Never Pee at Lunch

I have very busy days at work. I have 18 projects that are due by the 22^nd of December and, as an hourly employee who’s not allowed overtime, I’m in a crunch.

Last Friday I was going to lunch with a girlfriend. She came by my desk to get me and we walked down the hall together. I yelled to my office manager that I was leaving and she yelled back a disgruntled, “OK”

I checked my watch and said, in my best secret agent voice, “59 minutes and counting.”

We left our office suite and entered the main corridor. The Christmas decorations, or, “Holiday Decorations” were everywhere and it reinforced my joy at being away from my desk for 58 more minutes of shopping with my best work friend. We were just feet from the door when she said that she had to go to the bathroom.

“No!” I said, in my mock-horror voice, “You never pee at lunch. We get 3 bathroom breaks a day that don’t get charged to our break time, and I’m not going to waste my lunch time while you pee. You should have done that earlier.”

She grabbed herself between the legs and laughed and said that she, “Really had to go.” And that I could just walk on ahead without her. I moaned in frustration and glared at her.

“OK, but you are going to pay for this.” I playfully snarled and took her by the hand and walked her past the women’s bathroom and around the corner.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“I told you were going to pay for this.” I walked her around the corner to the door of the handicapped bathroom. It had the twin benefits of being private, big enough for two, and out of range of the security camera.

The puzzled look on her face was priceless as I used my security key to open the door and I led her in. I turned around and locked the door behind us, then stood tall and faced her.

“Well?” I said.

“Well, what?” she replied.

“Pee”

“What?”

“Pee”

“You are joking.”

“Pee”

“No way.”

“Pee”

“Wha?”

“Now”

“Are you crazy?”

“I don’t know why you are so embarrassed; you let me listen to you yesterday.”

“Huh?”

A look of realization spread across her face. “You could hear that?”

“You have a very good cell phone.”

She started to giggle to herself and then she started doing the bathroom dance.

“I really have to go.”

“Then go”

“I’m serious”

“Pee” I said and stepped to the sink to turn the water on, hoping it would have same impact on my beautiful friend as it did on my little brothers.

“You are so mean.”

I just smiled at her. She was beautiful and my heart was pounding in my chest at what I was trying to get away with. She and I had talked about everything under the sun, we had no secrets, but we had never, ever, even come close to crossing the line physically. Except for an enthusiastic hug at various social events, we barely even touched.

“Pee for me.” I said, making it a request, not a taunt, not a challenge.

“Please.”

With a whispered “OK” she acknowledged that the mood was shifting and that more than our lunch hour was at stake.

She was wearing a knee length skirt, light and airy, with a million pleats and a soft taffeta lining underneath. Her blouse was light green, almost a lime green, but with just a hint of tan woven in to soften the color. She wore no hose, and had on 2-inch pumps that were simple and black.

She smiled and faced me. Putting her left hand on my right shoulder she bent over and took off her left shoe. She stood up, handed me the patent leather pump, switched hands and removed her other shoe.

Barefoot and without hose, she was a full three inches shorter than me and looked younger than our 24 years. Without moving towards the toilet, she reached up under her skirt and hooked her fingers into her panties. They came down her soft thighs and fell to the floor in a tangled heap, the red, green, and silver stripes stood out in bright contrast to the black tile floor.

“Will you get those for me?” She asked, turning the tables so that I too was fulfilling a request, answering her call as she answered mine.

I bent one knee and dropped to the floor and reached out for them. With a sudden, but steady move, she lightly kicked my hand out of the way, causing me to lose my balance and end up on my knees in front of her. My heart began racing.

“With your mouth.” She said.

Her enthusiasm for our unfolding scene caused my breathing to quicken. Ignoring the image of a million germs on a public bathroom floor, I bent down, stuck out my tongue, and lifted the soft cotton panties in to my mouth. Swirling my tongue in circles as I stood, I drew the thin material into my mouth, and smiled at her, my cheeks bulging.

A look dashed across her face. It might have been arousal or amusement, but she didn’t let it distract her and she kept looking at me. Her panties were so small, the material so thin, that they easily fit in the palm of my hand when I opened my lips and let them fall out of my mouth.

I curled my hand around them and slipped them into the pocket of my slacks, silently glad that I had worn black today, to hide any moisture that may soak through.

Now she smiled at me and stepped backwards, but not in the direction I expected.

She reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and began to lift it up, gathering the material and the soft layers underneath.

Her thighs revealed themselves to be strong and lean, a testimony to the hours she spent on her bike and at the gym. As her hands lifted higher, revealing more of her legs, I stepped backward and steadied myself against the wall. With a final flick of her wrist, she lifted her skirt up over her bum while she kept her body covered in front.

“Tell me again.”

I stammered an incoherent response.

“Tell me again what you want.”

Taking a deep breath to control my voice, I whispered, “Pee for me.”

With that phrase still hanging in the air, she lifted her skirt and spread her legs in one moment. Shaved clean from stem to stern, she revealed herself to me and, with her free hand, spread her beautiful, bare lips, and began to pee.

It came out with a soft sizzling sound and in a dark golden arc until it hit the floor and filled our 8x8 room with the steady sound of splashing water. My head started spinning as I watched her pee leave her body from within the folds of her pink flesh. My blood roared in my ears and a rush of vertigo threatened to overcome me. I watched and saw her flexing her muscles to start and stop the flow, as if she were eager to demonstrate her mastery over her own body. I stared as her lips moved, clenching to stop the golden flow, and then relaxing and opening to let it go again.

My arousal was off the charts and I knew that the afternoon would be haze of headaches and stomach cramps unless I found immediate relief and release.

She spread her legs further and squatted down as her flow began to subside. Little spurts hit the floor as she pushed on her bladder from inside to expel the final drops.

The silence that followed the last drops was unbearable. I just stared at the half-naked woman with her legs spread and her lips wet with her own pee.

She smiled and straightened her legs, keeping them spread, but using her hands to protect her skirt from getting stained.

“Wipe me.”

“Huh?” I responded, unsure if I heard her correctly.

“Wipe me sweetie,” her smile lit up the room, “I don’t want to get my hands dirty while I hold my skirt.”

I stepped over to the toilet and unrolled 12 or so squares and folded them gently in my hand. Gingerly, I moved towards her and reached between her open legs and patted her dry, keeping a barrier of folded tissue between her lips and my fingers, afraid of escalating the situation any further.

“Wipe me again,” she said, “but only use one square, and sweetie, you’ll need to press harder than that.