve got to get ready for a session.”
“Oh.” Victoria swallows. “A session, eh?”
Grant smiles again. “Dog food. Little yappy dogs. I have to pee-proof the house.”
“Yikes. I’m allergic,” says Victoria. Dear God, it’s going to shoot out of her right here.
“Me, too,” says Grant, going wide-eyed for a moment. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” laughs Victoria.
“Nice to meet you,” he calls.
“You, too!” she calls back.
She watches as Grant climbs up onto his deck and disappears beyond his screen door.
Painfully and as quickly as she dares, Victoria shuffles back over to the garden. She can feel the slickness of her pussy lips sliding against each other as she moves. Between fighting her aching bladder and Grant’s unexpected occupation, Victoria’s arousal is leaking down her thigh. This is probably what underwear is for.
She doesn’t have time to look around. She squats over her chili plant and allows her internal sphincter to relax. It fights her, like the muscles don’t believe they’re allowed to let go. Victoria pinches her long, firm nipple through her shirt and a minuscule flow of pee burns its way up her urethra. A few yellow drips land upon the parched, green leaves. And then, hissing loudly, golden nectar fires in a vertical spray from her hanging lips, and Victoria moans. It’s probably too loud. She can’t even stop herself. An orgasm ripples through her body, and she nearly falls as it overtakes her. She pinches her nipple hard, pressing her hand against the faux wood siding and leaning into it. The slowing flow curves along her skin, lapping at her exposed anus, and she relaxes into the end of the orgasm. Her body shakes once, twice. And she sighs.
That’s when she looks up toward the window. And reflected in the glass, she notices Grant’s back door closing once more.
—-
“Hi hon,” sounds Caspian’s voice from downstairs.
Victoria quickly turns off her vibrator, slides off the bed, kicks the peed on hand towel under the bed, and hurries into her bursa merkez escort yoga pants. “Hello!” she calls. “Up here!”
She needn’t have rushed. Caspian always takes a minute to sit down, careful remove his shoes, and place them in the shoe nook. But truth be told, Victoria hasn’t done much of anything today but masturbate, spaced out by rounds of water drinking and creative peeing. So far, wrapping her bottom half in plastic wrap and peeing whilst sitting on one of the kitchen chairs was the most erotic thing she has tried. It felt incredible when that wet warmth hugged her lady bits and groin. Cleanup wasn’t great. It’s pretty difficult to get a good seal going on skin. (It took her three tries to get something workable). All the while she was thinking, I really have to write this all down. People would totally read this.
She realizes while waiting for her husband to climb the stairs that the real flutter in her chest hasn’t completely to do with getting caught masturbating. Not that Caspian has ever seen her do masturbate, which is surprising because between the two of them, she masturbates far more frequently. Three or four times a day, on average. But it would be particularly weird for him to catch her today because a) she has been squirting into a hand towel, and b) Victoria can’t shake the idea that Grant may have seen her peeing, may have witnessed her orgasm. And the guys works in sex. He knows what a woman having an orgasm sounds like, and Victoria wasn’t exactly quiet.
So… like… guilt maybe?
Victoria’s mouth feels weirdly dry when Caspian enters the room.
“Hey babe,” he says.
She looks up from her phone. “Glad it’s Friday?”
“Maybe on another Friday,” he says, pulling his pre-loosened purple tie from his neck. “I’m regretting scheduling that party for tomorrow. I just want to sleep for two days.”
“Don’t look at me,” says Victoria. “Parties are your thing, not mine.”
“You’re great at parties,” he says, unbuttoning his shiny baby blue shirt. He looks in the mirror at his flawless skin and clean jawline. Even after five o’clock, the man still doesn’t have a five o’clock shadow. “You might even be better than me.”
“And that comes at a huge expense,” says Victoria, dropping her phone on the bed next to her. “People are exhausting. Can’t we just have Mary and Jack over?”
“We spent all that money on a new kitchen,” says Caspian. “We’re going to show it off. Even if it kills both of us. Besides, do you want to make those phone calls? And I’ve got Macklin breathing down my neck for these reports. No one is even working tomorrow! What the hell does he need them for tonight?”
Victoria climbs off the bed and walks toward her husband. Caspian studies himself in the mirror, gray eyes staring into gray eyes. “You sound really stressed, babe,” Victoria says, running her hands down his toned back. “Can I help you relax?”
“You can go to the store for me and get the ice,” he suggests.
“Hon, there’s nowhere to put it. You hardly fit the burgers in the deep freeze. We just need to grab it tomorrow with the rest of the drinks, and you can dump the whole thing in one of those plastic bins that you have a thousand of.”
“Those are for organizing memorabilia and clothes,” he says, “not for party drinks.”
“Then I’ll clean out the sport bin in the shed and drag that into the kitchen.”
“You’d do that for me?” he says, turning around, placing his hands on her shoulders.
“First thing in the morning,” she says, unbuckling his belt. “Now… what can I do for you right now?”
“We need to go over the party list,” he says. “I don’t know if I’ve ordered enough burgers. Hey, do you think we should invite the Carsons?”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “Boo. They’re so stuffy.”
“They’re our dentists, babe.”
“Who parties with their dentists?” says Victoria.
“Well, maybe we should invite the new neighbor,” says Caspian. “He’s going to feel left out if he sees a party going on over here.”
“I met him today,” says Victoria, biting her lip. “I don’t think he’d be into it.”
“What?” says Caspian. “We can’t not invite him. It would be rude.”
“It was rude not to introduce ourselves when he first moved in,” says Victoria, unbuttoning Caspian’s pants. “And you said you don’t have enough burgers anyway. Now why don’t you let me take the edge off before you get back to work, huh?”
She slides Caspian’s pants and blue briefs down to his ankles and runs her fingers up his smooth, shaven legs to his dangling, naked cock.
“Aw hon, maybe this isn’t the best time. It’s been a long day. I probably smell gross…”
“I love the way you smell,” she says, lifting his cock, pressing her nose into ball sack, and taking in his male musk.
Caspian runs his fingers through Victoria’s dark hair as she takes his hanging length into her open mouth. Her tongue swirls around his mushroom head, bathing it in her saliva. She licks out to the base of his shaft and catches a bit of his hairless bursa sınırsız escort scrotum, retracting her tongue to run along the bottom length of his pretty penis.
She tries slurping, flicking, stroking, but beyond an initial swell, Caspian’s cock slumbers.
Finally, he pulls his wet noodle from her silky mouth and says, “I think I just have a lot on my mind this week, babe. Rain check? Maybe we can try again after the weekend, after I’ve delivered these reports.”
She tries not to let him hear her sigh and she nods. But his wry, patronizing grin says it all.
“Tell you what,” he says, pulling her to her feet. “Why don’t you make an appointment to get waxed on Monday. And then when I get home, we can take a shower first, get you all fresh.” He whispers in her ear. “And I’ll go down on you.”
Victoria smiles.
Caspian buys it.
—-
Victoria stands at the kitchen counter, the mid-morning light pouring in through the new kitchen windows, halving grapes and tossing them into the filling bowl of mixed fruit.
A loud knock sounds on the screen door, and she bobbles the knife, hopping out of the way just before the blade lands where her sandaled foot had just been.
“Oh wow! Sorry! So, sorry!” says Grant other the other side of the door.
“Maybe you should wear a bell,” says Victoria as she turns.
“I mean, if you think it will help,” he says.
She grins and tilts her head. “Well, are you coming in, or what?”
“How neighborly of you,” he says. His blue plaid shirt and jeans rustle as he enters the kitchen, fiddling with what seems to be a magazine rolled up in one hand.
Victoria bends over to grab the knife, painfully aware that her cleavage is especially deep in this mint green top.
“That’s a big bowl of fruit,” says Grant, casually pointing at it with his magazine.
“We’re having some friends over tonight,” says Victoria. “We’ve all known each other a long time. It will be pretty intimate.”
“Oo la la,” he says with a comical jump of his brow.
“What brings you over, Grant?” says Victoria.
“Thought I might catch the mister, say hello,” he says.
“He’s out at the store,” she says.
“Oh, yeah. Party stuff?”
“Right.”
“Okay, then I also have something I thought you might be interested in.” Leaning against the counter, Grant unrolls the magazine.
The cover of Fetish Quarterly features the image of a woman on all fours looking over her shoulder, her face blurred by distance, and between her heavily but beautifully tattooed, perfectly in focus ass cheeks, a riding crop and a man’s finger are tucked into her little hairy pucker.
Victoria swallows hard as Grant points to a block of text. ‘Wet Work of the Gifted Grant Cummings’.
“You’re Grant Cummings,” says Victoria.
“Yeah,” he says excitedly. “I didn’t know until I got a check in the mail yesterday afternoon, and then I ran out and bought a copy. I got the feature this month. Pretty cool right?”
Victoria stands there, leaning over the counter. She bites her lip while Grant beams. Then she says, “Well… are you going to show me or not?”
“Ha!” he says. “I was wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
He just smiles and starts flipping pages. There, near the center of the magazine, a photo shows Grant sitting studiously in a wooden chair beneath some photographer’s lights, a large camera in one hand, and a nude woman on his knee. A wet spot is spreading down the leg of his jeans, the flow at her underwhelming labia more green than golden against the blue fabric.
Victoria just stares, immediately aware of how damp her panties have become. Time passes, and Grant says nothing.
With a measured inhale, Victoria says, “So… you… like pee stuff?”
In the stillness, Grant says, “I think the question is… do you?”
Without flitting her eyes or daring to look at him, Victoria turns the page. There’s an action shot, taken with some creative mirror placement, of Grant on his knees, camera to his eye, capturing an unshaven woman with animalistic volumes of armpit, leg, and pubic hair spreading her pussy lips, releasing her bright yellow water onto a pillow.
“It’s really a beautiful photo,” says Victoria. Her mouth is so dry, and she’s become aware of the volume in her own bladder. “Good lighting.”
She turns another page. This photo, taken as a POV upon the floor between the woman’s legs, features Grant’s hand spreading the woman’s pussy open, her dark bush pushing between his splayed fingers, and a blur of fresh urine about to splash onto the camera lens.
Clearing her throat, Victoria says, “You’re very talented.”
He sighs. “You know,” he says, his voice deeper at this low volume, “men are supposed to be visual. But photos… just don’t get it done. Me… I crave the smell.”
Victoria is suddenly aware she’s not breathing and tries to casually take a breath, but it sounds far too loud in her ears.
“You know what I mean?” he says.
When she turns her head, he’s looking at her. They are nearly nose to nose.
“Mmhm,” is all she can manage.
“Babe?” calls a voice from the front foyer.
“Oh! Your husband?” says Grant with a giant grin. “Does he like photography?” He picks up the magazine and holds it open to the POV photo.