The lake water was cool but bearable near the surface, but if she were to plunge her feet down a few feet, it would freeze her toes. She stretched, tilting her head back, her eyes closed. She felt a wicked urge to strip off her red bikini, but she knew that some of the guests in the lodge might not appreciate the sight of a completely nude woman posing in view of their rooms. She opened her eyes and gazed across the lake at the mountains.

She'd first seen those snowy peaks that ringed the lake on a morning much like this morning, five years ago. Roland had brought her up here the previous night, and she hadn't realized what a spectacular place he had brought her to until she had awakened the next morning and had glanced out the window of the bridal suite on her way to the bathroom.

Heaven, she had thought. I've died and gone to heaven.

At that moment, Roland awoke. "Hey, baby, come here."

"I've gotta piss, Roland."

"Good." Roland – all six feet of him, with his hairy chest and his rippling abdomen, with his football-player's thigh's and calves, with his muscular feet and hands, with his cock and balls of a stud bull – accompanied her to the bathroom, his warm hand on her lower back, his middle finger sliding up and down her asscheek. "You walk real pretty. I love your ass, baby."

In the bathroom, she squatted over the toilet, held apart her cuntlips, and let her piss hiss out.

Roland, on his hands and knees, pressed his face close to her crotch so he could watch. Among the many unusual pleasures Roland enjoyed, watching her piss turned him on. Jessica, even though she'd known Roland for six months now and had learned more kinky things about him than she could recount without a great deal of thought, still found herself somewhat embarrassed, somewhat shocked, as she squatted there over the toilet with millionaire Roland Grant sniffing her piss stream. For Roland Grant was more than rich – he was a football hero a former NFL superstar, and a personal friend of important politicians.