She’d spotted him earlier: a rugged stranger in his mid-thirties, leaning against a lamppost near the park entrance. His gaze had locked onto her the moment she passed, lingering on the way her tits bounced with each step. Maria felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but it was the wetness between her thighs that betrayed her true desire. Biting her lip, she approached him, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Excuse me ... I need help with something private.’

The stranger smirked, his eyes dropping to her cleavage ‘Private, huh? Lead the way, gorgeous.’ He followed her into the dimly lit alley behind the cafe, the sounds of the city fading as walls closed in. Tom shifted position, crossing the street to peer from behind a dumpster, his cock already hardening at the sight of his wife surrendering to her kink.

Maria turned to face the man, her hands trembling as she hiked up her dress, exposing her lacy thong soaked through with anticipation. ‘I ... I want you to piss on me Right here. Humiliate me like the dirty slut I am.’ Her voice cracked, but her nipples stiffened against the dress, large areolas puckering visibly.

The stranger’s laugh was low and mocking ‘You serious, a married bitch like you, begging for my piss in public? Look at those fat tits—bet your hubby’s clueless.’ He glanced around, spotting a few passersby at the alley’s mouth, but didn’t care. Unzipping his jeans, he pulled out his thick cock, already semi-hard, and aimed it at her ‘on your knees, whore. Beg for it.’

Maria dropped to the gritty pavement, her knees scraping as she knelt, dress bunched around her waist. Her curvy ass pressed back against her heels, pussy lips swollen and visible through the sheer fabric. ‘Please ... soak me. Make me your piss slut.’ Tom watched, hand subtly adjusting his bulge, pulse pounding as strangers nearby might catch a glimpse.

The man gripped his shaft, a strong stream of hot urine arcing out, splattering first across her heaving DD tits. The warmth seeped through the dress, darkening the fabric and making her large areolas glisten under the wet cling. Maria gasped, arching her back as the piss trickled down her cleavage, soaking into her skin. ‘Fuck, yes ... more,’ she moaned, rubbing her hands over her breasts, smearing the liquid like lotion.

He stepped closer, directing the flow onto her face, the acrid scent filling the air as droplets hit her lips. She parted them, tasting the saltiness, tongue darting out to lap at it while her eyes watered—not from shame, but ecstasy. The stranger chuckled, shaking his cock to flick the last drops onto her hair. ‘Pathetic. Crawling around like a urinal for a guy you don’t know. Bet those curves are wasted on your boring husband.’

From his vantage, Tom could see it all: his wife’s humiliation unfolding, her body marked and dripping. His arousal peaked, imagining the mess she’d bring home. Maria stood shakily dress ruined and clinging transparently to her curves, urine pooling at her feet. She met the stranger’s eyes with a wicked smile. ‘Thank you ... that was perfect.’ As he zipped up and walked away laughing, she smoothed her skirt down, the wet fabric slapping against her thighs, and sauntered back toward the street—heading straight for Tom, ready to whisper every filthy detail while he fucked her senseless later.

Maria sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in their suburban home, the late afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains and casting a warm glow over the room. Her fingers twisted the hem of her blouse, the soft cotton brushing against her thighs where her skirt had ridden up slightly. Tom was in the kitchen, humming as he prepared dinner—simple pasta, his way of showing love without words. She could hear the clatter of pots, the sizzle of garlic in olive oil, and it twisted something deep in her gut. He was steady, reliable, the kind of man who made her feel safe. But safety, she realized, was starting to feel like a cage.

The fetish clawed at her from the inside, no longer content to lurk in the shadows of her fantasies. It had started innocently enough—a stray thought during a shower, the warmth of the water mingling with an unbidden image of being drenched, marked, reduced to something primal and exposed. But it had evolved, twisting into visions of strangers’ eyes on her, their judgment mixing with her own shame until it ignited a fire low in her belly. Piss soaking her skin, hot and unrelenting, while voices called her out for the slut she hid beneath her perfect-wife facade. And always, in the back of her mind, Tom watching—aroused, conflicted, pulled into her darkness.

She loved him. God, she did. The way his hands felt on her body during their vanilla nights, gentle thrusts that left her satisfied but not sated. But lately, even those moments felt incomplete, like she was performing a role scripted by someone else. What if she told him? What if she whispered it into his ear while he was buried inside her, her curvy hips grinding against his? Would he recoil, or would his cock twitch harder at the confession?

Standing abruptly, Maria smoothed her skirt and padded into the kitchen. Tom glanced up from the stove, his smile easy and affectionate “Hey, babe. Dinner’s almost ready. You okay? You look ... thoughtful.”

Her heart hammered. This was the crossroads—the moment to bury it deeper or let it spill out. She stepped closer, her DD breasts pressing against the confines of her bra as she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “Tom,” she murmured her voice husky despite the nerves. “We need to talk about something personal.”

He turned off the burner and pivoted to face her, concern etching his features. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing the curve of her waist “Anything. You know that.”