Under her Spell

She could make me do anything.
I first saw her at an early–morning swim. We were the first to arrive, before the hall filled up. She was swimming with slow, easy strokes, doing flip–turns and sliding under water, long hair streaming. She was wearing a red, high–cut swimsuit, emphasizing her slender, well–trained body. I went in, doing the best I could, but found her passing me again and again. I had to admire the elegant way she moved in the water.
Suddenly she was gone. I decided it was time to return to the dressing room.
We were still alone. She stood under the shower, back to me, washing her hair. She looked to be in her early forties, but very fit for her age, with slim waist, tight buttocks and just a slight hint of softness on her hipbones and belly. She rinsed her dark brown hair, and began shaving her legs. I slipped out of my black swimsuit and turned on the water.
Then she turned and looked at me. Slowly she began shaving off the curly hair on her sex, soft breasts moving as she bent over. I stood still, watching, feeling the hot water running down my body, in between my legs. Meeting my eyes again, she offered me the shaving kit. She could make me do anything– I accepted the cream and razor and set to work on my mound. I straightened up and met her stare. She nodded with a hint of a smile. Then she moved her feet apart and peed on the floor. I watched, transfixed, at the golden stream from her naked sex. Finished, she looked expectantly at me. Oh Christ. I concentrated, and hot urine ran down my legs, making my knees tremble.
She smiled, fetched her towel, and dried herself with her back to me. Without a word or glance she dressed in tan underwear, black pants and dark red sweater, packed her things and left.
I was still in the shower, awestruck. I managed to step out and towel off. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to lift my stare from the unaccustomed smoothness of my mound. Tiny breasts, boyish hips, light blonde hair to my shoulders. They say I have a sensual mouth.
Still a little shaky I dressed and went out.
She was back next week, standing in the middle of the dressing room in her red swimsuit, tying her hair in a ponytail. Nodding a greeting, she watched as I undressed and slipped into my one–piece. I needed to pee, so I made for the toilet. She stepped in front of me, shaking her head, pointing to the shower stalls. Feeling shaky I stood like last week, this time releasing my pee through my swimsuit. Then she turned and left for the pool.
We swam like nothing had happened, but she kept glancing at me when we passed each other. After half an hour she hoisted herself out of the water, sitting on the edge right in front of me, in the shallow end. I stood up, water to my waist, oblivious of the other women around us. She parted her legs and lifted her butt a little. Even though the fabric was wet, the stream was clearly visible, running down the underside of her thigh. With hardly a splash she dived in and resumed swimming.
When she left the pool I followed, admiring the way her butt moved when she walked. There were other women in the shower stalls, but she stood in full view, not hiding her naked sex, but not looking at me at all. This time I hurried, wanting to get dressed before she disappeared again. I put on my underwear, jeans and sweater, pretending to check something in my bag while she dried her hair and dressed– black underwear this time, hugging her smooth body. The same high–waisted black pants zippered at the back, and blue jumper. Wrapping her towel, she turned to me.
— Like some coffee?
I was too surprised to answer, so I just nodded. She led the way out, walking briskly. I felt awkward keeping up. She turned into a small caf’, greeting the man behind the counter, and heading for a table by the window.
— Caffe latte?
She could make me do anything, even drink coffee. I accepted. She looked at me, with almond brown eyes.
— Will you be my lover?
For her, I’d divorce Tom Cruise.
— I’m married, she continued. –That doesn’t matter. I want you. How old are you?
— Twenty–eight.
— Perfect. I’m forty–two. Have you had sex with a woman before?
— No, I said, knowing my modest experiences with girlfriends was not what she had in mind.
— Good. I’m Alicia.
— Tammy.
She smiled, sipping her coffee. Actually it didn’t taste that bad.
— Excuse me, I said and began to rise. –I have to use the bathroom.
— No, wait. Not yet.
— Why?
— I love the thought of you having to hold it, trying not to pee your jeans. Tell me about yourself.
For her, I’d do anything. Before I had gotten to my third broken engagement, I was squirming on my chair, full to the brim. I shifted my butt and curled my toes, conscious of the tiny dribble that had escaped seconds ago.
She interrupted my story. –You can go now– she smiled.
I nearly wept with relief, sitting on the bowl, jeans around my knees. I wiped, washed my hands and face, and returned to the table. Alicia smiled at me.
— Do you run? She asked as I sat down. I nodded. –This is my address– Saturday morning, at eight?
— Fine with me.
It was a big house. She was waiting for me, wearing grey running shorts and top, exposing her belly, hair in a ponytail. I had put on black biker’s pants and t–shirt. I left my sack in the garden, and we set off. She ran with the same grace as when swimming, gliding effortlessly even uphill. We took off from the back of her house, into the woods, her firm buttocks moving rhythmically under the tight fabric. After a while she let me lead, and I felt her eyes on me. Half an hour later we stopped to rest.
— You run well, she said. –You have a good body.
— You too, I said, unable to think of anything better to say.
— You’re probably wondering what this is all about; she smiled. –Like I said, I’m married, but that doesn’t necessarily mean contented. I like a fuck as much as any girl, but for beauty, sensuality, purity, I prefer girls. I close my eyes when I occasionally sleep with my husband, or another man, enjoying the contact and movements, but the images in my head are of girls. Naked, dressed; I see the curves and lines, the smooth skin. Girls touching themselves, the concentrated beauty, girls touching each other, the double pleasure as well as the private sensuality of a girl in the bathroom, grooming herself, washing, dressing. The most personal of acts – relieving yourself, the pure sexiness of needing to go, and the fulfillment. I ask you again, will you be my lover?
— Yes, I said.
— Will you let me carry your images?
— Yes.
— Tamara.
Nobody ever calls me Tamara. –Yes?
— Will you pee on the grass for me?
I rose, wriggled down my pants and panties, and squatted, feeling the cool air on my naked sex. The stream glinted under me. I dressed slowly, letting her see me. My pussy throbbed. She smiled warmly, and we went on.
She took me to the big bathroom, showed me the towels, and went to get some refreshments. –I’m in the back garden, she said. I showered and dried, and put on clean panties and a short dress from my sack. I don’t need a bra. She pointed to a chair in the shade and the jug of lemonade. –Drink as much as you can, she said. –Back in a minute.
She had changed into white stretch pants and a halter–top, showing a bit of her bra, with long wet hair flowing. She sat down next to me. –This is like a small apartment in the house, she said. –My husband doesn’t come in except when invited. Sometimes we meet at dinner. Sometimes I go to him. You are my friend, you can come and go as you like. To him, we’re just silly girls, going to the toilet in pairs, giving friendly hugs. He doesn’t appreciate the beauty.
We drank, thirsty after the running, enjoying the shade. Even then it was quite hot, even for July. –Tamara, she said.
— Yes?
— Let’s sit in our underwear. I’d like to look at you.
I pulled my dress over my head, and she slipped out of her pants and top. She wore tight, smooth panties and bra, showing a hint of nipples and even the outline of her pussy lips.
My panties were hot pants–style, accentuating my small mound. My tiny breasts were tan like the rest of me. Alicia went to refill the jug. I loved her movements.
After a while I felt the need to pee. The pressure in my bladder sent tingles through my body, and I put a hand on my belly.
— I always feel sexy after running, she said. –Often I have to help myself. She slid a hand up the inside of her thigh. –How about you?
— Oh, I do that quite a lot, I admitted, looking down.
— Don’t be shy, Tamara. Feel free to do whatever you like.
She could make me do anything. The need was growing, and I put my hand between my legs, feeling my swollen lips through my panties. I let a finger probe my slit, getting electric responses. I looked up and saw Alicia holding herself. I pressed the fabric into my slit, rubbing with two fingers, holding my pee, and then my body took over, sending me to a moaning orgasm. I felt like crying.
— Tamara, you really are beautiful. Alicia was still holding herself, pressing her thighs together around her hand. –Do you want to pee?
I nodded.
— Just go in your panties.
I moved to the edge of the chair and spread my legs. I looked down at the dark spot growing into a full stream, and felt the heat in my sex. I sighed with relief and sat back. I had just peed my panties, sitting in her chair.
Alicia rose and stood in front of me, looking at my wet panties, biting her lip. She sank to her knees, her legs apart, her butt on her haunches, still holding. Back erect, soft breasts heaving, hourglass body tan with drops of sweat from heat, excitement, holding her pee. With slow strokes she caressed herself, moaning as the first uncontrolled stream burst through her panties. She kept on stroking as I spread my legs, showing her my wet crotch. I managed to release another spurt, and her fingers moved rhythmically. She thrust out her belly, pressed on her bladder with her other hand, and reached climax as she lost all control and soaked herself completely.
We still hadn’t touched.
She rose unsteadily and beckoned to me. We stood face–to–face, breasts pointing at breasts, in our wet panties. Then she opened her arms to me.
She could make me do anything. She made me feel so sexy, touching me, caressing me, telling me what to wear. When I spent the night, she stroked me softly awake, kissing my whole body: feet, knees, fingers, and shoulders. She licked me under my arms, caressed my buttocks with her lips, lay with her head on my belly, fondling my pussy. If I wake bursting to pee, she puts a big towel under my butt, wraps it around my crotch, and holds her hand on me while I pee. She likes to watch me sitting on the toilet, even when I have to poop. She makes me drink a lot of water and tea, and wants me to tell her whenever I need to go. Sometimes she keeps me holding it until I am ready to burst, squirming, curling my legs, clutching at myself. For dares– we take long walks, both desperate for a toilet, watching each other squirm. Can you make it another block? OK, if you can. We sit in caf’s and bars, hands in our panties under the table, rocking softly, longing to let go right there. She likes to see me in miniskirts and tights, sometimes sitting prudently with legs together, sometimes carelessly exposing panties – or no panties. She made me cut the waistband off a pair of jeans so she can see my hipbones and my belly all the way down to where my curls used to be. I cut my t–shirts almost in half; they still cover my small girlish breasts. I wear leggings and no panties. I walk around in the house wearing thin nylon tights and nothing else. We exercise in her basement, naked. Coming home from a club or party, slightly tipsy, we pee ourselves in the garden. I often straddle her, in tights and mini, and pee in her lap. Coming up behind me, she slips a hand in my pants and tells me to let go. She urges me to let out a little, just a tiny drop, when we’re out, so she can think about the wet spot in my crotch until we are home. She could make me do anything. She still can, she made me write this. Right now she’s looking over my shoulder, stepping from foot to foot. I’m wearing my special jeans, no panties. They will not stay dry for long– if I try to move, I will certainly wet myself. Alicia my love, shall I pee in my jeans for you?
She’s reaching over to me, she’s – hey, what are you– YES TAMARA DO IT NOW!
Aquarius