My husband indulges my pee fetish

I don’t know if this is true of everyone, but sometimes I can be in the middle of something with my mind a thousand miles away from anything sexual, when suddenly something I see or hear will trigger a sudden thought that arouses me and causes me to realize that it’s been far too long since I’ve had an orgasm.

That is certainly what happened two weeks ago on Sunday afternoon. My husband and I had decided to devote the weekend to household chores. We did lots of yardwork, reorganized the closet in the guest room, finished painting his home office, cleaned the house from top to bottom, and reorganized and cleaned the garage.

We’d saved the garage for last and Sunday afternoon we were just finishing up out there.

We live rather secluded, almost a mile from the nearest neighbors on a tiny peninsula that juts out into a sizeable lake. Not only do we have gorgeous views year round from our back deck, but we are assured of almost complete privacy.

We were in the garage, sweaty and hot and just about ready to call it a day when I suddenly became aware of the immense pressure in my bladder. I was suddenly bursting to relief myself, and sixty seconds ago I hadn’t even noticed.

This would be a good time to confess that I enjoy peeing in an erotic way. I love to pee in unusual places, and I get a real thrill out of peeing outdoors. Even indoors I love to pee in a sink, or into a bucket or vase. I get particularly aroused by peeing into my pants or a diaper and having someone watch me pee really pushes my buttons.

My husband isn’t into pee play the way I am, but he’s well aware of what an erotic role peeing, wetting, and golden showers play in my real sex life and my fantasy masturbatory explorations. He often will happily indulge these urges, allowing me to pee on him in the shower, or peeing on me.

He’s a frequent lookout when I’m peeing somewhere along a hiking trail or in the woods, and he functions as my ‘relief master’ on those weekends where I take in lots of fluids and wait for his permission and instruction about when and where I can pee.

If I fail to meet his goals, he’ll spank me or deny me an orgasm, but if I match or exceed his prescribed limits, he’ll do something extra kinky for me as a reward. I have a similar set of tasks for him to do to get some of the filthier sex he craves, and it was rewarding him that suddenly gave me an idea for something I could have him help me with.

So there we were in the garage, him putting a large box on a high shelf, and me suddenly aware of my near bursting bladder. Without putting a lot of thought into it I quickly formed a plan. Grabbing a large piece of cardboard from our recycling pile I put it on the floor near the workbench.

“Come here for a minute, will you?” I asked him. “I need your help with something.”

He approached me with a quizzical look on his face, wondering what sort of task I had in mind. Before he could say anything I reached out and grabbed the front pocket of his jeans, pulling and steering him into position on the absorbent cardboard, with his back to the workbench. I reached out and pulled his t-shirt off over his head, and as he stole a quick glance at the driveway to make sure we weren’t about to have visitors, I jumped up and wrapped my legs around him.

I held myself up on his shoulders and let his arms support most of my weight. I was wearing a bikini top which felt delightful as the thin fabric rubbed against my nipples as I pushed my breasts against his chest. The crotch of my khaki shorts pressed against his abdomen as I leaned forward and began to passionately kiss him.

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