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Pee Perverts: Filthy Foreign Fantasies

Sometimes when you're in a strange city, you get to do strange things with strangers

“I may as well be a nun,” I complained to Tammy. “Even the most devote of nuns must have more satisfying sex lives than I do.”

Tammy sniggered. “Somehow, I doubt that although I have seen some videos if nuns are your thing. I’ll send you a few links.”

Tammy was a connoisseur of internet porn. If she hadn’t seen it, it didn’t exist. “Something with a really nice wimple might go down well right now.”

“So… you want a nun who goes down? When’s the last time a nun went down on you?”

“March. That’s when they get released from the convent for spring.” We both laughed. The links arrived. The third one looked very promising. “How sad is a woman’s sex life when it revolves around rubbing off to some random nun porn send to her by her best friend?”

“I’d come and rub you off myself if you weren’t in Berlin.”

“Catch a plane,” I challenged.

“Tempting… but I’m not sure what my husband would think if I snuck off to Berlin to give you a good seeing to.”

“Why sneak? Just tell him.” I swallowed nervously. “Tam? Have you told him about the pee thing?”

“No! He’d be really weird with you every time you came over if he knew it was you who peed in his favourite chair.”

“He’d be really weird with you if he knew you dared me to do it,” I retorted.

“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” There was a pause and I knew that in one of London’s leafier suburbs, Tammy Mills had just spread her legs and touched her pussy.

“Tammy, stop that.”

“Why should I? Danny’s at five-a-side… and you’ve got me thinking about the feel of your pissy little pussy. The taste of it, Clara. Remember what it was like when I spread your legs and licked you? Mmmm, fuck; remember my fingers inside you?”

My pussy quivered with the memory.

“And you were such a good girl, Clara. Not quite a nun but not far off.”

“Hey,” I protested weakly, as my fingers dragged some of the fresh slipperiness up onto my clitoral hood and started rubbing. “It’s not my fault my parents were strict.”

“Strict? You didn’t get the keys to your chastity belt until you were eighteen, and even then you had to borrow it and put it back.”

“I’m still good.”

“We both know that’s not true. Deliberately wetting yourself in Danny’s chair like that changed you. If we were in the Star Wars universe, that was the moment you turned to the dark side of the force.” There was a significant pause. “Clara? You should do something naughty while you’re still in Berlin.”

“Like what?”

“Something piss-related. I’ll send you some links,” Tammy said dreamily. “In the meantime, why don’t you join me in a threesome with Daisy Ridley.”


My session with Tammy had awoken something inside me; it reminded me that I was a sexual being with wants and desires and fantasies of my own. I decided that I’d turn one of those furtive fantasies into a wonderful reality, and in doing so make a kinky video to add to Tammy’s collection.

I was going to deliberately wet myself in public.

Nobody knew me in Berlin; I was in a city where nobody cared what I did. I was invisible on my daily train journey, and it was during that train journey where my mind had so often wandered that one wonderfully wet day, my body followed.

I just couldn’t help myself.

It was an extreme fetish which demanded to be satisfied, especially with Tammy sending me all sorts of filth. It became obsessive – all my wank fantasies featured me peeing myself; my mind filled with horrified faces, watching me as I rubbed my pissy pussy.

The fantasy translated into reality by stages; first before I showered, letting the hot pee spray down my bare thighs as I rubbed frantically at my clit. Then that wasn’t enough and I started wearing yesterday’s knickers as I peed; then it was yesterday’s trousers before I put them in the wash. I filmed myself in the mirror as I pissed myself; as those dark lobes grew around my crotch and spilled down the insides of my thighs… and I sent all the videos of me misbehaving to a thrilled Tammy.

I loved knowing that she knew what I looked like as I did those dirty deeds, and as she sent reciprocating videos, Tammy also got to know how good it felt. But I found my fantasies becoming more extreme. I wanted other people to see me when I wet myself.

To judge me as a dirty pissy whore.

The urge to actually do it grew as fast as those wet patches grew; every time I stood in the bath and pissed myself edged me closer to the point where I had to do it for real as the sexual reward rapidly diminished.

I did it in the garden, where someone could see me.

I did it in the street, in the dark where someone saw me but didn’t know what I was doing; didn’t know that I was pissing myself and didn’t know that I’d be thinking of their face as I masturbated to orgasm again and again over the next few nights.

But I was teasing myself; I knew what I was building up to… and I knew when was the perfect time to do it.

The first time I tried, I chickened-out. I was prepared – my bladder was full to bursting. “I’ll definitely do it,” I promised myself. “Wet myself so that others will be able to see what I’ve done.”

I was so aroused by the imagined feel of the pee running out while I was standing in a busy train that I found my fingers wandering. I’d just have to pee more and more; no point holding it back.

I really needed to pee a lot and began looking down at my trousers, hiding my crotch behind a newspaper. In my mind, I saw my entire pants getting wet with pee and I could feel it running down into my boots as it had done on so many previous occasions. I didn’t know if anyone was looking at me as that first spurt escaped.

Tammy would be so proud.

Then it soaked into the material. I could see it clearly. My eyes darted around the faces in the carriage. Could they see it? Suddenly, I felt so ashamed by the thought of it. I just had to get out – I had to get to the toilet.

I made urgent steps towards the loo. Pee was dripping down my legs but there was nothing I could do, except try and contain the panic. It was hard to make progress because there were so many people.

Luckily the toilet wasn’t occupied. I got in and closed the door against the sour faces belonging to the people I’d shoved out of the way. Suddenly alone, I took a deep cleansing breath and focussed. Alone, the fear and panic dropped away… leaving arousal and excitement.

I’d actually peed myself on the train. I couldn’t believe I had done it, although the evidence was indisputable. I was so horny from having done it that I couldn’t stop my fun just yet.

I had my phone with me and I decided to capture my wet crotch for Tammy. “Hey, Tam. Just thought you’d want an update from your dirty little piss whore. I just pissed myself on the train home.” There it was – pictorial evidence - and I felt proud: that strange, arousing kind of way I did when I translated the naughtiness in my head to the real world.

Suddenly, I was scrabbling my way out of my boots and trousers.

It wasn’t really a decision to pee more; I just had an instinct to go on with my sinful wetting. Standing before the mirror, I peed and peed, assuming various revealing positions for Tammy as I angled my hips to spray my urine across the little cubicle like a ruined rainbow. I was breathing heavily as I played the footage back on the phone, already thinking about how many delicious orgasms Tammy and I would share over this footage.

It was so much pee, running every which way across the rubberised floor as the train rocked. Bracing against the counter, I squatted down with my legs spread and smiled at the angled lens as I completely emptied my bladder. “That’s for you, Tam.”

I sighed happily because it felt so good and so naughty but as soon as I stopped filming, I felt a pang of guilt and began to worry about other people wanting to use the toilet. I was enjoying my own pee so much. But what if someone was already waiting outside?

The excitement faded quickly and I swam back into focus, came back to reality. There was shame and fear – thankfully, it was an enclosed space so there would be no pee running out under the door to expose me.

I cleaned-up as best I could with the newspaper and toilet tissue. It actually worked quite well, and although the floor was still wet, it wasn’t a pissy paddling pool anymore and in any case, I escaped unnoticed.

However, as I walked down the platform home, buzzing with adrenaline, I was determined that I wouldn’t go unnoticed the next time I did something wet.




My heart was pounding out of my chest as I walked down onto the platform clutching an almost-empty bottle of Lucozade in my hand. There was an empty bottle of Smirnoff Ice in the recycling bank on the station’s approach… a bottle whose neck was smeared with my pussy juice, since I’d been so horny at the thought of what I was about to do that I simply had to fuck myself with something.

My pussy tingled at the memory of the hard glass shoulders of the bottle crushing my labia against my pubic bone; I’d taken that bottle as deep and as hard as I could… pushing right to the limits, and now my bladder was straining as I explored its limits.

I’d never been so desperate to pee.


And as I continued to drink, I was pushing myself beyond all limits.

The train was coming and I was committed. In fact, I wasn’t even going to make the train.


My bladder pulsed, and with that single pulse, I felt a surge in the hot wetness between my legs.

That isn’t pussy juice; that’s pee.

And I was in public, with a train-full of bored faces peering in my direction.

The feeling was so familiar, so comforting that I instinctively grabbed my crotch and rubbed. The sexual fire roared, as if my probing fingers provided oxygen to glowing embers of filth connecting what was going on between my legs and what was in my mind.

My mind… my mind gathered the details of being surrounded by people, hustling past me in their polite Germanic way to be first in the queue as pee ran down the insides of both my thighs.

Was anyone watching?

Could anyone see?

I hoped so.

That thought made me gasp and someone did look; an older gentleman with a white beard and half-moon glasses turned as he folded his newspaper and looked straight at me. Did he see the pervert who had deliberately pissed herself and even now was helplessly masturbating in front of him?

“See me,” I begged, wordlessly. Part of me wanted it to be over; to be in my safe place, with the memory lodged in my brain, ready to provide substance for a spectacular wank. To be on the phone to Tammy. Thoughts of Tammy meant that I held his gaze and peed, just as I had done when she had dared me to empty my bladder in Danny’s TV chair.

I was perfectly prepared, wearing tight black cigarette trousers which were shiny enough to disguise their pee-sodden state; they were tried and tested. However, I was peeing too hard and there was no hiding the golden waterfall cascading between my fingers and onto the concrete between the heels of my trusty barely-there double strapped heeled sandals.

I saw the moment he realised what I was actually doing – actually, two separate realisations - peeing and playing. That big private fantasy of mine was now a shared reality with this random stranger. My head span as my fingers bit into the soft fabric and drove the rough, wet seam into my dripping slit.

This was my chance!

Two rubs and I would actually come. Making no effort to catch the train, I focussed on the eyes watching me, the hands below were clutching the newspaper as might a Germanic warrior of old hold his shield to ward off an attack from the crazy piss-sodden woman openly masturbating in front of him.

My left hand clutched my tit, grabbing and squeezing hard enough to add an uncomfortable edge to the pleasure in my body; giving it something to rebel against.


It was hard to come standing in the open with someone watching but I was able to go harder and faster as the train became a blur; harder and faster still as he took a step towards me. As the train disappeared I was freed, taking pleasure with frenzied movements of my fingers. Anxiety forked out of me and connected the sparks in my pussy with the stranger’s smile like a Tesla coil. That smile gripped me; something inside was so desperate to see how this played out. What would he say? What do you say to a piss-soaked woman openly masturbating in public?

I tried to set my mind into that of the other people; normal people who didn’t do such depraved things… but found myself thinking of how nice and warm it felt.

What a relief it was after I’d had to pee so badly… how much there had been… how it was all there for him to see and… stand in. I came hard as that triple eyeletted black oxford came to rest in my pee puddle. It didn’t need to stand in that puddle – there was so much dry platform to choose from, which meant the shoe’s owner had chosen to put it there.


It was nice to share my pee-crazed world again; Tammy would be so proud. My cunt seized as my lungs tried to suck all the air off the platform and hold it briefly in my chest. I saw the measured expression of interest on my Germanic voyeur’s face as I had the most mind-bending of orgasms.

It hadn’t been planned this way but going off script was so much better. Especially when he spoke: “Sieht aus, als hättest du einen kleinen... Unfall.”



Enough to make me melt between the legs.

“It wasn’t an accident.” The defiant words came out between post-orgasmic sighs and surprised me more than him.

“No. It didn’t look like an accident… which meant you did it deliberately.” I grunted with satisfaction. Nothing had been lost in translation: he knew.

I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to plunge into lewd pools of utter depravity. I’d pissed myself deliberately; his accented word felt delicious in my mind. I wished Tammy were there with me.

Suddenly, I wanted to share the depravity; needed to share it.

My eyes snapped open with such unexpectedness that I startled the face peering at me enough to make its owner take a backwards step. I took a step forward, grabbed his hand and pulled it between my legs, folded newspaper and all and I peed again, releasing the last little bit of urine lurking in my bladder.

Only it wasn’t a little bit. It was more than I’d been expecting; much more. Oh, fuck it felt so naughty to piss on someone else; to feel their hand against my crotch; feel the hot piss trickling over my fingers, having already journeyed over his; to listen to my piss dancing down the sheets of newspaper. It made me feel like a little puppy in need of training.

Training… I yearned to be trained.

To be rewarded.

And punished.

My stomach knotted as I thought about being punished for my lewd behaviour.

“What do you do to women who deliberately piss themselves?” I asked, savouring the shameful filthiness of my words as they amplified the humiliating messiness of my piss-soaked trousers. Surprising thoughts popped into my head… spankings, canings… things being forced into my arse.

I rubbed his pissy fingers over my sensitive pussy, giving me pleasure; then they were rubbing on their own.


“I can think of a few things, my dear.” My body was disappointed as the fingers stopped their work but I jumped with excitement as the stranger unzipped and unbuttoned my trousers and roughly pushed his hand down between my legs. As he explored my wetness, my trousers became a pool of their own around my ankles.

I longed for the warm, silken comfort of my bed as I felt the bristly forest of a beard on my exposed neck.

Not as exposed as my cunt…

Oh my God! You can’t do this!

I tensed as a cold, gnarled finger pushed into my vagina and enough force was applied to my groin to lift me off my feet, giving me a mad burst of pleasure. My body liked that – there was a furnace of heat burning so fiercely down there that someone daring to give me oral sex would have needed a welder’s mask to get close enough.

The wet heat sheeted down my thigh as a second finger forced its way into me.

A welder’s mask and a snorkel.

There was no hiding the level of my arousal.

Or his.

As my hand gripped his cock through the material of his suit, my cunt became a flaming anaconda, desperate to wrap itself around that bone-hard tool and constrict the life out of it. “Fuck! I don’t… I don’t even know your name.”

“And you never will.”

Oh shit, that was brutal and cutting - being fingered by a man who’s name I’d never know, desperate for him…

“Are you going to fuck me?” I shocked myself by voicing my desire so brazenly. The fingers continued to stretch the walls of my vagina.


He didn’t answer, so I turned and looked him in the eyes – matching intent with intent. My mind soared as I undid his zip and pulled his cock out into the night. All stopped for a few beats, except the movement of our fingers – his retreating from between my legs to his mouth; mine dragging the soft skin up and down over his hard shaft.

“You taste of spice. Cinnamon and ginger, maybe?” I felt flattered and intrigued as his fingers went back inside me with embarrassing ease.

Cinnamon and ginger?

“Let me taste.” He watched with obvious longing as I sucked his fingers clean, allowing my tongue to demonstrate skills which might be useful on other parts of his body.

Another time, maybe.

My needy pussy was empty and instinct made me angle my hips and drag that condom-less cock inside with reckless enthusiasm. His age made me feel young; made me eager to please. He fumbled a thrust and the head of his cock slipped in an inch.

I gasped with girlish delight; I love that first moment of penetration, when the bulbous fat head slides in and waits. My pussy clenched, trying to hold it right there as I savoured the moment – perfectly in balance, anticipating… awaiting the deeper thrust.

Then it was fully in me and my head tilted back, allowing me to watch the stars jerk rhythmically through slitted eyes. The heat of his cock inside me was exquisite and his long heavy strokes soon had my voice extolling my pleasure to any listening commuters. “God,” I murmured. “You feel so good inside me.”

A woman walked past and there was no hiding from her disgusted stare as she twisted her neck to look. I spread my legs wider and wriggled down far enough to crush my clitoris into the hairy root of my lover’s cock and stimulate my sensitised nerves still further.

“I liked watching you piss yourself,” he said into my ear. “I liked it more when you pissed on my fingers, meine Schlampe.” I was instant heat and surging arousal. Somehow, I kicked my feet free of my trousers and I was on him, bare legs wrapped around his waist, fingers clamped around his neck.

“Ich liebe deinen Schwanz. Fick mich, bitte. Härter!” Another orgasm was gathering, hot and heavy between my legs. There was so much untapped sexual energy after those years of enforced abstinence. Deep down, despite – or perhaps because of - my parents’ efforts, I was a horny, dirty slut. The fact that I was able to ask for what I wanted in any of five European languages was testament to the private education which my parents had foisted upon me.

I love your cock. Fuck me, please. Harder!

Following my demands, the blunt thrusts became fiercer, pushing into me to create a delicious fullness again and again. Pinching my clit in time to the strokes, I became aware of two faces watching. I wanted to come with them watching; the thought of sharing the most private parts of myself caused a deep, mounting pulse of pleasure.

The leering faces blurred and then disappeared as my eyelids fluttered closed; I wanted them to see me come… and then I let go of all thoughts as the cleansing peak of my orgasm made my body tense. I screamed my pleasure into the night, not caring who might hear, and I felt him coming too, trembling with urgent, needy thrusts as he spurted come up towards my womb and then over my pubic mound as he slid out of my jerking body.

“Don’t stop on our account,” someone called in heavily accented English.

“We’ve not quite finished, have we?” my nameless lover whispered his agreement in my ear. “Geh auf deine Knie.” I obeyed, squeezing my thighs tightly together to hide my pissy, spunky cunt as I dropped to my knees. I was feeling shy and vulnerable now that my orgasm had passed.

My lover started to urinate over me. He did it really thoroughly, steering his hot stream over my bare thighs before plastering my blouse and bra to my tits. Every drop added to the growing puddle captured between my thighs. Then he did it over my hair and I felt it running down my face as I knelt there, soiled and filthy, a plaything to be used and abused.

“Open your mouth.” I conformed, both thrilled and horrified at what I was about to let him do. He peed into my mouth and I gagged immediately, filled with shame and anguish but then I was laughing and unable to stop as I thought about one of Tammy’s homemade videos where she had reacted in the same way to Danny’s accurate spunk hitting her tonsils. It was a shame she wouldn’t be able to see this.

Undoing my blouse, I squashed my boobs together to create an inviting target. When he peed into the hollow, I bobbed forward, took a mouthful of pee and spat it up into the air, imagining myself to be an amusing fountain in an Italian plaza, with watching crowds simultaneously amused, aroused and disgusted.

“It’s going on forever,” I gasped. It shouldn’t have gone on for that long, surely? Then I realised that there were two separate impact points on my face and there was so much piss

I opened my stinging eyes to see that my erstwhile lover had taken a step back and there were two young bucks in his place, standing side-by-side as they used me as a human urinal.

“Herrlich,” one said. The other simply nodded as their piss streams intersected in a Y-shape. I imagined smelling of soap and shampoo and conditioner later that evening when this was all over. That thought let me enjoy the moment and there were involuntary shocks of delight as I rubbed the tenderness between my legs.

“Schau sie an! Sie liebt es verdammt!”

He was right; I was fucking loving it as the two piss streams woke up desires and sensations that I didn’t know were part of me. Leaning forward, I grabbed a pissing cock in each hand and turned my opened mouth into each hot stream in turn.

“Jesus Christus,” they muttered in unison as I luxuriated in the forbidden warmth of two pissing cocks. Without even thinking, I was wanking and then sucking each cock in turn, my attention focussed on the thickening shafts. My hands and mouth clenched and sucked ever tighter; a synchronised sway designed to turn the tingling sensations in those cocks into creamy loads in my mouth.

Sensing quaking thighs on my right, I fastened my mouth onto the swollen cock and encouraged it to pop with the deepest of blowjobs. In my enthusiasm, I bucked so far forward that my nose touched pubic hair as the cock spurted into my throat. My spine shivered like a cat’s as the goo slid down my throat.

As the owner staggered backwards, chuckling and gasping, I focussed my full attention on the second cock, using both hands and my mouth to go harder, sharper and deeper.

The first bloke warned that the train was coming. “Urgh! So am I!” I felt the second cock jump in my mouth and lost all self-control as I furiously sucked the come out of it, only stopping when I was sure that I had it all.

“Let’s go!” Both guys took a last lingering look at me. I treated them to a wicked grin, letting my inner naughtiness show as I licked my salty lips while giving an exaggerated wink. I was sure that I’d be starring in their filthy fantasies for months to come… they’d definitely be part of mine.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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