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Asian wife succumbed to black cock.
The sight had a miraculous quality. Her pee jetting out of her pussy gash. Something no man ever sees until he lies beneath, looking up. She guided the stream by body movement. The hot stream hit my face. I went under. Deep under.
That first time I showered and returned to bed on wobbly legs. "I love you more than words can express," Jill said.
"What led you to that?" I said.
"I have no clear answer," she said. "No more than why the extreme intensity of feeling demanded I talk dirty. So many impulses firing away at once. Remember the first time I sat on your face and had to go pee?"
"I joked about the timing. Lucky for you I didn't let go on your face. You said you were so into me you wouldn't have cared at all if I did. I guess that sort of stuck in my head. I don't know. The main question is, what did it do for you?"
"A lot. More than I can sort out right now. Submission. Receiving. You. Your body. Your person. Your piss. You. Very out of this world. It might have even been for me what religious people describe as a religious experience."
"You did look utterly serene lying there, your eyes closed, my pee drenching you. Like you were in another world... How was the taste?"
"Sharp. Something like foul water out of a rusty pipe."
She burst out laughter. "So much for romance!"
"Not something I want to drink by the cup full. But the tiny taste I had was... a part of the experience. Even necessary. And so fitting. Because it was you. It came from you. And what did it do for you? Standing over the man you love and pissing on him?"
"It made me feel like a Goddess. Really and truly. Your Goddess of love and sexual desire. I felt like a sex Goddess. You looked so peaceful and relaxed with your eyes closed as my pee splashed on you. You had a glow, a kind of aura. It was so symbolic, you lying there totally submissive to my power over you, my pee stream splattering on your body and face, in a ceremony of marking you, claiming you, possessing you. I knew the boundless power of being your woman and your Goddess."
"You knew from the beginning. You repeated to me, 'Jack, we have absolute freedom to do anything we both want to do. Other's don't write rule books for us.' That is so true."
Only once did I piss on her. There was no association beyond our usual passion for sex and love that began on a Sunday afternoon and continued into the night. Though she did suck me off with an enriched air of adoration and worship. Got a bit wild and forceful riding me on top. Kept my wine glass full. Knelt with her ass high and her forehead on the sheets, demanding I fuck her harder. When I went to empty all that wine she said, "My turn." She lay in the shower, silently asking me to anoint her. I directed my powerful stream to her nipples with surprising accuracy. Over her pussy, her face, all over her. She glowed with submission and reception, her pee soaked hair lying close on her skull.
"Now I know," she said, when she came to bed clean and needing to snuggle. "I know what it means for you. How hot piss from the one you love can be cleansing and purifying. It really does have something of the religious experience."
Never the less, she never asked for it again. Her religious experience was far stronger in being my Goddess of love and sexual desire, emptying her bladder onto me. I was fine with that.
My Goddess bathed me with her urine after her menopause, after too many years, and the ceremony was completed, and just as emotionally powerful as it ever was. I cleaned up and rejoined her in bed. My cock was limp, and irrelevant. Her sitting on my face and the finale ceremony was all about my soul getting off, not my cock.
"Alright," I said with authority. "Listen up. I never want to hear another word from you hating your big fat ass. That big fat ass is mine. Mine to lick and tongue and relish and savor. In all it's magnificent glory it is mine. To sit on my face any time I want it there. Got that?"
"Yes sir," she said in a soft meek voice.