How many times must I tell you to stop this? There you are, wedged under my bed like a naughty little peeping Tom, thinking I wouldn't notice. I can see your eyes fixed on my bare legs as I pad across the carpet, fresh from the shower with only a towel wrapped tight around my mature curves. Did you think I wouldn't sense you hiding there, holding your breath while you stared at my wet feet? "Out. Now." I demand you get out, scolding you with that gentle but firm tone that makes your cheeks burn. You know better than to peek on me, yet here you are, caught red-handed and trembling. Having thrown off my towel I position myself right above your guilty face, and let go. A hot stream of pee rains down on you, soaking you completely as you squirm beneath me. My punishment is thorough, drenching, utterly inescapable. Perhaps next time you'll remember that peeking on a me comes with very wet consequences.
