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.

Alice didn’t go to the toilet in the pub, so Angela followed her into the office toilets. She looked under the toilet door where Alice’s feet could be seen. Her knickers were not around her ankles. Perhaps she just pulled them down to her knees. Then came the moan followed by a tinkle as a trickle of pee hit the water. For a woman desperate for a piss, the trickle just didn’t sound right.

Then it hit Angela: Alice was pissing in her pants. The moan continued, a long, sinuous sound of pleasure taking. Angela was desperate to know what was going on and went into the next cubicle. The moaning stopped instantly, but the muffled trickling continued.

Then the sound of Alice standing up, flushing, and opening the door. Angela wasn’t quick enough, and Alice was gone before she could join her. She checked the cubicle but found no clue as to what Alice had done.

Back in the open-plan office, Alice sat at her desk some way from Angela, but when she got up, Angela knew what to do.

When everyone had left, she went over to Alice’s desk and sniffed the seat. The delicious smell of urine greeted her. She could have licked the seat. So Alice was a pee person too. Now she had to find a way of revealing herself so that Alice was not frightened off. She wasn’t sure why, but she just thought having somebody else sharing our interest would make it all more enjoyable.

She courted Alice a lot after that and they became quite good work friends, though it was never suggested that they meet outside. Angela would check for all the pee signs but didn’t have much luck until quite by chance she found herself already in the toilet just after work when Alice came in. She knew it was Alice when she saw the shoes under the cubicle wall, and Alice clearly thought she was alone as Angela hadn’t locked her door. Luckily, Alice chose the next cubicle while Angela lifted her legs out of view.

Angela heard a rustle as Alice lifted her dress. She supposed and could not resist the urge to look over the top of the cubicle. Alice was leaning back on the toilet seat, her eyes closed, her legs spread wide. She was wearing black stockings and expensive pink silk directoire knickers.

Her hand was down the front of her knickers, and she masturbated as a dark patch appeared at the crutch of the knickers, as she peed into them. The golden stream gathered force and started pouring through the silk, and rivulets of dark appeared in the legs as pee was forced to flow down her thighs and dribble out of the elasticized leg openings.

Alice was gasping with pleasure, sure she was alone, and her eyes stayed closed. Angela, though both thrilled and fascinated at what she was seeing, knew she had to stop watching. Alice came with a small screech followed by a long moan.

Angela listened as the toilet flushed and heard Alice’s heels clattering out of the washroom.

She was so aroused she wanted to stay and pee her own white cotton knickers but knew this was not a chance to be missed.

She caught Alice in the lift and, as they walked out of the building, said she had to do some shopping. Would Alice like to join her?

The pair went into a large department store, and Angela took them to the lingerie section.

“I do like nice underwear; it just makes me feel so good,” declared Angela.

“Me too,” said Alice, laughing, “although my taste is a little old-fashioned for you youngsters.”

“How do you mean?” asked Angela.

“Well, I like old-fashioned silk directoire knickers and French knickers, stockings, and nice lace suspenders. They’re the things which make me feel feminine.”

“Golly, I’m not sure what directoire knickers are,” said Angela.

“I’ll show you,” said Alice cheerfully.

Angela followed her to a rack and watched as Alice pulled a pair of pink silk directoire knickers from a shelf and held them against her.

“They feel gorgeous when you’ve got them on. I love the feel of the silk against my skin,” she said. “You should try them.”

Angela took her cue. “Well, I will if you recommend them so highly,” she said hesitantly.

With a stroke of boldness, she looked directly at Alice and asked: “Are you wearing them now?”

“Yes,” replied Alice, not in the least put out by the outrageous question.

“Come into the cubicle with me while I try them on,” said Angela, and the pair squeezed into the tiny space with a mirror wall.

Angela lifted her short, pleated skirt and showed off her pristine white cotton knickers under her dark tights. Alice looked with more interest than was proper but said nothing.

Peeling off her tights and knickers, Angela stood with her skirt around her waist, with her hairless cunt on show. Alice was looking at it in the mirror.

“You are gorgeous,” she whispered, her hand brushing across Angela’s mound.

Angela signaled her assent by parting her legs to allow Alice’s gentle fingers to travel between her lips, teasing out her labia and sliding through the warm flow of juice. Angela bit her lip and put her arm around Alice’s waist to encourage her, flicking up her dress from behind to feel her silk-covered bottom. As she expected, it was still wet, soaking in fact from Alice’s earlier activity.

Alice gasped as she realized what she had just revealed.

“I had a bit of an accident at the office today,” she blurted. “I didn’t quite make it to the loo. They were all taken, so I just wet myself.”

“It’s all right,” murmured Angela. “I think we have something important in common.”

As she spoke, she allowed a little dribble of pee to come out of her cunt and onto Alice’s hand.

“I’d better not do any more here, but I must go somewhere soon,” she said.

The pair of them went to a nearby bar and spoke frankly about their shared interest. Alice was thrilled to have found someone with a fellow feeling, and when she heard that I was into it as well, was even more intrigued.