When Angela spotted a fellow watersports fan among her workmates, she was intrigued to know more.

I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, desperate for a pee. As I stood naked in front of the bowl, idly watching the golden stream hit the water, Angela crept up behind me, reached around, and took hold of my cock, directing the stream around the bowl and giggling. This and the soft warmth of her breasts against my back started giving me an erection, and soon the stream was going all over the place as my cock pointed skywards.

As I finished, she stayed behind me, wanking my cock gently, ensuring my erection was as hard as it could be. She stepped around and licked the final drops of urine from it, before sucking almost its whole length, kneeling before me, until with clever use of her hands, teeth, and tongue, I was spurting cum into her willing mouth.

We talked about the pee incident as it was the first time in two years of knowing her that I had any idea it was of any interest to her. She said she didn’t know either, but watching me piss had aroused her a lot.

We went to a country pub, and she drank a pint of lager and then another. We sat opposite each other, and she told me she was soon going to have to pee. She shifted in her seat and told me that unless she had a pee soon, she would wet her knickers, adding that she was wearing white cotton waist-high knickers just like she wore when she was a little girl playing with her friend.

She crossed her legs and squirmed but was obviously determined not to go to the toilet just yet.

“Uh,” she grunted, “I think I’ve just wet myself a tiny bit, look.” She was wearing a short skirt and had it arranged so she was sitting on her knickers rather than on her skirt, which was spread out behind her. She raised herself just enough to show me a dark patch on the upholstered stool. Glancing round to make sure she was not too obvious, she parted her knees and pulled her short navy blue pleated skirt up a little more than was necessary for decorum and showed me the front of her white knickers, where a dark patch was forming and growing bigger by the second.

“I’m pissing in my pants,” she said grinning, “in public.”

It was clearly a big turn-on for her doing it in public, but she knew she wouldn’t get away with a full-on knicker-wetting inside the pub. We hurried out, Angela with piss dribbling down her leg as she struggled to hold back the torrent behind her clamped thighs that made walking so difficult.

We turned a corner where an outbuilding hid us from view, and she pulled her little skirt up to show off her very damp white knickers and let the pee pour out.

For such a pent-up torrent, it started remarkably slowly, as she stepped back and stood legs parted as the golden stream found its way first round the edges of her knickers and then through the cotton of her gusset, pouring out uncontrolled. She squatted down and pulled her knickers to one side to show me she had shaved her cunt as smooth as when she was six, but now it was fat and engorged as she pissed for me. She stood up and stopped the flow.

“I’ve got plenty left,” she asked. “How would you like it?” she asked, undoing my shirt. “I know, lie down,” she commanded.

I did as I was told, and she stood over my face as she let the stream flow again, pouring through her soaking knickers onto my face and chest, into my mouth, and over my cheeks. She pulled the knickers to one side and exposed her smooth cunt to me, pee stills pouring out of her.

Gradually, it stopped, and she just stood over me, grinning.

I stood up, and she pressed herself to my wet torso, licking my face, sucking the droplets of piss from it.

“That is such a turn-on,” she whispered, feeling my erection trapped in my trousers. “It turned you on too, didn’t it?”

My hand was already under her little skirt, gently rubbing her clitoris through her wet knickers.

“Fuck, I am aroused,” she said, grinding her cunt against my hand and coming almost straight away in a very noisy climax, grunting and panting, trying not to scream out loud.

I had my cock out by now and lifted her onto it, feeling the soaking cotton, still warm from her hot pee, rubbing against it as I fucked her. She came again so loudly that I thought someone from the pub might investigate.

In the car, she lay back and peeled her wet knickers off, dropping them in my lap. I glanced at her smooth, shaven cunt, which she was stroking with her long fingers.

“I hope I haven’t embarrassed you,” she said. “It’s just that I couldn’t help myself. Tell me you enjoyed it too.”

I lifted the wet cotton to my face and rubbed it over my mouth and nose.

“Mmmm, that feels good,” I said as the cold material with its strong, acidic smell touched my senses. I sucked the cotton, and she lay back, gently playing with herself, reassured that she had found a partner who understood and shared.

From then on, we planned our outings to give us maximum peeing pleasure. We also looked for novelty, new ways of expressing our love of peeing in public places for sexual pleasure.

In private, our games were more relaxed. She liked me to pee over her in the bath, her lying back, fully dressed, while I stood over her, directing the jet to her face, her tits, and what she liked most, a strong jet placed precisely on her clitoris.

Sometimes she would pull her knickers to one side and let the piss hit her cunt directly, and others she wanted the cotton to shield it from the direct hit. Either way, I would go down and lick her between her legs once I had finished. She would do the same for me, straddling my face and peeing all over it, or just standing in the shower and peeing indiscriminately over my body.

She returned from work one day and told me of an odd experience. She and three other women from her office went to the pub at lunchtime, and one of them, Alice, had recently joined the firm. She was a handsome middle-aged woman and had squirmed so much on her barstool that it had attracted Angela’s attention. She thought it looked like she felt when she was on a peeing-in-public adventure.