Peggy sat on the toilet, her legs spread as wide as they would go. Leaning against the water tank, she caressed her slender thighs, running her hand up and down the smooth, creamy flesh. Her skirt was bunched about her small waist, and her tits strained at the front of her blouse. The top buttons of her blouse were open, and the creamy swells of her tits appeared ready to overflow the confines of her bra.

She was in her own bathroom, the one adjoining her bedroom. As she struggled with her decision, she carefully avoided looking at the small hole in the wall. On the other side of the wall, she knew her son, Joey, was peeking.

She had noticed the hole immediately a week ago, and at first she had been angry, but not very much. Then she decided it was fun, exciting. If Joey wanted to peek at her, she knew he found interest in her, in her body. Besides, she didn't have to let him know she was aware. That way, she could do what she wanted, show what she wanted, and Joey would not know she was doing it on purpose.

So far she had not shown him anything but her legs, her panties. When she used the toilet, she made sure her skirt was over her knees. He had seen her tits, she was sure. He had a straight line to the bathtub as well as the toilet. And Peggy bathed every day, sometimes twice a day.

The decision she was trying to make was whether to piss into her panties or not. The fact that her son could see it excited her. The urge to piss into her panties had been with her for a very long time, longer than she cared to remember. Why she wanted to, she didn't know. Why she had tried before and couldn't, she knew. It was supposed to be wrong, perverse. But Peggy couldn't understand why that was so. She couldn't understand why anything a woman wanted to do in privacy was wrong. If it felt good, and didn't harm anyone, Peggy just didn't understand why it was wrong.