“You’re dumping me, again?” I managed to drag my eyes up from Amy’s dangling breasts to her hauntingly-beautiful hazel eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, looking thoughtful.

I thought for a moment, running my hand along Amy’s naked flank as she looked down at me. “Is that what you came round to tell me?” I caught the guilty expression on her face. “You came round to dump me?” This time Amy shrugged – not an easy thing to do when you’re supporting your own weight on your elbows. “So why did you have sex with me?”

“Erm…”

“Oh my God. You came round here to dump me.” I ran the phrase around in my head. It made sense – Amy had dumped me every time we’d had sex. Each time I thought it’d be different; each time I’d hoped.

It never had been.

I thought about what had happened in the hallway; how Amy had arrived early and without warning. She’d said she had questions for me during a flurry of emails; that was the reason we’d arranged this clandestine meeting; the reason I’d waved my wife off to work and I’d rung my boss with reports of a fake migraine and had been waiting for Amy to return from Dubrovnik’s dirty airport floor where she had spent the night. The thoughts fell over themselves, crowding in simultaneously. I’d never been to Dubrovnik but knew the airport floor was dirty by the way Amy had smelt when I’d held her in my arms. She didn’t normally smell like that… and her pussy had smelt amazing when I’d gone down on her after her shower.

That thought made me smile.

Above me, Amy smiled back, oblivious to my filthy thoughts.

Even before the shower, the way she smelt hadn’t stopped me from wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight for half an hour with my tears dripping off my cheeks into the dark roots of her blonde bangs as I told her how much I loved her.

How much I’d missed her.

She’d come round with the intention of dumping me, but had chosen to have sex with me before telling me; chosen to take two orgasms off me before revealing the truth behind her visit. “You used me!”

“I didn’t use you… you seduced me.”

“I seduced you? Really?” I thought about the last email I’d sent: I can't stop thinking about you... and *ahem* what I want to do with you, starting with a hallway hug and my hands on your hips... I hope that's OK.

Amy and I both knew what happened when I put my hands on her hips: when I put my hands on her hips, her body became primed and ready for sex within seconds. It didn’t matter where we were, the effect was the same: I’d feel the flush of heat under my hands and hear the change in her breathing; something changed about the way she held herself and the expression on her face would soften into a blend of love and lust as the universe shrank to a bubble containing only the two of us.

Nothing else existed when Amy and I had sex; her boyfriend and my wife blinked out of existence. Only as the orgasms faded did reality start to leak back in through the evaporating walls of the bubble.

“Yes,” Amy said, sounding determined to tell her side of the story. “I was feeling all rejected and stuff.”

“Rejected. Right. That’s why you’re dumping me – because you feel rejected?” That didn’t make sense and we both knew it. We laughed as we gazed into each other’s eyes. I had to say it because I was still feeling it, and I’d promised myself that I’d say it when I was feeling it. The promise had been made to myself, rather than Amy as my best friend and soul mate. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“But you’re still dumping me?”

“Yes.”

“OK.” I slumped back onto the bed with a smile on my face, thinking about how connected to Amy I felt after having spent a stolen morning naked in bed. I always felt connected when I had the taste of her pussy on my tongue, or the scent of it on my fingers. I’d gone down on her and had stayed down on her for hours… although I’d given a rather poor showing of myself, having acted like a horny schoolboy, rather than an experienced lover when presented with Amy’s puffy peach of a pussy for the first time in three months.

I’d do better next time.

There’d be a next time.

I smiled as I thought about when I’d tried to surface with my tongue aching from actual exhaustion; my neck complaining from being trapped in such an unusual position for so long. “Lick me. Please?” had come the request.

The smile broadened as I thought about the suffocating world trapped between Amy’s powerful thighs with her ‘guiding’ hand on my head… a guiding hand whose fingers might tear my hair out if I tried to escape pre-orgasm again.

I’d made Amy come.

Hard.

And then I’d slipped my cock inside her and kissed her with pussy-slicked lips as we did the thing which we always did: connected.

And talked.

And confessed.

I’d told her that I wanted to see her with my come in her mouth; told her every detail of how I wanted it. Not like in the pornos. It wasn’t about ownership. If anything, I wanted Amy to take ownership of my spunk. I wanted her to be in charge… and she had been – her wanking hand had extracted it, and her eyes had shone like sunlight catching wet pebbles as she lay with her mouth open, my twitching cock resting on her lower lip as my white goo leaked onto her tongue.

Just as it had done in my dreams.

Amy hadn’t dumped me in my dreams, of course.

And she hadn’t swallowed so quickly that I’d barely had time to see my spunk in her mouth. But it had been there and she’d swallowed it and that made me… my God that made me feel connected to the woman who had just dumped me.

The woman I loved.

My best friend.

My soulmate.

My lover.

“Amy. Will you pee on me?” It wasn’t an ‘out-of-the-blue’ request in terms of our relationship; Amy knew me and what I liked. There were no secrets but we’d never done anything about my pee fetish before. I’d been tempted to pee up Amy’s back when we’d shared a sexy bath in a local hotel… and she’d teased me a few times with texts and Skype messages during boring meetings at work to give me updates about the condition of her bladder, knowing full well the effect it would have on me.

Amy shrugged. “If you want.” Just like that. No big deal. No judgement – just simple acceptance and indulgence.

I swallowed. My mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

We carried on being us, talking and laughing, pausing only to have loving, leisurely sex. Lying side by side, Amy guided my fingers to a less-sensitive part of her post orgasmic pussy and I nursed her body to another sizzling climax. She returned the favour by pulling on my cock as I positioned my body in protective arch over her prone form.

“I love you,” I murmured. “Where do you want me to come?”

“On my belly?” she suggested, pulling on my eager cock. It was how we worked – one of the reasons why we worked that we could talk like this, without filters.

“Mmmm. I want to see my spunk on your belly.” To be fair, I wanted to see my spunk anywhere on Amy’s body; I’d spilled a lot of spunk thinking about Amy and it felt right to actually share some with her – to put it where it rightfully belonged.

My spunk looked good down there between the blade of her hip and the curve of her stomach. An unexpected urge made me lap it up, gather it, and take it to Amy’s mouth - to feed it to her in a spunk-laden kiss. That act gave me a new closeness and I slumped down beside my best friend, soul mate and lover.

Dumped and spent.

Dumped, with thighs burning.

“I need to pee.”

“Mmmm,” I moaned, sliding my hand across the belly which had so recently hosted my spunk, relishing the moment, knowing that the anticipation of an act was sometimes better than the act itself. I tried to picture how we were going to do it.

In the bath with Amy standing over me. But I wanted to know what Amy was thinking – what was in her head?

“How do you want to do it?”

“Erm,” she said, sounding genuinely confused. I was the pervert, not her. “How many ways are there?” I thought about positions, always with me underneath. I thought about Amy taking charge. About her telling me that she wanted to pee on my legs… or belly… or chest; on my cock or on my face.

Or in my mouth.

I knew how it had made me feel to come in Amy’s mouth and watch her swallow my spunk. I wondered whether she might feel the same closeness if I returned the favour by swallowing and savouring her juices. Would she feel the same connection in reverse?

The anticipation of what we might do… well, it kept me holding on for as long as Amy could manage; to the point where she thought I’d changed my mind.

Thought I’d chickened out.

Amy’s stomach growled. “How long since you had something to eat, aside from spunk and sausage?”

Amy looked at the clock. “Twenty-five hours.”

“OK. Let’s do this,” I said guiltily, feeling like a bad host as I reluctantly extracted myself from our love nest and led Amy to the bathroom.

“But how?” she asked, looking at the bath.

“I’ll get in. You stand over me.” The bath wasn’t built for two; it barely accommodated one and it took a bit of wriggling to allow Amy to place her feet either side of my thighs.

“Where do you want me to do it?”

“Anywhere.” The truth was it really didn’t matter; the only thing which did matter was that my best friend / lover / soulmate was indulging me in a previously private passion. “Maybe on my cock?” I suggested. Amy moved into position, kneeling over my crotch.

I waited for it to happen.

And ogled every inch of my lover’s body as I waited, the anticipation building.

“I’m not sure I can do it,” she said, fighting an internal fight. The fact that we were trying at all made me need to kiss the woman.

Amy might have had some physical or psychological reservations about peeing on me; I had no such qualms. Pressing down on my bladder, I fired a stream of pee onto the top of Amy’s right thigh and watched carefully as I swept it in an arc across her perfect pussy.

“Well…” she said, as if she’d been secretly fearful that I didn’t really want her to do the deed I so desperately wanted to share with her.

And then she was doing it.

I grinned as soft wetness drizzled down onto my cock and balls from two small streamers of pee. It was perfect - another connection thing; something which couldn’t be taken back. From this point on, Amy would be the first woman to have peed on me knowing what it meant.

At first, I simply lay there as Amy peed on me, watching and enjoying the moment, eager to drink in the details and capture them in my memory but as Amy kept peeing, my hands moved off her hips and my fingers explored between her legs, gently pushing into her pee stream and touching the soft slippery wetness of her piss-lubricated slit.

“Is this OK?” Amy asked, sounding a little worried as she released a steady stream of heat over my cock.

“Errr… yes!” We were exploring the boundaries of acceptability. “Maybe,” I said, listening to the gurgle of Amy’s pee in the plughole. “Maybe you could do it standing up?” I wanted to feel it raining down on the rest of my body; wanted to see it more clearly; wanted to know the details.

Offering a steadying hand on Amy’s thighs as she stood in the now-slippery bath, I waited and watched.

As soon as she started peeing, instinct told me what I had to do to know something else about Amy. An adrenaline surge made my blood run cold as I pushed my face between Amy’s legs. Would this be too much, even for my best friend and soulmate? Would it be too much for me to know what it was like for her to pee into my mouth? That was my worry as I slurped experimentally at the pee pouring down between Amy’s legs. It was my one and only worry as I felt the soft heat of her pee in my mouth – and the worry turned to fear as I swallowed.

Swallowing was something new; something I had never dared to do but it was something I had always wanted to know about Amy.

Something I had always wanted to share.

Something which I could share only with her because of the openness and honesty and connection of our relationship.

“Did you drink some?”

I’d never lied to Amy and couldn’t start now but I did feel surprisingly vulnerable. “Yes.” I waited for the horror… for the judgement.

“What did it taste like?” That right there was one of the reasons why it just worked with Amy – the acceptance. I felt my connection to her deepen still further: that deep and lasting bond which felt like a warm fuzziness wrapping-up my soul, keeping it safe.

Don’t forget she dumped you.

I laughed at the thought, even as I felt Amy’s pee hit my stomach – possibly the most significant sexual milestone of my life. “It tasted… wheaty. I liked it. I really liked it.” But it was the act of sharing something so intimate which was important.

Not the taste.

Amy had given me the chance to be my real self for the first time in my sexual life; she had let me share my deepest, darkest wants and needs.

I looked into her eyes and knew that the attraction and affection I already felt for Amy were spilling into deeper and deeper love. There was a new level of physical and emotional connection.

“I really need to pee,” she said.

I laughed. “I kind of knew that…”

“I wasn’t sure whether you’d want all of it.” I laughed at the thought of Amy peeing on me a bit, then hopping out of the bath to pee in the toilet. The fact that she was considerate enough to think there might be a line at which point something sexy became something disgusting made me feel intensely close to her; her consideration was another reason to love her. The fact that she obviously didn’t understand what I was getting from her doing this but had done it anyway made me feel insanely close to her.

“I want it all.”

There was a lot more and as Amy peed and peed against my probing fingers, a little thought popped into my head, telling me that I had been right to wait to do this with Amy. It wouldn’t and couldn’t have worked with another woman.

“OK. I’m done.”

“You’re sure?” Those hazel eyes looked up for a moment as she considered her bladder and I actually felt her muscles moving as she tested to see if there was anything left.

“Yep.”

Fuck me, you’re an amazing woman. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. Amy wasn’t done – not with me, anyway.

And we both knew it: that’s not how a love story ends… and we’d both agreed that ours was a love story.