It was the day after a powerful thunderstorm with heavy rains, and it was overcast and cool. Sören had spent the night with Anthony, and they slept in late enough that by the time Sören felt mentally awake, it was afternoon. He was also feeling restless, so that gave Anthony an opportunity to show him a patch of woods he'd fallen in love with since he moved to town. Sören hadn't been hiking in years, and though he couldn't go far because of his asthma and hypermobility issues, he was nonetheless excited enough about Anthony being willing to take him even for a short walk, and share his world, that he squeaked and clapped his hands.
Sören worried his reaction would come across too childish, but Anthony seemed charmed by it, and affectionately tousled Sören's curls. "You're like a big puppy," he said, then he smirked. "You want to go for walkies?"
Sören nodded enthusiastically - he had a feeling of what was coming.
Anthony got out the collar and leash. He put the collar around Sören's neck, clipped the leash through, and walked Sören out to the car on the leash. On the ride out to the park, Anthony kept the leash wrapped around his right hand, and Sören smiled so hard his face hurt, basking in that wonderful glow of belonging to Anthony, being his. Anthony continued pulling Sören on the leash as they walked down the trail together into the forest.
The silver mists and the drops of water sparkling on the ferns and grasses gave the forest an enchanted feel. They paused to study mushrooms, wildflowers and moss. There was the sound of a creek bubbling in the distance and it was relaxing, adding to the contemplative mood, taking time out to just be with nature. Sören felt closer to Anthony for sharing this with him, witnessing the sacred in the everyday, the little miracles of life, finding beauty even in a shitty town like this. It felt intimate, to explore like this together. We two boys, together clinging, Sören thought to himself, remembering the Whitman poem they both loved, even as they'd both complained of Whitman's nationalism.
Then the sound of the brook became less relaxing. Sören had been so caught up in the excitement of getting to go for "walkies" on the leash, that he didn't go to the bathroom like he usually did before he went somewhere - a force of habit since he was a trans man and public bathrooms were fraught, being obviously too male for a women's room and yet not being able to use a stand-and-pee device for a men's room urinal. Now the water nagged his bladder, and Sören tried to hold it, but as they found a particularly interesting cluster of mushrooms growing on a fallen tree and Anthony stooped to examine it and tugged on the leash for Sören to do the same, Sören made an uncomfortable noise as the movement triggered his bladder even more.
Anthony glanced over and gave Sören a concerned look. "You OK?" He pursed his lips. "Did you hurt something?"
Sören shook his head. "I didn't sprain anything, but. Ah." Sören nervously rubbed his beard and ran a hand through his curls. "I. Um. I have to pee." He bit his lower lip and looked off to the side, feeling awkward. "I don't want to ask you to go back, I'm sorry -"
Anthony smirked, and his eyes lit up. Anthony tugged on the leash to pull Sören closer. "We're not going back just yet, no." Anthony's smirk became a grin. "Because you can do it right here."
Sören's mouth opened, then his breath hitched. "You mean... in front of you?" They'd done piss play a few times before but this was new and different, doing so outside.
Anthony nodded. The look on his face reminded Sören of a hungry wolf who had just seen prey.
Sören bit his lip again as a frisson of excitement went through him. Sören stood up, stepped out of his Doc Martens, and undid his jeans, tugged them down and stepped out of them. Before he could yank down his grey boxer-briefs, Anthony slapped Sören's hand away.
"Go in your pants," Anthony ordered him.
Sören's cheeks burned and another frisson went through him. "Can I... at least take my packer out?"
"Yeah."
Sören took out his packer and they both laughed as Sören unceremoniously plopped his dick down onto the jeans. Anthony sat on a stump. Still holding the leash, he tapped his foot and gave Sören an "I'm waiting" look.
Sören took a few breaths, preparing himself to pee. As excited as he was about doing this - it felt so wrong and hot, so shamelessly slutty - he still wasn't used to peeing in front of other people, let alone peeing his pants on purpose in front of other people. Sören swallowed hard, and focused on the sound of the rushing brook, tuning out everything but the flowing water until at last his bladder gave in and hot liquid flooded his boxer-briefs. Sören's cunt throbbed at the delicious little thrill, reveling in the heat in Anthony's eyes.
"Good boy," Anthony said. He tugged on the leash and dragged Sören closer, and Sören leaned in for pettings like a puppy being given praise. That, too, made him tingly... made him want.
Anthony flashed that wicked grin again. "Kneel," he said.
It was hard for Sören to kneel with his joint problems, but he did as he was told, bare knees meeting rough ground. Anthony stood, unzipped his own jeans, and pulled down his jeans and boxers. "I gotta go too," Anthony explained, and then, just like that, he aimed and pissed on the wet front of Sören's boxer-briefs.
Sören gasped, his cunt throbbing again as he felt Anthony's piss squirting over him. Sören bit his lip and whimpered, coming a little, a few fluttery contractions as the piss hit his hard t-dick through the soaked underwear. Anthony growled, as if he knew, and then when he was done peeing he stepped closer, his dick in Sören's face. With one hand grabbing a fistful of Sören's curls, and the other possessively grabbing the ring in Sören's collar, Anthony ground out, "Lick me clean."
Sören eagerly, thirstily began to lap at Anthony's cock, worshiping it with each slow glide of his tongue, up and down the shaft, around and around the head. He savored the salty, slightly bitter taste of the lingering piss of his lover, like he was taking a sacrament, or drinking the ambrosia of the gods. Anthony's cock hardened beautifully and Sören licked him faster, greedy for it. Their eyes met and Sören hoped Anthony could see the adoration in his eyes, feeling honored by such a gift. Anthony's hold relaxed on Sören's hair and he began to pet Sören. "Good boy," Anthony said again.
Sören hummed with pleasure as he took the head of Anthony's cock in his mouth, kissing it, making Anthony moan. If Sören didn't need to hold onto him to steady himself as he knelt, he would be reaching down his pants, and even now Sören couldn't help rubbing against Anthony's leg like he was in heat, whimpering around the head of Anthony's cock, wanting him so badly.
"You are such a fucking slut for this," Anthony breathed. He took his cock out of Sören's mouth, slapped Sören's face with it, and then tapped it against Sören's tongue, the precum making streamers.
"I'm your slut," Sören whispered.
"Lay down," Anthony commanded.
Sören lay back in the damp grass - his boxer-briefs were still wetter, between his piss, Anthony's piss, and the cream dripping down his thighs. His cunt twinged again and he made a noise as he felt himself dripping once more.
Anthony climbed on top of Sören and spread Sören's legs. Sören moaned as he felt Anthony settle between them, Anthony's hard cock resting on Sören's smaller t-dick.
Still holding the leash, Anthony kissed him deeply, fiercely, and began to rub against him. Sören rolled his hips, matching the slow, sensuous rhythm. Sören clung to him, breathing harder. Anthony kissed and licked Sören's neck, grinding against him more insistently, and Sören moaned and shuddered - the rubbing felt more intense through his piss-soaked underwear.
"God, we're rutting like animals," Sören gasped, loving it.
"Mmmmm, well... you are my pet." Anthony pulled on the leash again and kissed Sören. Both men groaned into the kiss and rubbed against each other harder, faster.
"Oh, fuck." Sören's nails dug in Anthony's hips. "This is so fucking hot." Sören looked into Anthony's eyes and reached up to touch his face. "You are fucking hot."
"And you are fucking wet." Anthony kissed him again, and licked down Sören's throat. He nibbled his way back up Sören's neck, making Sören cry out. "My little piss slut." Their tongues took a few playful licks and Anthony purred, "You liked tasting it, didn't you?"
"I love your cock." Sören bit his lower lip, and gasped as the rhythm of their cocks brought him closer to that edge; he could feel the tension coiling, getting ready to spring a second time. He made himself hold back, not wanting to come too soon... wanting to make this last. This beautiful, beautiful moment of wildness here in the forest. Bound - Anthony was still playing with the leash - and yet feeling freedom like he'd never known, like shackles of shame had been cast down. It was wicked and innocent all at once, celebrating their bodies this way. Sören moaned as Anthony rubbed faster. "Oooh, your cock's so much bigger than my cock."
Anthony kissed and licked Sören's neck some more, nibbled, before he nipped Sören's lower lip. "That's because you're a little faggot."
"Oh, FUCK!" Sören almost came - Anthony knew how to play his kinks and this was one of them.
Anthony smiled, and their tongues licked some more, flirting, teasing. "That's right. Little faggot dicks like yours were made to be fucked like this."
"Oh god." Sören felt himself rushing to that point of no return, rocking his hips, desperately fucking Anthony's cock with his cock, so needy for it that he was fucking in his own piss. "Oh god. Ohgodohgod -"
Anthony rubbed harder still. "You like that? You love being my sissy faggot slut, don't you..."
Sören whimpered, continuing to grind against Anthony like his life depended on it. He felt like he was in fact going to die if he didn't come soon. "More," he begged, deep in the throes of submission, surrender. Nothing else mattered but this. Someone could walk by on that trail and see them fucking like this and he wouldn't care. The thought of them being caught, witnessing Sören's piss-soaked underwear, admitting that he was a faggot, he loved being Anthony's little faggot fucktoy... "Oh god, more, please..."
Anthony kissed him, and then his mouth was on Sören's neck again, knowing what he liked. "You gonna come, slut? Is your little faggot dick going to submit to my big cock? Show me what a fucking slut you are and come for me -"
"Shit!" Sören lost control, climaxing, the contractions so powerful that it was almost painful... and oh, the flood of euphoria. Sören giggled madly, happy tears in his eyes.
A moment later Anthony came too, spurting over Sören's boxer-briefs, making even more of a mess. He kissed Sören passionately and Sören threw his arms around him, giggling again. They rubbed noses and Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose, then Sören kissed Anthony's nose in return.
They took each other's hands and squeezed. They rolled onto their sides, laying there in the wet grass, resting in each other's arms, legs tangled together.
"That was fun," Sören said.
Anthony kissed Sören's brow and held him close, petting Sören's hair, rubbing his back. "You're fun."
Sören smiled and snuggled closer.