While She Slept

She had fallen asleep on the couch again. It was past midnight. The film they had put on after dinner was still playing with the sound turned low, some old action thing with explosions neither of them had been watching properly for the last half hour. Lena was on her side, one arm tucked under her head, wearing the old oversized T-shirt she slept in and nothing else. The hem had ridden up past her hips. Her ass and the bare curve of her cunt were visible in the low light from the television. Mark stood over her with his cock already in his hand, hard and leaking.

He had been hard for twenty minutes, just standing there looking. She slept deep after two glasses of wine. He knew that about her. He had pissed on her once before, months ago, when she had asked him to while she was awake and holding her own legs open in the shower, telling him exactly where she wanted it. She had come from the feeling of it running over her clit. Tonight she had not asked. He stroked himself slowly, thumb sliding over the wet head, and watched the way her breathing stayed even and deep.

He stepped closer until his knees almost touched the couch. The first stream hit the curve of her hip, hot and sharp-smelling. She stirred in her sleep but did not wake. He aimed lower. Piss ran over the full curve of her ass, down between her cheeks in a steady line, and onto the cushion under her. Some of it reached her cunt and soaked the lips. She made a small sound in her sleep and shifted her top thigh higher, opening herself more without knowing it. He kept going. The stream was strong and steady. He pissed across her lower back in a slow sweep, then up over her ribs where the T-shirt had twisted and bunched, soaking the thin fabric until it clung to her skin. The smell rose sharp and warm and unmistakable in the quiet living room. The only other sound was the low murmur of the film.

She woke when the stream hit her face.

Her eyes opened. For a second she looked confused, still half in whatever she had been dreaming. Then she saw him standing there above her, cock in hand, still pissing in a hot arc. A line of it ran from her cheek down across her jaw and onto her neck. She did not flinch or move away. She opened her mouth. He adjusted his aim without being asked and pissed directly onto her tongue and lips and chin. She swallowed what she could catch and let the rest spill down her chin and neck and into the neckline of the T-shirt. Her hand slid down between her legs at the same time. She was wet—part his piss, part her own slick that had started the moment she understood what he was doing. She rubbed her clit in tight circles while he finished the last of it across her chest and stomach, soaking the shirt completely.

When the stream stopped she sat up slowly. Piss dripped from the ends of her hair and ran down her tits under the clinging fabric. She looked at him, then at his cock, still hard and wet in his fist.

“You started without me,” she said. Her voice was rough from sleep and from swallowing.

“You were out cold.”

“Next time wake me up first.” She reached for him, wrapped her hand around his piss-wet cock, and stroked it once, slow. Then she lay back on the ruined cushion and spread her legs wide, one foot on the floor. “Do it again. On my cunt this time. I want to feel it running over my clit while I come. Don’t stop until I’m finished.”

He did. He aimed and pissed in a fresh, steady stream directly onto her clit and the swollen lips of her cunt while she rubbed herself with two fingers. The hot liquid mixed with her slick and ran down onto the couch. She came hard, hips lifting off the cushion, a broken, open sound in her throat, thighs shaking. He kept the stream going until he was empty and she was still rubbing through the aftershocks. Then he pushed two fingers into her soaked cunt and fucked her with them, hard and fast, until she came a second time around his hand, tighter this time. Afterward she pulled him down by the shirt and kissed him, open-mouthed, tasting herself and the sharp, bitter edge of piss on both their tongues. They left the couch exactly like that until morning, the fabric dark and stiff in places under her. When she woke again she was sore in the good way and the living room smelled like sex and piss. She texted him from her desk at work during lunch: do it again tonight. On the bed this time. Wake me up properly. I want to wake up covered and full of it. That night he woke her by pissing across her tits and stomach first, then her face, then directly into her open mouth while she rubbed her clit. She came twice before he was empty. He fucked her afterward with his cock still wet and came inside her while she was still dripping. In the morning the sheets were ruined and she made him piss on her again in the shower before work, on her ass and cunt, while she held herself open and told him she wanted it every night that week. She kept the promise. Every night that week he woke her by pissing on her somewhere new—her face and open mouth, her cunt while she held herself open, her ass while she was on all fours, once across her hair while she knelt and stroked him. She came every single time, sometimes twice. On the last night she made him push inside her and piss while he fucked her, the hot stream mixing with everything else, and she clenched and held as much as she could until morning. She texted him from the office the next day that she wanted to try it in the passenger seat of the car on the way home, with the windows up.