Having an affair with your boss is probably more common than people make out. You can only have sex with someone you’re in the same room  with, after all, and you can easily be legitimately in that situation with someone you work with, so if there’s an attraction there, it can develop.

That’s what happened with me and Mrs Turner, the owner of the seaside hotel I had been working at for the summer. I was 21 and she was more than twice that, and I hadn’t fancied her until she made the first move, but now, two weeks down the line, we were lovers. And not just physically, either. We had come to like each other a lot, and when you like someone a lot and have sex with them, it feels like love.

We had met in private three times and she was gradually getting up to speed with sex, after a life of tedious physical routine  with her husband and nobody else, ever. We were being discreet and sensible. Geoffrey, the husband, was away indefinitely, but it was a small hotel in a small town and people like to talk, so we were determined not to give them anything to talk about.

Yes, I still refer to her as Mrs Turner. We had discussed me calling her Barbara, but there was something extra naughty about shagging Mrs T. And she liked it too. She loved being secretly defiled by a younger man, doing things she wouldn’t even tell her best friend. She liked to get naked as soon as possible and have me all over her, on top of her, inside her, and she had discovered she liked sucking my cock (for which I was obviously very grateful).

The hotel was due to close for the season in one week and the summer was giving way to autumn with depressing inevitability. When it closed I had decided to stay in the town if I could find a job, but our opportunities would be more limited and we wanted to make the most of what we had.

My day off was Wednesday and it was sunny and warm as I took a bus out of town and up into the hills where the Turners lived. Geoffrey was still away in Yorkshire, attending to his sick mother, and now Heather, their daughter, had gone to give him a hand.

It was two o’clock when I opened the back door of the house and found myself engulfed by this biggish, well-built woman with the innocent, strict appearance, her housewifely permed hair and her unremarkable clothes: always a skirt or a dress, never trousers or jeans. Today it was a cotton sweater and a plaid skirt, short by her standards but still grazing her knees.

We kissed breathlessly and my hand immediately found her knickers and slid inside, my middle finger boring straight into her pussy.

“My,” she said, “You are pleased to see me."

Then, to demonstrate her newly found skills, she dropped to her knees and took my gasping erection in her mouth.

“I’ve got plans for us this afternoon,” she said happily. “In the garden.” Kissing my dick goodbye for now, she picked up two old towels and pulled me out onto the lawn and around behind a hedge to the corner she called the rose garden. Spreading the towels out, she stripped off and I did the same. Were we going to sunbathe naked, I wondered? Just as well the sun was getting weak, or you could get a nasty burn that way.

She laid me out and propped herself on her elbows as she kissed my chest and neck and said little, sweet, girly things about how nice I was.

“And yet you’re so kinky,” she went on. “The things you do to me. There isn’t an inch of me that’s safe from you.”

It was true. Apart from anal penetration there was nothing of the mainstream sexual activities that we hadn’t done. Could this be the day she invited my cock to enter where my tongue loved to ring the bell? Now that she was a fully-fledged modern woman, she wanted to push the boundaries.

I decided to let her do what she had thought of.

This time there was a naughty-girl look in her eyes as she sat astride me. Was she going to ride me cowgirl-style, as she had the last time on the little brown armless chair in her office, fully clothed and with her knickers pulled aside and her dress bunched up around her?

Then her expression turned rather serious and a little strained and I realized what she was up to. Out here on the lawn with old towels to protect us from ants, she could make the kind of mess she wouldn’t dream of indoors. A warm trickle of piss hit my skin just above my pubic region and her eyes scoured mine for a sign that this was okay. Whether it saw such a sign or not, she was soon exhaling as a proper stream showered me in irregular spurts that zigzagged with the woman’s lack of directional control. She arched her back to spray it up my chest and then back down and sat on me to christen my kinkily enraptured cock.

Mrs Turner’s urine flowed over me like a wild sexual baptism. It was in my navel, rolling down my sides, trickling into my arse.

“Dirty girl,’ I scolded teasingly.

“You love it,” she said confidently. “I hoped you would.”

“But you were going to do it anyway,” I cajoled, as the stream subsided. I felt her around her sopping wet source.

“”I’ve followed your lead lots of times, and liked what I was doing,” she said, and I realized it was true. She was used to being in control, but what she had been doing so far was pointing me in the direction she thought I wanted to go and letting me loose, following me wherever my desires went.

Perhaps that was why I was falling in love with her. She understood me and trusted me even when I didn’t know I was in charge.

“Do you want to do it to me?” she asked.

“Later,” I said. “I can’t piss through this.” I looked down at what can be fairly described as a raging hardon. “You’d better ride your wild horse.”

Mrs Turner needed no further invitation. Her large breasts flopped and flapped and the flesh around her middle wobbled sweetly as she rode my cock, with a natural flair I wouldn’t have expected. She closed her eyes and raised her head as the head of her lover’s penis repelled her joyous bouncing and she breathed faster and faster until she came with a tumultuous shout and quivered helplessly, impaled on me.

I hadn’t come yet, so she knelt on the wet towel with her arse exposed and waited impatiently while I masturbated and shot my semen into her crack. I loved the fact that she knew which position to adopt and I loved her willingness to be smothered in my gushing fluid. Her face was a writhing, living expression of ecstasy as my orgasm revitalized hers.

We lay together in a mildly reeking swamp of our own making before she reached for the other towel and we dried each other. Then she laid that one out and lay down on it. I stood above her, casting a shadow on her face as I pissed on her chest and her neck, then down over her breasts and my torrent of bodily water lashed down into her crotch like a broken gutter in a storm.

As I knelt beside her, empty of body but full of emotion, she looked into my eyes.

“Would this be an inappropriate time to say I’m falling in love with you?” she said quietly. “With your fluids all over me and mine all over you?”

“Perfect,” I said. She took my arm and shook it strongly.

“Yes, I’m falling too,” I said. Ï never would have thought it, but I am.”