Wet Workdays - Sex Stories

Wet Workdays

... she put it down on the floor in front of me, then lifted up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing panties! I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her shaven pubes with just a strip of dark hair above it and the rosy inner lips that peeked outside. Just like I had done hours before, she squatted down over the bowl and, with another grin, let go. The moment the hissing, splashing sound filled the office, I shuddered. My heartbeat sped up once again, and I quickly looked away. “Oh, that’s good!” she whispered. It took her ages to finish, but finally, the last, short bursts splashed into the bowl, and I expected the rustling of her clothes. Instead, I heard her say, “You know what to do.” I bit my lip. A warm, fluttery feeling came alive between my thighs. The blood rushed in my ears when I crouched down and our gazes locked once more. “Yes, Ms. Miller.” I extended a trembling hand and ran my fingers through her soft, hot, moist folds. A tiny whimper escaped my throat, then I lifted my fingers to my mouth and she watched me lick her stinky, yucky, salty, delicious pee into my mouth. “Good girl,” she whispered, and my knees buckled. I barely managed to keep upright. “Now clean it again and put it under your desk. ...

... You’ll be needing it.” She fetched her jacket from her chair and slipped it on, then turned to leave. I bent down to pick up the bowl, but just when she was about to pass me on her way out, she stopped and cupped my chin. She pulled me upright and leaned so close that her lips almost brushed my ear. Goosebumps raced up and down my spine. “Just so you know,” she whispered sweetly while holding my chin in a vice-like grip, “if you’re a bad girl again, I’ll pee into a glass and make you drink it.” I almost fainted. Trepidation washed all over me, and I stayed rooted to the spot. She was long gone when I tip-toed my way to the loo again. This was absolutely crazy! * * * * Come Monday morning, I stood in front of my wardrobe for what felt like hours, sifting through the freshly washed and ironed medium length skirts. Then a tremble raced through my body, and my hand determinedly gripped the flimsy orange, low-cut, figure-hugging minidress. I could already picture Ms. Miller’s -- Marietta’s -- disapproving stare. She’d be furious! I slipped back out of the panties and bra I had already put on. Really furious! I sighed dreamily when the dress slipped down my body. I couldn’t help it. I was a bad girl.