In a quiet town, where the streets were lined with aging elms and the air smelled faintly of freshly baked bread, there lived a young man named Tony. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders that seemed to have been chiseled by the very gods of industry. His hair, a rich shade of brown, was often unruly, but it suited the wild glint in his eyes and the devilish smirk that never left his face. Tony had the kind of charisma that could make a room feel alive, even when it was just him and his thoughts.
Tiffany, his girlfriend of two years, was the opposite in almost every way. Petite and blonde, she had the kind of beauty that could stop traffic—or at least the occasional passing bicycle. Her eyes were a piercing blue, like the heart of a flame, and her smile could warm the coldest of days. Despite her delicate frame, she had a spirit that was unyielding, a force of nature that could bend even Tony to her will.
On this particular afternoon, Tony was balanced precariously on a stepladder, a paintbrush in hand, stroking the ceiling of their shared living room with a meticulousness that bordered on obsession. The once dingy surface was slowly transforming into a crisp, clean white that seemed to brighten the very air around it. The room itself was a canvas of their love, filled with furniture they had found at garage sales and refinished together, walls they had painted with laughter and sweat, and floors they had laid with their own two hands. The house was old, with creaks and groans that sang them to sleep each night, but it was theirs, and they were breathing new life into it.
Tiffany watched him from the floor, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she stirred a fresh can of paint. She had a soft spot for his determination, even when it verged on stubbornness. “Tony, honey,” she called up to him, “you’ve been up there for hours. Take a break, you’re going to make yourself sick.”
Tony grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. “Just a little more,” he said, his voice strained with concentration. “I can’t stop now, we’re so close to finishing.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes playfully and set down the paintbrush she had been using to touch up a wall. “What’s so important that you can’t come down for two minutes?”
Tony’s face grew slightly red, a mix of embarrassment and urgency. “It’s just… I can’t stop painting, not even for a second, or the lines will be messed up. And… I really need to pee.”
Tiffany’s smile grew wider, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “What are you asking me to do, exactly?”
Tony’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, his grip tightening on the paintbrush. “I…uh, I need you to help me out.”
Tiffany’s smile grew more mischievous, the teasing glint in her eyes sharpening. “Help you with what?”
Tony swallowed hard, the request thick in his throat. “Unzip my jeans. Take my cock out, and put it in your mouth.” His voice was a gruff whisper, barely carrying over the rustle of the paint-stained drop cloth.
Tiffany’s smile never wavered, but her eyes widened in surprise. “What? No way, Tony. That’s disgusting!”
Tony looked down at her, his face a mix of desperation and mild irritation. “Come on, Tiff. It’s not like that. I’m seriously desperate. You don’t even have to do anything with it, just hold it so I can finish up here.”
Tiffany hesitated, her hand hovering over the zipper of his paint-splattered jeans. “You sure this isn’t some kind of kinky thing you’re into?” she asked, her voice light with teasing.
“Tiff, I swear to God, if I don’t go now, I’m going to piss all over this fresh paint,” Tony groaned, his voice tight with urgency. “Please, baby. Its not sexual, I’m not even hard.”
Tiffany sighed dramatically, playing along with the absurdity of the situation. “Fine,” she said, with a smirk that didn’t quite hide her amusement. “But if you so much as twitch, I’m dropping you.”
With nimble fingers, she deftly unzipped Tony’s jeans and pulled them down just enough to expose his flaccid cock. He was right—it wasn’t sexual, at least not yet. But the intimacy of the moment was undeniable. Their eyes locked as she leaned in, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. The room grew quieter, the only sounds the distant echoes of their laughter from previous moments and the occasional drip of paint hitting the plastic below.
Tiffany parted her lips and took Tony’s cock into her mouth, the softness of her tongue brushing against the sensitive tip. She wrapped her small hand around the base, supporting him as he sighed in relief. The taste of his skin, faintly salty and musky, filled her senses. It was strange, this act of service, but also oddly intimate. She could feel his pulse, the steady beat of his life, as she held him there.
The warmth grew, and Tony’s body tensed as the stream began. Tiffany took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his. She swallowed, the first spurt hitting the back of her throat. It was surprisingly more than she had anticipated, and she had to fight the urge to gag. Her eyes watered, but she kept her composure, not wanting to disappoint him.
“Please don’t spill any,” Tony murmured, his voice tight with relief. “You’re really helping me out.”
Tiffany nodded, her cheeks hollowed as she worked to keep his urine from escaping her mouth. The taste was like nothing she had ever experienced—bitter and metallic, with an underlying sweetness that she found utterly revolting. Yet she swallowed, over and over, as the warmth of his piss filled her mouth and throat. It was a strange dance of love and loyalty, one she never thought she’d find herself in. She could feel the muscles in her jaw clenching, her eyes watering with the effort of keeping her gag reflex at bay.
Tony’s hand gripped the top of the stepladder, his knuckles white as he held on tightly. His hips jerked slightly with each spurt, his body releasing the pressure that had been building for hours. The flow was strong, and Tiffany had to work hard to keep up, her throat muscles flexing with each swallow. She could feel the warmth spreading through her, a peculiar sense of closeness that she had never shared with anyone else.
As the stream began to slow, Tiffany could feel the tension in Tony’s body start to ease. His grip on the ladder loosened, and his eyes closed in relief. She knew he was sensitive about his needs, and the fact that she was willing to go to such lengths to help him was a testament to their bond. The final drops fell, and she swallowed the last of it, her throat feeling raw and foreign.
“Thanks, Tiffany,” Tony said, his voice a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. “You can zip me up again now.”
Tiffany pulled back, her mouth wet and the taste of his urine lingering on her tongue. She took a deep breath, savoring the sudden absence of the bitter flavor. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice thick with unspoken emotion. She reached up and tucked him back into his jeans, zipping them up carefully before stepping back to admire her handiwork.
Tony took a moment to regain his composure before continuing his painting, his strokes more deliberate than ever. He was grateful for her understanding, for her willingness to help in his moment of need. The bond between them had grown stronger, an unspoken trust that could survive even the most bizarre of situations.
An hour later, the ceiling was indeed finished. The paint was perfect, not a single line or mark to be seen. The room looked brand new, a testament to their shared dedication to their little house. The air was thick with the smell of fresh paint, a scent that Tiffany found oddly comforting. It was the scent of progress, of a future they were building together.
Tony descended the ladder with the grace of a man who had just conquered a mountain. He looked at Tiffany with a mixture of love and admiration that made her heart swell. “I love you, Tiffany,” he said, his voice sincere and filled with warmth. “Look at this perfect paint job. That would not have happened without you.”
Tiffany couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Love is doing crazy things for each other, I guess,” she replied, her voice still a bit raspy from the unorthodox task she had just performed.
Two weeks had passed since the painting incident, and their relationship had only grown stronger. It was a secret they shared, a silent bond that had brought them closer than ever before. The house had become a sanctuary of love and sweat equity, each wall a testament to their commitment to each other and their future.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, Tony found himself knee-deep in the task of fixing some old, wonky shelves in the kitchen. The wooden planks groaned and creaked under his touch, begging for the stability they hadn’t had in years. Tiffany had been puttering around, organizing the pantry, when she heard his call.
“Tiff, could you kneel down in front of me for a moment?” Tony’s voice was a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. She looked up from the jumble of canned goods she was sorting, a puzzled expression on her face. “Why?”
“I really need to pee again,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Would you be a good sport and help me out?”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her own mouth. “What? You want me to do that again?”
Tony’s cheeks reddened. “Well, you did say you didn’t mind,” he replied, his voice a mix of hope and embarrassment. “And it’s not like it’s something we do every day.”
Tiffany’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “I know, but it’s just so… disgusting.”
Tony’s expression grew earnest. “Come on, Tiff. It’s just this once. I promise. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Tiffany studied him for a moment, her smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she nodded. “Alright, fine. But you owe me big time.”
Tony’s face lit up with relief and gratitude as Tiffany knelt before him, her knees pressing into the cold, dusty floor. She unzipped his jeans once more, her eyes never leaving his as she pulled out his cock. It was soft and warm in her hand, a stark contrast to the chilly air that filled the room. She leaned in, her blonde hair brushing against his thighs as she took him into her mouth.
The taste was as bitter and metallic as she remembered, but she didn’t let it show. Her eyes watered as she took the first mouthful, swallowing quickly to keep from gagging. The warmth of his urine filled her mouth, a stark reminder of the unusual situation she had found herself in. Yet, she persisted, her eyes never leaving Tony’s as she worked to please him.
Their gazes remained locked, the intimacy of the moment palpable despite the oddity of the act. Tony’s eyes grew heavy-lidded with relief, his hand resting gently on her head as he released himself into her willing mouth. The kitchen, once a place of simple domesticity, had become a stage for this strange and intimate dance.
As the flow ceased, Tiffany felt the tension in Tony’s body ease. She gently took his softening cock from her mouth, her hand wrapped around it as she held it steady. With a sense of satisfaction, she tucked it back into his pants, her movements slow and deliberate. The zipper slid up with a quiet whisper, sealing away the evidence of their shared secret.
The following weekend, Tony made good on his promise. He had been planning a surprise for Tiffany, a gesture to show her just how much he appreciated her unwavering support and willingness to indulge his peculiar need. He had made reservations at a fancy restaurant downtown, one with a reputation for fine dining and a menu that could make a food critic swoon. The place was all candles and velvet, the kind of establishment that whispered “special occasion” the moment you stepped through the doors.
A week later, Tony was sprawled out on the worn-out couch in their living room, the fabric frayed at the edges from years of use. The TV flickered with the intensity of a sports game, the cacophony of cheers and grunts echoing off the peeling wallpaper. The room was a testament to their youthful ambition—half-painted walls, tools scattered about, and a floor that hadn’t seen a broom in weeks. Yet, there was a warmth to the chaos, a comfort that spoke of a shared dream they were building together, one piece of drywall at a time.
Tiffany, dressed in an oversized flannel shirt of Tony’s that smelled faintly of sawdust and sweat, stepped into the room with a tray of sandwiches. The game was reaching its climax, and the tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife. She paused, watching Tony lean forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests. The TV cast an eerie glow over his face, highlighting the furrow in his brow and the clench of his jaw.
“Could you help me out again?” he asked without looking away from the screen, his voice strained. “It’ll be the last time, I promise.”
Tiffany’s gaze followed the trail of his hand to where his cock lay limp and exposed, peeking out from his unbuttoned fly. She sighed, setting the tray down on the coffee table.
“Tony, I don’t know if I can do that again,” she said, her voice a whisper of hesitation. The first time had been a surprise, an emergency when he’d been too dehydrated to finish a job on a hot summer day. The second had been when he’d dared her after a particularly nasty bout of food poisoning had left him unable to leave the bathroom. But twice was enough.
Tony’s eyes darted from the screen to her, pleading. “Please, Tiff. I don’t want to miss this play. And I can’t get up without making a mess. You know how much I hate ruining stuff.” His voice was a blend of urgency and desperation, a tone that usually had her bending over backward for him. But she was tired, her own reservations about the act weighing heavily on her mind.
Sighing, she looked down at the tray of sandwiches. “Fine,” she muttered, pushing aside the doubt. “But you owe me big time.”
With a grateful grin, Tony didn’t waste a second. He pulled his cock out fully, the tip glistening with precum. Tiffany took a deep breath, trying to ignore the smell of the stale beer that clung to the air. She knelt before him, the cold floor tiles pressing against her knees, and leaned forward. Her heart was racing, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and a strange, growing excitement.
As she took his cock in her mouth, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of her own breath and the occasional cheer from the TV. Her eyes focused on the fabric of the couch, the individual threads blurring together as she took him deeper. His taste was familiar now, a bit musky, a hint of saltiness that she’d come to associate with Tony’s urgent needs. She felt his hands in her hair, guiding her, his breath hitching with every movement she made.
The warm stream began to flow, and she closed her eyes, feeling the first spurt hit the back of her throat. She gagged, but he held her firmly, urging her not to stop. Tiffany had to admit, it was easier this time around. She’d learned to relax her throat muscles, to let the fluid pass without choking. The sensation was almost…comforting, in a weird, twisted way.
Her eyes watered a bit, not from the taste, but from the intensity of the situation. She could feel Tony’s entire body tense, his muscles tightening as he approached the edge. She took her time, savoring the power she had over him in this moment. He was her Adonis, her hero, brought low by his own bodily functions, and she was the one with the power to relieve him.
The taste grew stronger, more pungent, as he emptied himself into her. Tiffany focused on her breathing, letting the warmth fill her mouth before swallowing, the liquid sliding down her throat with surprising ease. When he was done, she pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and trying not to let the smell of his piss linger on her lips.
“Thanks, Tiffany,” Tony said, his voice hoarse with relief. “You’re a star.”
Tiffany stood up, avoiding eye contact as she tried to ignore the sticky residue on her mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, heading to the kitchen sink to rinse out her mouth. The water was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth she’d just tasted. She spat into the sink, feeling a mix of disgust and something else, something she didn’t quite want to admit to herself.
Days turned into weeks, and before she knew it, the pattern had been set. Every couple of days, Tony would call out for her, his voice strained and urgent. At first, she’d argue, but his promises of undying affection and the way his eyes lit up when she agreed eventually won her over. And true to his word, after every time, he’d hold her close, whisper sweet nothings into her ear, and shower her with kisses that seemed to erase the taste of his piss from her lips.
One day, they found themselves in a smart department store in the heart of the city, a rare treat for them both. The air was a heady mix of expensive perfumes and the distant hum of air conditioning. The floor was gleaming, and the racks were filled with clothes that whispered of a life they hadn’t quite reached yet. Tiffany’s eyes danced over the displays, her heart fluttering with the excitement of finding something new to wear.
Tony, however, was growing increasingly uncomfortable. His bladder was full to bursting, a fact that had been gnawing at him since they’d stepped off the bus. He’d hoped it would pass, but now the pressure was too intense to ignore. He grabbed Tiffany’s wrist, his grip tight with urgency. “Hey, can you come with me? I really need to take a piss.”
Her eyes searched his, a hint of suspicion in her gaze. “The bathroom’s right there,” she said, pointing to the sign a few aisles over.
“Yeah, but it’s…complicated,” Tony said, his cheeks reddening. “I need a bit of help.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be tugged along, her curiosity piqued. They navigated through the store, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the polished floor, until they reached the men’s restroom. She raised an eyebrow as Tony opened the door and looks inside.
“It’s all clear,” he whispered, almost pulling her in. He dashed to the nearest cubicle, his steps quick and decisive. She followed, her heart racing, unsure of what she was walking into. As he locked the door behind them, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement mingled with the familiar revulsion.
“Ok, kneel down,” Tony instructed, his voice a mix of desperation and excitement.
With a sigh, Tiffany lowered herself to the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom stall. The scent of cleaner and urine filled her nostrils as she watched Tony unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He pulled his flaccid cock out. She knew the drill by now, but the setting was new, and the thrill of being somewhere so public added a layer of danger that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes shining with a mix of need and excitement.
Tiffany nodded, her pulse quickening. Despite the unorthodox nature of the situation, she knew what to do. She leaned forward, her mouth open and ready to accept his offering. The first spurt hit her tongue, the familiar taste bringing a strange comfort. Tony’s grip on her hair tightened as he began to piss, the stream hitting the back of her throat with a force that sent a warm rush of submission through her body. She could feel his desperation, his dependence on her, and it stirred something primal within her.
Tiffany’s eyes watered, not from the taste, but from the sheer force of his release. She had to swallow quickly to keep up, the urine hot and bitter on her tongue. The power dynamic was clear—he was in charge, and she was the one who served his needs. It was a role she hadn’t anticipated, but one that she found herself slipping into with surprising ease.
The piss stream began to fade, turning from a torrent to a trickle, and she felt Tony’s grip on her head loosen. She took one final deep swallow, making sure she didn’t miss a single drop. She didn’t want any of it to stain her nice clothes—the thought of explaining the wet spot to the cashier was more mortifying than what she was doing.
As she pulled away, Tony’s hand slid off her head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned against the stall wall, his legs shaking slightly. “Thanks, Tiff,” he managed to say, his eyes still closed.
But Tiffany was too lost in her own thoughts to respond. She felt a hot flare of anger at herself for giving in so easily. “Why did I have to do that?” she muttered, glaring at the toilet bowl not five feet away. “There’s a perfectly good bathroom here.”
Tony looked at her with a mix of confusion and concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, tucking himself back into his pants.
“Why did I have to do that?” Tiffany snapped, gesturing at the toilet bowl. “Why can’t you just go in there like a normal person?”
Tony’s eyes widened with surprise, the glow of relief fading from his face. “Because I love you,” he said, his voice earnest. “I love that you’ll do this thing for me.”
Tiffany’s glare didn’t waver. “That’s not a good enough reason,” she said, her voice firm. “This isn’t right.”
Tony’s expression grew serious as he took a step closer to her. “Look, I know it’s weird, but it turns me on, okay?” he admitted, his voice a whisper. “And when you do it, it feels like we’re…connecting on a level that’s just for us.”
Tiffany’s anger softened slightly at his vulnerability. She knew he had his kinks, and she’d always been open to trying new things in the bedroom. But this was different. It was in public, and it was something she didn’t enjoy. “I don’t like it, Tony,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”
Tony nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll try to stop asking.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Let me buy you that dress you wanted,” he said, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “The blue one with the flowers. It’ll make up for it.”
Tiffany felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t just about the dress. It was about the dynamic that had grown between them, the way he’d come to expect her to be his crutch in moments of need. But she also knew that their relationship was built on love and compromise. So, with a sigh, she took his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go get it.”
As the weeks continued, Tony made an effort to keep his requests to two or three times a week, and always at home. He could see the toll it was taking on her, the way she’d tense up every time he’d ask. But she never refused, and she never complained, not outright at least. The moments of intimacy that followed, however, grew more passionate, more intense. It was as if the act itself had become a sort of currency, a trade for his affection and attention.
One afternoon, Tiffany found herself in a bubble bath, surrounded by mountains of fragrant foam that tickled her nose. The warm water was a balm against her sore muscles, a much-needed reprieve from the manual labor of renovating their house. The bathroom was the one room they hadn’t started on yet, a tiny oasis of old-school charm with peeling wallpaper and a clawfoot tub that leaked a little, but was perfect for moments like these.
The door creaked open, and Tony poked his head in, his expression apologetic. “Sorry to bother you, babe,” he said, his voice a mix of embarrassment and urgency. “But I really gotta go.”
Tiffany sighed, her eyes not leaving the pages of the magazine she was flipping through. “There’s only one bathroom, Tony,” she said, her voice tight. “What do you want me to do?”
Tony’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “Could you…just stay in the tub?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ll go quick, and once I flush, you can pretend it never happened.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She’d learned that arguing only made things worse. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned back into the water, letting the warmth envelop her as she listened to the sound of his zipper.
The first splash of piss hit her face, hot and unexpected. She gasped, jolting upright, her eyes flying open. “Tony, what the fuck?” she shrieked, her hand flying to her cheek.
He looked at her with a wild desperation in his eyes, his cock still in hand. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it,” he said, his voice thick with apology. “You’re so beautiful, and I just had to aim it at you.”
Tiffany’s anger grew, but she remained still, her eyes tightly shut as the stream of piss continued to hit her face. She felt the warmth of it run down her neck, the smell of it invading her nose. But she said nothing, biting her tongue against the rising tide of frustration.
When it finally stopped, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the humid air of the bathroom. She could feel the wetness on her skin, the stickiness of his piss mixing with the bubbles of her bath. Without a word, she leaned back into the water, letting the foam cover her face completely. The warmth of the water washed over her, the scent of lavender and vanilla doing little to mask the bitter tang of his urine.
As she emerged, her hair plastered to her face, she stared at Tony. He was zipping up his pants, his eyes on the floor, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, the words almost lost in the sound of the water sloshing around her.
Tiffany reached for a towel, wrapping it around her body tightly. She stepped out of the tub, the cold floor a stark contrast to the heat of her bath. “Tony,” she began, her voice steady. “We need to talk.”
Tony looked up, his eyes wide with fear. “I know,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “I know it’s not right. I just…it’s like I can’t help it.”
Tiffany sighed, the anger draining from her. She knew he wasn’t a monster, just a guy with a weird kink that had spiraled out of control. “Okay,” she said, her voice softer. “But maybe we should talk to someone about it.”
Tony looked up at her, his eyes hopeful. “You mean, like a professional?”
“Yes,” Tiffany said firmly. “We need to figure out why you can’t use the toilet like everyone else.”
Tony nodded, his shoulders dropping in relief. “Okay, I’ll do it. For you, I’ll see someone.”
They spent the rest of the evening in silence, the weight of their conversation hanging heavily in the air. Tiffany knew she had to follow through on her part of the deal. She needed to support Tony through this, even if it meant facing her own discomfort and the fear of judgment from an outsider.
The next day, she found herself making a call she never thought she’d have to. Her voice was steady as she spoke to the receptionist, scheduling an appointment with a psychologist who specialized in sexual disorders. The woman on the other end of the line was professional, almost too understanding, as if she’d heard it all before. Tiffany felt a strange mix of relief and dread.
The day of the appointment dawned gray and dreary, the kind of day that mirrored her mood. Tony looked nervous as they sat in the waiting room, flipping through magazines that were years out of date. He kept glancing at her, his eyes pleading for reassurance, but she couldn’t find the words. This was his mess, and she didn’t know if she was ready to share it with a stranger.
Finally, the receptionist called Tony’s name, and they both rose to their feet, his hand in hers. Dr. Anne’s office was small but cozy, with a large oak desk that looked like it had seen a thousand secrets and three comfortable chairs that seemed to beckon confessions. The walls were lined with diplomas and certificates, and there was a faint scent of lavender in the air that did nothing to ease the tension in the room.
“Would you both like to sit?” Dr. Anne asked, gesturing to the chairs opposite her desk. Her voice was soothing, a gentle lilt that seemed to promise understanding without judgment.
Tiffany took a deep breath and nodded, her hand still in Tony’s. They sat down, their bodies close but not quite touching. The chair was more comfortable than it looked, the cushion sighing under her weight. Tony’s hand was clammy in hers, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand.
“What seems to be the problem? Perhaps you could start tiffany?”
Tiffany’s grip on Tony’s hand tightened as she took a deep breath. “It’s…it’s about Tony’s…bathroom habits,” she began, her voice tentative. “He has this…thing where he can’t always…you know, go in the toilet.”
Dr. Anne nodded, her expression neutral. “Could you elaborate, Tony?”
Tony’s gaze darted to Tiffany, then back to the doctor. “Well, I have this…fetish, I guess you could call it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. “I get turned on when Tiff drinks my piss.”
Dr. Anne nodded, her expression unflappable. “And how often does this occur?”
Tiffany felt her cheeks flush as she squeezed Tony’s hand tighter. “It’s been happening a lot,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “A few times a week.”
Dr. Anne leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “And has there been a specific event that made you decide to contact me today?”
Tiffany nodded, her eyes on the floor. “It happened in the bathroom,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “I was in the tub, and he just couldn’t hold it. He peed on me.”
Dr. Anne’s gaze was understanding, her eyes never leaving Tiffany’s. “That must have been quite distressing,” she said gently. “How did that make you feel?”
Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “It was horrifying. I didn’t sign up for this when we started dating. I love Tony, but this…this isn’t love.”
Dr. Anne turned her attention to Tony, her gaze piercing. “Tony, can you tell me why you think you have this urge to urinate on Tiffany?”
Tony shifted in his chair, his eyes searching the floor for the right words. “It’s…it’s complicated,” he mumbled, his cheeks burning. “It’s like…it’s a way to show her how much I love her, I guess. When she drinks it, it’s like we’re sharing something no one else can understand. It’s our secret, our bond.”
Dr. Anne nodded slowly. “But have you tried to stop?” she pressed gently. “To find other ways to express your love and connection, like having sex?”
Tiffany looked up, hope sparking in her eyes. “We have tried that,” she said, her voice stronger now. “But it’s like he needs this…this weird thing to be part of it.”
Dr. Anne nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Well, Tony, it’s clear that you have a fetish, and it’s not uncommon for people to develop these types of preferences, especially during periods of stress or transition, like moving in together and renovating a house.” She spoke calmly, her words measured and deliberate. “But it’s important to understand that while this may be a phase for you, it’s something that’s causing distress for Tiffany.”
Tony looked at Tiffany, his eyes filled with regret. “I had no idea,” he murmured. “I just thought it was…hot.”
Dr. Anne leaned forward, her expression earnest. “It’s important to communicate with each other about your needs and boundaries,” she said. “And while it’s okay for Tony to explore his kinks and fetishes in a consensual relationship, we need to prevent Tiffany from experiencing any distress.”
Tony nodded, his gaze on Tiffany. “I’m sorry, Tiff,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
Tiffany looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” she said softly. “Just so long as I’m not distressed any more.”
Dr. Anne turned her focus to Tiffany. “Tiffany, there is no medical problem with drinking urine,” she said matter-of-factly. “Is it the taste that you hate most?”
Tiffany nodded, her eyes still on the floor. “It’s just so…gross,” she murmured, her voice filled with revulsion. “But I manage to keep it down.”
“Well, Tony,” Dr. Anne said, her voice taking on a slightly more business-like tone. “If we could somehow change the taste of your urine, would that make it easier for Tiffany to indulge your fetish?”
Tony’s eyes lit up at the idea, hope flickering across his face. “Really?” he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “Is that even possible?”
Tiffany looked up, considering Dr. Anne’s proposal. It was a strange thought, but if it meant keeping the peace and maintaining their relationship, she was willing to try. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” she said, her voice tentative.
“Great,” Dr. Anne said, scribbling something on a pad of paper. “These pills will help neutralize the taste of Tony’s urine, making it more palatable for you, Tiffany.” She tore off the sheet and handed it to Tony. “Tiffany, do you have other concerns?”
Tiffany nodded, her grip on Tony’s hand tightening. “Yes,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t want this to happen again. Not like that. Pissing on me in the bath was too much.”
Anne says, “Tony, can we get your promise that if you have enough opportunities to urinate into Tiffanys mouth, that you will never urinate over her face again?”
Tony nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Tiffanys. “I promise,” he says, his voice thick with sincerity. “It’s not something I want to do. It just…it just builds up inside.”
Anne turns to Tiffany, “Tiffany does that sound like a fair agreement?”
Tiffany nods slowly, her eyes flicking from the doctor to Tony. “It does,” she murmurs, her voice small.
“Good,” Dr. Anne says, her tone firm. “Now, Tony, it’s very important that you take these pills twice a day. They should help make your urine more palatable for Tiffany.”
“And Tiffany, make sure Tony gets enough opportunities to indulge his fetish.”
Tiffany nodded, feeling the weight of the agreement settle heavily on her shoulders. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her voice quiet.
They left the doctor’s office with the promise of a new routine to try and salvage their relationship. The rain had started to fall outside, the droplets hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm that mirrored Tiffany’s racing heart. Tony took her hand as they walked to the bus stop, the pre***********ion for the taste-neutralizing pills clutched tightly in his other hand.
The pharmacy was a block away, and Tony practically sprinted there, eager to start their new chapter. Tiffany followed, feeling a mix of hope and dread. Inside, the fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on the rows of bottles and boxes, each one promising relief from some ailment or another. The pharmacist looked at them with a bored expression, his eyes flicking over the pre***********ion before nodding and disappearing into the back room.
When he returned, he held out a small bottle with a knowing smile. “What flavor would you like?” he asked, his voice a nasal drawl. “We have strawberry, chocolate, red wine, or citrus.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened at the options. “Red wine, please,” she said, her voice hopeful. It was her favorite, and if she had to go through with this, she wanted it to be as tolerable as possible.
The pharmacist nodded, his smile widening slightly. “Good choice,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He handed the bottle to Tony. “Remember, two a day, and keep them in a safe place. They’re not for recreational use.”
At home, Tony couldn’t wait to try the pills. He popped the cap and swallowed one with a gulp of water, his eyes on Tiffany as he did so. She watched him with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, her arms folded across her chest. “It’s supposed to take effect after an hour,” he said, his voice hopeful.
The minutes ticked by, the silence between them thick with anticipation. Tony kept glancing at the clock, willing the time to pass faster. Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Tiff, can we…you know?” he asked, his voice tentative.
But Tiffany was already in bed, her back to him. “Not tonight,” she said firmly. “We agreed to talk about it tomorrow.”
The next morning, Tony was up before the sun, eager to see if the pills had made a difference. He hovered outside the bedroom door, listening for any sign of Tiffany stirring. “Hey, babe,” he said softly, his voice tentative. “How about we try again today?”
Tiffany rolled over, her eyes meeting his. She took a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Let’s get it over with.”
Tony’s heart hammered in his chest as she slid out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. He watched as she knelt in front of him, her knees pressing into the worn carpet. He felt a flicker of arousal at the sight of her, so vulnerable and willing to do this for him.
He pulled down his boxers, his cock already half-hard from the anticipation. He stepped closer, positioning himself in front of her, and she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin. He guided his cock into her mouth, feeling the softness of her lips and the wetness of her tongue as she began to suck.
As he started to pee, Tiffany felt the warm liquid fill her mouth, expecting the usual bitter taste. But to her surprise, it was different this time. It was sweet, almost like a fine wine, with a hint of berries and oak. She could feel the warmth spread down her throat as she swallowed, her eyes widening in amazement. She pulled back slightly, looking up at Tony in disbelief.
Tony’s eyes searched her face, his expression a mix of hope and fear. “How is it?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
Tiffany took another mouthful, her eyes closing in pleasure as she savored the new taste. “It’s…it’s actually not bad,” she murmured, her voice filled with surprise.
Tony’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really?” he asked, his voice hopeful. “It’s working?”
Tiffany nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah,” she said, taking another sip. “It’s weird, but I can actually handle it now.”
Tony’s expression was one of pure elation. “That’s amazing, babe,” he said, his eyes shining with relief. “Thank you so much for giving this a chance.”
Tiffany’s mood did indeed hit new highs. With the pills altering the taste of his urine, Tony’s fetish no longer filled her with dread. In fact, she found that the act now brought a strange sense of excitement, a new dimension to their intimate moments. The power dynamics in their relationship shifted, with Tiffany feeling more in control, more willing to indulge Tony’s desires.
Whenever Tony had to go, Tiffany would now eagerly follow him into the bathroom, watching as he took the pill with a glass of water. They had a sort of ritual around it, a dance that had become a part of their everyday life. The anticipation grew with each tick of the clock, and she found herself craving the sweet, wine-like flavor that filled her mouth when he finally released his stream into her open, waiting mouth.
On days when Tony was out working long shifts, he’d call her, his voice strained with the effort of holding it in. “How much longer?” he’d ask, and she’d laugh, knowing that she was the only one who could provide the relief he needed. It was a strange power to hold over someone, but she liked it. It made her feel desired, even if the desire was born from something so…unusual.
Their wedding day was a blur of love and laughter, surrounded by friends and family who had no idea about the peculiar bond they shared. Tiffany had never felt more beautiful than when she walked down the aisle in her white dress, her hair a cascade of golden curls. Tony looked at her with so much love in his eyes that she thought she might burst.
In the months leading up to their marriage, Tony had made a significant change. With the pills and their newfound routine, he had managed to completely eliminate the need for a toilet. It had become a private joke between them, something they never talked about outside the four walls of their home. But the reality was that every time he had to go, he’d seek her out, and she’d obediently follow him to the nearest bathroom.