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Sometimes it is very difficult to take Tamara seriously. Yes, she is gorgeous. Yes, she is now my fiancée. It’s just the moment she looks at you with excitement in her eyes. Then within seconds your senses are hit. You can hear it first, it’s like the sound of fabric being ripped, then you can see the golden river flowing, before finally the smell. I then often get the opportunity to touch and explore her warm wetness with my fingers. Stroking, caressing, and squelching. Ultimately enjoying her. Also, occasionally with my mouth once she has finished. I get to taste her too.
There is something about seeing and smelling freshly jetting urine as it flows out of your fiancée’s crotch. It is as if her hips are pouring a steaming cup of hot tea. Except without the mug in front it flows over anything and everything. I have to admit when she does let go, it makes my life both different and exciting. It is something she made far more noticeable on the weekends. The pairs of wet panties and a couple of skirts in the washing basket suggest she is not always successful in the task.
This all stems from our wet weekend away. I found out once we got home from our romantic weekend away, she actually peed herself several times in the car. I knew about the first. She had put my hand between her thighs. Tamara explained once home that she had quickly discovered she was getting cold and uncomfortable, so warming her thighs up was important. That was the excuse. Regular hot jets of fresh urine helped. The evidence of both her very wet bottom when she jumped out of the car, but also her extremely sodden hoodie which was totally saturated. Chuckling when she pulled it from the seat. The top landed with a slap on to the driveway when she dropped it. It left a noticeable hoodie shaped wet patch on the concrete. It went straight in the bin. It didn’t make it to the washing machine.
I was just grateful and surprised that the car seat was not completely ruined. I set about Sunday evening cleaning it. Thank God for Febreze. The clothing worked well as her nappy keeping most of the moisture in. Thankfully the car did not smell too bad afterwards. A new air freshener helped. What mitigated everything was the sex with Tamara on the living room floor, that was phenomenal. She was so wet and turned on, that I was too. It was all amazing.
Since our exciting and wet walking holiday she has now got into the habit of just smiling happily at me before wetting herself. Doing it as and when she feels like it. With little regard to the consequences. She revels in the excitement of risky wet fun.
This can be at home where we will be having a deep and meaningful conversation about life, whether it was shopping or the wedding. She will be standing up in front of me and we will be locked in conversation for a bit. I can’t help but notice that she then starts squeezing her legging covered thighs tightly together for a few minutes. She will try and continue and have a sensible chat. But I can’t help but notice that her stance has changed, as we continue talking her thighs are being squished even firmer together. Then I could see the change in her eyes. Her focus is no longer on me, and my words. That has now gone. She is not thinking about me or the right words or the direction of conventional thought. But she is clearly just excited by the anticipation and the knowledge of what is about to happen. She won’t say anything, she escort bursa doesn’t need to. It’s a bit of fun. I have to grant her that. I normally get pleasure from her afterwards. Her soaking wet crotch is great fun to play with.
The wetting now also happens when we are out and about. The previous weekend we had been to the supermarket, bought a few days’ worth of food, Tamara had been incredibly indecisive on the whole trip. She couldn’t decide on anything. It was getting rather frustrating. Eventually we made it out of the store. I had put the shopping in the boot of the car. I went to get in the driver’s side and Tamara was leaning against the passenger side of the car smiling at me. It was then that I noticed her bouncing foot to foot.
“Ben, Is the towel in there?” She grins, pointing to the rear of the car.
I followed her fingers before nodding, looking back at her, With a nervous nod, “yes.” Towels were being put everywhere just in case “I need one.”
“Ben, I really don’t think I can make it until we get home, and also I really don’t want to have to walk all the way back inside.” She whined and looked at me with puppy dog eyes as she smiled. Knowing that was a pathetic excuse. She then stuffed her hand between her crotch as she bounced with more rhythm, I watched as her delightful breasts jiggled around in her bra with every uncomfortable jolted move.
“That’s fair enough.” I reply, what else can I say. Casually looking around scanning the area, who might we embarrass.
“Ohh, I think I can hold it just a minute longer.” She pants. Bouncing again. She is making a show of this, and we are in bright daylight and public. Tamara enjoys the pleasure gained from holding on as much as she loves letting go.
“Okay?” my voice failed to cover the concern as I looked around trying to determine who might be watching. How big an audience had gathered around her car. I was grateful. No one, or those that are around are focused on their shopping.
“Ohhh, yes,” she whimpered and looked deeply into my eyes and then open-mouthed grinned. “Aghhh,” she squealed. As soon followed was then a loud splattering of urine on the floor. “That feels so amazing,” she declared.
Tamara was standing in the middle of a busy supermarket car park happily peeing straight into her tight-fitting blue jeans. The darkened denim spread out across her buttocks and then her inner thighs. It would have been obvious to anyone if they looked at her and what she was doing.
My cock was responding too. It was both dangerous and erotically exciting.
“That feels so hot.” She excitedly explained as I heard the splattering on the tarmac beside the car.
“Looks like I will be getting the towel out then?” I suggested going back to the boot and digging it out.”
“Please darling.” Her eyes were alive to what she had just done.
I did get to see the huge dark staining on her buttocks and inner thighs. As she moved her legs the motion sent further dribbles running down her legs. Then as I drove home. I did so with my hand firmly wedged between her cooling saturated legs. The stench of urine coming off her was interesting. However, when we parked up, she pulled down her jeans and let me massage her incredibly saturated and sopping wet panties so that she squealed as she came sitting on the towel in our driveway. So that was again thrilling and fun. She stood half naked in the hallway and gave me a hand job no sooner were we görükle escort in the house.
It was definitely something that became more common when we were alone for her not to care about leaving the room and using the toilet and just sitting or standing there and letting go of her full bladder as and when she felt like it. She even had a towel in the kitchen cupboard in preparation that she would mop up the puddle afterwards. It would go in the washing machine with her yellow stained panties and leggings.
It was not completely tied to the weekends. When I got home from work on Friday night, she would not be sitting in the living room with her feet up or being a good wife in training and be in the kitchen already cooking us dinner. No, she would be standing in the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand looking sorry for herself.
“Oh, thank God you are home,” she would declare. I would give her a kiss.
“Oh?” I would look on with faux confusion.
“I was waiting for you!” She would declare.
“To do what?”
“Finish off.”
“Oh.” That would be all I could say.
“I leaked at work, I forgot where I was.” She shrugged her shoulders as she stepped towards me, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
“I see.” I nodded as my hands grabbed her very wet bottom. The fabric was cool and soaked.
“I just had a little wee.” She bit her bottom lip and then looked at me before she kissed my lips.
“Oh?”
“But it wasn’t as little as I thought. I was after a tiny cheeky bit of pleasure.”
“Right.”
“But my skirt was a little soaked. My office seat was a bit damp. I couldn’t get up,” she kissed me on the lips.
“Oh.”
“So, I didn’t. I made every excuse not to leave my desk, then held my bag over my bum as I ran to the car at five o’clock. Hoping no one saw me.”
“And?” My fingers squeezed her very truly very wet bottom.
“I got home, opened the wine, poured a glass and waited for you.” She looked up at me, shrugged her shoulders then cutely smiled.
“Then?”
She didn’t say anything. I let go of her and she took a step back. I watched as she whimpered with pleasure as the contents of her bladder hissed as they powered its way through her panties, tights and then skirt. Splattering loudly as it landed all over the kitchen floor splashing my own shoes.
“I see.” That was all I could say. I then got to help undress her. I left her wet panties on till the very last minute. The imprint of her sex on the soaking wet cotton was fascinating. The sex was of course amazing. She was damp to touch, reeked of urine. But she was incredibly passionate. There was a reason I was marrying her.
Regarding the wedding, in this instance we were both standing there discussing the exciting plans for the evening event. We had to decide whether it was a band or DJ. There was also a discussion on the numbers and who we could invite. She had positioned herself leaning against the sink and was holding her now nearly empty coffee mug, her second of the morning.
After us spending a couple of weeks “parading” the ring around family friends we had finally buckled down and managed to set the date for our nuptials for next summer. It was all systems go. She had already chosen the venue. Both the chapel and the hotel. I wasn’t going to argue. Especially as her family had kindly agreed to pay. It was the dream wedding venue apparently. It did look rather stunning. I am just looking forward to testing the food in a few weeks’ time.
There were a few conditions. We had a maximum of a hundred guests. The plan had been to spend the morning discussing the list. Thinking the task would be better if we did it with coffee, rather than after a bottle of wine. It was going to be a boring laborious task, which was going to be stressful. Tamara just couldn’t sit still. Up down, up down, like she had ants in her pants. We had been drinking coffee and sitting at the kitchen table for an hour. There were going to be my friends and family that were going to miss out. It was natural, her family was larger.
She positioned herself against the sink, we were starting to go through my family to determine who was on the list when the hissing began.
She didn’t say anything about what she was doing. Conversation about the wedding had stopped five minutes ago, to be replaced with several “let me think about it” to be shortened to “umm,” and “yeahs.” Her breathing got a little heavier. She didn’t have to ask permission. I could hear what she was doing. There was a “ohh.” Then hissing got louder than the radio we had on. It was soon followed by the smell of the acrid wafts of urine that tickled my nose. Her eyes were closed as she enjoyed the sensations and could then see her crotch and upper thighs glistening before a river of urine cascaded as it flowed down her left leg. A few seconds later I could hear the splattering on the floor as a yellowed puddle developed around her white socks. I watched as she started whimpering as her long fingers migrated to her crotch pushing the fabric against her body as her fingers started slowly stroking, pawing away at herself. The squelch could easily be heard. All this would mean she was no longer listening to me or what was being said. Tamara would be focusing on her own growing wet pleasure.
She had been holding for several hours as there were plenty of rivulets of steaming golden pee casually flowing down both her legs. Tamara’s eyes were closed as she was moaning before removing her hand as a jet of pee came gushing through her now saturated crotch and instantly splattering on the floor. All I could do was stare at her former pink but now very red crotch panties that were now brightly showing through the fabric of her crotch.
I had noticed that she had put on an older pair of black leggings today. In hindsight she had done it in anticipation of her mornings naughty deed. Her inner thighs now sparked and glistened under the kitchen lights.
It was fascinating to watch the sparking ring as it furiously went up and down, until she finally whimpered.
There was a big sigh, the sound of disappointment at her bladder being empty. The sigh was soon replaced by panting and squeals as Tamara continued fingering herself. All I could do was watch as she passionately played with herself, before finally moaning. She shuddered and then picked up and finished with a gulp of her coffee. She smiled at me then still dripping off her buttocks then joined me at the table.
“You’re not going to change?” I asked before giving her a kiss and groping her saturated ass. She then surprised me by sitting down.
“Nah, babes, that was fun, and I think I really want to pee in these again,” she kissed me on the lips and grabbed my arm and put my hand between her very warm and deliciously wet crotch. Then with me fumbling around, focused on the sheet in front of her. “Okay, let’s look at the list again, who are we going to cull from your side?” She wiggled her hips, squishing my hands between her warm but soaking wet thighs, then grinned and kissed me again on the lips.
The End
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32