I have a cast iron bladder that never releases a drop until I send the message. I’ve pissed while hiding in gardens after drunken parties, been drop-perfect in tiny specimen jars for mid-stream urine tests, sprayed over people while perched on the edges of bathtubs and could probably write messages in the snow with my control and aim.
We were in the shower and tried to decide the etiquette of who would piss on whom first. Ladies before gentleman? Flip a coin? He or she who draws weapons first gets first shot? He ended up going first as my body rejected every one of my brain’s messages to send a jet of warm liquid across his thighs. Must have been some kind of urinary performance anxiety.
Thankfully he was ready for release and squirted copious amounts of body-warmth liquid across my front, with plenty in reserve to flow down my back and legs when I turned and leaned into the contrast of the cool white tiles.
He spread the joy around while I thought of positions to despoil his freshly-showered body. He knelt under me as I stood with one foot on the raised edge of the shower stall with the toes of my other foot gripping the tiles at tap level – not elegant but I doubt anything involved with flinging bodily waste around ever is.
Finally, the seal opened and I returned the favour with a stream that rippled from his shoulder blades down his back. He twisted to allow the spurts to cover his chest and splashed about in our combined liquids. Urine play doesn’t seem to turn me on sexually but I gain pleasure from the visual aspects and find a perverse kind of fun in getting grotty. There’s also a nice time warp game in play that one turn of the tap can erase all evidence of the scenario in seconds but the act remains firmly in my memory banks – everything is washed down the drain but I know only seconds ago I was in the same place smelling, seeing, feeling, probably giggling.
Later, I was still a bit out of sorts with new-person nerves and struggling to find my groove, but he found and did glorious things with my G-spot that left me like an incoherent turtle curled on the linen – and these past few months I’ve been beating my clit into submission. Silly me.
Of course there was a shower between.