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Rip Steakface

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  1. Comments and criticism welcome, obviously.
  2. INTRO: Welp. Here goes nothing. My first story on this site. I wrote this a few years ago in one night of absolute madness, and then sat on it until now because of... I don't know - shame? Disappointment? Displeasure? Something. I've only recently been able to convince myself to have another look at it, and I guess it's less terrible than I remember. Well, I'm not doing anything with it now, so maybe you lot can find some pleasure in it. The characters and settings herein are from an idea I once had for an animated sitcom, like The Simpsons or American Dad!, so if certain things seem a bit over-the-top, then that's why. The world of Northfield, British Columbia, is a zany, parodic place that only vaguely resembles reality. And I think that's all you need to know. But enough of my ramblings. How's about that story? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ STORY: A shadowy figure sat hunched over the desk. In a low voice he asked, “What do we know about them?” The woman sitting across from him placed a manila folder on the desk. “Everything we know is in here, sir.” The man in the shadows opened the folder and examined it. It was totally empty. He made a facial expression that, in some social circles, could almost be considered a smirk. “Well, it’s about as much as we know about the rest of them.” He stood and opened the filing cabinet behind him. In the second drawer from the top was a row of identical folders. In the poor light, the names on the folders were only barely visible. · BLACKSMITH · DARKSOUL · MAGNIFICENT MAN · MERCURY · OLYMPIA The man in the shadows flicked these folders toward him, exposing a spot at the far end of the drawer. Gingerly, he placed the last folder in the drawer. The sticker affixed to it read “PEREGRINE/RAVEN-GIRL”. Straightening his tie, the man in the shadows turned to the woman. He blinked and said, “I think it’s time we arranged the meeting.” These last two words had an added weight to them, almost as if they were some sort of epic foreshadowing. The woman said nothing, but rather nodded and left the room. The man in the shadows turned back to the filing cabinet, and with a flourish, slammed the drawer shut. The placard on the drawer was written in a direct, no-nonsense hand. Two words, that’s all it was. Two words with the power to topple governments and strike fear in the hearts of criminals. It said “SENTINELS INITIATIVE”. Gasps echoed throughout the cinema. And the credits rolled. The lights came up on what was, by her count anyway, Hannah Hastings’ third viewing of The Furthering Adventures of Peregrine Falcon and Ravengirl: Rise of Pyrone. This was the last film in the Dynamo Comics Cinematic Universe that would see a release until the Sentinels movie next year, and in her opinion, they’d saved the best for last. Hannah was a lively, energetic girl of 16. A twelfth-grade student at Nat Bailey Secondary, Hannah stood 5’5” in her stocking feet and – at 112 lbs. – was a bit skinnier than she ought to be. She had long blonde hair done up in a ponytail, blue eyes, and freckles reflective of the Irish on her mom’s side of the family. Her breasts were on the low end of the B range, and as such had gained her the unflattering nickname of “The Surfboard”. On this hot summer day, Hannah was wearing a white-on-black “May Justice Prevail” Sentinels T-shirt and black denim cutoffs. As the credits rolled, Hannah rose from her seat somewhat unsteadily and collected her things. There were two reasons for her shakiness as she got up. The first was that she had been sitting still for over two-and-a-half hours at this point. Even though she knew the film inside and out by now, Hannah hadn’t wanted to miss a thing, and as such her legs were pretty well asleep. The second reason also related to the film’s running time, but in a slightly different way. To beat the heat (and because she’d forgotten to have lunch), Hannah had purchased a large popcorn and a large soda. At the time, her drink choice had been ideal. It was a cold drink inside an air-conditioned cinema on one of the hottest days the town of Northfield had seen in some time. But now, it was starting to catch up to her. The second reason Hannah had trouble getting up was because she was maintaining a tenuous hold on a liter and a half of liquid which had traveled the usual course and was now sitting patiently in her bladder, waiting to complete its journey, as it were, and she was afraid any sudden movement might cause a premature release. In short, Hannah had to pee. Bad. As she got to her feet and stretched every aching muscle, Hannah squeezed her legs together tightly, so as to keep a firm hold on the liquid inside her. Okay, no big deal, she thought to herself, I held it through the extended edition of Return of the King, I can hold it for this. I just have to walk out of here with my head held high and a smile on my face. The bathroom’s right outside. I can do this. As the credits finished, the screen went black and faded into a bizarre alien world. I can do this. I can do-- Ooh! Post-credits scene! Hannah momentarily forgot her troubles and stared at the screen attentively, wondering how in the hell she’d missed this the previous two times she saw the movie. A magnificent spaceship hove into view over the planet. Swarms of heavily-armoured alien soldiers descended on the surface of the planet. Zoom into the command deck, and the throne room of-- Hannah’s jaw hit the floor and she whispered in awe, “No. No. Y’all motherfuckers did not just--” The powerful and imposing figure in the centre of the room spoke, and everyone remaining in the theatre snapped to attention. The figure stepped forward and sneered. In a booming voice he said, “This world now belongs to the Royal Hyperilax Fleet.” Hannah grinned like a giddy schoolgirl. Kalmax. Kalmax the Fucking Conqueror. They just teased Kalmax the Motherfucking Lord Baby Jesus Conqueror for the Sentinels movie. And... Holy shit... under the makeup. Hannah grinned even wider. That’s Picard under there. Patrick Stewart as Kalmax the Conqueror for The Sentinels. A spurt of something went into Hannah’s panties. Petrified, her hands flew to her crotch. Surreptitiously, she slipped a couple fingers inside her waistband to inspect the damage. Her panties were damp. Not with urine, but with... something else. Huh, an actual fangasm. That’s a new one. That close call, however, did serve to snap Hannah back into reality. She could geek out on Twitter when she got home; right now, she had to find a bathroom. Hannah walked out of the theatre briskly. If she’d had a choice, she would have gone slower, to keep the sloshing of her bladder to a minimum, but as it was she needed to get to the bathroom fast. Hannah turned the corner and stopped dead. The line outside the ladies’ room was some fifteen people long, all of them in varying states of desperation. She looked to her right. The line outside the men’s was... somehow even longer than that. Shit. Hannah squeezed her legs together tightly and entered the line. She could hold it. She could hold it. Five minutes later, she was furiously recanting that statement. She couldn’t hold it. She couldn’t hold it. Hannah crossed one leg in front of the other and squeezed tight. She bent at the hips slightly and balled her hands into fists. The girl in front of Hannah looked to be in much direr straits. She was hopping from foot to foot and had her hands tightly between her legs. “God, what is taking so long?” she whined. Trying to keep her cool, Hannah responded in kind. “I know, right? We’ve moved, like, ten feet.” A call came from farther up the line. “A couple of the stalls are flooded! They think a firecracker ruptured one of the pipes!” Hannah balled her fists even tighter and seethed. Her brothers were always flushing small explosives into places where they didn’t belong. And guess who worked here during the summer? Those two were just lucky their shift had ended during the movie. Probably safe at home playing BioShock or something, the little-- Hannah felt something squirt into her panties again. This time it was piss, she was sure of that. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, letting out a whine of desperation. “Ohhhhh, God, don’t think about a city at the bottom of the ocean,” she whispered to herself. Hannah bit her lip and looked around. Could she pop into one of the stores on the block and use their bathroom? More importantly, would she be able to make it? Looking out the windows of the cinema, Hannah examined her options. Music store? No public bathrooms. Liquor store? No soap; she wasn’t 19 yet. No way they’d let her in unattended. Comic shop? Yes, perfect! She was a regular there anyway; the owners would certainly let her use the bathroom! She hoped... Hannah turned on her heels and walked out of the theatre, taking small steps to avoid losing control. She undid the button on her shorts to keep them from cutting into her bladder, then half-walked-half-jogged to the comic shop, occasionally stopping to cross her legs together and survey the surrounding area. She couldn’t imagine what people might say if they saw the mayor’s daughter of all people on the verge of peeing her pants. Her dad would certainly never let her live it down. Hannah felt another wave of desperation pass over her, worse than before, so she stopped momentarily by the bus stop and knelt down, ostensibly to tie her shoe, but in reality tucking her other heel underneath her crotch and squeezing hard. If anyone had been observing this spectacle, they would have pondered just how it could take a person two minutes to tie their shoe, especially when they were clearly just moving the laces back and forth in their hands and discreetly humming, “La de da, nothing to see here, just tying my shoe, hmm hmm hmm, dum de doo...” After a moment, the urge passed, and Hannah shakily got to her feet again, confident she could now make it to the comic shop. She looked around to make sure nobody was watching and squeezed her quivering groin with both hands, whimpering in a manner akin to a dog scratching at the door. Hannah heard a vehicle rounding the corner behind her and snapped her head around to see if the driver was watching her. Just in case, Hannah removed her hands from where they were and slipped them into her pockets. Oh, hell. It was the bus. Worse, it was her bus. She had promised to make dinner tonight and if she didn’t get on this bus here and now, she probably wouldn’t get home in time to get things prepared on schedule. As the bus neared the bus stop, Hannah looked around frantically. Should she walk the next two blocks to the comic shop and relieve herself, potentially arriving home late, or should she get on the bus and try to tough it out, potentially losing all dignity if she didn’t make it? Bobbing up and down on her toes, Hannah grimaced, “Sophie’s Choice was a coin flip compared to this.” The bus drew closer and Hannah stopped bobbing, deciding it was better to put aside her biological needs than those of her entire family. Some of them could get damn testy when they were hungry. Hannah stepped on the bus and paid her fare, then took a seat at the back. Luckily, the bus was practically empty, so she didn’t need to worry about hiding her desperation. As the bus pulled away from the stop, Hannah crossed her legs together tightly and searched her backpack for her phone. Finding it, she switched it on and logged onto Facebook, hoping to take her mind off her rather tense situation. The first few items in her News Feed were the usual banalities: posts about who was listening to what song, things that her friends were liking, family vacation photos, etc. Finding she had been tagged in a video post, Hannah clicked on it, and subsequently wished she hadn’t. The video was titled “OMG STEPH TOTES PISSED HERSELF! ROFL” It was a grainy cell phone video of last week’s party in North Park. Hannah’s friend Stephanie was sitting on a beach towel, laughing like a dumb teen who’s just tried marijuana for the first time (a fair comparison seeing as that’s what she was), with a wet patch on her shorts and on the towel upon which she sat. Hannah herself was sitting beside Stephanie and doing her best Helen Mirren impression, which in her altered state came out like a cross between Brian Blessed and Fran Drescher. Revisiting the events of that night sober was cause enough for Hannah to smile, and she felt a laugh building up inside her. She placed a hand over her mouth and tried to maintain her composure, as a laugh of this size could very easily cause her to lose control of the other thing she was holding in at the moment. When video-Hannah launched into a Judi Dench that sounded more like a castrated Timothy Dalton, bus-Hannah lost it and doubled over laughing, despite herself. Suddenly, a large squirt of urine went into Hannah’s panties, and her hands flew to her crotch, causing her to drop her phone. The noise from the back elicited some looks from the other passengers, and Hannah tried to act as casually as possible, even though she was now closer to her breaking point than ever. After the other passengers looked away, Hannah slipped a hand down into her shorts and examined the damage. Her white panties were now soggy with piss and had developed rather a nice stain in the front. She could see from the inside where some of it had leaked through, forming a wet spot approximately the size of a toonie on her shorts. Hannah jammed her other hand down into her shorts and squeezed tight, the wet fabric of her underwear rubbing uncomfortably against her skin. Wanting to correct for that, she moved her hands inside her panties, so that her hands clamped down on her bare naughty bits. She crossed her legs tightly and hoped against hope that she could make it the rest of the way. She could feel her bladder straining, the pressure growing with each spurt she released. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stop the next one. Suddenly, Hannah was jolted from her seat and she felt her fingernails digging into her pelvic skin, she was squeezing so hard. The bus had reached that infamous stretch of road known affectionately throughout Northfield as “Pothole Avenue”. It was a brittle, cracked, pothole-ridden (obviously) span of five city blocks dating back to the earliest days of paved roads in this part of the province. Pothole Avenue had damaged more than a few axles and shock absorbers and unsettled its fair share of full bladders since the days of yore, and Hannah could recall a few times in her own life when it had caused her particular distress in conjunction with her often copious fluid intake. As the bus lurched over pothole after pothole, Hannah shifted her legs and sat on her heel, only this time she couldn’t pretend to be tying her shoe. Realizing people were starting to shoot furtive glances her way, Hannah removed her hands from inside her shorts and picked her phone up off the floor. She held it close in her lap so that she could still occasionally jam a couple fingers against her pee-hole if she had to. Nearing the end of Pothole Avenue, Hannah thanked every deity she could think of that she had somehow made it through that nightmare of a road without any further leaks. Better yet, the bus was fast approaching her street. Just a hop, skip, and a jump to the end of the block, and thence down the ridiculously long driveway to Hastings Manor. The house had no shortage of bathrooms, so there was no danger that she’d be stuck outside while someone did their business. “Next stop: Main Street – Arbutus Boulevard.” Yesyesyesohthankyouthankyou! Hannah screamed inwardly as she signalled to get off at the next stop. Hannah gathered her things and practically bolted for the door of the bus even as it came to a stop. She placed her phone back in her backpack and walked as quickly as she could to the end of the street. Not much longer now. She could see the front gates! Just a few more minutes until she could get inside and just fucking PEE. Hannah smiled at the thought of finally being able to pee. It would just feel so good after all the crap she’d put up with today. The thought of releasing everything, the river of piss, the lake of piss that was building up inside her, it was such an appealing thought she could almost feel it. All truth being told, she was feeling it. Snapping out of her reverie, Hannah looked down. Her wet panties felt even heavier now, even more piss-laden if that was humanly possible. Hannah could feel a trickle making its way down her leg, a small dark stain growing on one of her shoes. Hannah snapped her legs together and jammed her hands back down her shorts, trying to stem the flow. She tightened her sphincter muscles with all her might. She couldn’t wet her pants. She just couldn’t. The trickle slowed and eventually stopped. That was a saving grace. She hadn’t lost it totally, not yet. But that, Hannah decided, had been too fucking close. Taking her hands out of her shorts, Hannah broke into a fast run. She couldn’t squeeze her legs or sit on her heels anymore. She had to rely on sheer muscle tension to get her the rest of the way. Running for what seemed like miles, Hannah sprinted to the end of the street and pressed the buzzer to be admitted entrance to the manor grounds. Dancing from foot to foot as the heavy wrought iron gate creaked open, Hannah squeezed her skinny frame through the opening even as the gears were still grinding away. Hannah sprinted with nigh superhuman ability down the winding driveway, jumping over rocks, swerving around trees, and ducking under branches as her aching bladder practically screamed at her to get to a toilet. Finally, after what felt like forever, she reached the front doors. She rang the front doorbell frantically, practically jogging in place with her free hand between her legs. When nobody answered, she took off her backpack and searched desperately for her key. The pain in Hannah’s abdomen was now so strong that there were tears starting to form in her eyes. Still failing to find her key, Hannah could feel herself about to lose control. This was it. This was the big one. This would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everything was going to come forth at this very moment. As the first drops worked their way past Hannah’s throbbing pussy, she suddenly had an idea. Desperate plans call for desperate measures, no pun intended. In the centre of the yard was a large concrete fountain – the sort you see in movies; they’re the ones that couples are always throwing coins into during the gooey love montages. Anyway, this particular fountain was topped with a replica of Brussels’ Mannekin Pis. It was a total eyesore and the family had wanted to get rid of it for years, but at this moment Hannah couldn’t have been happier that it was there. Even as she hopped over to the fountain, Hannah could feel herself losing control. Her pee was now coming out in intermittent spurts, each one lasting a bit longer than the last. Her panties and shorts were now thoroughly soaked, and she could feel several rivulets trickling down her legs. Hannah reached the edge of the fountain and turned to face outwards. She tore her soaked garments down to her ankles and positioned her bare ass and pussy over the water. Grabbing hold of one of the concrete fish circling the fountain’s edge, Hannah relaxed. Hannah felt one more spurt of pee shoot out as she positioned herself, and then nothing. She paused, puzzled, and wondered if maybe she’d drained the last of it into her pants. A few seconds more and it came. It started as a trickle, and then, perhaps once Hannah’s bladder was assured it had finally located an appropriate spot for release, it just poured out of her. Her clear urine hit splashed into the water of the fountain with the speed of a garden hose. Hannah let out a sigh – no, a groan – a groan of almost orgasmic relief as her bladder finally emptied, and more than a few drops of either water or pee or perhaps both leapt from the fountain and splashed back at her. Hannah closed her eyes and smiled as she continued to pee and pee for well over a minute or more. As her bladder emptied and her stream slowed to a trickle and then eventually to a few drops, Hannah hauled herself back to her feet. She shook her hips vigorously to get rid of the last few drops, her bum jiggling as she did so. Hannah pulled up her panties and shorts, grimacing as the cold, wet fabric chafed her nether regions. She finally located her key and went inside the house, climbing the stairs in total silence and locking herself in her room. She stripped off her wet clothes and climbed into the shower, her mind filled with homicidal revenge fantasies pertaining to her brothers. As Hannah walked uncomfortably into the house, she failed to notice her mother relaxing in the sun some distance from the fountain. # Fiona Hastings had been lying in a deck chair, soaking up the sun in a slightly-too-tight black bikini, sleeping soundly when she heard her daughter come stomping frantically up the driveway. She had watched in silence as Hannah did her pee dance while searching for her house key, she had kept quiet as Hannah had urinated into the fountain, and she said nothing as Hannah had unwittingly mooned her. Fiona had said and done nothing throughout this spectacle mainly because she didn’t want to cause her daughter any further embarrassment, but also because there was something strangely fascinating about the whole thing. Hannah looked remarkably like Fiona had some 25-ish years ago, and Fiona could remember a couple instances in her own sordid youth when she had been forced to use the fountain as a convenient source of relief. Watching Hannah now was like looking through a window into the past. Fiona pushed all nostalgic pee memories to the back of her mind as she felt a twinge in her own bladder. She looked down beside the deck chair, where sat a dinner tray with a half-full glass of iced tea, next to a very nearly empty pitcher. She had drained and refilled the glass several times before she had fallen asleep, and now it was catching up to her. Fiona rested a hand on her abdomen and felt her swollen bladder. It was hard as a rock. Not wanting to move, Fiona simply wiggled her hips and sunk lower into the chair. She laid a hand over her swollen bladder and relaxed, letting the pee trickle out, through the fabric, down around to the small of her back, where it formed a pool at the small of her back, and then dripped through the chair onto the grass below. She felt herself deflating and gave a small, contented sigh. Her mouth twitched into a happy smile, and she closed her eyes again.
  3. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent ripper. A watchful uploader. A dark fetishist. Directed by Christopher Nolan *Dun dun dundundundun DUN DUN DUN*
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