Hold It, Then Let Go

Asha had told him not to piss after lunch. That was the game.

She was thirty-five. Grant was forty-two. They had talked it through on Sunday, plain as a shopping list. He would hold it. In the shower she would tell him where. He could say stop. She wanted it on her tits, her stomach, her cunt. Not her face unless she asked. Tonight she had asked for her mouth as well, and he had gone quiet and hard and said yes.

In the shower she knelt and stroked him.

"Let go."

He did. The stream hit her tits, hot, shocking, and she moaned and rubbed it over her nipples, then lower. She opened her mouth. He aimed, careful, and she took it, swallowing, a hand on his thigh. When he finished she was soaked and grinning and pulled him down to fuck her against the tile, piss and water and want mixed, his cock in her while she was still shining with it.

"Again tomorrow," she said. "I want to be the one holding it."

"Then I'll kneel," he said.

The next night Asha held it. Grant knelt in the shower and she let go on his chest, his cock, his mouth when he opened it. He swallowed and groaned and fucked her against the tile while she was still dripping. She came hard. He came on her stomach and the water took the rest only when she said. They did it again in the morning, quicker, her piss on his thigh, his cock in her before coffee. She said the hold was the foreplay. He said the let-go was the fuck. Both of them were right, and neither fetched a towel until they were done being filthy.

Grant held it until his hands shook. Asha knelt and took the stream on her tits, then in her mouth, swallowing, a hand on his cock. When he was empty she pulled him into her and came with the shower loud and her skin still hot from it. He came inside her. In the morning she was the one full. He knelt. She let go on his chest and his mouth and laughed when he moaned. They fucked on the bath mat, late for work, unbothered. She said the game was the hold. He said the game was her telling him where. They kept both.

Asha made him text her when it started to hurt. Grant did, from the office, and she told him to hold another hour. In the shower she knelt and took it on her tits and in her mouth, swallowing, moaning, a hand working his cock. Empty, he fucked her against the tile and came on her stomach because she wanted the mix. Morning was her turn. She pissed on his chest and his mouth and rode him on the wet mat, late, laughing, full of the game. She said the afternoon hold was the cruellest kindness. He said he would do it again on Friday. She put it in the diary like a meeting.

Friday Grant held it until the train home was a problem. Asha was waiting in the shower. He let go on her tits, her mouth, her cunt, and she rubbed it in and pulled him into her before the water was even hot. She came. He came inside her. They did her turn in the morning, his mouth open, her stream on his tongue, then a fuck on the mat that made them late. She wrote hold in the diary. He wrote kneel. They were the same appointment. The towels were an afterthought. The want was not.

He held it. She pointed. He let go. The shower took the evidence only after they had fucked in it. Friday went in the diary.