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About longtimelistener

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  1. Thanks very much! Ive felt kind of ambivalent about having/posting with this account so never got round to replying, but I really appreciated this 🙂
  2. Again, something I decided to post here instead of sending to its subject! Some details changed. Hope you enjoy. The story of a M/F date that ends with some outdoor pissing. He was my first kiss in three months, which if you’re a love addict like me feels practically like growing your virginity back. We matched on a dating app. A stoner rock type with long, shiny dark hair that made me think about brushing it behind his ears and touching his cheeks when we kissed. I told him that’s what I was thinking, and he agreed it sounded nice. And that if I hadn’t kissed anyone in three months he felt duty-bound to assist. It turned out he’d got sick in February and reckoned he was immune to the virus - an eligible bachelor! Me? Late twenties posh girl (sorry, woman) with big hair and a 50s cheesecake body. To honour my first date of the summer I wore my sacred summer dress, a white t shirt dress splashed with swirls of colour that clung to my waist and ass. I picked him up outside the tube and brushed against him for a cursory kiss on the cheek, doing my best to take in his smell. All I got was deodorant, but that’s had erotic connotations for me since teenage parties. He had an easy smile and a laid-back, self-assured bearing. I skipped ahead of him crossing the road so he could check me out from behind. I’d done all I could to avoid sexting him, so as not to skim any excitement from the first meeting, first kiss, first touch. I hadn’t told him about my thing for pee either, though a few hints on his profile made me think he’d be open-minded. At my suggestion, we were going for a low-tide drink on the Thames shore on a Friday evening. We chatted on the walk to the riverfront, sounding each other out about politics, dating, our attitude to life. We found an open gate and some steps down to the shore. When we sat down I couldn’t wait anymore. He’d placed his hands behind him to lean back, and I put my hand over his. Eye contact. And then a deep kiss. Pools of light and colour shifted in the dark before my eyes as his lips pressed against mine and we absorbed each other. That combined feeling of homecoming and falling headlong into something completely new that I’d missed so much. Then we sat back and opened a bottle of red, which was drunk slowly as I kept coming back for more kisses. His hand rested casually in my lap, and with his big thumb rubbing back and forth he’d watch with suppressed laughter as I tried to form sentences, eyes clouding over with lust. The sun was getting lower and there were fewer and fewer people around. I suggested heading back up to the pavement and checking out a place I knew further east along the Thames. He said “At some point I’m gonna have to piss.” Exactly my plan - I assured him we’d have some privacy at the next place. I took his hand and nuzzled into his neck, imagining the growing tension in his bladder, watching his gait for signs of urgency. My cunt was swollen between my legs as we walked, singing its desire. This place I knew. I’d been there with two other guys at that point. I’d found it on a walk with a date last winter. It’s the space inside a concrete support frame for a walkway overhead, up against the tidal wall. A view of boats going past, the sound of voices above you, near-total darkness and near-total privacy. Nails to hang your handbag, beams at various heights to perch and open your legs to men of all sizes. Makes me feel like a Hogarth hooker. Oh, and a silt floor that gets washed about every seven hours. This was my first visit in summertime. “What do you think?” Well, he was amused at my almost house-proud eagerness but I think he saw the point. “I still need to piss...” Standing with my back to a pillar, I took his hand and pulled him in. I kissed him hard and pushed my hips into his to feel his long, half-hard dick against my clit. Then I undid his shorts and pulled his dick above the waistband of his underwear. I raised my dress and pulled down the top of my knickers, placing the tip inside and between my legs. He looked down, and back into my eyes. “Really?” My mouth formed the word “yes”. His hand tightened around mine and arousal flashed across his face. He grinned and pulled down my bottom lip with his thumb. “And you said you weren’t kinky.” “I’m not, I just want you to piss between my legs.” He stood still, getting used to the idea. I felt his core tense and relax as he practiced pushing and releasing in this unfamiliar position. A spurt, taking us both by surprise, soaked warmly into my knickers. He seemed kind of embarrassed. I smiled encouragement. And now a stream, as he relaxed and let his piss flow into my underwear. He steadied himself and parted his feet a little as if at a urinal, and we both listened to the pattering on the ground below. Starting to enjoy it, he pulled back and out of my knickers, holding his dick to direct the stream at the exposed curve of my abdomen. I reached down and began touching myself. He watched his piss flow over my hand and the transported look on my face. Too soon he was spent, and the hand that had been holding his cock straight began to jerk up and down. He pulled me into a hungry kiss, backing me further into the pillar and jacking off against my belly. He shoved a thigh between mine and growled, “Piss.” I did as I was told, releasing gushes of pee and grinding against his thigh, approaching an orgasm that had been building since my lips touched his cheek in the late afternoon sun. He knelt and pulled my soaking underwear to my ankles. I stepped out of one leg and widened my feet. He began to suck my clit, and the final spurts of pee flowed down his chin and neck into his shirt. He sucked it slow, allowing me to wind my hips and set the rhythm. I could feel his shoulder moving as he steadily touched himself. Knowing he was into it I relaxed, letting the action of his lips and tongue carry me to the edge of climax. Then I built up speed and pressure fucking his face until I exploded in his mouth, his hand digging into the back of my thigh. Jacking very hard by now, he let my clit rest and licked the wetness from my thighs and labia. I used my foot to pass him the knickers soaked with both our piss, and his body shuddered as he shot jet after jet of cum into the crotch. He rested his head on my thigh and I leaned against the pillar as we came back to earth. Once he’d got to his feet we sat on a beam facing the river, leaning into each other’s warmth. We swung our feet and watched the lights on the water.
  3. Summary : I (f) get pissed on in the bath by a lover (m) A fantasy I’m posting here because I asked the subject of it how he felt about piss, and he’s not a fan (or even curious, sadly). On him and me: late twenties, locked down with our families in different countries, "met" on a dating app, may never meet in real life. Conversation skeeters between internet esoterica, ADHD frustrations, expressions of thirst that only make the cravings worse, and occasional affection. The following is more or less what I would’ve said to him if I'd got a different answer… One thing you should know about me and piss is that it has very little to do with submission or domination (although power comes into it in some curious ways). It’s got more to do with the potential to access this primal, lawless, immediate, distilled spectrum of experience, free of all thought about the consequences of our actions. Because of this, my fetish has mostly manifested in reading fantasies and accounts of people pissing in public or antisocial or destructive places. It’s a little niche, but it just does something for me. But these lonely times have given me a new appreciation of touch and proximity, so for the first time in a while I’m fantasising about getting pissed on. We’d go out for a couple of drinks near my place in the afternoon to loosen you up and fill your bladder. When you needed to go you’d let me know – looking maybe a little awkward about it, having a hard time believing that this is what I want to hear. I’d savour the intimate knowledge of what was happening inside you; the vulnerability associated with your growing need; my responsibility to find the way home and open the door; the sweetness that you’re putting yourself in this position for me. I’d do my best to imagine the tingling signals in genitals I don’t have but sometimes wish I did. And I’d brush my nose against your cheek and kiss your ear. When we got home I’d get naked and crouch in the bathtub – plug in – and you’d stand over me, unbuckle your belt and pull out your dick. Arousal and nerves, and a sense of propriety, would leave you unable to piss for several seconds - and the two of us frozen in place. You’d close your eyes and concentrate, and a jet of piss would leave your dick, followed by another, landing on my chest. After a pause, a sharp, steady stream would issue from your beautiful cock. After a few seconds the warm tangy smell would reach you and you’d realise what a mess you were making. But my smile of gratitude and delight in this defilement would reassure you. You’d step forward and press the upward-bended head of your cock against my cheek, so a plume of piss spread over my cheekbone and trickled behind my ear down the back of my neck, wetting my hair. Rubbing your cock around my face and paying attention to where your piss spread and landed, you’d stroke my jaw and touch my lower lip, spreading a blissed-out smile across my face. Eventually your stream would slow, and you’d direct the last trickle back to my chest. I’d take your cock and kiss it, licking the drips from the end. Feeling the tickle of one more jet, you’d take the liberty of leaving your cock in my mouth and ejecting it unannounced. Already squirming with pleasure on the floor of the bath, I’d moan in enjoyment of my own adoration of you and the gorgeous cock that has shared your most intimate self with me, and swallow.

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