A Day in the Life of Michelle

I am at work. I am married to the most beautiful woman in the world, and she never leaves my thoughts. As another boring day goes on I compose this story:
Michelle wakes up and stretches her light brown body, then curls up again knowing it is still early, letting her hands rub her round belly and a little further down as well. A little later she rises, naked, and enters the bathroom where she meets herself in the full–length mirror. She likes to be seen. At thirty–five she has a perfect butt– probably as a product of her Caribbean ancestry, and a narrow waist above full hips. Her breasts are quite small, but very pretty; her black hair reaches her nipples when she straightens it. She turns on the taps.
(Imagine her peeing, standing on the tile floor. She loves the hot sensation of her pee running down the inside of her legs and closes her eyes as she waits for the last drop.)
After washing her hair and every curve and fold of her body she shaves, leaving her body totally hairless below her neck. After drying herself she puts on low–cut white cotton panties and bra, knowing the plain design accentuates her shape and color even more. She has breakfast dressed only like this, sitting on the kitchen chair with her back arched, showing the elegant curve of her bottom. She drinks plenty of liquids, for health reasons. Michelle tidies the kitchen and feels the need to pee. She strokes her belly absently, then goes to the bathroom, lifts the lid and sits down.
(Imagine kneeling beside her, letting your hand slide down her curved back, over the elastic of her panties, stroke the cotton–clad butt cheeks, holding her underneath as she lets go through her underwear. Imagine her gusset hot and wet as her pee flows over your hand.)
She dresses in black pants, wearing a thong underneath, as panty lines would disturb the hemispheres of her butt, and a tight black top underneath a see–through blouse. There are no pockets to interrupt the smooth curves of her belly. She grabs her shoulder bag and walks to the bus stop. Her butt muscles, separated by the tight fabric, move rhythmically with her brisk step.
Michelle never slouches in a seat. She sits straight with her knees together, and her pants fit so well there are no wrinkles in her crotch. She steps off the bus and enters the office building, preferring the steps to the elevator as she heads for the fifth floor. She nods to Janie, her secretary, and closes her door behind her.
(Imagine her sitting at the desk, busy heading an international phone conference, having to pee after plenty of coffee and Evian, tapping her feet, rubbing her belly, maybe with a hand between her thighs. Her legs move as she struggles, still talking, still concentrated on important decisions to make. Picture her face as a small dribble escapes her; picture her as she spreads her legs to assess the damage, still wearing her headset, negotiating the price of a rather large project. Imagine another dribble and the quiet resignation as she realizes she won’t be going to the bathroom for quite some time yet.)
Locking her door, she changes for lunch and a meeting with clients– black lace underwear, black tights, a dark red skirt and jacket over an off–white blouse. The rather strict cut of her clothes is completely unable to hide her very feminine shape, especially her round butt. The shape of her belly and thighs tends to make you aware that there is a meeting point under the skirt. Elegantly she slips into the cab and leans forward to give directions to the driver. At the hotel she greets her clients and leads the way to the restaurant, butt moving under her skirt. After lunch they move to the conference room to attend a presentation.
(Imagine a little drop running down the inside of her tights–clad leg, the rubbing of her knees, the clenching of muscles as the wine and water seeks a way out. Picture her butt cheeks moving as she fights to keep her urine inside her. Imagine a shiny line finding its way down each thigh, her wet crotch hidden by the skirt– thinking of a good excuse not to sit down and stain her backside.)
She takes leave of her clients and decides to walk back to her office. The skirt restrains her a bit; it stretches with each step, showing her perfect shape. Her curly hair waves in the wind and her arms sway as she walks.
(Imagine her regretting not going to the bathroom before leaving, pushing on as she hopes to make it to the office toilet. Picture small beads of sweat on her brow as she reaches the building, this time waiting for the elevator. Imagine her longing to reach up under her skirt to hold herself as she is waiting. She knows she won’t last all the way to the ladies. Her crotch is warm and wet from the dribbling, and she longs to let go. With a pained expression she passes her secretary, heading for the small washroom at the back of her office. She pushes the door closed with her heel, overflowing as she stumbles. She leaves a small trail of drops on the carpet, and hoists her skirt up while walking, exposing her tights–clad butt and the black Y–shaped shadow underneath. She fumbles with the elastic, but knows it is too late. Moaning with relief she sits on the toilet and lets go through her underwear.)
Michelle changes back into her black pants and top, and continues working on a contract with a French firm involving new production techniques. She bites her pen and calls her secretary to bring her the updated plans.
(Imagine her turning from her desk to receive the folder, relaxing a bit in the company of her trusted secretary. She turns in her chair, sitting with her legs apart, tight fabric stretched over her belly and between her legs. Stretched so tight that her lips are hinted. She notices Janie look at her. Janie is barely twenty, a bright girl who looks up to Michelle in many ways. She is wearing a short blue dress and has put her hair up in a ponytail. They sit side by side on the sofa to go through the papers. Eventually their knees touch. When the work is completed Janie fetches coffee from the percolator. Michelle watches her behind as she fills the cups. Nice dress, she says as Janie returns to the table. But your panty lines are showing. Maybe you should wear a thong– or nothing at all. Janie blushes. Michelle rises and puts her hands on Janie’s hips: Come on. Take them off. Janie reaches under her dress and removes her panties. Michelle turns her around and pats her bottom. Better like that. The rest of the day Michelle keeps thinking of the young girl in the outer office sitting naked under her dress.
As the workday is over Michelle tidies her desk and leaves, patting Janie on her shoulder as she passes her desk. She walks to the bus, waits for five minutes, and boards. She gets off and walks home, conscious of a need to get to the bathroom. She locks herself in, drops her bag on the hallway table, and heads for the toilet.
(Imagine her looking at herself in the mirror thinking that her pants need washing anyway. She cups her breasts and relaxes her lower body, letting a small flow of urine out into her panties. She touches the wet spot and pees a little more. Stopping the flow and holding gives her erotic stimulation, and she rubs herself outside her pants while releasing small squirts. Then she stands with her legs far apart and lets it all flow.)
She removes her clothes and dresses in red flowery leggings and tee shirt, no underwear. She cooks herself a meal and sets the table for one. Michelle loves the freedom of wearing nothing under her leggings, and she performs some chores before deciding to go to the fitness center.
(Imagine her packing her running shorts, sweater and towel in her bag. Squatting to fetch her body lotion from the bottom shelf she feels the fabric caress her slightly distended pussy lips. She needs to pee, so she soaks her leggings while squatting, leaving only a small stain where her peehole is.)
She puts on her favorite faded jeans over white panties and leaves. It’s only a ten–minute walk. The jeans hug her hips and are worn between her legs. At the center she changes into running gear and goes through her recommended program. She has sweat stains under her arms and on her back, and there is a hint of wetness in the crotch of her shorts.
(Imagine her in the dressing room, stripping her clothes off in front of the other women, her light brown body completely naked, and then walking to the showers with her towel in her hand. Picture her under the stream, stretching, washing herself, taking the opportunity to relieve herself under the running water, thinking maybe the others are doing the same.)
Michelle puts on her panties and jeans and walks home, sipping water from her flask. She makes a pot of tea and sits down to watch a film. The water and the tea fills her bladder, but she doesn’t want to miss anything, so she clenches her muscles.
Imagine her relaxing on the sofa, legs stretched, a brown–skinned beauty in worn jeans and white halter top, no bra; her legs moving a little as she holds back her pee. Can you imagine this? Imagine her biting her lip as the pressure increases. The jeans stretch tightly over her belly and in her crotch, and she slides a hand between her legs. Suddenly she feels a small dribble escape her, but still she does not move. Another involuntary release makes a palm–sized dark rose grow in her crotch. She hugs herself and keeps watching. Can you picture this? Now the stain has spread a few inches down her thighs. She has put a towel underneath her lovely butt – obviously she hadn’t put her workout gear away – and sits with her legs spread, ignoring the frequent squirts– or enjoying them. Do you see it in your mind? This is when I come home. This is what I see as I enter the room. Michelle looks and winks at me. The film is finished; it’s time for bed. She will not be going to the bathroom first.
Aquarius