“You, Chad and Bradley are brothers?” I asked while crinkling up my nose. “You guys have a mansion?”
“Yes. We own this building...and we come from a wealthy family. So, yes, we all live together in the family mansion. Does that bother you?”
“No. You can’t help it if you’re rich,” I joked while trying to suppress an excited chuckle.
“As you overheard, we’d like you and Sissy to come and live with us. Would you be open to that, my precious little one?”
I flung my arms around daddy’s neck and kissed his hot cheeks in a flurry of excitement.
“I’m open to anything my big daddy wants.”
Thanks for reading!
Taboo 5
Taboo: Watersports
Chapter 1
“Hurry up Bruno! Mama has to tinkle,” I pleaded with my ex-husband’s cat to hurry up and finish his business on the toilet so I could have my turn.
“Mew,” the pure white Maine Coon responded with his high-pitched baby squeak that belied his massive size.
Instead of actually using the potty, he was sitting with his hind legs stretched over the toilet bowl. He had one furry paw lifted to his tiny pink tongue and he was methodically grooming it.
“C’mon, give me a break big guy. I’ve really got to go.”
Frustrated, I stepped forward and reached out my arms to lift the little lion off the potty.
Bruno snapped his furry head sideways and glowered in my direction.
“Meeowww!” He screeched, telling me to buzz off and allow him to use the toilet in peace.
I squeezed my inner thighs together tightly.
“Okay, okay. You first, boss,” I said tucking my hands behind my back and clenching my sphincter closed in an effort to stem the river of urine that threatened to burst free from my bladder.
I backed slowly out of the bathroom.
Bruno had won — again.
If I wanted to avoid peeing my panties, I’d have to either wait for the domineering cat to finish using the toilet or make my way down to my bed and breakfast lobby and use the bathroom there.
Without the necessary time to consider the consequences, I decided to sneak downstairs to use the lobby bathroom. It was the quicker of my two options.
I made haste, humming a little tune to help distract me from the growing pressure pushing against my lower belly and that tender spot just beneath my clit. Kegels don’t fail me now. Kegels don’t fail me now. I repeated over and over in a sing-song plea.
My singing was working. My bladder muscles remained clamped shut as I reached up and lifted my white flannel robe off the top hook on my bedroom door.
I thought about running over to my closet to slip on a pair of shoes, but there was no time. I had to get downstairs and quickly. The urine dam was holding for now, but I knew at any moment it could break. If I allowed even a trickle of warm fluid to slip through, soon I would be dealing with a flash flood.
My muscles stayed tightly shut as I shuffled my feet across the rough Berber carpet of the hallway. It was in the hallway that my singing turned into a refrain of oh please, oh please as I felt the heaviness of my full bladder weighing down on my quivering pelvic walls and trembling sphincter muscle.
I quickly slipped past my billionaire guest’s door on my way toward the staircase. Thank goodness its 5 am and he’s still fast asleep. The man has a way of making me want to stop and chat with him. He’s a charismatic speaker with a pleasant turn of phrase, but I have no time to talk. Not now. Not with my bladder bouncing up and down under my belly like an overfilled balloon.
Don’t think about peeing. Think about something else — anything else. The thought flashed in the front of my mind as I began my careful descent down the long staircase. I needed a distraction to help me restrain my bladder and prevent the pristine floors of my staircase from being drenched in a flood of urine.
I thought of clean things. I love things that are clean and pure – crisply laundered sheets, newly washed white china bowls, my freshly showered body. My mind knew what it was doing. It had gotten me this far without permitting me to wet myself, so I obeyed its instruction. I forced my thoughts to wander even more.
Damn cat. Damn ex-husband. I slammed my fist on the staircase railing. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to express my anger. It wasn’t my fault the cat was a potty trained toilet hog. It was my ex’s fault. But, now Bruno’s bad behavior had become my problem to deal with. And I would have to deal with it — soon.
What sort of self-respecting woman lets a cat kick her out of the bathroom?
It had been my ex’s bright idea to teach Bruno to use the toilet in the first place. It was one of the modern day miracles he’d insisted on accomplishing despite my objections. Just another ill-advised project he’d completed without considering the potential consequences of his actions.
I’d expressed my opinion that it was both unsanitary and undesirable to share a toilet with a cat. Robert had disagreed. He’d unilaterally decided to teach the too-smart feline to use the bathroom. Now, nearly three months after our divorce, I’m the one dealing with the unhappy consequences of his decision.
Since my ex left, Bruno has become extra possessive of the toilet bowl. Whenever I run to the bathroom, he sprints ahead of me and plops his furry bottom down first. He seems bound and determined to claim primary ownership of the bathroom.
It wouldn’t be such a problem if he and I had different toileting schedules. But we always seem to head for the bathroom at the same time. And I’m the one who most frequently loses out on the privilege of peeing in the toilet.
Yes. Yes. Yes. I sing as I drop my foot off the last step at the bottom of the staircase. My panties are still dry, and I’m just steps away from gliding into the lobby bathroom.
My urge to urinate intensifies as I pull on the bathroom door handle. But, it won’t open. It’s stuck. It won’t budge an inch because the damned thing is locked.
Dammit. Someone’s using the bathroom
Dammit. Someone’s using my bathroom.
What the hell? No one should be inside the lobby bathroom. The only two people in this whole big house are the billionaire and me. The man rented every single room in my entire bed and breakfast.
He’d said he’d wanted this home to be his own private mountain getaway. His chance to enjoy the pleasures of solitary living. And part of that solitude included having his own private suite with its own private bathroom.
Why in the hell was he awake — and inside my lobby bathroom? Damn that billionaire. Damn that Justin Waters. Panic sent my bladder into spasms, and I feared I would pee right where I stood. I felt drops of hot liquid push their way down onto my panties and dribble down the insides of my smashed together thighs. Dammit. I’d run out of time.
Chapter 2
I moved. I forced one foot forward and I moved toward my office. I refused to throw away my hard earned reputation as the owner of the best B&B in the entire county by allowing my guest to catch me peeing on myself in the center of the lobby floor.
My business reputation, no, my entire future was on the line. In a minute or two, the influential, high society businessman and billionaire who could make or break my dream to someday own a chain of cozy boutique hotels would burst from that bathroom door. He would see me. No, it would be worse than that. He would both see—and smell me.
The distinctive odor of my freshly emptied bladder would fill the lobby as I stood trembling, panties drenched, in a pool of my own liquid waste.
What would billionaire Justin Waters do when he saw me?
Oh, heavens no, I don’t even want to picture it. But I am. I’m picturing him licking his full lips. I’m picturing him grabbing a certain part of his anatomy. I’m picturing him stroking his long thick member with his large, powerful hands.
I’m picturing myself dying inside from shame. I see myself become a living joke. Another one of Justin Watersports Waters wet and wild girls. Goodbye serious businessw
oman and hotel mogul with the limitless future. Hello Watersports Weekly pinup girl, whose future fate is anyone’s guess.
I took quick action. Pivoting to my right, I shuffled my way into my office where Bruno’s one solitary litter box resided. I didn’t want to do this, but I had no other choice. It was either use the litter box or piss myself in the middle of the B&B lobby. And I couldn’t do that. No. I refused to do that.
Once inside the tiny office, I slammed the door shut, and threw off my flannel bathrobe behind me. I ignored the sound of the incoming fax printing behind my desk. I ignored everything. At that instant, I had one mission in life — to pee in Bruno’s litter box.
I reached one hand down and hooked my fingers under the wet elastic band of my panties. I tugged hard, pulling my thong-style panties to the side. I squatted down. I relaxed my sphincter. And I began to urinate.
Sweet relief swept over the entire surface of my body as I flattened the arches of my feet against the wood floor and relaxed my hips into my squat. My pussy and ass floated in mid-air just inches above the litter box as I let go of control of my body and allowed the urine to flow hot and powerful from my bladder.
This was my first pee of the morning. My lower belly had been uncomfortably full with urine and was desperate to be emptied.
I bit my lip and moaned from the sheer pleasure of releasing such a strong, full stream of urine. I glanced down and watched — half in horror and half with satisfaction as my stream of liquid splashed its way into the clay litter lining the bottom of the litter box. The litter bubbled and foamed from the sheer force of the urine spray
My stream seemed endless. Spray after spray of fluid splashed out of me. And luckily the litter box caught it all. Eventually, after what felt like over a minute, my urine stream slowed to a trickle and I wiggled my bottom to shake off the last few drops of pee that clung to my labia.
Not unexpectedly, my clit tingled. The stimulation from the heavy urine flow had awoken the sensitive little nub. I gave its swollen little tip a quick tap with my index finger. Ooooh, the bolt of electric pleasure that raced up inside me set my pussy’s inner walls to clamping down hard in anticipation of a good pleasuring with my favorite waterproof dildo.
“Hold on, sweet pea,” I whispered. “Mama’s gonna take care of you up in the shower.”
I tapped the tip of my clit once more as I remained in place squatting over the litter box. I looked down. Ouch! A shock of shame and disgust stabbed at my chest as I examined the thoroughly used contents of the box.
No need for anyone to know about this. I thought. Peeing in Bruno’s litter box had been my own private act of desperation. A personal humiliation best left unshared. The smart thing to do now was to stand and scoop up my own waste from the litter box. No one would ever know I’d done it. In fact, it would be like this whole degrading incident never happened.
I stood and prepared to turn around to collect the litter scooper when I heard a deep male voice behind me.
“Please, don’t be alarmed.”
Chapter 3
She’s peeing in the litter box. I can’t believe it. The hot B&B owner I’ve been lusting after all week long is actually urinating in her cat's litter box. Right in front of me.
Am I wrong to think this is hot? Fuck. I wish she were turned facing me so I could get a better view of her pussy and her urine stream.
Shit. What am I doing? Have I turned into a voyeur? It’s no secret I’m turned on by watching girls tinkle. But it’s always been a one on one, face to face sort of fetish. I’ve never hid in secret and watched a girl pee before. This scene is sexy as hell. Voyeurism might be my brand new thing.
Aww, damn. What am I thinking?
I shouldn’t be in here. I shouldn’t… shouldn't see this. This is some private, personal, freaky shit happening— right before my eyes.
I wonder if she’s rubbing her clit? I hope she’s rubbing her clit because I’m stroking my cock. I’ve unleashed my dick from my pants, and I'm pumping my rock hard and erect cock with my fisted hand. Me stroking my cock while I watch her urinate into that litter box feels wrong, but it also feels fantastic – so damn fantastic.
Hot damn! Listen to her moan. That sexy sound is going to make my pecker spurt all over her desk in no time.
Stop. Stop it! I must stop stroking my cock — now — or she’ll hear me. My unwanted presence in this room will be revealed. I shouldn’t let go of all restraint and decency by screaming out my ecstasy as I come, hot and sticky all over my hostess’ antique mahogany desk.
No. I refuse to do it. I won’t shoot long white ropes of my sticky thick cum all over Ms. Cain’s personal belongings. It’s too much like something an elitist billionaire would do.
Aww, hell. I've got some nerve. What the tabloids say about me being an entitled billionaire must be true. Me peeping in on her while she enjoys her private fetish is the height of invasive entitlement. Do I believe I'm owed the right to stand uninvited behind her desk while I actively masturbate myself?
Fuck. I’m in big trouble. She never gave me permission to use her office in the first place. She's going to kick me out of her life and this B&B when she finds out I’m here. Yep, it’s inevitable. When she turns around and catches me standing here, my ass is going to be thrown out on the street for sure.
Or… maybe not. When I checked-in, she did say that the resources of her B&B were at my disposal. That kind of means I have permission to be in here. Right?
Wrong. I should have asked if I could enter her personal space. But, I needed to receive this fax, and I just found out about it less than thirty minutes ago. There was no time to ask for permission.
The information detailed in this fax is so secret and vital for our company’s future that my best friend and business partner, Blake woke me up from a deep sleep at 4:30 am and asked me to sneak downstairs and retrieve it.
Fax? Ms. Cain will never believe that story even if it is the truth. Nobody receives faxes anymore. Everyone sends email attachments nowadays.
Show her the fax, Justin. Just show her the fax. She’ll have to believe you’re telling the truth when she sees you have proof. I inhaled silently. My brain was trying to calm my nerves with words of reason. I took the hint and tried to settle down.
“Hold on, sweet pea,” I heard my hostess whisper with her head tilted forward. “Mama’s gonna take care of you up in the shower.”
Even though I had just stopped stroking my cock, it twitched and pulsed. I feared that if I didn’t take evasive action, I would lose my load across the top of her desk. I panted as silently as I could while pushing my cock down hard with my slick with sweat hands, forcing it back inside the prison of my pants.
Satisfied that I had contained a potentially explosive situation, I freely allowed my sexy thoughts to flow.
Damn, my hostess’ ass is shapely. Wide and curvy, just the way I like it. Oh yeah, mama. Shake it. Wiggle it. Make that booty bounce. Mmmm…. yeah, tip your ass up sexy and show me the full view of your delicious pussy.
As if she was reading my mind, she shifted her hips backward even more giving me the perfect, complete view of her feminine beauty. Chassidy Cain has a gorgeous pussy. Sopping wet with a pink center encircled by glistening ruffled folds.
I want her to sit on my face. I want her to smother me – to flop that fine jiggly ass of hers over my lips and drench me in her hot juices.
Shower me with your warm golden spray mama. The mental image of me gulping down her fragrant waters overrode all my rational thought.
She shifted her weight as she continued to squat over the litter box. I froze.
A rustling sound from behind me caught my attention. But then Ms. Cain shifted her stance and shook the urine from her wet folds one last time. She popped her body upright.
Oh shit! Get ready. She’s turning around.
My heart thumped against my chest with both dread and anticipation of what she would do when she caught me spying on her.
Be humble. Rem
ember, you’re a guest in her office — in her home. If you want this woman to share her hot liquid love with you, you’re going to have to approach this situation with humility. No billionaire pride or brash playboy antics allowed.
Close your eyes.
I slammed my eyes shut and the world fell dark.
No, that won’t work. Open them.
I opened my eyes as the angel with the dripping wet pussy turned around to face me.
Say something. Say something — endearing and unpretentious.
“Please don’t be alarmed.”
Chapter 4
“Please don’t be alarmed.”
I recognized the owner of the voice immediately. It was my billionaire houseguest, Justin Waters. Dubbed Justin Watersports Waters by several national and international tabloids, he’s a well-known playboy and aficionado of all things wet— and dirty. The man has an extensively documented fetish for watching girls pee their panties.
No. Oh no…no, no, no. Is it possible? Could the billionaire with the watersports fetish somehow have arranged for me to wet myself in front of him? He is an exceptionally powerful and wealthy man, and these things aren’t unheard of. Rich men manipulate women into doing the unspeakable every day.
My heart beat quickened to keep pace with my racing thoughts.
Is poor furry Bruno glued to the toilet upstairs? Is that why he wouldn’t budge and let me use the bathroom even when I asked him nicely? And why couldn’t I get into the downstairs bathroom? Did the too-powerful billionaire somehow sabotage the lock? Did he arrange all of this so that he could watch me squat down like a dirty animal and urinate in a box of used kitty litter?
My throat squeezed shut. I tried to suck in air, but found it near impossible. I had just endured the most painful and potentially career destroying humiliation of my life. The worst part was that I may never know why or how this degradation had come to pass.
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