Fetishized Novels & Stories

Watersports that involve sexual acts like ingesting urine or bathing in urine, urinating on another person or items (such as bedwetting) and self-soiling. No, pee fetish (also referred to as urolagnia) isn't a typo. In the world of kinks and fetishes, lots of things can be twisted into an erotic sensation. Pee is one of them. Like other fringe kinks of bodily functions (such as sleeping, eating, and even something as simple as specific body parts), pee has found its way into the erotic profile of many sexually active adults.

She whimpered, pushing back instinctively. “Relax,” he growled. “You’re taking my cock here tonight.” Another finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching. The burn was intense, filthy, perfect. She moaned into the sheets, hips rocking, pussy clenching around nothing. When he added a third finger, she was begging—slurred, desperate pleas for more. He pulled out abruptly. Replaced fingers with the blunt head of his cock. “Push back on me. Take it like the dirty little slut you are.”

I rubbed my wet pussy to orgasm after orgasm sitting there in front of the computer in my den. During another internet search, I stumbled across an erotic story site named Literotica. It proved to be a treasure trove of material to fuel my masturbatory fantasies. I had felt guilt about my feelings towards my son, but the Incest story category on Literotica was one of the most popular, based on the number of submissions. Even though my mind was troubled, at least I knew I was not alone reveling in my fetish.

I changed the angle of the latest dildo, sharp, and she was crying out with every thrust, tense with the need to come. Her orgasm was a wet one. She bucked like a good slut, head twisted to the side as she groaned for me. She was feral, hissing like a desperate bitch, such a contrast to the cute girl who bounced off in the morning for college. She was still gasping as I pulled the dildo free, spilling wetness out all over the leather of the sofa. My kinks took over as I grabbed a fresh marker pen and wrote dirty bitch across her tits, hoisting her up to show the camera, and then I spat over the words, smearing them as she watched me.

If he was using me to satisfy his sick possessive fetish, then I could just as easily turn him into a fantasy of my own. I can’t remember exactly which part of him I was thirsting over when I finally tipped off the edge and my body exploded in a toe-curling orgasm that lulled me to sleep.

“School-bathroom slut who leaked teacher cum down her thighs. Armpit-sweat slut who let me clean both sides. Toe-dust slut who let me taste the hallway grit. Spit-swallowing, ear-licking, belly-button slut who opens her legs for her stepfather and threatens to scream for her father if she doesn’t get what she wants.” He repeated variations of the same phrases in a steady, almost monotonous rhythm, the words landing like small irritations between the deeper thrusts. The repetition itself became part of the fetish, annoying in its refusal to vary, constant in its presence. He changed positions without asking. He flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and pushed back in from behind.

Ava read the screenshot four more times before she trusted herself to drive home. By the fourth read she had stopped looking for new information and started looking for an explanation that made it less than what it appeared to be, some context that would turn a conversation with her name in it into something harmless, a misunderstanding, a coincidence. She did not find one. The conversation was dated three weeks ago. It mentioned her by name, multiple times, in a tone that suggested planning rather than passing comment, and the two participants were people whose names she recognized well enough that the recognition itself felt like a small betrayal.

The reminder of that thick stretch of cock. “Hold the fuck up.” I berated myself, stifling the images that stuck itself in my mind but the point remained. He wasn't a lonely old man or some rich bastard having a midlife crisis. He was at the prime of his life. Someone like him could have anyone he wanted with the snap of his fingers. Why would he stoop to watching cam girl content? Was it a thrill? Some kind of addiction? A secret fetish? Was I the only one he was watching or just a roster amongst many?

The here(s) felt good, the there(s) divine. When he got to my pelvis, he pushed me onto the chair in the living room. I shivered in anticipation, wondering where he’d go next. But he didn’t delve into my pussy like I thought he would, instead he proceeded farther down my leg. Reaching my feet, he tasted his way all the way down to my toes, nibbling them and whispering, “You evil woman, you’ve given me a foot fetish.” A laugh escaped my mouth, but not for long. I was well past the point of amusement. The desperation had grown second by second, until now, I was a live wire, ready to burst into flames.

"You look a little nervous honey. Do you need to suck my cock for a minute to help you relax?" I reached up and touched it once again. It felt so real. I couldn't explain my fascination with it. I was drawn to it. Her hand went behind my head, pulled me into her. It slipped right past my lips. I found myself nursing on it just like I had in the other room. I did find it comforting. I could feel my cock coming back to life tugging against the ring. I guess that was when I realized I had a cock fetish. "That's it baby...suck that thing..." she encouraged. "I love having a cock."