Fetish Friday #8: W is for Watersports

You knew I'd get here. (Or at least Jeremy knew.) Because I receive a constant running faucet of interest in stories about peeing. In my search for the proper name of this fetish, I found several unique web sites, like Wetting Her Panties, and stories like Our Pee Games on literotica.com. Then I hit the jackpot—a site I'd never been on before—called Fetish Fish. No, really.

The professional name for the fetish is Urolagnia or Urophilia, but the stage names include Golden Showers and Watersports. Now, I have a confession. Back in the dark ages, an acquaintance of my parents published a book. Excitement buzzed through their little social circle when word arose that the book was "kinky." I had no idea what "kinky" was. Until a friend and I got our hands on a copy. The novel was filled with scenes of golden showers. Another confession—I didn't even remember sitting in my den and reading this book with my friend until this morning as I got ready to type my post. But the concept of watersports seems so totally natural to me that I was a bit taken back by how many "I like watersports, am I normal?" sites came up when I searched. (Of course, who am I to talk? I am the queen of receiving the ever-baffling: I put a finger in my ass, am I gay? search strings.)

But finally we've reached the fun part. Take down your knickers and get ready to play. First up, I've got a spritz from the dazzling Janine Ashbless's desperately decadent story Wet, which appeared in I is for Indecent:

Wet
by Janine Ashbless

“I’ll go check the toilets are open.” Terry dropped my hand and trotted off before I could think to protest. I shuffled forward like a shopping-mall zombie, my thighs clenched and both fists balled at my hips. I felt like I had a fever; I was flushed with heat but plumes of chill kept washing up my spine. The shop fronts and the few passers-by were a blur at the periphery of my vision.

Then came the first little sensation of warmth and I realized I was leaking. I stopped, legs pressed, unable to take another step, utterly frantic. There were beads of sweat on my upper lip. “Terry!” I whimpered like a little lost girl.

And there he was, hurrying back to me, his face alight; nodding.

“Help me,” I begged him, writhing: “Oh please, Terry.” Then my muscles finally gave way before the inevitable and suddenly there was hot wetness all down my legs and I was pissing as I stood there on the tiled floor. The relief was indescribable, the agony transformed in a second into bliss, but the shame was indescribable too. Tears ran down my face. I was shaking. Some part of me thought to try and save my new shoes so I opened my legs and let my water flood out. Other people were staring at me but I could hardly tell. I had eyes only for Terry who’d stopped a few paces off, transfixed. His pale eyes were wide like he’d never blink again as he watched me pee, staring at my crotch and my spread legs and the pool growing between my feet. I couldn’t look down at myself but I could see his face, his expression of horror and awe.

Slowly, after an interminable period over which I had no control, the soft splashing grew still. I was empty. I shut my eyes. I felt Terry take my hands in his.

“Come on, love,” he whispered. And he led me away in my wet knickers and stockings. He took me to the enclosed concrete stairwell that we’d descended earlier in the evening. I felt light-headed, almost drunk, with release. I thought we were going up to the car but he pulled me into the short corridor beneath the stairs, his grip on my wrist so tight it was uncomfortable. He pulled up my spattered skirt. “Get these off.”

His hands tugged at my panties. Shuddering, I let him draw them down over my bum and my thighs and then I pulled the horrible reeking things off in a twisted wet knot. Terry flung them aside, then shoved me up against the cement wall. He was breathing hard.

“Dirty girl,” he breathed....

*****

Now, let me soak you with an excerpt by Jeremy Edwards from K is for Kinky:

Seduction with a Splash
Jeremy Edwards

Kara had to piss like nobody’s business. This could work out perfectly, she thought. She had discovered long ago that flooding her panties was the best way at her disposal to seduce a certain kind of man. And she had also discovered, long ago, that she very much enjoyed doing it—so much that she often did it when there was no one around to seduce. Alone. Hot and dripping over her kitchen floor. Maybe it was kinky—okay, she had to admit it was definitely kinky—but Kara was making no apologies. It was a kink that repaid her in orgasms, time and again.

Now she was especially glad that she was headed toward Daniel’s office, to drop in unexpectedly.

She shifted sensually in the driver’s seat.

She knew that one type of guy would run screaming from a woman who was unabashedly pissing herself and expecting him to like it. But Kara had discovered, long ago, that she could easily live without that type of guy.

"Come here and wet upon me, beautiful lady. Contain yourself just long enough to walk briskly across this room and straddle my zippered lap. Mount me and wiggle into position . . . your ass, in sassy panties, pressing on my summer trousers, your short skirt draping down to tease my legs with its crisp edges. Then flood my lap, you gorgeous creature, let me feel your wild ecstasy of release washing over me. Let me know the sensation of your soaked knickers clinging to my hardening fly. Let me memorize the charismatic, fluid texture of your warm piss as it creeps saucily between your clenching thighs and my bony hips. Come wet me, darling."
Driving toward Daniel’s building, Kara wondered if she was the only woman on earth who wrote flowery but crazy-lewd love letters to herself in her head—in the voice of a refined, imaginary man who lived to watch her urinate. Though the topic of her fantasies might have caused many jaws to drop, it was the voice rather than the content that puzzled Kara herself. Where the hell did that vaguely old-fashioned, literary tone even come from? English One-Fucking-Ten, way back in freshman year?

But she recognized that she wanted, someday, to have a man like that—a man whose soft, soothing voice would fuck her with its eloquence. A man who would convince her, with earfuls of beautiful words, that the sight of Kara Rebecca Wallace taking a leak was positively sublime. That’s why the fantasies were so powerful, she realized. They represented exactly what she craved. She wanted to be someone’s pissing paragon of loveliness. “Paragon”—now there, thought Kara, was a nice leftover word from college. She wished she remembered more words like that.

With aching reluctance, she resolved to put her fantasies aside for the moment, lest she end up losing it—and seducing the seat of her car with her fresh piss, rather than Daniel.

Right where the street skirted the park, she hit a red light. She looked around at the scenery while her knees twitched together, and she saw a young man lying on his back along a thick stone wall. His girlfriend stood above him, her feet positioned on either side of his waist. Her knees were bent enough to allow her to reach down and clasp both his hands. Kara noticed that the young woman was weaving gently from side to side, as if she were peeing lovingly onto her boyfriend. She realized that she was projecting her own obsessions, that this was almost certainly not what was happening; but, symbolically, the feeling Kara got from the scene was of that kind of intimacy, that kind of tender anointment (as the voice in her head might say). Her hand fluttered down from the steering wheel and pressed tightly against her underwear.

The green light snapped her out of it.

*****

Oh, yeah, and I'll be giving away a few of those fab buttons today. Don't you want one? Speak up, if you do!

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Also, I just received the "I heart tattoo" pins! They arrived in a damaged envelope that looked as if it had seen some watersports of its own. I'll be catching up on my button-pushing this weekend.