http://jennmolo.com/abstract-agreement-definition/ “I was disappointed I missed your class. I was demo bottoming for another presentation at the same time. So, if you don’t mind me picking your brain, how did you get over piss play?”
“I’ve liked piss since I was a kid. The class was about piss play and different ways to use piss.”
“Oh, well… Um, then may I ask your opinion? How can one get over their hangups about piss?”
“There’s a few ways. Some people simplify it; think about it like it’s just warm water. Others will take the degradation route. Like, say… There are a few drops of piss left on my boots from my class, and only a filthy fucking slut would want to lick the piss off my boots.”
I met Boymeat last year. We spoke less then ten words during our initial introduction. Hellos were exchanged as Boymeat began punching a mutual friend. I quietly excused myself as to not disturb the two of them.
The Thursday night of Fusion, I patiently waited for my shift at Playdate with the Pros. I had arrived early in case Shay needed help; she didn’t. So I found myself with an hour to kill. And then in a conversation I desperately wanted to have. And then in a situation that both scared and thrilled me.
“Boymeat, do you want to sign up for one of my playdate shifts?”
“It’s so hard, the torture of deciding what to do. Knowing that you’ll have to ask for it. Get my permission to lick piss off of my boots. That I won’t give you any help. That you will have to make the decision yourself.”
I bent and twisted inside. I was wet, wetter than I wanted to admit. The idea of piss play had been on my mind for some time. Readers of this blog may have noticed its occasional appearance in pieces of erotica as of late. And now here was this sick-twisted-incredibly-hot man pushing me to do the things I wanted but feared.
And so, I leapt.
“Boymeat, may I lick the piss off of your boots?”
I sunk down to my knees.
“All the way down.”
On all fours, I stared at his leather. At the drops that would soon be in my mouth. I crept towards his boots, stuck out my tongue, and licked. Lapped up his piss. First one boot, and then the other. The event swirled around us, but the people were far way. My world held only my body, writhing in pleasure, and Boymeat’s boots for my tasting.
When I finished, I stood, a huge grin on my face. Boymeat adjusted himself.
“The problem with not cuming after your pissing class, and then having someone lick piss off your boots.”
He must’ve seen my smile. Must’ve noticed the extra perk in my face. Boymeat is great at reading people.
“I’m gonna go sit on a bench over there and light a cigarette. Only a filthy fucking slut would randomly sit down, pull out a cock, and suck it from a guy she’s never met. Let’s see if a filthy little whore is going to come by and service me.”
As soon as he walked away, I dashed about looking for safer sex supplies.
“Where are the condoms?” I asked Shay in my rush. She pointed me towards a small table in the middle of the room.
“Poetic, what’s wrong?” asked Stefanos as he mingled among the guests.
“Oh, nothing. I just need a condom, now.”
I found the condoms, grabbed one, and scurried through the crowd.
Boymeat had just lit his cigarette when I stood in front of him. He looked up and smiled at me. I handed him the condom. He ripped open the packaging, pulled out his cock, and put it on.
In a breath, I was down on my knees with his covered cock in my mouth.
As my mouth bobbed up and down on him, took all of him in. As Boymeat gripped my hair, guiding my lips along his cock, he spoke sweetnesses into my ear.
“Such a filthy little whore. Such a dirty little slut. Sucking on some stranger’s cock. You don’t even know me.
“You licked piss off my boots and we barely know each other. You want me to piss on you now, don’t you?
“Tonight, when you’re lying in bed, touching yourself, you’re gonna think about my piss in your mouth. When you masturbate tonight, you’re gonna cum to the idea of me pissing all over you.”
He fucked my face til he came.
“Are you one of those lucky few whose clit is hard wired for pain?”
He grabbed my shoulders, turned the flesh. He hurt me as I writhed in his crotch. First my head brushed against him stomach, then lifted closer to his face. My body snaked across his chest. My hands rested on his thighs. My noises came. He enjoyed them.
He gripped my breasts, pulling, twisting at the flesh, deep under the muscle, rubbing against my ribs.
“Please. I love to hear that.”
I was so wet, so slick from his work. I begged. Whispered my pleas.
He allowed me to cum. I twisted in ecstasy from my pleasure and his pain.
He started punching my chest. Concentrated on one side. And planted the seed of yet more fun to come.
“Sometime tomorrow, when you least expect it, I am going to find you, throw you to the ground, rip off your clothes, and pee on you.”
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