Being Vulnerable

I am quite tall, slim, with small but pert boobs and am a brunette with straight, shoulder length hair and considered attractive. I am married to a rich guy and he cares for me, but for some time has shown no interest in sex. I have tried everything from the cool sophisticate to the hot slut. I preferred the slut in me but he was unmoved. One evening I cooked for him while waiting on him to get home from the office, and I wore only a pair of stockings and suspenders and some killer heels. I thought he would just take me there and then, but I was to be disappointed. He was embarrassed and clearly uncomfortable.

I left and dressed and went to see my best friend Clare. I have been friends with Clare for a couple of years since meeting at our local gym. I have to say that Clare is stunningly beautiful with long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, legs to die for and is very divorced. I tearfully explained my humiliation and she listened and comforted me. She said I had to go back and ask him why. She would drive me and wait outside. To cut a long story short my husband told me he had gay feelings but still wanted me as his wife and to do social things with him for his business. I could keep my lifestyle and he wouldn’t object to my having boyfriends. I was devastated and returned to Clare. We went to her flat and got drunk and after trashing my husband and her ex and men generally, we got to talking about sex and I told her how desperate I was to have sex. She told me that she had  fantasies and maybe we could help each other. I was to confess first and with my slurred speech, I said how it was that I liked to behave slutty. I liked to wear stockings and suspenders because they made me feel vulnerable and cheap. In short, I wanted to be used and abused. Clare said I was a submissive maybe which was fine because she could bit bossy.  I asked her when she had last had sex, thinking that with her body she would have loads of boyfriends.  I was surprised when she said she had been alone since her divorce and hadn’t found what she was looking for. Which was?  She just looked into my eyes.  I protested; no, you can’t mean…she started to cry and said she had fancied me for ages.  She wasn’t gay but she had fallen for me as a person, and now I should go and if I was interested I should go to her flat the next evening and she would cook and we could talk more.  I got a taxi and found my husband had moved out of our bedroom and into the spare room. He had written a note explaining that we should have separate relationships but continue to share the house and some social occasions and in return he would continue to support me. I went to bed exhausted.

The next day I could only think of Clare and what to do.  I tried phoning and she just sent a text back saying she would see me or not that evening at her flat and she added kisses.  Unsure and uncertain I found myself getting ready that evening but still not convinced I was going to go to her.  What to wear.  I found myself dressing up slutty.  Stocking and suspenders, a tiny pair of  matching lacy knickers, no bra, a tight fitting pencil skirt and a sheer silky blouse which left my boobs rather exposed.  Killer heels.  I put on my leather jacket which hid my boobs well enough providing it didn’t fall open too much.  Red slutty lipstick and a bit too much makeup.  A taxi ride and there I was ringing the bell. Clare came to the door looking absolutely stunning in a simple black dress and high heels; demure. Her going on forever legs were bare.   “Thank God you came,” she said and kissed me neatly on my cheek by way of welcome.  I had butterflies and was sooooo nervous; I had no idea what to expect.  At least she didn’t jump me and we continued pretty much normally.  We ate and chatted and then when the wine started to kick in the talk turned to the subject of sex. So far I had kept my jacket on and avoided it gaping open too much, but I was increasingly conscious of the weight of my jacket moving across my blouse and my nipples which were now quite aroused. How I wished I had worn a bra.

We spoke mostly of Clare and her former sex life with her ex and how mundane it had been until one time in drink on holiday she had given him a golden shower. “A what?”

Clare giggled almost musically and laughingly said that that was what she loved about me; my innocence. “I peed on him,” she enlightened me. “You know that for a slut, you know about makeup but nothing about sex. You need to be gangbanged to teach you what to do,” she teased.

It was summer and still light outside and Clare suggested we walked to a pub quite nearby for a drink. We walked with our arms linked and in the pub we found a quiet corner and the girl serving fetched a bottle of wine. As if we hadn’t had enough already. “It’s warm in here, take your jacket off why don’t you?”

“I forgot to put my bra on,” I giggled and blushed.

“Take it off anyway and don’t be shy, you are gorgeous and the world should see my beautiful slutty girlfriend.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are, now lose the leather!”

I did and felt utterly vulnerable to every glance. A man sitting at a table close by couldn’t take his eyes off me, or rather my boobs, until his wife or girlfriend got up and left but not without throwing a filthy look at me. The waitress passing our table did a double take. Clare said I looked great and could she kiss me. What? Here? I’ve never kissed another girl. She got up and walked round to sit next to me and kissed me full on the lips not caring who saw. As she did so she briefly let her hand brush my breast.

“Let’s go,” she said, but she would have to pop to the loo first.

“No,” I insisted we go straight away. Ok. We left.

“I’m bursting for a pee,” she groaned. I spotted an alley leading to a canal and led her down it.

“Not yet,” I told her as she prepared to take her knickers down. “Wait a minute.” I quickly took my jacket off and laid down on the ground. “Golden rain me,” I instructed.


“Yes,” I said.


“Yes,” I said impatiently.

Clare reached up her dress and pulled her knickers off.  Lifting her skirt clear, she  squatted down over me and the first hot spurt landed on my blouse, soaking my boobs. She seemed to stop as if uncertain, but it was barely a pause lasting for less than a second, and then her stream of pee started in full flood. She adjusted her aim and I swallowed a first salty mouthful, while more pee hit my face and drained away into my blouse and hair.  I learned quickly to breathe through my nose while my mouth was closed to swallow and then opening my mouth to receive more of the golden liquid.  I expected it to taste disgusting, but it didn’t at all; salty and with a very distinct fragrance, it wasn’t unpleasant at all.  The pee stung my eyes a little and kept them shut.  The smell was very erotic.  Clare’s urine was pungent and mixed with sex.  This was the ultimate experience  in intimacy. The pure liquid spurting from Clare was  aromatic and its texture was sensual.  This was the essence of  her scent, and I was bathing in it and taking it into to my own body.

The flood of gold seemed to last ages, but as I drank the last few drips I could catch, I pulled her down closer so her gaping tunnel was close enough for me to lick. Clare moaned. She lowered herself further and started rubbing herself over my face and I continued to lick as best could. She became ever more frantic and moaned ever louder.  I thrust my tongue into her as much as I could, but Clare was now in control and I was at her mercy as she rubbed herself over my face.  I saw her muscles tense and moments later, Clare climaxed and let out one loud exclamation as her sexual tension released itself.   She released my head from her grip and climbed to her feet, allowing her dress to fall into place and conceal her modesty.  Wiping her wetness with her knickers, she told me I was a tart after all and a good fuck. I told her I was her slut because I was wearing her pee as my perfume.  Clare asked if I was ok and I told her I a lot more than ok.  She asked if i was upset at what had happened and I told her no way.  She suggested I remove my blouse, which was soaked with pee, and just wear my jacket, but I said I didn’t want to discard anything with her on it and there was a lot of her on my blouse just now!!!  I carried my jacket.   We walked to her flat and all the way she groped my boobs which were wet with pee and clinging to my blouse. Very see through. Walking away from the alley on the main drag, we passed several people who stared at my bedraggled state; I must have looked a sight with my hair wet with pee and my boobs so visible. We stopped and she kissed me full on my lips several times (she said she didn’t mind my having pee breath).   Back at the flat, we undressed each other, fondling and kissing and made love for much of  the rest of the evening with both of us cumming several times.  The next day I explained that I have never felt so vulnerable and exposed as when I was walking back from the alley with my boobs on full view through the sheer material of my wet blouse.  It really excited me.



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Being Vulnerable, 8.5 out of 10 based on 28 ratings

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