“Well, let’s get this condom on and see what you can do,” I jest him again grabbing one of the more pliable condoms as I didn’t have any Trojan Magnums for extra large cocks.

“You can fuck your boss now that you have humiliated and violated her privacy.”

The deed was mechanical at best. No lovey dovey moments…done, over with his excitement really with the other, this was just finishing off what really got him started I would think, to justify the price.

But, who am I to judge? Perhaps the price was justified long ago.

His load was substantial.

“When did you come last?”

“Months ago. I work many hours , many times to 4am,” he looks at me pensively.

We discussed his line of work with web applications and how he came to this country with little, working hard to get to where he is today working as a sub contractor with major contracts such as the US Army and EHealth.

“I give you credit at such a young age.”

He looks calmer now but still emotionless, thin and white.

This time the clothes make the man.

“Could you please call a cab?”

So here we have it, he came by cab from downtown as well.

Not too shabby.

“I need to be at a meeting by 10:30am and I don’t know if I will make it,” he shrugs donning his smart pea jacket, tucking in his crumpled Versace shirt, struggling with the heels of his shiny Versace lace up shoes.

It is just after 10 am., 1 ½ hours in.

“Do you have a shoe horn?” he asks as he is genuflected, his little slim fingers struggling with the heel of his sparkling shoes.

“I do, but I don’t. I have an antique sterling handled one around here somewhere but I don’t get asked for it, now that I think of it where is that thing?” I truly do wonder where it went and my mind wanders.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I tell him as I give him a hug. I always give hugs whether they ask for them or not.

A little smile follows me as he turns to open the door.

He understood as he massaged my thong covered pussy, my nylon clad thighs.

Here I was, a groen woman, standing in my tub, skirt hiked above my waist, jacket still on, glasses still on, waiting to pee in front of a stranger. What a sight. I think back to my designing days and think who would have thought it would have come to this?

It’s still intriguing as hell, what makes the mind tick.

I wonder what got him going on this kind of fetish, what his childhood was like as most fetishes seem to fester and mature from childhood.

I should have asked but I was trying to get into the’ zone’ to make his day worthwhile, the money he is spending worthwhile.

What if I had said ‘No” to this, then what would we have done? I wonder to myself.

Finally I could feel the urge to pee travelling down like it should. He is tickling my pussy harder now as I say it is about to happen. My eyes are still closed shut, but I would have given loads to see his face.

The spurt of pee shoots through my thong, twisting and dribbling down and through the stayups, onto the floor of the white tub, through my arches and down the drain.

“Wonderful,” he exclaims, his hands rubbing it all over the whole stockings.

“Push your legs together,” he asks pushing my legs together.

“There is more to be had. I am not finished yet. I can pee a lot when I get going,” I laugh yet again surprised and gainfully interested in his reactions to the steamy, musky smell of fresh pee dribbling down my legs.

I didn’t feel even remotely humiliated as it is a job for me and, hey for $600 I can do this.

“Everything is washable,” I grin.

He is in heaven, giggling and finally verbal with each squirt.

When I was done he wanted me to keep everything on.

Well, at least it wasn’t dripping all over the place as he had swooshed it into my stockings.

“So, now to the bedroom?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Do I finally get to see you without your clothes on?”

No kisses, no hugs, just small smiles and studious retorts.

“So let’s see what I get to play with,” I jest as I help him unbutton the small buttons of his crumpled, but I am sure expensive pale blue dress shirt, his silver buckled belt and skinny legged slacks.

He looked quite forlorn in his brown socks and thin legs but his cock unfurled to astronomic lengths.

“You should have no problem in the Swinger’s clubs with a thing like that. You have a cliché black boy’s cock young man,” I laugh as I fondle this instrument of torture.

“No anal play on me,” he makes quite clear after purveying the assortment of dildos as I carefully peeled back the black towel covering the various sizes and accoutrements to sensory play.

“Oh, I want to come.”

I thought so. For $600 I would have bet so.

“I want to see you wet,” which usually means to me, wet with pussy juices as he tickles my pussy lips between my lacy thong, taking time to relish the smoothness of freshly shaved skin.

“Oh, so you joined my site at some point?”

“Yes.”

The short answer.

I see that you are open to different ‘things’,” he inflects the word “things” with an eyebrow lifted.

“Yes, anything pretty well except anal on me, but I could fuck you,” I answer back with a big laugh hoping to get a rise out of him.

A small smile erupts from his pale white face.

I think he works too much. A night owl. He has pasty white skin.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“So, you like to dress well I see. I like that in a man. I don’t see why men don’t take the time to do the best with what they have. I have so many older guys who think life ends at 40. If they only knew what turns women on. When I was in London, England I was enamoured by the men running around in their well fitted pinstriped suits, skinny pants, pointed shoes, gayly coloured French cuffed shirts and double Windsor knotted ties and funky haircuts. They scurried, the double backflaps of their jackets flying in the wind, little rumps in plain view for my wandering eyes, as they ran around London, small briefcase under their left arm…running,running,running. I took so many pictures of their backsides.”

A smallish smile erupts.

“Can you get really wet for me, like pee?”he asks massaging my pussy yet agan, running his hand up and down my inner thighs.

Oh, dear. Here it is. The FETISH. I have heard of this one, peeing in panties, in pantyhose. I don’t get the thought process but I knew where this was going. How it gets them going I couldn’t imagine.

“I like the idea of you being humiliated.”

In my suit. A power figure, humiliated in front of a subordinate.

“Yes, I could do that. I have never done it before but hey, if it is asked of me respectfully and I can do this in the shower then you have a deal. New things interest me so, yes, but I already peed before you came because I am a squirter and I don’t like to have a full bladder when I have that pressure of fingering …so, you will have to wait a bit.”

I had a bottle of water handy and I kept drinking.