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Cruel Sabrina Wants

to Piss On My Face

Kelly Maitland

© 2015 Kelly Maitland

All Rights Reserved


Girls in Tights

Maurice Alan Maybury Drinks Mistress X’s Piss in Kinky Bondage Scene

Sabrina Uses Her Piss Slave in the Office

Now Angela Wants to Piss in My Mouth

Confronting Sabrina

Never Apologise, Never Explain

Angela Apologises on Behalf of Sabrina

Girls in Tights

I was standing before the filing system when I looked up from the file in my hand to see Sabrina. She walked across the room to her desk in her black opaque tights, black high heels, black skirt and a tight blue sweater. She had dark brunette hair down past her shoulders. Fuck, she was good looking. If ever there was a girl who needed a big dick in her it was pretty Sabrina. Her cunt lips needed to be pushed aside and my width inserted rudely into her vaginal hole. Girls like Sabrina made me hard and inspired feelings of excitement that only excessive masturbation could satisfy. Of all the girls in the office it was Sabrina I fantasised about the most. Many times I’ve ejaculated my fluid over thoughts of her. I often pictured her on her nylon knees under my dick begging for me to spunk over her, begging to be allowed to taste my salty cum. She was a greedy little cock-whore sucking, licking and wanking my member for the white juice she craved so much.

Sadly reality was different. She had never begged me for her daily dose of male protein. Instead she was getting it from her husband. Assuming they were still fucking. I consoled myself with the thought that every time you see a beautiful woman, there’s a guy somewhere in the world who’s bored of fucking her. Small comfort, but I took what I could. It helped me overcome my non-Sabrina fucking status in life.

Robert, like his wife Sabrina, was a senior in the company. I worked under the husband and wife team as one of six underlings. Not only did I lust after his hot piece of ass wife, I wanted to make him a cuckold. I wanted to fuck her and for him to know that I, Maurice, was the one who was giving her the orgasms he couldn’t deliver. I once saw a cuckolding porno were the ‘wife’ blew the ‘boyfriend’ in front of her submissive ‘husband’. After the ‘boyfriend’ ejaculated his white love into her mouth, she got off her knees and spat the cum into the mouth of her ‘husband’ and commanded him to swallow it. That sort of degradation for Robert would be ideal. The thought of my sperm in his mouth and stomach made me a little queasy, but he definitely got the worse end of that deal. It would be particularly funny and wrong because he was the overtly macho, rugby playing, well-built type so the enforced homosexuality of the act would be all the more humiliating.

Anyway, who gives a fuck about Robert? Sabrina was the one I wanted to fuck. I had a bit of a tights and stockings fetish. I appreciated a woman who could wear a nice pair of heels and a short skirt to show off her nylons. Sabrina consistently delivered the goods. Tights were part of her business uniform. There was no memory I could recollect of her wearing trousers unless it was a dress down day. Sabrina in jeans or a pair of three-quarter length trousers was a tragedy. Her attractiveness plummeted several depths. She was so plain and ordinary looking when out of tights. They really made her look beautiful, and allowed her innate sexiness to shine through. Any hour she wasn’t on display with tight nylons around her legs was a waste.

Curiously she almost never wore tan tights. It was nearly always black, opaque sixty to eighty denier tights on her legs. I wonder if she viewed her own body like I did – with the male gaze. Or maybe Robert had a stocking fetish and instructed her that he preferred her in black tights. Either way, she seemed to recognise her legs were shown off at their best in tight, dark black. The few times she wore tan she looked okay. Just okay. I certainly still looked at her, but somehow it wasn’t the same. You were seeing more, and I suspect my non-fetishist male co-workers enjoyed looking at her more in the tan tights. They wanted flesh. I on the other hand wanted mystery. A girl in dark, obscuring black nylons seemed to rev my motor up a few more notches than seeing clear through to her legs.

Not that I want to suggest I didn’t take pleasure in looking at female legs in tan tights. There was another lady in the office. Angela was Sabrina and Robert’s boss and a bit older than them. She was a blonde who wore trousers more often than skirts. The few times she did wear skirts she never once chose to pair the skirt with black tights. It was always tan. I wondered how women decided these things. It wasn’t all about how cold the weather was. Why did Angela decide black didn’t suit her legs? Was it as simple as putting them on one day and deciding it simply didn’t look right, and so forsworn them from that day onwards? I wished it was the type of question you could ask a woman without it alerting them to your perverted interests in them. I suspect they would love to talk about such things. Anytime I mention clothing or jewellery they are wearing they light up. You can feel their delight at getting to discuss such things. Sadly as a man I have nothing more to add after the initial observation, and so I then feel their deflated disappointment as the conversation fizzles. I can’t develop past that opening remark and they become disinterested in me once again. Angela looked good in tan tights. I liked looking at her. Sadly I didn’t know how she looked in black tights as I’d never seen her wear that colour. Without that frame of reference I can’t say for certain if she looked better in the tan, but I could say she looked good. If Sabrina and Angela stood beside each other in tan tights, Angela would be the one I would most want to insert my dick into. When Sabrina was in her blacks and Angela in her tans I fancied Sabrina more. Which raises the question: did I get turned on more by the girl or by the clothes?

I think the girl overall, but the clothes make a big impact on how attractive she looks. Stockings on their own are useless so I needed a real woman to be wearing them. So I couldn’t just buy a shop mannequin and put a pair of tights on it and spend days staring at it while touching my dick. The woman inside the tights mattered.

As personalities Angela was the easier person to get on with and to talk to. She was an ‘open’ personality with a sense of humour that was approachable and had some depths to it. She was capable of being a little goofy and eccentric and happy to admit to bouts of stupidity and poor taste. Sabrina had a colder, more aloof personality. Presumably she had always been one of the pretty girls, or at least in the top tier in any organisation or place of education. Angela, who was pretty but with a more flawed beauty and bit more age, was maybe considered by herself, and others, to be more above average rather than top tier. Actual sexiness had very little to do with looking perfect, but was more about the way a woman carried herself. People of deeply flawed beauty can be a lot more sexy than those with perfect features. Are supermodels actually sexy? Does anyone actually masturbate to top priced models? If someone does then that person has no imagination.

Sabrina had a surface level of humour. What I mean by that is: she thought she had a good sense of humour, and she would laugh often, but I thought she was laughing by default rather than because she was actually amused. She knew a joke had been said and was laughing on cue rather than doing so spontaneously. Also I suspected she had little capacity to laugh at herself. I didn’t feel she would respond in anything other than a frosty manner if I suggested she was a fool. That was my impression.

If I was to play the Snog, Marry, Kill game I’d marry Angela, keep Sabrina as my mistress and kill Robert as my love rival.

Frankly I needed to stick my throbbing cock in Sabrina’s wet cunt. I watched her pull out her desk chair, pat down the skirt behind her nylon clad thighs and sit her perfect little whore arse down on the seat. What colour of panties did she have on? I pictured light pink cotton panties. Maybe she was wearing lace? I wondered if her cunt was wet because she’d been thinking about sex when in the ladies loo. Maybe she’d slipped a finger in her snatch while sitting on the porcelain with her black tights and pink cotton panties around her ankles.

Fuck this.

Fuck this job.

Fuck this life.

Most of all, fuck Sabrina.

I was going to be a man for once. I hadn’t had a girlfriend in months. I knew what I wanted. I wanted Sabrina. So what if she was supposedly happily married? So what if she’d tell her husband and he’d hit me, or they’d have me fired? So what? I was going to go up to Sabrina to tell her how hard she made my cock. I wasn’t dumb enough to show it to her. The female sexual experience demanded a bit more engagement with her mind than with the flesh. If she’d flash me she could have me, no questions asked. A man flashing a woman could not expect such a positive outcome. It was strange how easy it was for a man to be a perverted menace to society while a woman could do far worse and it would be considered sexy. The male ability to be sexy was very limited. Robert dominating on the rugby field I’m sure led to vigorous vaginal fucking with Sabrina’s cunt dripping at how manly her husband was. I was going to go down in flames for this but I didn’t care. I needed her to know I was sexually interested in her.

I closed the file in my hands and placed it back in the filing range. Sneakily I rearranged the bulge in the front of my trousers. I tried to cool it back down to softness by thinking scary thoughts of her negative reaction to my proposition. It didn’t take long.

It was time to get my dick chewed off – and not in a sexy way. I was going to ask a married woman... What? What exactly could I say to tempt her to stray from the husband we both worked with? Why would she break her marriage vows and fuck a junior co-worker? Why would she do such a thing? There was no reason on Earth why she would. Still, I didn’t care. I was going to try and prise those black nylon sheaved legs apart so I could look up at her beautiful cunt. Maybe she was as bored of fucking Robert as he was of fucking her?

I screwed up my courage and approached her. She was just a girl. A person. Nothing special. She had the same needs, wants and desires as the rest of us. She wanted a good fucking more or less as much as I did. She’d chosen her mate, but what was to say she wasn’t in the market for fresh meat?

Damn it, I wanted her and I was going to try and have her.

I found myself suddenly standing beside her desk. She was looking up at me with big, grey eyes surrounded by make-up enhanced lashes and eyelids. Fuck she made me hard.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked in an unfriendly way. I didn’t say anything. She dropped her eyes from me and turned back to her computer. She reached for a nail file on her desk beside the mouse.

‘I...’ My throat went dry causing me to stop speaking. I cleared my throat. ‘I was wondering if you fancied a drink after work?’

She turned and looked back up at me. ‘A drink?’ she asked for me to clarify.

‘A romantic drink. I know you and Robert are...’

‘Married,’ she pointed out.

‘Yes. But I thought...’ I was going down just as badly as I expected. What stupidity emboldened me enough to approach her like this? It was only going to get worse if I didn’t ramp up the manliness and actually say what I wanted. Enough of this ‘subtle’ pussyfooting about. It wasn’t working. It was time for the direct approach. No matter how rude the truth was, she might at least respect me for being bold. Women like bold, take-charge men. I leaned down to be closer to her and to drop the volume of my voice. ‘Frankly Sabrina, I’ve spent years looking at your legs and I like them. I like the way your black nylons stretch over and around your legs. Your legs are gorgeous. And so are you. You’ve been making me hard for years. I’ve got a fetish for your tights. They turn me on so much. You wear tights better than any other woman.’

She didn’t look away. She didn’t blush. Instead she leaned in closer and said, ‘Are you trying to flirt with me? Or more accurately, are you trying to fuck me?’

I should have shrunk away in fear. Was it a trap? If it was a trap, I was already one foot in it so why not put my other foot in as well. ‘I want to stick my dick in you and make you feel good. I want you to feel like a woman with a wet pussy filled with manly dick.’ Hey, I wasn’t a poet. This wasn’t an attempt at romantic seduction. This was about lust. This was about sex. Dirty sex. I wasn’t looking for a relationship.

Sabrina kept her eye contact as she leaned back in her chair. ‘Are you hard right now?’

I leaned back up to my full height and nodded.

She glanced around the office. No one was looking. She put her right hand out and placed her palm upright against my crotch. She rubbed it for a second to feel the erection behind my trousers. Sabrina’s hand was almost touching my dick. Just a few bits of fabric separated her hand from my genitals. She took her hand away. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’m not disinterested. I’ll fuck you once. And once only. But it comes with a stipulation.’

‘Anything.’ I couldn’t believe my luck. She actually said ‘yes’. My luck was changing.

‘You might not like it. There’s something kinky I’ve always want to do. With a loved one it’s too perverse. But with...’ She indicated me with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘With one time lovers I don’t think it’s too shocking to ask.’

‘What is it?’

‘If I fuck you.’ Pause. ‘At the end.’ Another pause. ‘Once you’ve come.’ A longer pause. ‘I want to...’ More silence. ‘I want to piss on your face.’

Was I hearing this right? Did she just say what I thought she said? Did she confess to a desire to urinate on my face? After taking a second to gather my thoughts I asked, ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Why not. Because I want to. Robert is my husband. I’m not going to piss on my husband. He might be the father of my children one day. But you? You’re desperate enough to want this pussy. So why not get something out of it? Something I’ve always been too afraid to ask. It’s no skin off my nose. You either say yes or you say no. The thought of using a man as a toilet turns me on. There’s no explanation. There’s no why. There’s no rhyme or reason. What can I say? It turns me on and I don’t know why. It just does. Human nature and its sexuality is a mysterious beast. Some people say survival is the meaning of life. Nonsense. Not one of our billions of ancestors has ever survived. Not one. We all die. The meaning, or purpose, of life is to reproduce. Sex is what powers us all. We don’t chose to like sex. It’s not something we opt out in or out for. Sexual desires are thrust upon us. We have no say in the matter. We can maybe deny those desires, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. And somehow in my mind I developed a kink for pissing on other people. So are you in or are you out?’

‘I...don’t know.’ I really wasn’t sure. Of course I ached to stick my dick in her vagina. To have Sabrina suck me off while she wore black tights was probably my greatest desire in life. Unfortunately she was extracting a high price on this happening. To be urinated on was a condition I couldn’t just blithely agree to. Was it possible I might actually enjoy the sensation of warm water cascading from her sexual organs onto my face? Was that sexy? Or was that just disgusting, as my kneejerk reaction was telling me?

The answer came back to me in no time. It was definitely disgusting. No doubt about that. Zero room for ambiguity. Piss was not sexy.

Yet I really wanted her pussy. There was no need to be hasty in saying no to her stipulation. At least it wasn’t like I was the pervert requesting the golden shower. She was the pervert wanting to do it. That took me off the hook. I was an innocent bystander to her perversion. Yes, it would make me a deviant for agreeing to participate, but I was only doing that part under duress because I wanted the normal fucking to happen. It was a condition she was imposing upon me. It was out of my control. If I wanted what I most desired I had to submit to her perverted craving. That was only fair I supposed. I’m sure fucking me wasn’t her ultimate desire. Someone her pretty would be slumming it by sleeping with someone like me. I asked her, ‘Are you only interested in sleeping with me because you want to piss on me?’

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