What I Do for a Release

As I'm feeling my foot touching something damp and I look down to see that I've finally stepped into that puddle of piss that I've been watching out for, the guy says "Eyes on cock!" and I obediently look back up.

His half-flaccid penis is dripping the last few drops of piss into the urinal and he wiggles it with his hand to shake them off - landing a few on my face, some 20 centimeters away and level with the porcelain bowl.

How did I get here, I ask myself, even as I'm hoping he's finished and will finally fuck me.

You see, I'm what you'd call a "nympho". I like to have sex a little too much. In fact I crave it, and the craving is - I guess - strong as the drug addiction. Strong as hunger when you haven't eaten for a week (I tried this, it's the same intensity). When I am without I will do anything to have it, my mind is cloudy and everything is a good idea.

Like it was a good idea to go to a men's toilet in the office, hide in the stall and come out naked asking every guy who walks in alone to fuck me.

It hadn't worked.

First I met a guy who thought I was drunk and wanted to take me home or call the ambulance. I barely managed to calm him down. Then an older guy told me he is "past those times". Then a younger guy looked at me and went out without a word. For some reason it seemed none of them talked about a naked girl in the men's as no one else came. It was past 6:00 PM and most of the people had already gone home.

Then came this guy, tall and bearded, who looked at me and said he'll fuck me if I did what he said.

You are probably asking why I didn't masturbate myself to satisfaction, but you don't get it. It's not the same. It has to be another person doing it to me. And it's easy - I more or less start orgasming as soon as a guy pushes it in or starts diddling my clit. But it has to be someone else. I can diddle myself for 45 minutes and maybe get a small release that doesn't do much when the craving is so intense as it was today.

So he first wanted me to take off my socks and shoes, which I've kept on because, you know, men's. I took them off and started watching my step very carefully, resigned that I'd step into it sooner or later. And now I did.

Then he told me to squat near the urinal as he pisses. And I did, receiving some rebound splashes to my face as he started pissing, as well as those few drops as he was finishing. The smell of men's piss was so strong so near the urinal, my nose was full of it and my head was dizzy from it. I could feel my pussy drooling from the smell as well as from the thought of finally getting it as he turned his dick towards me and said:

"Now make it hard and I'll do you."

I knew what he meant and opened my mouth, taking it in fully, as it wasn't yet hard. I felt the taste of piss on my tongue as I folded my lips around it and started a slow back-and-forth with my head, rocking slightly on my feet and feeling my right one getting wetter. He was getting harder quickly and soon I had trouble getting my lips to the bottom, where the guy had an unruly mass of black hairs. His trousers unbuckled, I could see his light blue shirt and white under-shirt, with the pasty white skin of his belly in between. The belly wasn't big but it was hairy - it seemed this guy was hairy all over.

"Ok, enough, stand up and lean over here" he motioned towards the urinal.

I eagerly stood up and leaned on the wall next to it, bending down horizontally so to push my ass towards him, legs wide and straight, lower back bent downwards. This was the position one of my ex-therapists thought me, this was how we started and ended each session until I gathered the courage to stop going there. But I never gathered enough courage to report him.

"That's it, but move a little to the left, face in front of the urinal, arms on both sides" he insisted.

Whatever, just do me, I almost screamed. I moved a step to the left, placing my hands on the tiles to the left and right of the urinal he was using a minute earlier. I raised my head as much as I could while still keeping the torso horizontal, to avoid hitting my face on the porcelain lip of the bowl.

"Ok, here goes" he started fumbling between my legs, exclaiming "hmmm, juicy already" as his fingers slipped inside me. I was already on the brink of it when he positioned his cock at my entrance and pushed it in with one slow stroke, ending with his pubes tickling the back of my thighs.

"Aaaaah" we moaned almost in unison, him presumably in enjoyment and me definitely in release. My orgasm was beginning and my pussy started contracting against his cock as he slowly pulled out. For a second or two I had that sinking feeling that he's changed his mind and was held in a startled limbo of ecstasy cut short... and then he plunged it back in, laughing quietly like he understood what he was doing to me.

He kept taking it out and pushing it in, my orgasm started and I moaned as he would bottom out in my pussy and held my breath for those two seconds of emptiness, as he would pull out. It went like this for 20 or 30 strokes, my orgasm not subsiding one bit - it was usually that way after I was denied for a time, the first one after a dry spell was long and strong and would leave me weak for hours afterwards.

As he was getting closer to finishing, he stopped with the taking out part, holding my hips and pistoning in and out a little faster, with each push straining my hands which tried to keep me from banging my nose on the urinal. Until, at last, he started cumming.

I felt him switch his angle, pushing more upwards then horizontally, grunting as his full-body spasm pushed me upwards and forwards, my face clearing the edge and ending fully in the urinal bowl, my chin stuck on the lip of it as he jerked back a little, only to push forward once more and press my cheek to the back wall. It was cold, wet and the smell or urine that was strong before now felt like I was bathing in it. I could feel it on my tongue although I kept my mouth tightly shut, my face fully pressed to the back of the urinal wall as my hands feebly tried to push me back against his thrusts. Thankfully, after 30 seconds or so he stopped, waited 10 seconds more and pulled out, letting me stand up and breathe again.

"You really are a pretty sight," he laughed, buckling his pants a pulling out a phone from his pocket. As I leaned on the wall and gathered my breath, he took a few photos of me and left without another word.

I slowly came to my senses, washed my face thoroughly in the sink, feeling my well-stretched pussy leaking his come down my thighs. Before I started dressing, I put two of my fingers inside it, enjoying the slick warmth, which will, I knew it, disgust me when it starts cooling. I took my fingers out wrapped in thick strands of sperm and smelled them, at the same time feeling revolted with myself and sensing the last small shakes of orgasm deep in my belly.

If you've never smelled your fingers after scratching your balls or pussy and felt the same mixture of shame and pleasure, you can judge me.

If you did, let me tell you that both my shame and my pleasure at that moment were much greater then you've ever experienced.

Now, who's the lucky one?