CW pissplay

I make my love lay down naked and exposed in the indulgent extra-large bathtub, his head safely cocooned on the cushions we vacuum sealed in plastic to be water safe earlier that day. He is not quite comfortable, I’m sure, but not fully uncomfortable either. He looks up at me, eyes trusting. I kneel on the floor beside the tub and lean in to kiss him. His lips are plump and soft. I eye the space in the tub and locate a place for my feet. I strip naked and carefully maneuver myself, crouching over my love’s face so that the sight of my ass and pussy are large in his vision. I lean forward to kiss his soft and lovely dick. I breathe in the scent of him, I breathe in my love of him. “Mmmm you smell so good,” I murmur. One last breath in, and a quick kiss. I right myself, bouncing with my knees a little, to settle into my crouched position, hovering above my love’s face.

“I want you to take a deep breath,” I say. He does it. “Can you smell me from there?”

“Yes, love,” he says, sounding the way I like him to sound—weak as a kitten with desire, and reverent.

I lower myself closer—just far enough away that he’ll have to reach a little. “Lick that pussy.”

The first lick is a gentle caress from the clit down the slit. He moans as he tastes me. “You taste so good,” he groans.

He keeps licking, but it is difficult. I have made it so that he has to work to get at it. Every swipe of the tongue is an effort, as he raises his shoulders off the ground each time to reach my clit. I like it this way. It teases me, the way I like, and it teases him, the way I like.

“Get it, sweetie,” I say to both encourage him and madden him, “Get that clit.”

I can hear in the little sounds he makes that he is becoming frustrated and impatient.

“Get it,” I say, with more reproach this time. He redoubles his efforts, like the good boy he is. “Good, mmm that feels so good, sweetie.”

I can’t see his face, but I can see his dick. It took mere moments for him to become hard and straining. His moans of pleasure at tasting me and pleasuring me turn into pleading whimpers.

“Do you have something to ask me, sweetie?” I ask.

“Yes please, please, I need you closer so I can lick you properly, my love.” His tone is a delicious mix of worshipful and petulant.

“Mmm, you asked nicely, and you’ve been so good,” I say. He thanks me as I carefully lower my pussy onto his face, resting the weight of my torso on his belly, my face next to his hard cock, my knees on either side of him. I breathe deep again and nuzzle his cock against my cheek, my eye, my open mouth, feeling its hardness, how it twitches when I touch it, how it strains toward the warmth of my mouth.

“Mmmmm,” I rub my pussy, now wet and puffy from his ministrations, all over his face, feeling a spike of pleasure when my pussy meets the ridge of his nose, the prickle of his beard, the softness of his lips and eyelids. I rub my juices all over him and then settle back into position. He eagerly licks my clit the way he knows I like. I kiss the tip of his dick, one of the powerful centers of his cock-scent, then I lick a stripe from base to tip. I suckle on the tip, pushing the foreskin back with the tip of my tongue and then swirling my tongue around the head, where I can taste the musk of him, a combination of cock, sweat, and piss that I so dearly love, a taste that makes me wet, a taste that makes me want his cock inside of me, and I moan.

“Just relax, babes,” he says, “Just put my cock in your mouth and come for me.” He licks and licks and licks my clit just right, as I shake and moan and come!

I suck on his cock in earnest as I come down from my first orgasm of the afternoon. He moans and moans into the slick flesh and hair of my pussy, but he licks most diligently, rendering me unable to do anything but moan and shake as I come again, and once more again (what I call a “double”).

As I come down, I say, “So love, do you remember why we’re in the bathtub today?” I stroke his cock lightly with my hands, resting my face in the nook where thigh meets crotch, where I could smell his scent.

“Yes,” he says. I feel his cock twitch in my hand.

“I’m ready to do it now, sweetie. You still want to drink my piss, my love?”

I feel rather than see his vigorous nodding. “Yes, yes, please, please, I want to taste what’s inside of you.”

“Ok, love. Get yourself ready. I drank a ton of water today, so you’ll have to swallow fast if you don’t want to get piss all over you.” He puts his open mouth over my pussy, whimpering softly in anticipation.

“Ready now, sweetie?”

“Mmhmm,” he assents, muffled by my cunt.

My warm piss sprays into his mouth, filling it faster than he can swallow it. I feel it spilling out of his mouth, some trickling down my thigh, but most of it running down into his beard and all over his chest hairs.

I carefully come back into my crouch, and then stand and turn around. I look down at him, smiling softly. “Oh sweetie. You got all dirty.”



It’s late. After a long day of traveling mishaps, it should not come as a surprise that the hostel you booked no longer has any private rooms available. You are too tired to complain much, and your German isn’t up to the task anyway. Instead, you accept a spot in one of the many mixed company rooms.

It is dark already as you enter the room, but you dimly perceive a long room lined with bunk beds in the gloomy half-light. The soft sounds of sleep, little murmurs, light snoring, dreamy mumbling, and the hush of sonorous breaths reach you at the entrance. The place reminds you of Jane Eyre, of boarding schools, as you stumble and fumble through the darkness, groping blindly for your bunk. You’re happy to see that you’re on the bottom bunk.

You undress quickly, too lazy to change into sleep clothes, clad lazily in naught but underpants and a t-shirt that is ratty to the point of threadbare. Before long you are under the covers, your breath evening out, your body going limp and languid with impending sleep, heading swiftly down the black river to swirling unconsciousness. Caught as you are between sleeping and waking, you are only dimly aware of the groan of your bunk and the warmth of another body suddenly beside yours. There is a gruff voice in your ear, there are rough hands on you. You are enveloped in the strange man’s heat from behind, and his hard cock presses insistently against your backside. Your German isn’t very good, but it doesn’t have to be to read the intention behind the words.

The stranger plays with your nipples, flicks them, pinches them, rubs them, strokes them through the thin cotton of your shirt. He bites and licks and sucks at your neck as his hands wander. Still partially submerged in the current of sleep, you are powerless to stop the helpless whimper that crosses your lips, and his hand is suddenly rough across your mouth, silencing you. “Do you want everyone to hear, slut?” he murmurs into your ear. He speaks English with a thick accent. “American, aren’t you?” he says, with something like naked admiration in his tone. “Easy whore.” He grips your hipbone, then slides his hand around your butt, cupping the flesh there. He gives it a little slap, quietly, then his hand moves to palm the wet patch between your legs. “Getting wet for it already, greedy little whore.” His hand muffles your moan. “Oh you like that, do you?” He presses hard into your underwear. “What a good little slag you are.”

He presses two curled fingers into your mouth and you suck greedily, eyes still closed, utterly ruled by your baser impulses. “Good girl,” he says, slipping them out. He pushes your underwear hastily to the side and curls two fingers inside you, chuckling low in your ear. “So wet already.” With his other hand, he pulls the underwear down and off. He spreads the slickness from your cunt to your clit and begins to flick there. You make a strangled noise of pleasure and he tuts. “Everyone is going to hear what a stupid dirty slut you are.” He increases his pace on your clit, slipping his other hand between your legs. “They are probably all jerking off to the sound of you.” The finger on your clit is nearing the crest where pleasure becomes pain. “You like giving them a show, don’t you, fucking slag. They want to hear you come. Come for them.” You are powerless to stop the high moans issuing forth in a stream. Your back arches, tightening like a string about to snap, and you shudder as climax rips through you.

Before you recover your sense of place and time, the stranger shoves his cock inside you, fucking you hard with a wet slapping sound. You unconsciously push back onto him, outside of yourself with pleasure. His fingers are hard on your hips, holding you firmly in place, gripping hard enough to leave marks, no doubt. There is nothing you can do to stop the noises coming out of you on every thrust. “Fucking whore,” he growls in your ear. “You like it, being fucked with a roomful of strangers listening. Probably wouldn’t mind being fucked by each of them one by one.” You can’t stop the throaty moans, although they are loud in the hushed stillness of listening in the room. “You like being used, don’t you, little slag. You’d love to be the communal cum-bucket.” You are sobbing ‘yes’ brokenly every time he pounds into you, eyes screwed shut, hands clenching your blankets. With that, he buries himself deep inside you and comes with a swear in German. You are warm and sticky and sweaty. He climbs out of your bed and is gone with nary a backward glance, leaving you with his cum trickling out between your legs, your blankets twisted and smelling of sex, your t-shirt rucked up, your underwear nowhere to be found. You fall back asleep, unable to help yourself.

THE STORY OF C – Chapter 8

I met Marco at Hermannplatz in Neukölln for lunch. I was late, but he didn’t seem to mind. I wore my dress that has no back (lucky), my jeans jacket (also lucky), and thigh high tights (also also lucky). We went to a euro-bistro and both got salads. Arugula for me, Saisonsalat for him. He has a sort of pleasant accented English. He sounds very slightly British and very vaguely German and not at all American. He is well built, with some muscles, yet also lean. He wore a v-neck and I could see the chest hair peeking through. His glasses have a medium-thick dark rim and his hair is receding just a little bit. We discussed any number of topics, touching upon music, being introverted, our histories, Berlin in the winter, Berlin in the summer, the German word Schadenfreude, his job. We never suffered for lack of conversation. We chatted, taking cappuccinos as he smoked a cigarette. It began to rain very lightly, which we took as our cue to go.

Then the moment of decision. We began discussing sex, my craigslist ad, the appalling and ever-climbing 166 responses I received, the nature of those responses, among other things. I blurted out awkwardly that I don’t shave. He admitted that he found this to be positive. After a moment of indecision, we went up to his apartment, a nice clean wood-floored flat with enough mess to make me comfortable in the knowledge that he was not a clean freak. After we both used the bathroom, the games began. I was quivering ever so slightly out of nervousness, waiting for him to take control of the situation.

He kissed me, mouth open and warm, his beard bristling my lips pleasantly. His tongue had a sort of softness and roughness that seemed new to me. He seemed pleased by my responsiveness, by how quickly my hands found his hair and pulled. He also seemed pleased that my dress had no back and that I was bra-less. The moaning began when his hand found my nipple. The other hand found its way to the sensitive spot of skin between the end of my spine and my ass. I felt I had to be active, so I worked on taking off his shirt while he worked on my dress. He clamped his mouth on my breast and I gasped. One hand wandered below to cup my pussy. I felt like putty in his hands. I wriggled one finger beneath the waist band of his pants. He took them off and I noticed the bulge in his underwear, moving my attentions to it. Unsure of what to do, I stroked it lightly on the outside of the cloth, as I would do to a woman’s pussy through her underwear. He gently tugged down my underwear for better access, beginning to finger me.

Distracted, I continued my ministrations to his clothed penis, biting his neck, kissing, my other hand wandering about his back. He took off his underwear and his erection sprung free. I imagine that my eyes widened–there is something always still very new for me about the unleashing of an erection. I am never sure what to do with it, other than stare at it. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and began to play with the skin, moving my hand up and down the length. He feed me his hand wet with my juices, then returned to finger fucking me in earnest.

He gestured with a turn of the head that we go to the bedroom and I followed, at first hand in hand, and then running my hand lightly down his back. He laid down. “You know, you do have to tell me what to do…” I said with a slight smile, “because I’m submissive and a bit inexperienced.” He smiled and pulled me down on top of him to kiss.

“Turn around,” he said. I obeyed and moaned all the more as he licked me, thrusting the wet length of his tongue inside me. His hand entangled in my hair, pushing my face into the mattress. He serviced me in different ways for a while, working me into wetness, then gave me the length of his (large) penis to suck on. I tried my best to breathe through my nose and keep a steady rhythm, but he was so large that I could not fit the length of him in my mouth.

He guided my head in a bobbing motion, making me take him deeper, though I gagged. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I continued to suck him, taking frequent breaks to breathe and to relax my gag reflex. At one point, I stopped during one of my breaks to ask him shyly and earnestly, “Am I doing alright?”

He smiled, may have said yes, pulled me in for a kiss. I returned to my ministrations. My saliva began to coat the head of his penis, slipping down over my chin as well. I kept choking on him. “It’s very big,” I once paused to explain. As I sucked him, he resumed fingering me, sometimes stopping to slap my pussy or tweak a nipple.

After what seemed an eternity, he rolled over to get the condom. I sat up to watch him put it on, curious to see protected sex in action, having never watched a man put a condom on before. It was a tight squeeze in the latex. He gently nudged my legs apart and set himself up to penetrate me. At first, there was a moment of awkwardness, during which he muttered (perhaps more to himself than to me): “Ich hasse Kondom.” But by some magical combination of angles, force, and natural lubrication, the awkwardness disappeared and suddenly I was vaguely conscious of making sounds I had never made before, incapable of opening my eyes, my hands balled into fists. He did all of the work and wielded all of the control, varying speed and intensity. He choked me once or twice and put his hands possessively around my head. My toes began to curl and my voice climbed.

We switched to doggy style and he stopped either because a) I was bleeding, or b) he came, or c) both. I am not sure what combination of things caused him to stop, but despite my lack of explosive climax, I was feeling very satisfied indeed. I trotted off to the bathroom to put on underwear and a tampon and then lay down with my head on his hairy chest and my arms draped around him. His heart beat heavily and his breathing was labored as well.

“Feedback?” I asked, turning my head to look at him.

“After I’ve caught my breath,” he admitted (perhaps with some chagrin).”I’ve got to stop smoking,” he joked.

“Because that’s the only reason to stop smoking,” I joked back. He laughed. We spoke occasionally, but mostly lay quietly beside each other. “You were much better than the last guy,” I said after a long pause. “He was a dick.” I revised. “He was a bad person with a big dick. You are a good person with a big dick. I think.”

He laughed a little and seemed truly pleased with the praise. “That’s made my day!” he said.

We talked a bit more, a little about German, and the idea of speaking it in the bedroom. I agreed. “But not now,” I specified. His phone rang. We spoke a little bit more on his balcony as he smoked a cigarette, and then we parted ways so he could prepare for his gig.

I most definitely hope to do this again.

After I left, I bought cilantro at the market at Hermannplatz. The man selling it to me asked if I wanted to go get some drinks. I declined politely, reveling in this new feeling of sexual power.