“You naughty girl! You wet yourself,” he said.
She was wetting herself. The pee was spilling out of her, and she sprang from the couch to her feet, golden pee running down her legs. He had made her laugh, the way he was dressed so early in the morning, and the things he said. He had made her laugh until she was pissing herself, springing from the couch and clutching herself, hitching her skirt up high, holding it over her tummy, above her waist, up to her breasts, pressing her knees together, still giggling, and still it gushed between her fingers, between her legs.
“Ooh! I can’t stop it,” she said helplessly, looking at him. “I can’t make it go back up.” She jiggled, doing a little dance in her high heeled shoes, trying to move from the puddle around her, trying not to slip in the wet, not letting go of the skirt she was holding away up to her breasts, fingers of the other hand clutching more deeply, squeezing to make it stop. “Ooh!” She liked the sound of her gasp. “I can’t do it.”
“You naughty, bad, girl!” He sidled away from the wet cushion and moved his feet from the mess on the floor. The sight of him moving so prissily away made her giggle more. “Why didn’t you tell me if you had to do something?” He asked. “If you need potty time you should have told me. Oh, look at this! And it’s nearly time for you to go to work.” It was, she suddenly realized. He shook his finger at her. “And here I thought I finally had you toilet trained.”
Actually, it had taken her some time to learn how to let go like this, to let go laughing, let go peeing, relaxing, relieving, releasing.
“The mess on the couch!” he exclaimed. The couch was vinyl. “Am I supposed to start your potty training again? Tell me that. Oh, just look. Look!”
He looked. Taking her wrist gingerly, fastidiously, between his fingers, as if he hated getting them wet, he drew her hand aside, giving himself a clearer view, and he parted her thighs and studied the damage, the panties clinging damply to her bush.
“I’m sorry,” she said, folding her hands dutifully behind her back. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Couldn’t help it, you little hussy,” he snorted. “Even while you’re peeing yourself you’re double clicking your own mouse.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she explained, pouting, lips forward, hips thrusting while he watched the final dribbles come through the fine, fine cloth of her panties.
“Oh, they were silk,” he exclaimed. “Oh, look at this. Couldn’t you have told me you had to do this? Couldn’t you have got to the potty in time?” His tongue came to his lips. “Those lovely knickers.” They were lovely. They were mainly translucent, but with a lace motif that clung across her muff and trailed down in a narrowing line against her slit. She had put them on that day, with a matching bra, but not for him. He didn’t know they were not for him that day. “Do you know how much they cost me?” he asked. She had bought them herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry? A brand new pair of expensive panties like that, all ruined the first time you wear them? Sorry won’t cut it, missy.” He moved his hand down, forcing her legs to part further. “How are you going to get to work on time after a mess like this?”
True. Her last giggles subsided. They didn’t really have time for this game this morning.
“Well, at least take those wet panties off. Go on. Do it yourself. I’m not touching them for you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off them. “Those poor little lacy panties. Quickly now. Off with them. Take those wet panties off.”
He was watching as she brought her hands back to her front, thumbs moved into the elastic, ankara masaj yapan escort into the elastic band of the panties under her skirt. The wetness made it sticky. She slid her fingers down the front, against her muff, against her skin, sliding them down, until at last the panties began to roll away from her skin. The lace caught at the hairs. The dampness pulled at her skin.
“Ooh! You’re getting pee on your fingers.” He had drawn back to watch her strip.”You’re such a filthy little slut. A bitch, a dog bitch, would at least know to go outside. She’d say she wanted out.”
His eyes were riveted to her panties as she pushed them down. He went on holding the skirt up for her. The panties were wet and rolling up, and not easy to push down. He watched them, as she pushed them first down one leg, to the knee, then down the other leg, to the knee. “I should make you walk around like that all day,” he said. “Make you walk around all day with these wet, disgusting knickers around your knees.”
“You wouldn’t,” she protested. “I’ll be at work.”
“Yes. You’ll be at work. Everyone will see what sort of girl you are. They’ll know your ass is naked because they’ll see your knickers hanging around your knees, because you’re a girl who can’t pull her own knickers up. You won’t be able to walk properly, and they’ll look all day at this girl who hobbles and trips and bangs her pussy against the desks and they’ll look for glimpses of your pussy, they will. But none of them will go near you. They’ll be pulling their desks away from you, they won’t want your pee smelling pussy on their desks.”
“Please. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry!” He reached up from where he sat, taking her breasts by the nipples, taking them hard between his thumbs and fingers and pulling her down so that she had to kneel before him. “There’ll be no prizes for you, missy. No bonuses at work. No promotions. You know why?” His fingers worked on her breasts, down around the aureoles, but not touching them, barely brushing the nipples, hardly bothering with them through the cloth of her blouse and her bra, but working around them. “Because your boss will be one of the people looking at you today, thinking about how you, obviously, have no self-respect.” His thumbs gave her nipples a sudden, emphatic, jab.
Kneeling before her lover, she thought about her boss, and she thought she might have to pee again. Luckily, she was already so wet. Her lover didn’t know about this.
She could see his cock pushing up against his skirt, no jocks, no knickers, for him this day, just his little skirt that wasn’t long enough to cover his backside as he sat on the couch, his knees apart as he pulled her close, his balls on the vinyl, and her pee threatening to cross from the cushion where she had been, threatening to make a warm stickiness under him, and all this sensation pushing his cock up against his skirt, and all this sensation making a warm longing in her mouth.
“No.” One of his hands suddenly grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I see that maybe you really are sorry this time. Go and fetch the potty then. Fetch the potty. No. Don’t get up. Crawl. We don’t want any passers by looking in at the window and seeing you like this, do we?”
So she turned, dragging her breasts and her nipples from his grasp, and began crawling.
“You slattern,” he told her. Straight away she’d done something else wrong. “You still haven’t taken those poor panties off, and you’re dragging them all wet across the floor.”
She stopped, and obediently finished removing the panties. mecidiyeköy escort Sitting, leaning back, legs up high and wide, she pushed the panties over her ankles and over her shoes, the high heeled shoes, slowly, with a flourish that well exposed her muff to his gaze, the wet panties in a tight little wad. She tossed them to him. He ducked, letting them fall behind the couch.
“Cunt,” he said. “Eeuh.” She nearly laughed again, partly because no one could say ‘eeuh’ like he could, and partly because she knew he was really taken with the idea of her panties. They had been expensive, just the kind of cloth he would like to feel around his balls. As soon as he had seen them, the lacy pattern across her muff, all wet and see-through, she knew he had wanted them.
She decided to fetch the potty by pushing it along in front of her as she crawled, her breasts pushing down against her bra, the memory of his fingers tugging at her.
He had already mopped the floor by the time she returned, and he had put a little pinny on over his skirt to protect it while he cleaned, but at the back his midriff was still bare. He was bending, not ready to look around at her yet, bending as he cleaned the the couch, bending from the waist, beautiful smooth, curved ass exposed as he bent, and that little skirt, the briefest of skirts, flirting with her gaze, his balls peeping between his legs, his legs apart as he bent. Then he looked back over his shoulder.
“You know what to do,” he said, peremptorily.
Obediently, she sat on the potty, legs splaying from under her, keeping her skirt hiked up well out of the way. She waited. He came to supervise, rubber gloves on, sponge and cleaner in hand. It was lucky he had made her sit on the potty because she found she had a little pee left, after all. She let it out.
“Good girl,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands delightedly, rubber gloves, cleaner and all. “See?” he said, “You can do it. You can. My good girl. Now, get yourself to the sink and clean yourself up. Best to clean your knickers first.” He held them out between the tips of his thumb and forefinger in his pink rubber gloves.
Warm water in the sink and plenty of scented hand soap, squeezing, cleaning the panties first, rinsing them, spreading them to dry flat on the draining board. Then she slipped off her shoes and gave them a sponging, bracing the heels against her cunt as she worked.
“You slut,” he said, having finished cleaning under one of the cushions. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for work in a hurry and, instead, you’re flicking your bean. With your shoes. Eeuh. That’s once I’ve told you.” He gave the next cushion an extra squirt from the cleaning bottle for emphasis.
Finally, careful so as not to get her skirt wet, which had survived so far, she began to clean herself, warm water, plain water, for her muff, just a little flicking from her fingers for her cunt, plenty of soapy water for her legs, starting high and working down, down, foam sliding down, down her thighs, down her legs, rubbing herself to be sure of getting rid of all the traces of pee, down into the curve of her ankle and the arch of her foot. There was a window above the sink, but probably no one would look in, or if they did, they would not see enough to understand what they were seeing, a woman sponging her cunt at the sink in front of a window.
“Good girl,” he said. “Don’t forget to do your backside.”
The tricky thing about doing her backside was keeping her skirt out of the way. She had to hike it up high, and reach down between her legs, mersin escort past her muff, past her cunt, and up to her crack, rubbing and cleaning with the sponge. Her back arched, ass provocative.
“You bad girl. I told you to clean yourself, not frig yourself.”
One of his gloves came off with a snap, and he slapped her back side. Her buttock twitched.
“Ow,” she said, sulkily.
“That’s twice I’ve told you,” he said. “Don’t let it happen again. Now dry yourself.” he tossed her a t-towel. She began dabbing herself dry. It felt good, the tap, tap tapping on her fanny as she dabbed.
“Bad girl!” His other glove came off with a snap, and a smack across her other buttock.
“No complaining. This is the third time I’ve had to tell you. Now come here.”
He forced her to go with him. He hooked a finger into her cunt, right into her hole, from behind, and his other hand pinched at her breast and pulled, forcing her along with him. She walked few steps, with his finger inside her, then hesitated, knees trembling. Another finger slid in.
“Move it,” he told her. “We don’t have all day.”
Again she tried to walk with the feel of his fingers inside her.
“You are such a lazy slut,” he murmured intimately in her ear. Another finger slid in. She moaned, and nearly dropped. “Lazy little hussy who can’t even walk as far as the couch.” His thumb was in her crack, pressing her button as she sank, forcing her up. She stepped, and stepped, his fingers pushing against her walls, against her clit, thumb pushing against her ass, not going in, just pressing, teasing. She stepped, and moaned. She let the moan come out of her mouth. His tugging on her breast drew her on.
“Oh!” She couldn’t tell, anymore, how many fingers he had inside her, pushing, pressing, stroking. He pulled. She followed.
He let her fall. She was across his knee. Back at the couch. Her hungry mound against his thigh, his fingers not inside her anymore
“Maybe this way,” he said, “you’ll learn.”
“I’m sorry,” she tried to tell him, but there was moan in her throat that wouldn’t come out and she couldn’t speak.
He spanked her. He spanked her bare skin and her cunt was pushing into his legs, her slit so wide and wet and hungry being rubbed against his thighs, rhythmically pushing into him, her clit saying hello, her clit saying hello, her clit saying hello. Hello. Hello.
“‘lo,” she moaned.
“You slut,” he said. “Even when you’re being spanked you’re diddling yourself against me.”
He spanked her harder, hard enough to make her gasp, now, hard enough to sting.
“Believe me,” he said, bare balls on the wet, freshly cleaned vinyl, “this hurts me more than it does you. Now.” He grasped her breast around the nipple again and let her fall to the floor, so it twisted. “You’ve just got time to tidy up and get to work.”
She rose to her feet, and saw that she did have just enough time to catch her bus, if she ran for it. She grabbed her still damp shoes from the sink. While she pulled them on, he fussed with her hair, then thrust her handbag into her hands while she tugged at her blouse.
“No time for fresh panties,” he said happily.
“Just be glad there’s no time for a nappy, either.”
She could barely stand, and he was pushing her out of the door, sending her down the street like this to catch a bus, to go to work.
“Daiper, darling, I should make you wear it, but there’s no time. You have to get going.”
In the doorway she turned. He leaned there, looking at her. Working at home, he didn’t have to rush. She reached out and under his skirt, grasping his cock, shaking hands with Mr Stiffy.
“All right,” she said, and gave a sudden, tight, squeeze, a quick constriction around the middle. “But no coming until I get home tonight. Right?”
“You bring your tight little twat back to me, and we’ll see what we can do.”