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“I’ll take you out, Cat, if you’ll piss in my mouth next weekend.”
“Will you piss for me, Lydia, yes or no? The clock’s ticking.”
“Besides from how your sweet your piss tastes?” he breathed, so low I could only just hear him.
“You’re welcome, Cat.” He tipped my wine glass as I was drinking, forcing me to glug it all right down. “Trying to get me drunk?” “Trying to fill your bladder.” He called the barman for another bottle.
“Good girl,” he breathed, dropping to his knees. I didn’t fight him as he spread my legs, didn’t make a sound as his fingers spread me open. “There it is, Lydia, all ready for me. I wish you could see how beautiful your sweet little piss-slit is.”
I shuddered as he began to go, a short, sharp burst at first, before he picked up a steady flow. He aimed his dirty yellow jet straight for my clit, and I moaned like a whore as he hit the spot. “Yes,” he hissed. “Dirty girl, getting off on my filthy fucking piss.”
