Story Codes: MF, Consensual, Water Sports

by Don Frank

Susan was certainly not the prettiest girl I had ever seen.  Her face was rather
unremarkable, although she had very nice teeth and a pleasant smile.  Her nose was a
trifle crooked, perhaps reflecting her interest in contact sports.  Her brown eyes, again,
seemed normal but not noteworthy, and she kept her black hair in a somewhat
unappealing “bun.”

As for her body, it was clear that Nature had not endowed her with much of a chest.  
She probably wore an “A” cup when she wore a bra at all; nothing more was needed.  
She appeared fit, but not in the sense that she had  a gymnast’s or swimmer’s body.  
Instead, she looked like a former soccer player who could still go out and complete a
three-mile jog in under half an hour.

Susan had joined my karate dojo  after having studied our style in New York for over
four years, until graduation and a job brought her to this area.  She had earned the
third stripe on her brown belt -- ikkyu -- and hoped to test for black belt -- sho-dan -- in
November.  My school was relatively new, and most of my students were white belts.  
However, I offered to work with her privately, and also to let her train with some of the
black belts who occasionally joined me for practice.  In return, I asked her to assist me
with the white belts.  Delighted to have found a nearby facility where she could study
our style, Susan immediately signed up, attended the “advanced” classes (for my green
belts and two first-stripe brown belts), and stayed for extra training on Tuesday

Now, I should explain that at 48, I had reached that more “mellow” period in a martial
artist’s life.  Yes, I had my share of trophies for forms and sparring, but I had no desire
to return to tournament competitions -- or to break boards and cinder blocks, for that
matter.  Instead, I was more interested in teaching -- sharing what karate had to offer.

Over the past 25 years, I had gotten involved with a number of business ventures,
including some vending machines and three laundromats which had actually proved
quite profitable.  Between these and some municipal bonds, I really had no financial
worries (aside from the rising price of gasoline).  The town house would be paid off in
two years, and my daughter had graduated college.  When the opportunity to share
some commercial space with a dancing school presented itself, I decided to take the
chance.  The dance instructors would work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while I
could have Tuesday and Thursday.  A New Age group, which ran classes in yoga
(among other things), took the facility on Saturdays, and I was free to host occasional
workouts with some of my old karate buddies on Sundays.

Susan soon established herself as a solid student.  She had a wonderful attitude,
learned quickly, and responded very well to criticism.  It was clear that her first sensei  
had provided her with a good foundation, and I felt honored to build upon what she had
already learned.

From time to time, Susan would bring up some personal things.  I learned that she did
web page design, which was why she had relatively flexible hours.  She mentioned
something about having had “an ugly breakup” with her last boyfriend, but never
provided details other than an occasional cryptic comment like, “I guess he couldn’t
accept me as I am.”  I tried to say something reasonably supportive, while wondering
whether the gentleman in question was simply looking for a little more tit.

Only once did Susan ask me about myself.  I told her that I had been divorced for fifteen
years, and wasn’t involved with anyone.  She looked up at that point, but said nothing,
and I let things slide.

Months passed, and Susan’s black belt test was only ten days away.  I worked her quite
hard that night, took her through the katas, kumites, bonkais, and other drills.  We
actually ran a little late, and by the time I looked up at the clock, it was definitely time for
us to leave.

“Can I catch a quick shower?” she asked me.

“Sure!” I replied.  “I’ll start cleaning up in here.”

Ten minutes later, Susan came charging out, carrying her gym bag and her handbag.  
She was in such a hurry that she didn’t notice the punching shield I had left on the
floor.  She stumbled over it, barely keeping her balance, and her bag went flying.  Out
flew everything, including her cell phone, purse, and . . . a video.

“Sorry about that!” she said, nervously.

“No . . . my bad!” I assured her, reaching over to retrieve the DVD.

“I’ll get that!” she snapped.  But it was too late.  I had already picked it up, and there
was no way I could avoid the title:  Penny Pees on the Pansies.  I flipped the box face
down as I handed it over, but I could see that Susan was beet red.  She snatched it out
of my hand, stuffed it into the bag, and rushed towards the door.

“Susan,” I said, softly.

She froze.  Then she turned around.  Her face was flushed, and she began crying.  
Without even thinking, I opened my arms, and she ran to me, weeping.  It took her a
while to regain her composure.  All I could catch from her muffled sobs was a repeated
lament:  “Now you know.  Now you know.  Now you know.”

When Susan had calmed down, I asked her if she would like to talk with me, woman to
man, and not student to sensei.  She said she needed a few minutes, but would very
much welcome the opportunity.  I suggested that we order a snack from the nearby
pizza shop, handed her a twenty-dollar bill, and asked her to pick it up while I took a
shower and got changed.  When I emerged, she was just coming in the door.

“So . . .” I began.

“You really won’t think less of me for this?” she asked.

“No,” I promised.  And Susan began.

“As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to do some water sports.  And I think the most
exciting thing for me is when I piss into my clothing.  Sometimes, I keep my sweat pants,
undies, and socks on, stand up in the tub, and pee.  It feels . . . so warm.  And it turns
me on.  And sometimes, I like to play with my clit while I pee.”

“Can you do that?” I asked.

Susan blushed.  “We can.  Girls can get off while they pee, even though guys can’t.  
You can’t piss with a hard-on, can you?”

I had to admit that I couldn’t.

“There are other things, too.  I have one of those soft mats you have for doing sit-ups
and crunchies on the floor.  I bring it into the tub, do a shoulder stand, and let the piss
flow right onto my face!”

“Fascinating!” I said, trying to sound like Mr. Spock of Star Trek!  And it was just about
that time when I noticed something else.  I was getting extremely erect from listening to
Susan talk about her fetish.

What is there about our sex drives?  For years I had enjoyed any number of things -- all
sorts of play, kinky and vanilla -- yet never had I gotten into piss.  Now, for the first time
ever, I sat there talking with a girl half my age -- whom I didn’t even find attractive -- and
up popped my dick, throbbing away for all it was worth.  I felt grateful to have the table
between us.

“And that’s what ruined things with my boyfriend,” Susan explained.  “When I told him
some of the things I wanted to try, he freaked.”

“Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.”

“Well, it will be a little harder for me.  I mean, where am I going to find someone who
shares my interest?”

At that moment, she looked at me . . . and I looked at her.  And she knew.  And I knew
that she knew.  I stood up.  She could see the erection bulging in my trousers.

“Susan,” I said.  “I’m way older than you are, so I want you to have a little time to think
this over.  But here’s the deal:  If you pass your test next Friday, I’d like you to spend
the rest of the night with me, exploring your fantasies.”

“Oh, Sensei!” she cried, running over, giving me a warm hug, and kissing my cheek.  
“That’s all the motivation a student could ever ask for.”

Needless to say, Susan passed with flying colors.  The board congratulated me on
presenting such an outstanding student, and my old teacher, who had awarded me my
first black belt 30 years earlier, beamed.  “Donald-san  -- You have come full circle, just
as I hoped you would.  You have become a black belt, then earned higher degrees, and
finally brought a student up to dan rank.  Gokura-sama!!”

“Domo arrigato,” I said, bowing with sincere humility.

I walked through the obligatory handshakes and bows, and then bumped into Susan.

“Can I hold off on my shower until we get back to your place?” she whispered.

I smiled, and assured her that she could.

Before Susan left the black belt exam, she had had a couple of cups of the herb tea left
out for the occasion.  She had thrown on her clothes without showering, but after all my
socializing, we were among the last to leave my old sensei’s school.  Needless to say,
by the time she reached the town house, she had definite bladder pressure.

“Hey, wouldn’t you say I kicked ass in the sparring tonight?”

I glanced at her, nodding.  “Yes, you did.  But you must remember that black belt means
that you are just a ‘serious beginner.’  And you still can’t kick my ass, can you?”

She smiled.  “No, I can’t.  Particularly not with my bladder close to bursting.”

“Too bad that you won’t be allowed to piss any time soon!”

“What?” she replied.  “Denial-play?”

“You got it!  You can’t go until I say you can.  And I’m going to make sure you don’t get
any ideas.”

We had taken off our sweaters and shoes upon crossing the threshold.  I’ve been
involved with this Japanese art so long that some of their culture is rubbing off on me,
and I think it’s a little barbaric to wear shoes indoors.

I ordered Susan into a “ready position,” but with her feet together.  Then, I grabbed an
old white belt which was lying around, and tied it around her legs.  I took her hands and
tied them together.  Having already spread mats along the bottom of the tub, I now
picked her up and deposited her on her back.  “Stay there, and let’s see if you can hold
your water for half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” she shrieked.  “It’ll be close.”

“You are a black belt now.  Let’s see what sort of discipline you really have!”

“Oh, I can do it!” she boasted.

“I’ll bet you can’t!” I replied.

“How much -- or what?” she challenged.

I thought for a moment.  “If you can hold your pee, I’ll piss on myself!” I promised.

“It’s a deal!!” she cried.

Now I began to play head-games with Susan.  “You’re feeling enormous pressure
already.  You can hardly hold it in any more.  You know that deep down you really want
to piss on yourself.  So go ahead!  Just give in.”

But Susan wasn’t buying it.  “No, I’m a black belt now.  I have self-discipline.  I’m going to
hold it, even though I don’t want to!” she stated defiantly.

Well, I kept up the chatter, but things weren’t going my way.  Twenty-six minutes later, I
knew she could make it.  But a delicious idea came into my mind -- and stiffened my
prick no end.

“Susan,” I said.  “If you’re in a fight and you can’t seem to win, what’s the best thing to

“Cheat?” she asked.

“Exactly!” I said.  “Now, are you maybe just a little ticklish?”

“No!” she shrieked.  But I was in firm control, and her hands and feet were tied.  Soon
she was giggling hysterically, and seconds later, some urine seeped through her
pants.   Only then did I stop.

I was throbbing.  This girl had turned me on no end.  And she was laughing -- not from
the tickling (which had stopped), but from the sheer joy of what she had finally
experienced.  I stepped into the tub and lifted her to her feet, untying the belts as I did
so.  She looked into my eyes and spoke a language which needed no translation.

“Do you still have to go?” I asked.

“Oh, sure.  There’s more where that came from!”

“Then save a little for me,” I said.

Slowly, I began to unbutton her shirt.  I could sense her nervousness as her tiny tits
came into view.  “Don’t worry,” I assured her.  “They’re beautiful.”  Then I stripped off
the shirt completely.  She stood before me, topless, and we embraced again.  Those
tiny breasts had nipples which were as erect as I was!

I reached down to unbutton her pants.  We looked at each other, and both knew what
would follow.  As I pulled her pants -- not her underwear -- down towards her ankles,
she began to pee some more, spattering me with it.  I smiled as she stepped out of her
soaking garment, and began to take off her socks.  More piss dribbled down her legs
and onto me and the tub.  Finally, I pulled down the undies.  Susan’s mound was hairy
and untrimmed.

I stepped as far away as I could, then snapped an instruction:  “Shoulder stand, Susan!”

“Hai, Sensei!”

I held her by her ankles and spread her legs.  As though to reward my ingenuity, a
small flow of urine spurted up and out, landing right in her face.

“God, you’re beautiful!” I cried.

“God, I’m turned on!” she replied.  “But I wish I could see you -- and watch you piss!”

Now, I was very erect, but one learns many things after 30-odd years of karate training.  
I began to do some deep breathing exercises -- a little challenging in the tight space of
a tub, but nevertheless I restored my focus.  In almost no time flat, my hard-on had
gone away, and i began to concentrate on my bladder pressure.  Sure enough, it was
building up, and in less than another minute, I was ready.

“Stand up and watch this,” I instructed the naked girl.  And as she got to her feet, my
trousers became more and more wet.

“Please stop!” she cried.  “Save some for me!”

I pulled out my dick, and there was just enough left to spatter her, mostly in the legs.  
Then I peeled off my clothing and turned on the shower.  Almost immediately, I could
feel my cock growing hard again.

So strange, so strange!  I prefer women with big tits and shaved pussy, yet here was
this girl with flat tits and a bushy mound, and she was driving me wild.  We embraced
passionately under the shower, and once we were relatively cleansed of the piss, I
rotated the head to the water-saver setting.  I explored her body as though it was a
virginal experience for me -- and, in a sense, it was.  Everywhere I touched her, she
responded.  I felt her cunt, and found it was soaking.  She jumped up to hug me,
enabling me to penetrate her while I carried her.  Susan climaxed almost immediately,
and my own semen burst out before she was finished. . . .

Afterwards, I threw all the clothing into the washing machine.  Susan spent the night, of

In the morning, we made love again, this time far more slowly and less savagely.  It was
great, but not the same.

“Do you think we should have done more water-sports this morning?” I asked her.

“No,” she said, smiling.  “That’s just for special occasions.”

“Hmmm . . .  If you train hard, I could have you going up for second-degree black belt in
around two years.”

She gave me a short kiss.

“I shall train diligently, Sensei,” she promised.

That was just about 24 months ago.  She tests for ni-dan next week, and I’ll be drinking
plenty of coffee and fruit juices!

©2008 Don Frank

Other Stories by Don Frank : The Floundering Undergrad:  Part One       
The Floundering Undergrad:  Part  Two,         The Floundering Undergrad:  Part  Three

Don Frank teaches English at a small college in New England.  His fifth book will be
released next spring, and he is completing a one-act play scheduled for production
later in 2009.  Don believes that "literature" and "pornography" are not mutually
exclusive concepts, and that good pornographic literature often has genuine artistic
merit.  He hopes to hear from others who share these convictions!  Contact information
is available at his blog: