I’ve got a very horny story for you today written by a good friend of mine and an excellent writer of erotic stories called John Martin. The story is called ‘The Wine Expert’ and is for all you watersports fans. Have a read and if you like it, please post your comments for John to read.

Kisses,

Justine
xxx
http://www.justinesbedroom.com

The Wine Expert - by John Martin

Adrian Mitchell knew a good wine. He was ‘only’ an amateur, but always liked to remind others that some amateurs knew more about the subject than their so-called full-time ‘professional’ counterparts. To them it was just a job: but it was his passion. He would spend hours reading about it and must have collected over 350 books just on the subject of red wines alone! When he wasn’t working as an engineering draughtsman, he was thinking, breathing, tasting, living wine. He had a fine nose and palette and would often brag to his colleagues and neighbours about his finely-honed abilities.

His wife, Mary, did not share his interest. Not that she didn’t drink wine herself: she did. It’s just that she wouldn’t know her Cremant de Bourgogne Lugny from her Chablis Gaec des Reugnis. To her it was all just plonk. He had tried of course, although he wasn’t the world’s most patient of husbands. Why couldn’t she smell the difference in the bouquet, to him it was just so obvious? In the end he realised he wasn’t getting anywhere fast and resigned himself to keeping this particular interest to himself.

Which was a shame really, because apart from sex they didn’t share much else these days. After 14 years of a childless marriage, maybe that’s not surprising? And even the sex was, well, sporadic these days. In fact Mary seemed to be off straight sex altogether at the moment. She was beginning to develop all sorts of strange fetishes, probably picked up from those silly women’s magazines like ‘Cosmopolitan’ she liked to read in the afternoons. A few months back she was particularly obsessed with ropes and leather, but then her tastes did seem to change frequently. At the moment she kept having strange urges to tie him up in the bath, hands bound to the taps, to stand over him completely naked, and then urinate on him. Funny things women, he thought, not as reliable and dependable as a good bottle of Sicilian red.

Tonight he had agreed to work late, as he always did on the second Tuesday of the month. He looked up at the drawing office clock: it was still only 8:35pm. He knew there’d be no point in getting home much before 10pm, otherwise they’d still be there. He shivered at the thought, adjusted the lamp, and carried on with the side elevation he was doing.

‘They’ were his wife’s party-plan guests. Adrian never understood why, but something strange happened to ordinary, dull, domesticated, suburban, middle class women when they gathered together in the name of the Patron Saint of Underwear, Ann Summers. They became extremely giggly, girly and disgustingly rude. Somehow he found the whole business sordid and irresponsible, and really wished Mary would give them up. Which, of course, is precisely why Mary did them. It also gave her a bit of pocket money, of course. But the fact that her husband disapproved so much somehow made it all the more exciting.

Things were going very well indeed. Although there were only five women with Mary tonight (frankly, not a good turnout), they were all entering into the spirit of the evening. And also putting their names down for a lot of stuff, which made it even more worthwhile! The main ‘presentation’ was almost over, and since Mary herself was enjoying the evening so much, she made no effort to tidy up and drop her usual ‘leaving’ hints. On the contrary. She had just opened their second bottle of white wine; a cheap’n'cheerful German Liebfraumilch which was on special offer at the supermarket at only 2.99 for a 1-litre bottle.

Adrian definitely would not have approved.

“So what does your hubby like you to dress up in, Susan?”, said Kate, a lively dark-haired petite woman in her early thirties. Susan, a large-bossomed lady in her late forties was blushing a little. She took a huge mouthful of wine, making no attempt to savour its bouquet first. “He prefers me in the black crotchless basque with the red lace frills”, said Susan, pointing at the catalogue. “He likes me to tickle the tip of his cock with the lacy bits.”

There was a stunned silence. Susan couldn’t believe she had just said that. She was blushing uncontrollably now, and looking around at the other girls. Just then a well-rounded woman with a wig, called Jackie, gave a high-pitched whoop and burst into gales of laughter. Everyone joined in, including Mary who was in fits of giggles herself now. Jackie was beyond ‘tipsy’ and was getting well on the way to becoming ‘drunk’ by now. But no-one cared, they were all having a thoroughly girly night together, so why not have a glass or two of wine?

The conversation carried on in the same vein, each giving seemingly more intimate revelations about their husband’s personal preferences in the bedroom. A quiet bespectacled lady called Marion had said virtually nothing and had looked faintly embarrassed the whole evening. Out of all the women, she had only bought one item, a very respectable looking pair of industrial strength knickers. Then, quietly, she spoke.

“My husband, Charles, likes me to go into the back garden with Abbie, our labrador bitch, wearing my stiletto heels. I have to make sure she does her business, and then I have to stand in the dog-sh-”. She looked slightly guilty and bowed her head. “Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, then I have to walk into the kitchen and then order Charles to lick the, er, doggie-do’s off my stiletto heels. And if he shows even the slightest sign of not liking the taste, I must whip his bare bottom.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone had now said something about their husband’s tastes, except for their host, Mary. She didn’t like to get too familiar with her ‘guests’ and after all, some things were private. But tonight felt different somehow. “Well,” Mary said, after sipping thoughtfully at the last of her Liebfraumilch, “My husband is very respectable. He’s not really into anything kinky.” Everyone looked intently at their empty wine glasses; Mary was obviously going to be the one exception and not share any of her intimacies.

“That’s why”, Mary continued, “I get so much out of putting him in the bath and pissing all over his pompous face!”. Everyone collapsed into gales of laughter. “No!”, said Kate, “You actually pee on him?”. “Oh yes,” said Mary, enjoying being the centre of attention again, “In fact, I sometimes put his ‘finely honed’ taste-buds to the test. He likes to think he’s a bit of a connoiseur you see. So if I’m feeling really naughty, I force him to drink my pee and then describe in great detail to me what it tastes like.” Everyone was staring at Mary with bulging eyes and open mouths, they could hardly believe what she was saying. “Oh yes, sometimes I’ll refuse to have sex with him unless he can tell me what I had for lunch. Sometimes I’ve had him kneeling down in front of me, swallowing mouthful after mouthful, until he gets it right. Sometimes I deliberately lie just to keep him down there.”

With everyone suitably spellbound, she reached out for the wine bottle. But it turned out to be empty, and there was no more in the ‘fridge. For a moment she contemplated going to the cellar and getting a bottle from Adrian’s private collection. But she knew he’d be furious if she did. She glanced at her watch; 10:15pm already. He’d probably be home any second now, and then their party would definitely be over. Kate broke the silence.

“I wonder how good he really is?”. Everyone looked puzzled, including Mary. “Well”, Kate continued, “Could he tell the difference between Mary’s pee and, say, Marion’s?” “Oh,” said Mary, “I’m sure he’d make you believe he could do anything with his taste-buds, even that!” Marion adjusted her spectacles, stood up and spoke ever so softly. “Well, there’s only one way of finding out, isn’t there? We’re just going to have to put him to the test, aren’t we?”. With that she picked up her empty wine glass, left the room and went to the downstairs toilet. Every pair of eyes followed her out of the room with curious delight. They didn’t wait long.

Moments later, Marion returned, but this time the wine glass was almost full with an amber liquid. But no condensation formed on the outside, instead a faint mist wafted up from the surface. This was not chilled Liebfraumilch: it was Marion’s warm pee!

She put it down on the table, right in the middle, picked up Susan’s empty glass and handed it to her. “Your turn, Susan”. Within five minutes, there were six full wine glasses on the centre of the table, each standing on a paper drinks coaster with a number on it, one to six. And they were surrounded by six seriously aroused women all desperately willing the wine expert to come home. They didn’t have long to wait.

Adrian opened his front door at 10:23pm to hear a faint giggle coming from the living room. Damn, he thought. He knew it wasn’t Mary’s and deduced the party wasn’t over yet. He decided to have an early night and catch up on some reading about the Champagne region of France. He took his coat off, put his slippers on and tapped apologetically on the living room door. ‘I might as well get it over with’, he thought. He went in, looking a little shy and overwhelmed. They were all staring at him intently, they’d obviously been drinking wine (if you can call that German muck ‘wine’), and looked tipsy, to say the least. Seemed like they were planning to stay a while too; they all had full glasses in front of them.

“Good evening, ladies. Hello, love. Listen, I was thinking of having an early n-…”. Mary pecked him on the cheek and interrupted him. “Hi, darling. You don’t mind that the girls are still here, do you? Only we were having such a good time it seemed a shame to spoil it. In fact, we were just talking about you before you came in.” Kate sniggered and Marion dug her in the ribs with her elbow. “Yes, I was just telling them how GOOD you are at wine- tasting. An expert!”. Adrian’s chest visibly expanded. “Oh, really? Well, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert exactly.” Mary raised her eyebrows in irony. “Although, I suppose I do have a particularly keen nose and palette. Oh yes, absolutely.” He drew himself up to his full 5′ 6″ (with shoes).

He was so full of himself, he didn’t really notice the barely suppressed laughter coming from all the women. “In fact, I won the 1993 Amateur Wine Taster of the Year in London, you know”. Everyone was pretending to look impressed without giving the game away.

“Well, darling, the girls were wondering if you’d give them a demonstration of your unique skills? They’ve heard about it, but they’d like to see you in action with their own eyes”. Susan had to bite her finger to stop giggling.

“Well, it is a little late, but. . .yes, why not? And I suppose these are the wines you’d like me to identify, eh?”, he said, nodding towards the neat row of six glasses on the table. “I see there are numbers on the coasters, you’ve obviously got it all arranged hoping I’d say ‘yes’?”. Mary nodded. “Okay, okay, you win”.

He picked up glass number one. Immediately he could feel the wine had not been chilled. He tutted out loud, “Oh dear, white wine should always be lightly chilled you know, between 10 and 12 Celcius, depending on the region. Although most people leave it in the fridge, and then it gets too cold.” He brought it up to his nose and inhaled gently. He stopped sharply. It smelled like….no, it can’t be surely? He sampled the bouquet a second time, there was no doubt.

By now Mary had pressed against his side and was whispering quietly into his ear. “Listen very carefully. You’re always boasting about your wine tasting, so if you want any sex in the next three months, you have to sample all our pee and tell us all which glass is mine. Get it right, and you can have sex as often as you like. Get it wrong and you must drink my piss any time I like. Is that understood? Well?”.

Adrian felt like a fly in a huge spider’s trap. He was desperate for real, straight sex, and this looked like being his only chance. He had no choice. And she didn’t look like she was joking, either. And all the women were staring at him intently now. Women he had never met before, and his wife was now suggesting - demanding - that he sample their urine, one after another. Just as if it was wine, dammit! How humiliating, but what choice did he have?

Slowly, he nodded his agreement. Susan clapped her hands in relief and joy; this was such a turn on for her. For all of them, in fact, especially the quiet bespectacled Marion. “Okay, you’d better get to work then”, said Mary, returning to her chair. Adrian was the only one standing now; he felt like he was on display. Or like a Christian thrown to the lions. But he was going to have to consume the products of their vulva, specially prepared for him. He felt he was being eaten alive by them: ‘vagina dentata’ as his old latin master might have put it.

But he was good, and was pretty sure he could do it. Maybe he could tell just from the, er, bouquet? He put number 1 down without even tasting it, and sniffed at number 2. Mmm, possibly. Number 3 smelled much more like it, yes this was almost definitely the one (and 3 was his lucky number). Decisively he took a small mouthful and tossed it round his mouth. He could taste the alcohol and the sweetness (they’d probably been drinking a cheap sweet white, German probably) but wasn’t sure if it was hife wife’s pee. He looked around for something to spit it into.

“Oh no, darling” said Mary, “You can’t spit it out, not in front of the Ladies. You HAVE to swallow it, that’s the whole point, dear.” Adrian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He didn’t realise she meant drink, when she said ’sample’ she thought she meant…. Then he realised in his panic he had accidentally swallowed it. Yeuch! Curiously it didn’t taste as salty as he imagined it would. Quite sweet in fact. But was it Mary’s?

Number 4 was a possible contender, the smell was right, but the taste? No, not really. Number 5 was quite strong, very salty. It also had a strange metallic taste. Number 6 smelled a bit nondescript but had a strange, strong taste. Could be… Back to number 2, yes that was very familiar. He tried number one a final time. It was very similar to number two, there was hardly any difference. But in the end, he was in little doubt. He looked triumphant.

“Right, I think I’ve got it”. All the eyes were fixed on his mouth. He didn’t know it, but there were six damp patches developing on six pairs of panties too. They were all finding this breathtakingly erotic. “It has to be number two”.

Mary smiled. “Sorry, I’m afraid you’re wrong”, she said.

The words echoed around his head. He couldn’t believe he’d got it wrong. He was so SURE. The thought of no sex for three months was one thing, but he couldn’t imagine the other thing she’d force him to do. And he knew she would, Mary didn’t joke. “Are you sure, I mean, really sure?”, he gasped in disbelief.

“Oh yes”, said Marion, quietly, “She’s right because number two is mine”. So, a woman who Adrian had never met before had just told him he’d drunk her urine! He’d have preferred not to know. Marion was looking at his mouth, where she’d watched her own pee disappear into. Her body felt like it was on fire with excitement. Adrian was embarrassed and looked away. He could hardly take all this in. Was it really happening? Mary could see he was doing his best, so relented. “Okay, I’ll tell you what, as long as your next guess is correct, I’ll let you off”.

He snapped up glass number one and sniffed, and tasted. Then number three. Mmm. It was a close thing, but….

This went on for nearly half an hour. The glasses gradually became empty, Adrian was getting more frustrated and puzzled, and the six women were getting sopping wet between their legs. Adrian’s breath was beginning to smell like a sewer. His sense of taste was virtually non- existent now. They’d now eliminated number 2, 3, 6, and 5. He knew he’d lost the game, and that he’d be resigned to drinking his wife’s pee for the next three months. Mary never joked.

But now his pride was at stake. He had to find the right one. So it was between 4 and 1. They tasted remarkably similar now, but he finally plumped for number 1. Yet again, Mary shook her head. By now all the glasses except two were completely empty. “So it was number 4 all along?”, he said, picking up the glass and completely draining it. “Mmm, I suppose so, yes I think I can see it now.”

Within a few minutes, the women left in two taxi’s which had been ordered. None of them was in a fit state to drive and Adrian, well, had been a passive drinker. Or should that be pissive? He was beginning to feel drunk himself, even though he’d had no wine directly! Just before they left, the quiet bespectacled woman called Marion tugged Mary’s arm. “I think we ought to tell him, you know”. Susan nodded in agreement. It was Kate who broke the news to him.

“We were all quite impressed really. After all you didn’t really stand a chance. You see, although there were six glassses, we decided that Mary shouldn’t have one. Susan filled both 1 and 4, well she was pretty desperate, so in fact you’ve been drinking our pee all evening, none of it was your wife’s”. Kate giggled, and they all scurried out to the waiting taxis.

Mary closed the door and locked it, as Adrian stared at her in disbelief. “You put me through all that for nothing?”. “Oh, not for nothing”, she said, turning towards him. “We all had a great evening actually. Anyway…”. She was rubbing her pussy a little and looking a little anxious, pressing her legs together. “I wanted to save it all for you when we were in private. That way, I can see you drink it draught.”

Still standing in the hallway, within inches of the front door, she hoisted her dress and hurriedly pulled her underwear down. “I want you to drink my pussy dry. Do that and I’ll change my mind about sex. You will be able to have it after all. But only if you drink every drop out of me now. Agreed?”. For the second time that evening, Adrian nodded reluctantly. She was clever, he’d give her that, and began to have a new respect for her.

He fell to his knees in front of her just in time, as the cascade began. He opened his mouth and she had it full in seconds. The taste was very familiar, of course. How could he possibly have mixed them up? It was obvious now that none of the glasses had had Mary’s in; it was so distinctive. He swallowed and she re-filled him, noisily and messily. This went on for nearly two minutes until she had completely emptied her bladder into his mouth. She was feeling intensely aroused now, and wanted to be fucked right there.

“Just a minute”, said Adrian, “Sorry about this, but I’m going to have to go to the loo - I’m busting”. He went up to the bathroom leaving Mary standing there in the hallway, panting. Her engines were revving and the driver had taken a pit-stop! Her hand wandered down and she started masturbating, just to keep herself ticking over.

How was Adrian to know that she wasn’t really going to deny him sex if he got it wrong?

Admittedly, she didn’t do it often - but she was only joking.

- The End -

Copyright John Martin
September 1999
All Rights Reserved