Cammie Sandrith lie awake in the dark of the night listening. She heard the gurgling at last, long after she had started listening for it. It was late, after two in the morning, and she had woken almost instantly when someone closed the door to the bathroom just down the hall. From the sound of the footfalls on the linoleum, it was her son, Roger, back for the weekend from university. It took forever for him to begin. Then the gurgling had commenced.
Roger was pissing into the toilet.
Cammie glanced instinctively to her left, but in the darkness couldn’t make out the form of her husband sleeping next to her. She could feel John’s warmth and hear his steady breathing but couldn’t see him. She always felt embarrassed by what she did next, but she felt she couldn’t help herself. As soon as Roger’s stream of pee hit the water in the toilet, the fingers of Cammie’s right hand slipped down under the bedclothes and into her soft, thin nightie. They buried themselves in her pussy, wet with anticipation, and she masturbated until she came.
She was lost to the world while she did it, and when she emerged from her hormonally-induced heaven, there was no sound from the bathroom – Roger had forgotten to flush again – and John was still asleep. All was as it had been before, except for Cammie’s barely concealed heavy breathing and the memory of her climax.
She tried to remember when it had started, this lust that gripped her upon hearing someone urinate. She couldn’t recall. It had been growing in power though. It involved anyone. Her husband, her son, her daughter, just eighteen and out of high school now; even friends and strangers. They all turned her on.
It wasn’t just the sound. That was the weakest of the arousing elements. But she had not seen anyone actually urinate for a long time. She had seen John piss once a few months ago, while she had been brushing her teeth, and she had to leave and go to their bedroom, where she pleased herself for several minutes. But the desire to watch someone do it was becoming overwhelming.
The climax had drained her tonight, however, and it wasn’t long until she drifted off to sleep again.
Cammie wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and considered the woman she saw reflected there. Naked, her skin soft and clean from the morning shower, she was not an unattractive woman. But she had never really turned heads, she knew. Chubby, with a chubby face, she was pretty in a way, with curly brown hair that she liked to wear almost unstyled. She thought it made her look a bit more ‘wild’. Her breasts were large but saggy, though it was what she expected for a woman in her late forties. Her body was compact but heavy and her pussy a little untidy. She sighed and glanced at the toilet.
Sitting down, Cammie pushed with her abdomen and felt a stream of urine trickle from her cunt. She reached between her legs and let her fingers revel in the hot fluid. Withdrawing them, she put them to her pink lips. The piss tasted as it had always, salty and bitter. What’s more, it didn’t do a thing for her. It never did. It always had to be someone else’s. She sighed again.
How did she arrive at this point? Sex had always been just fine for her, and still was. She and her husband were conservative, in all things, and the sex had not been adventurous. She knew about such things as oral and anal, threesomes and homosexuality, of course, but she had never experienced them and had never really wanted to. Her life made her happy. John was happy, Roger and Tina were happy, despite some moments in their teens. She liked her life.
Cammie worked at a small accounting firm downtown. She and Emma, her best friend, had desks side by side and worked pretty steadily through the day, pausing to gossip during their coffee breaks and at lunch time. As usual, they went to the washroom together at the end of their afternoon break, each taking one of the pair of stalls to do their necessary business. As usual, Cammie waited to hear Emma’s.
It splashed into the water already in the bowl with a hollow echo, the bowl itself covered by Emma’s ample rump. As usual, Cammie had gotten excited even before she pulled down her slacks, and she started rubbing herself as soon as Emma’s urine started falling.
Cammie’s eyes opened abruptly. Emma was swearing at something.
“The toilet won’t flush,” she said.
“Oh?” Cammie’s heart beat faster.
“Damn,” Emma said again. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Cammie gazed at the stall’s wall as if she could have seen through it. The toilet was still full of Emma’s urine.
“Just leave it and call the maintenance company,” Cammie responded, “they’ll fix it.”
“I guess.” Emma was reluctant to leave the dirty scene as it was. But there was little else that she could do. “I’ll see you outside.” The neighbouring stall’s door opened and Emma left the bathroom. As soon as she was gone, Cammie pulled up her panties and slacks. She unlocked her own stall’s door and, glancing about at the small empty ladies’ room, peered into the stall Emma had used.
The water in the toilet was a rich golden hue. She’d eaten all those sweet things for lunch, Cammie reminded herself. She cast about again and entered the stall, closing the door behind her. Bending at the waist, Cammie breathed in. The cloying odour made her heart flutter. She blinked her eyes open, fighting off the intoxication and steadied herself with a hand on the wall. She shook her head, and turned, struggling fitfully with the door’s lock.
What had come over her? This was sick, she told herself. Where did such a sick yearning come from? She had to stop this; no more about piss, she ordered herself. She faced the mirror and made sure she was presentable and, as always, used her mouth to clean her fingers of any stray drops of pee, before leaving the washroom.
Roger was in the bathroom again. Cammie rubbed herself to climax once more, listening to her son piss. Again, she made certain her husband was asleep. Again, being so lost in her orgasm that she didn’t hear Roger leave and go back to his room. Again, her son hadn’t flushed the toilet. All was quiet in the Sandrith household, once more, and the hour approached two. Cammie’s eyes opened wide.
Roger hadn’t flushed the toilet.
It took her several minutes to work up the nerve just to get out of bed. She was going to the bathroom to wipe her pussy anyway. That was why she was going there. A perfectly healthy reason. After masturbating herself to orgasm listening to her son urinate, she had to clean herself up; anyone could be in that position…
She closed the bathroom door and turned on the light. The toilet’s water was deep gold, darker than what Emma had produced earlier in the day. There was froth floating about on the surface of the piss and she could smell its aroma from where she stood. She locked the door and walked over to stand in front of the toilet. She quickly stripped off her nightie and knelt down.
She stared at the toilet’s contents for a long time, it seemed to her, smelling the musky smell of her son’s liquid waste. She felt moisture dampen her pussy as she gripped the rim of the bowl, the porcelain cold. Of course, he hadn’t put the seat back down. Cammie pushed back some curls of hair that were getting in her eyes as she leaned her head over the rim. The bubbles before her burst and puckered. She moved her hand forward and let the tip of her finger touch the ambrosia she could feel inches away. She twirled first one finger, then two, then three in the liquid. She withdrew them and brought them to her mouth. Her tongue touched them tentatively, then more certainly. She dipped her fingers again, and again, finally she was using both hands to scoop the golden fluid from the toilet bowl to her lips. The urine spilled down her chin, onto her nightie, while her pussy leaked and ached for release. With one continuing to feed her thirst, she rubbed herself to orgasm with the other.
Cammie turned her head so quickly to the door that a spray of piss fell to the floor from her open mouth. She swallowed but couldn’t speak, as she was still recovering from the effects of her climax.
“Honey? Are you all right?”
“Yes, John. I… I’m fine. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Cammie Leaned against the side of the bathtub and almost started to cry. How could she be doing this? Her husband would never ever understand. She didn’t understand herself. She put her hands to her face and sobbed quietly, until the scent of the piss on her fingers aroused her once more…
It was more than two weeks after Cammie’s first taste of someone else’s piss. Her life had continued as normal. She went to work each day, and spent the lunch-hours listening to Emma, under-sexed at home, talk about the men they both knew whom she wished would try to bed her. Though conservative in these things, Cammie had always indulged her friend. It was the normal talk for women in their late forties who would probably always remain faithful to their husbands. Besides, how could she blame Emma for wanting to have a fling or two when she herself craved to drink someone piss, straight from their body?
That’s what it had come to. That’s why she had called in sick on this Wednesday and was sitting in the food court of a mall, watching men and women go in and out of the public washrooms. She had ruled out trying it with a woman first, not from any sort of revulsion at being intimate with a woman – for she would have welcomed sexual ecstasy from either gender at this point – but because physically it would probably have been too awkward. She concentrated on the men. She had thought this out. Cammie stood and walked uncertainly toward the washrooms and positioned herself between the door to the men’s room and the door to a utility closet that, she had checked earlier, was unlocked.
Men would arrive to use the washroom at an average rate of one a minute, All sorts of men : big and small, wide and narrow, black and white, old and young. She didn’t know what she was searching for, what sort of man would allow her to do what she would ask him. But night after night fantasizing, dreaming and crying every day from frustration was taking its toll.
“Are you going in there?”
The man, startled, stopped just as he was reaching to push open the washroom door. He was of medium height, average looks, about forty years of age. He looked at Cammie, who had dressed sharply for the occasion and carefull fixed her hair and make-up. Cammie smiled.
“To pee?” Cammie started to turn red. Perhaps she had thought this out – and perhaps the thoughts had seemed more practical than they were in deed.
“Yes…” The man glanced about, maybe looking for hidden cameras.
“Want to do it in here,” Cammie indicated the door to the closet behind her, “with me?”
“Huh?” The man was somewhere between stunned and merely puzzled now. “Look, I—”
“I’ll pay you,” Cammie squeaked. She had seen that it wasn’t going her way, but if the man walked away now, she’d never have the nerve to try anything further. Another man was turning the far corner, and heading down the corridor toward the washrooms. “$20…?”
Again the man, looked around, but then he nodded. Cammie slipped into the closet, leaving the door open for the stranger. The windowless room was lit by a single electric bulb in the ceiling. In the glaring light, he held out his hand, flat for the money.
“Oh, right…” Cammie said. She was still red, and nearly ready to pee herself through fear and mortification. She dug about in her purse and eventually found a couple of ten dollar bills for the man, who stuffed them into his pocket. The woman got down on her knees in front of him and unzipped the fly of her slacks. She realized that she was not even aroused yet but—
The stream of urine hit her in the forehead as she was inserting her fingers into her panties. She looked up and got the force of the piss in her face. Trying to speak, trying to catch the golden liquid in her mouth, trying to tell the man to wait, trying not to get any on her clothes… She failed in all respects. In a moment, it was over.
“Thanks,” the man said, departing while still wrestling with his pants.
Cammie was alone on the dusty floor, her face dripping pee, her hair misted with it and her blouse, her favourite soaked. She thought she had some in her ear, too. And her fingers were still down her panties; uselessly, as it turned out, for her pussy was dry.
It took her more than a month to recover from that particular trauma. In the meantime she was reduced to masturbating in public washrooms while listening to women in the other stalls piss. Once in a while, someone would forget to flush. But not often.
Desperation drove her back to the mall and the closet by the bathrooms. She would try it again. Once more, she took up her place by the men’s room, though this time she wore an old sweatshirt and jeans, with her hair, longer than it had been, drawn back in a short pony-tail. It wasn’t her most attractive look, she realized, but she figured that any man willing to try what she would be asking, wouldn’t be expecting Claudia Schiffer to be kneeling in front of him anyway. A change of clothes was in the big plastic bag she carried.
This time, she waited for some sign. The men came and went, though, and no one gave Cammie more than a passing glance. Except for one man. Dressed in a sharp, dark business suit, he was not conventionally handsome, but carried himself confidently, with a slightly superior air. His steel grey hair suggested that he was in his mid-fifties but his face said ten years younger. Whatever his age, the smile he gave Cammie was almost boyish.
“Hello,” he said, as he reached for the washroom door.
“Wait!” Cammie’s command was louder than she had wanted, and surprised the man. Cammie coloured a little and said nothing for fully twenty seconds. The man waited, amused. “Are you…are you going in there to pee?” She asked this with eyes averted and face red.
“I was thinking about it, yes,” the stranger said. “I thought I’d leave it up to fate once inside.”
Cammie smiled and glanced up. She took a deep breath and said, “Do you want to do it in here instead…with me?” She moved back toward the utility closet.
The man was taken aback, certainly, but he recovered. “With you…or on you?”
Cammie blinked and her eyes grew large. Well, it made sense, she thought quickly. Why else would she have asked a stranger into a secret place after a question like that. She was about to offer him money when he spoke again.
“All right,” he agreed, and moved toward her.
The light in the ceiling, the dusty concrete floor, everything was the same as it had been a month before. The door closed behind the stranger and he stopped and smiled at Cammie, who, returning the smile uncertainly, dropped to her knees before him.
“What’s your name?” he wanted to know.
Cammie hesitated, then answered with the truth.
“An unusually name, Cammie. But it suits you. Youthful, a little naïve. With hidden desires. I’m Frank. Let me know when you’re ready, Cammie.”
Frank put his hand on Cammie’s head and caressed her brown curls. She looked up at him and, as he took her chin in his hand, slowly unzipped his pants, behind his suit’s jacket. The sound of the zipper made her wet. She nodded as she positioned herself on her knees and toes, her ass resting on her heels. She too unzipped her jeans and slid her fingers into her panties. She was nervous about doing this in front of Frank, yet not as nervous as she would have thought. She looked up at him again.
Frank pulled out his cock. It was limp and small, the first cock she had ever seen besides her husband’s. The man of the month before had sprayed her so quickly and blindingly that she had seen nothing. The idea that this cock was about to make her very happy aroused her further and she bit her lower lip in anticipation. She nodded again. Frank exhaled slightly.
His piss caught her first on her nose, spraying off of it in all directions but as soon as she opened her mouth, he re-directed his aim lower and the stream fell into her mouth, splashing off her teeth, across her tongue and down her throat. Cammie started masturbating furiously and almost growled as she leaned forward, grabbing Frank’s leg with her free hand and shortening the distance between his cock and her hungry mouth. She gulped and swallowed the golden waste, feeling its tang and pungency, the acrid smell almost smarting in her eyes, but she couldn’t have enough.
In a minute, it was all over. The grip Cammie had on Frank’s leg was crushing, so intense had her orgasm been. Piss dripped from her face onto his brightly shined shoes, while she used her cum-smeared hand to gather up the drops. Breathing hard, she didn’t hear him the first time when he asked her to lick him off.
“There’s still some here, Cammie.”
She considered his dick. It was getting harder, longer with arousal, but urine still leaked out. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think that she’d not tasted a man’s cock in her life. She lurched forward on her knees, taking the red head of Frank’s cock into her wet mouth, using her tongue to lick the last vestiges of pee from its tiny slit. She grasped his shaft with her left hand while holding his balls with her right. She wrung the skin back and forth, as if squeezing a sponge to drain it of the last of its moisture. Frank seized her hair tightly and moaned. Cammie a man’s cock for the first time, the sharp, meaty flavour, the slimy texture, and of course the urine. His grip on her hair became tighter and she realized with a start that he was about to cum. She had no idea what to do, but he did.
Frank pulled his organ from Cammie’s mouth with a pop and grabbed its shaft himself. With a grunt, he shot his load across the woman’s face, covering the bridge of her nose, her cheeks and chin. She gasped and opened her mouth wide, and Frank obliged by filling it. She closed her lips around the rod as it emptied its last drops. Drawing her tongue along its length, she cleaned it perfectly.
Neither said anything for a minute, but Frank replaced his dick in his pants and zipped up. He tilted Cammie’s face upward and gazed down upon her.
“You’re beautiful, Cammie,” he said, watching her try to lick the spunk from her lips. He took a card from his vest pocket and, with a gold pen, jotted a number on it. The card was blank but for the digits. “That’s my cell phone,” he explained. “Call me whenever you want to.” He smiled and handed her the card, along with a clean linen handkerchief. A moment later, Cammie was alone in the closet.
She examined the card, then adjusted herself on the concrete. What had just happened was beyond anything she had expected, or wanted. But it had happened, and she knew that she wanted it now. John would never understand her desire for urine. But Frank would. John would never allow her to live her other life. But Frank would. She used his handkerchief to wipe her face and smiled. A door had been opened for her, and she was going to walk through it.