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consch

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  1. I had what turned out to be kidney stones last autumn. The pain came in waves and some were really bad. If the pain comes back within a week or so you may want to have it looked at before it gets worse. Or else have some strong painkillers on hand in case it does get worse.
  2. I was able to purchase it on ManyVids 3 years ago, but it must have been delisted since then.
  3. I like idea 2. I'm actually working on a story of my own at the moment with a similar theme.
  4. I really enjoyed those stories. I do remember seeing them on peesearch, but they can also be found here from an even earlier time: https://web.archive.org/web/20040206101307/http://www.tgc.co.uk/waters/stories/story_fdesp.htm. There are 4 of them there.
  5. One theme I enjoy in stories is when characters set each other up for unexpected desperation and then playfully tease each other about it while continuing to prevent access to a bathroom. I have written stories with this theme in the past. Typically my stories have had a small number of pranksters and victims, but I am considering putting together scenarios involving more people at once. An issue I run into while trying to do this is that having more people means that the setup needs to be more structured. This in turn makes it more difficult to engineer surprise, which I think is an important part of the magic. I'll describe a scenario I'm considering to flesh this out, and perhaps you can help me decide what flavor of surprise would work best. The scenario I'm considering involves a live theatre performance with a type of audience participation. The basic idea is that everyone in the audience is set up to have to pee really badly starting relatively early in the performance while the people on stage talk about how much they are enjoying watching everyone try not to pee. My current plan is to have only one stage performer and having it be a woman, but I may decide to add stage performers if I think it will make the story more interesting. The questions I am struggling with are: How should the play be advertised, and how should the setup be executed? If the poster clearly stated that the audience will be desperate to pee for the better part of the performance, and there would be no surprise, no tension, no game. If, on the other hand, the poster was so vague as to give almost no information about the play, then it would do a poor job of filtering prospective audience members; they would either avoid it because they could not easily determine whether they would enjoy it, or they would risk going and possibly have the performance make them angry, which would ruin the experience just as much as being unsurprised. So I need to find something between the extremes. I have two ideas I am currently considering, but I would be open to others. One idea would be something similar to my Dark Smiles story, where the audience members will be told that they will be subjected to mild distress for the amusement of a woman and should bring an extra change of clothes but are given little information beyond that. The other idea would be that the audience will be told ahead of time that their primary goal is to avoid peeing during the performance, but is not told ahead of time that they drink the theatre provides, and requires them to consume before the performance, contains a diuretic (this information would likely be provided by the cast just before it takes effect). Do either of these setups seem preferable? Is there a third one you think would be even better?
  6. That was AMAZING! I really love stories about women deliberately keeping men away from the bathroom when they know that they desperately need to pee, and it makes it so much better to have the woman tease the man while smiling mischievously and masturbating. Thank you so much for posting this!
  7. Dark Smiles The idea of choosing a nightclub based on the appearance of its sign seemed naïve to Kevin. However, after spending half an hour searching fruitlessly for a club with a short enough line of sufficiently interesting people, it was ultimately a sign that caught Kevin’s eye. It read “Dark Smiles” and was accompanied by pictures of women smiling mischievously. It was the only sign Kevin had seen that evening that gave anything close to a reliable indication of what the club it named was like. Some clubs had seductive names like “Paradise”, some had more modest names like “Loser’s Shack”, and some had scary names like “Minotaur’s Lair”, but neither these names nor the artwork on these clubs implied anything particular about the interior (assuming the owners had not somehow captured a live minotaur and gotten the municipal inspectors to sign off on it). The sign for Dark Smiles, on the other hand, clearly conveyed the message: “We are going to have a great time at your expense.” It takes a very specific type of person to walk into a place like that. It’s not enough to enjoy seeing people smile. Most nightclub staff smile, either because they’re required to or because it helps them get tips. To enter a place that practically brags about preying on its customers, one would have to have such a high level of empathy that one would endure any amount of humiliation or discomfort in order to be certain that the smiles of others were genuine. And one would indeed be certain, because there would be no reason for an open predator (well, prankster anyway; the smiles weren’t quite condescending) to fake enjoyment. Kevin was not surprised by the absence of any line at the door; he doubted many people had that kind of empathy. Kevin himself, however, was one of the (probably) few that did. It had been several years since he had had to put up with any malicious teasing by classmates, and he was in a good enough mood that he felt he could take whatever the people at Dark Smiles threw at him as long as it did something for them, so he decided to go in. For all the chilling undertones of the sign, the door was actually quite inviting. It was closed and opaque, but it had a big, cute up arrow outline on it, inside of which the word “Enter” was printed. Kevin entered and found himself in a fairly small entrance hallway. Two open doorways in front of him led deeper into the club, but before Kevin could more than glance at them he heard a voice to his right say, “Welcome to Dark Smiles.” He turned and saw a friendly-looking man sitting behind a counter with a cash register. The man was smiling pleasantly, not darkly like the women on the sign. He had a very easygoing appearance: casual enough not to seem intimidating, but well-groomed enough not to look like a pickpocket. Kevin took the two steps to the counter, letting the front door close behind him. “Have you been here before?” the man asked. “No,” Kevin answered. “Do you know much about this place?” “Only what I can guess based on the sign.” “Okay. Dark Smiles is a drinking bar. Unlike some of the clubs in this area, we do not have a dance floor or a disco ball, and we play our music quietly enough to encourage conversation. Shall I continue?” “Sure.” “The next thing you need to know is that you might be put into situations that you find distressing. Have you ever been to a haunted house?” “No.” “Would it bother you to be pushed into mud or sprayed with silly string?” “Sometimes, but not tonight. Is that the sort of thing that happens here?” “Not those things specifically, but that’s about the level of mischief that you can expect. I won’t elaborate any further because surprise is part of the game. Do you have any physical or mental health conditions that you think we should know about?” “Not that I can think of.” “You should be fine then. Now, before you’re allowed to enter the main area, you have to either pay a fifty-dollar cover or change into a special outfit that we provide. You’ll notice that there are two doorways leading into the club.” Kevin looked at the doorways that he had seen when he came in. “The doorway on the left leads straight to the bar for customers who choose to pay the fifty dollars. The doorway on the right leads to changing rooms and lockers, and a hallway continues past them into the rest of the club so that you don’t have to come back through here. Would you like to see the outfit?” “Sure.” The man looked under the counter briefly and then pulled out a folded stack of white cloth. He proceeded to unfold it by holding an edge up with both hands and letting the rest fall. It appeared to be a one-piece garment that combined a plain white t-shirt with pants of the same material and color, although there was no waistband to indicate where the shirt ended and the pants began. After a few seconds he turned it around horizontally. On the newly-revealed side (Kevin couldn’t tell whether it was the back or the front), there appeared to be a vertical break or fold in the “shirt” portion, midway between the shoulders, starting at the neck opening and stopping near the waist. “It fastens at the back with VELCRO®,” the man explained, pulling the garment apart at the neck to demonstrate how the back detached down to the waist in a V. Kevin noticed two round holes next to the tops of the V at the neck, about the size of his thumbnail, each of which was reinforced by a metal ring. The man then re-fastened the back of the outfit, and the two holes lined up at the back of the neck. He turned the garment back around. The man went on, “If you choose to wear this outfit then cover is free. You would be required to buy at least one drink, unless someone else offers to buy one for you, but I can assure you that our drink prices are quite reasonable. The bigger concern is that the outfit will mark you, both to staff and to other customers, as a target. So what do you think? Would you rather pay the fifty dollars, wear the outfit, or go somewhere else?” “I’ll wear the outfit,” Kevin said. He didn’t know enough about the place to want to pay fifty dollars to get in, and he didn’t think he would be able to find another place with quite such a playful atmosphere. “Okay. Here,” the man said, holding the outfit out to Kevin, who took it. “This one should fit you. If it doesn’t, come back and I’ll give you a different size. Before putting it on, I recommend that you remove all of your clothes, including socks, shoes, and underwear, so that they stay clean and dry no matter what happens to you in the club. Would you like a pair of flip-flops?” “Sure.” “Do you know your shoe size?” “Nine.” “Do you care what color?” “How about purple?” The man looked under the counter and took out a pair of purple flip-flops. “Here,” he said, handing them to Kevin. “Remember, changing rooms are through the doorway on the right. There are three of them, all on your right-hand side. Look for one with an open door; if they’re all closed, try knocking and then go in if no one answers. Lockers for your outside clothes and shoes are against the opposite wall. You can pick any locker with a key in it. The key will come out once the locker is closed, can be worn around your wrist, and has the locker number on it in case you forget it. Remember also that that hallway continues into the club, so you don’t have to come back here until you’re ready to leave. You can use your key to start a bar tab, so that you don’t have to carry cash or cards with you into the club. Do you have any questions?” “No, I don’t think so.” “Great. There’s a staff member at the other end of the hallway who can help you if you have any difficulties. Have fun!” Kevin carried the outfit and flip-flops through the right-hand doorway and immediately found himself in a hallway with a wall of lockers on his left and three doors on his right. All three of the doors were open. Kevin went through the first door, which led to a small room with a bench. He closed and locked the door, sat on the bench, and started taking off his shoes and clothes. Following the man’s advice, he stripped completely naked, folding each article of clothing as he took it off and stacking them on the bench next to him. He then opened the back of the outfit and climbed into it. It was not excessively difficult to put on, although fastening the back again was a slight challenge. In the end, though, he was able to do it on his own, found that the outfit did indeed fit him well, and emerged from the changing room wearing his new outfit and carrying his old one. He found an empty locker, put his street clothes and shoes into it, closed the door, took the key, which was attached to a wristband, and put it around his wrist. He then followed the hallway deeper into the club. There was indeed a staff member at the far end of the hallway: a woman with reddish brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a shirt with “Dark Smiles” written on it. The smile she put on when she saw Kevin was, in fact, a bit dark, unlike the smile of the man at the front. Kevin did not let his gaze linger on her, in order to make it clear that he did not have any questions. Even so, when he reached the end of the hallway, she said, quite loudly, “Welcome to Dark Smiles!” “Thank you,” Kevin said uncertainly, looking at her. The woman winked at him, then looked away. Kevin glanced quickly around the room he had just entered. It was not crowded, but all of the twenty or so people that Kevin could see seemed to suddenly be looking at him. One woman, seated with others around a fairly long table, actually stood up. Kevin spotted the bar, which only had a couple of patrons at it, and started walking in that direction. He had only taken a few steps when he heard a different nearby female voice say appreciatively, “Welcome indeed.” He turned and saw that the woman who had stood up from the table was now standing right next to him. “Is it your first time here?” she asked. “Yes,” Kevin said. “Delicious,” the woman purred, more to herself than to Kevin. “Looks like I’m in for a real treat.” Kevin started to worry that this woman might actually eat him. He felt something against the back of his neck, then heard a click from that same spot. He reached up with his hand and felt a palm-sized metallic object there. “It’s a combination lock,” the woman told him. “It prevents you from taking off your outfit until I decide to unlock it. We put one on everyone who wears the outfit. I’m glad I got to you before one of the staff members did. I’ll take the lock off at the end of the night so that you can change back into your street clothes. In the meantime, why don’t you come sit with us? I saved you a seat.” Kevin looked at her, confused. “How did you know I was coming?” “Okay, not you you. I saved a seat for a cute first timer. So hurry up and take it before someone else does.” She took hold of Kevin’s wrist and started pulling him back toward her table. Kevin decided not to resist. If he did get eaten, then at least he would be a source of enjoyment for an attractive woman. The table had a transparent top and was much longer than it was wide. Up close, Kevin could see that it consisted of several smaller tables arranged edge-to-edge. There were five chairs on each of the long sides of the assembled table but no chairs at the ends. On the far side, the leftmost and rightmost pairs of chairs were each occupied by a man and a woman, while the middle chair was empty. On the near side, the leftmost two chairs were empty, while the three rightmost chairs were all occupied by women. The woman between the other two, in the fourth chair from the left, was the only person at the table wearing the club’s special white outfit. Her outfit, like Kevin’s, had a combination lock passing through the two holes at the back of the neck, preventing the outfit from being removed while the lock was in place. The woman who had brought Kevin there pulled out the second chair from the left on the near side of the table and gestured for Kevin to sit. He did, and then the woman herself sat in the empty chair to his left. “I’m Wanda,” she said to Kevin, holding out her right hand. “Kevin,” Kevin said, shaking it. A waitress approached the table. “What would you like to drink?” she asked Kevin. “Do you have pineapple juice?” Kevin asked. “Sure thing,” the waitress answered. “I’ll be right back.” She headed back to the bar. While she was gone, Wanda introduced Kevin to the others around the table. The woman to Kevin’s immediate right was named Crystal. The woman beyond her, in the white outfit, was named Emily. Emily was apparently another first timer, and she looked as nervous as Kevin felt. The woman to Emily’s right was named Debbie. Wanda told Kevin that Debbie was the one who had put the lock on Emily’s outfit. The names of the people across the table Kevin forgot almost as soon as they were introduced, although he did learn that each pair was a romantic couple. The waitress came back to the table. “Here’s your pineapple juice,” she said in a musical voice, putting the glass in front of Kevin. She had an amused smile on her face. Kevin wasn’t sure what could be so funny about a glass of pineapple juice, but he decided not to think about it too hard. “It’s two dollars,” the waitress said. Kevin realized that he had left his wallet in his locker. Then he remembered that he was supposed to use his key to start a tab. Before he could remove it from his wrist, though, Wanda said to the waitress, “Put it on my tab.” “You got it,” the waitress said. “Wanda, right?” “That’s right,” Wanda said. “Enjoy your drink,” the waitress said to Kevin, smiling even more widely, before heading off again. Kevin was becoming increasingly curious about what all these people were smiling about, but at the same time he thought that maybe he was better off not knowing. He started to drink his juice. “I notice that Emily’s the only other person at this table wearing this outfit,” Kevin said between sips. “Does that mean that the rest of you all paid the fifty dollars to get in?” “Yes,” Wanda said. “After the first visit, the free option just doesn’t cut it anymore.” “But it’s so much money! What do you get for it?” “We get left alone. And if we’re lucky —” she started caressing Kevin’s shoulder with her fingers — “we get toys of our own.” As Kevin finished his juice, Emily inhaled sharply, then, speaking quickly, asked, “Does anyone know where the bathroom is?” While she had never truly been at ease, Kevin was surprised by how suddenly her anxiety level seemed to have skyrocketed. Equally surprising was how quickly and excitedly everyone else around the table smiled in response to Emily’s question. Their smiles made Kevin even more uneasy than he had been, but they did not appear to be literally cannibalistic; whatever horrors might happen to Kevin or Emily while they were there, Kevin felt reassured that the two of them would be able to leave at the end of the night without any permanent wounds. Emily seemed to feel similarly; she sounded scared but not adrenaline-scared as she asked, “Why are you all smiling?” Debbie, the woman on Emily’s right, said, “You won’t be able to use the toilet until I unlock your outfit.” “Right, of course,” said Emily, in a tone that suggested she had forgotten about the lock. “I’ll need you to take the lock off. But it would also be helpful to know where the bathroom actually is.” In an amused tone, Debbie said to the people across the table, “She wants to know where the bathroom is.” She turned to Emily and said, “The bathroom’s next to the hallway where you came in. But I don’t feel like taking the lock off yet.” Emily put a hand between her legs to squeeze her crotch, then crossed her legs tightly over the hand and bent forward. She used her other hand to try to pull the neck of her outfit over her shoulders, but with the lock in place the neck wouldn’t stretch far enough. She also fumbled at the lock to confirm that it couldn’t be removed without dialing the combination, which Emily couldn’t have done even if she knew the combination because she couldn’t see the numbers on the lock. Wanda moved her hand from Kevin’s shoulder to his chest, continuing to massage him gently. “Come on,” Emily said to Debbie, “I really have to pee. Could you please take the lock off? You can put it back on when I get back.” “Oh, you have to pee, do you?” Debbie teased, still smiling widely. “Yes,” Emily said anxiously, “I really, really have to pee. Please take the lock off so I can go to the bathroom.” “Well, I could take the lock off, but I think it would be more fun to tickle you,” Debbie said, then unfastened some of the VELCRO® holding Emily’s outfit together at the back, slid her hand in, and started tickling Emily’s side under the outfit. Crystal, the woman on Emily’s left (next to Kevin), also slid her hand in to join in on the tickling. The four people across the table, who were also still smiling, each slid a hand down the adjacent person’s pants and started rubbing. They did it in pairs; no one reached across the empty chair. Kevin remembered that each pair was a romantic couple, so it wasn’t as though they were touching someone that they had just met, unlike Wanda, whose hand had drifted down to Kevin’s stomach. “What, you think this is cute?” Emily asked, still squeezing herself with her hand between her tightly crossed legs while trying to dodge the tickling fingers of the women on either side of her. “I’m serious, I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.” “Aww,” Crystal teased, “are you going to wet yourself? Are you going to start peeing helplessly into your thin white cotton outfit?” Emily did not respond. Wanda slid her hand farther down Kevin’s front until she reached his penis, which had already started to harden from Emily’s movements and pleas and the teasing of the women next to her. As Wanda rubbed Kevin’s penis through his outfit, she said softly into his ear, “It is pretty cute, isn’t it? Look how tightly Emily’s squeezing her pussy with her hand and thighs. Look at the way she’s wriggling and squirming. Look at her face; she’s starting to panic. She really does have to pee extremely badly. But Debbie’s enjoying the show too much to want to take the lock off. Isn’t it delicious?” Kevin thought about speaking up for Emily. Remembering what the man at the front had said about silly string and mud, however, Kevin figured that refusing to unlock someone’s outfit when she needed to pee was fair game, so he decided to keep quiet. Remembering the lock on his own outfit, Kevin made a mental note to avoid drinking too much so that the same thing didn’t happen to him. Of course, they would probably still find some way to trick him. Or perhaps they had already decided to be nice to him that evening. He turned his attention back to Emily. Emily uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, with her hand still between them, while the women on either side of her continued to smile and tickle her. “Try not to think about waterfalls,” Crystal teased in a singsong voice. “Are you trying to make me wet myself?” Emily demanded. “Maybe I’ll take the lock off before you lose control, or maybe I won’t,” Debbie answered. “At the moment, though, I’m really enjoying watching you frantically try to stay dry.” “You have to pee so-o-o bad right now, don’t you?” Crystal asked Emily rhetorically. “You really need Debbie to take that lock off soon so that you can have a clean, relieving pee in the toilet instead of an embarrassing, wet accident in your clothes, don’t you? Do you feel like you’re about to completely soak yourself? Do you feel like, no matter how tightly you squeeze your crotch, your pee is about to start flowing uncontrollably and unstoppably out through your pussy and saturate the entire lower half of your outfit?” Emily started to rhythmically tense and release her crossed thighs and the hand in her crotch. She seemed to be rocking back and forth, but she was already moving around so much from Debbie and Crystal’s tickling that it was hard to tell. Kevin felt his penis harden further from Wanda’s hand and the scene in front of him. Debbie started hissing at Emily, and Crystal quickly joined in. Emily started continuously uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, bending forward each time they were crossed, her hand still frantically squeezing and releasing her vulva as she tried as hard as she could to keep from peeing where she sat. She was quiet for a time, but then suddenly her panic seemed to peak, and, speaking very quickly, she begged Debbie, “Come on, you need to take the lock off now, I’m about to start peeing, come on, come on, hurry up, I can’t hold it anymore, I’m about to — oh no, I’m starting to pee, come on, hurry up and get the lock off!” Debbie and Crystal stopped hissing and took their hands out from inside Emily’s outfit. Debbie re-fastened the VELCRO®. “You’re peeing?” Debbie asked playfully, still smiling. Still panicking, and still speaking very quickly, Emily answered, “Yes, I’m peeing in my pants, I can’t stop it, please, please, please take the lock off, come on, hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” Debbie just sat there smiling at Emily. Through the transparent tabletop, Kevin saw a wet patch on Emily’s outfit start to spread past the hand she still had in her crotch. Her crossed thighs were still rapidly tensing and releasing, but it didn’t stop the wet patch from spreading further. She took her hand out of her crotch, wiped it on the dry outside of one of her thighs, and then buried her face in both hands while she continued to helplessly pee down the legs of her white cotton outfit. No one said anything as the legs of Emily’s outfit got wetter and wetter, or as the pee dripped from her ankle cuffs and the edges of her chair. Eventually Emily relaxed and uncrossed her thighs, presumably since they no longer seemed to be helping, though she kept her face in her hands. When the pee finally stopped flowing, Wanda gave Kevin’s very hard penis a playful squeeze through his outfit and then removed her hand. The two couples across the table removed their own hands from their partners’ pants. Then everyone at the table except Kevin and Emily applauded. Emily cautiously peeked up over her hands. When she was done clapping, Debbie, sounding impressed, said to Emily, “Wow, that was beautiful.” Debbie kissed Emily on a part of her cheek that wasn’t covered by her hands, then continued gently, “Don’t be sad. You were perfect. The bathroom next to the hallway where you came in has showers and fresh towels so you can get cleaned up. Hold still.” Debbie dialed the combination on Emily’s lock, then took the lock off and put it in her purse. “You can change back into your street clothes now that you’ve given your show. A staff member will clean the floor and replace your chair while you’re gone. But hurry back. There’s another show starting soon, and I think you’ll enjoy that one.” Emily slowly lifted her face out of her hands. She appeared nervous, but not upset. She looked at Debbie, whose smile had turned sympathetic. After a few moments, Emily asked Debbie faintly, “Could you walk me to the bathroom?” “Sure,” Debbie said. The two of them stood up, and for the first time Kevin saw how sheer the wet parts of Emily’s outfit were. It seemed that she had also followed the advice of the man at the front not to wear anything under the outfit. Kevin had a brief but clear glimpse of Emily’s labia through the wet, clingy, translucent material at the front, and as she and Debbie started walking away toward the bathroom, Kevin could that the back of the outfit was completely soaked, see-through, and plastered to Emily from the waist down, making her entire bum (as well as the backs of her legs) completely visible to anyone on that side of her, including Kevin. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wanda murmured into Kevin’s ear. Kevin continued to stare at Emily as she and Debbie exchanged a few inaudible words with the female staff member at the near end of the locker/changing-room hallway before Emily went into the bathroom and the door closed behind her. Wanda was right; it was one of the most amazing things Kevin had ever seen. Debbie came back to the table, and a few moments later a staff member arrived with a mop, bucket, and rag. The staff member wiped the top of Emily’s chair with the rag, then moved the chair out of the way and mopped up the puddle of Emily’s pee from the floor. The staff member then took the chair away. “Wow, that was so much fun!” Debbie said excitedly. “The panic on her face as she started to pee helplessly while frantically begging me to take the lock off was absolutely delicious!” “Yes, I loved it!” Crystal agreed. “But remember, I get to use my lock next time.” “Yes, of course,” Debbie said. “I hope Emily’s okay,” one of the women across the table said. “So do I,” said Debbie. “I’ll check in with her when she gets back. If she comes back.” A staff member came to the table to bring a clean chair to Emily’s place. Kevin couldn’t tell whether or not it was the same staff member, nor could he tell whether or not it was the same chair. As he watched the staff member leave, Kevin saw the bathroom door open and Emily emerge wearing a white towel. She looked at the table briefly, smiled weakly at Kevin, and then disappeared into the hallway with the lockers. “I’d say that was well worth the fifty-dollar cover, wouldn’t you?” Wanda asked Kevin. “Absolutely,” Kevin answered. “We don’t get targets every week,” Wanda explained, “and when we do there’s often stiff competition for them. But when we are able to catch one it makes up for all the other times. The seven of us have banded together to increase our chances of getting victims to share, but I think this is the first time we’ve managed to get two in one night.” “Two?” Kevin asked. “So I am, in fact, a victim?” It had been his assumption coming in, but having seen Emily freak out while he, Kevin, had been able to calmly enjoy the show, he had started to think that perhaps he had somehow escaped disaster. Wanda’s count, however, suggested otherwise. “Yes,” Wanda answered, confirming Kevin’s fears. “I’ll explain why when Emily finishes changing.” Soon Kevin saw Emily return to the table wearing a long black dress that was thin enough to show the general shape of her body but opaque enough to conceal the color of the skin under it. She was smiling uncertainly. “They cleaned the floor and brought a new chair,” Debbie said, rubbing her hand on the seat of the chair and then holding the hand up for Emily to see how clean it was. “You can sit here again.” Emily cautiously pulled out the chair, sat down, and scooted back in. “Are you okay?” Debbie asked gently. “I’m okay,” Emily said calmly. “But don’t make me pee in my dress. I have to wear it home.” “We won’t,” Debbie said. “So, Kevin,” Wanda said, loudly enough for the whole table to hear, “are you ready to give us a performance like the one we just saw?” Kevin chuckled. “I doubt I’ll be in that situation anytime soon,” he said. “I used the bathroom before leaving the house, and I’ve only had that one glass of pineapple juice since then.” “Ah,” Wanda said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled playfully, “but, you see, that one glass of pineapple juice had a very special ingredient that will make the whole thing hit you really hard in about —” she looked at her watch — “three seconds.” “Oh, is that why I had to pee so bad out of nowhere!” Emily said in sudden realization as Kevin stared, stunned, at Wanda’s triumphant face. Sure enough, as soon as Emily finished expressing her understanding, Kevin felt a sudden, powerful need to pee. He tried to look casual as he felt at the back of his neck to see if he could get the lock off on his own, or open the outfit with the lock in place, or squeeze his shoulders through the neck hole. None of these endeavors, with the possible exception of looking casual, were any more successful than they had been for Emily. Kevin brought his hands back in front of him. Now that Kevin knew what they were after, he decided it would be best to try to hide his need. It wasn’t that he was reluctant to be their toy, but he felt an instinctive desire to avoid embarrassment, and he also didn’t want to seem like he was following a script. So, as calmly as he could, he said to Wanda, “Well, this has been fun. But it’s getting late. Why don’t you take the lock off so I can go home?” Wanda smirked. “Yeah, nice try,” she said. “You’re mine for the next fifteen minutes, and if you have a problem with that, you’re welcome to wear the outfit home.” That would be silly, of course; it would mean wetting himself in front of the whole neighborhood, instead of merely the patrons of Dark Smiles, since there was no possible way he would make it home dry. Misdirection clearly wasn’t going to work, and Kevin wasn’t really able to keep pretending that he felt perfectly fine. Feeling that he would wet himself otherwise, Kevin crossed his legs tightly and used a hand to squeeze his penis, which had softened considerably since Emily’s wetting. Even knowing that he would probably end up peeing in the outfit anyway, he had to at least try to hold it until he could get Wanda to take the lock off. There was still a chance that he would be luckier than Emily. “Looks like someone needs to pee,” Wanda teased. “Amazing how hard that one glass of juice can hit you, isn’t it? I bet you really want me to take the lock off now, don’t you?” “Yes, could you? Please?” Kevin asked, feeling his need to pee intensify as he continued to squeeze his penis tightly through the cotton material covering it. Looking past Kevin, Wanda said, “What do you think, Crystal, should I take the lock off?” “No, let’s play with him a bit first,” Crystal said. “Yes,” Wanda agreed, “that would be more fun, wouldn’t it?” The two couples across the table put their hands down each other’s pants again as Wanda and Crystal unfastened enough of Kevin’s outfit to slide their hands in at the back of the waist and start tickling his bare skin. Kevin squirmed around to try to get away from their fingers while continuing to struggle against his desperate need to pee. He looked at Emily; she seemed to have almost fully recovered from her anxiety and had her mouth open in excitement as she stared at Kevin. Beyond her, Debbie had a more confident, almost dominating smile, and she winked at Kevin when she saw him looking at her. Kevin felt Crystal kiss his cheek, and he turned slightly to look at her. Smiling, she said, “You look so cute wiggling around and squeezing your dick trying so hard to keep from pissing yourself while we tickle you. You really do have to go badly, don’t you?” Kevin felt embarrassed to have been seen doing these things, but he hadn’t really had a choice; it was the only way to stay dry. Turning back to Wanda, Kevin said breathlessly, “Wanda, it’s getting worse. Could you please take the lock off before I wet myself? I’ll be your best friend forever.” “It’s getting worse?” Wanda teased. “Is your bladder filling a bit faster than you would like? Is the pressure at the base your dick becoming harder to resist? Is the pee about to force itself through the length of that dick and into your clothes?” Uncrossing his legs and crossing them the other way, Kevin begged, “Wanda, come on, mix things up a bit, don’t make me wet myself like Emily did.” “That would be so embarrassing, wouldn’t it?” Crystal asked as Kevin turned to look at her. Still smiling, she continued, “Grownups aren’t supposed to pee in their clothes. And you’ve seen how see-through that outfit gets when it’s wet.” Over her shoulder, Kevin saw Emily blush and look away briefly, although she quickly returned her gaze to Kevin. Crystal added, “I wonder what your penis looks like.” Even though he wouldn’t be the first, it would indeed be quite embarrassing to wet himself in front of them. But he couldn’t think of anything further to say to convince Wanda to take the lock off. Feeling his need intensify further still, Kevin started to rapidly, repeatedly clench and relax the hand holding his penis as Wanda and Crystal continued to tickle his waist under the outfit. Kevin really felt like he was going to start peeing soon no matter what he did, but he kept quiet for the time being, hoping that Wanda would lose interest and take the lock off before Kevin soaked himself uncontrollably. “Pssss…” Wanda and Crystal started hissing at Kevin, making it even more difficult for him to concentrate on not peeing. He used a second hand to help him squeeze his frantic penis in pulses. Just as Emily had done, Kevin started frequently uncrossing and re-crossing his legs, tensing his thighs each time they were crossed, and bending forward as well as he could while squirming from Wanda’s and Crystal’s tickling fingers. He could not believe how badly he needed to pee. His dread was reaching new heights. All the other people around the table, however, including Emily, were clearly having the time of their lives. It wasn’t much longer before Kevin felt his hold weakening. He looked at Wanda, hoping to see her hand moving toward the lock, but she still appeared to be devoting her energy to tickling, hissing, and enjoying Kevin’s struggle. Kevin was out of time; he had to say something. “Wanda,” he started, unable to keep the panic out of his voice, “I really can’t hold it anymore, could you please take the lock off now?” Wanda nodded at Crystal, and the two of them stopped tickling Kevin and removed their hands from his outfit. They also stopped hissing. Wanda moved her hands to the lock and started manipulating it. Kevin did his best to at least keep his neck still so that Wanda could dial the combination more easily. He was still rapidly crossing and uncrossing his legs and rhythmically squeezing his penis with both hands, desperately trying to hold on until Wanda could get the lock off. But Wanda seemed to be turning the dial very, very slowly, and Kevin was already at his limit. He felt a spurt of pee shoot out of his penis and saw a small wet spot appear at the crotch of his outfit. “Hurry up!” Kevin begged Wanda urgently, “I’m starting to pee!” He felt another spurt and saw the spot get larger. He could feel that he only had a few more seconds before he lost all control. Wanda removed her hands from the back of Kevin’s neck, but Kevin could see that she was not holding the lock. “I dialed the first two numbers,” Wanda said. “All you have to do now is turn the dial clockwise until you hear a clunk, and then you’ll be able to open it.” Was she seriously playing more games? Kevin’s muscles gave out; he started to pee continuously into his outfit, and no amount of clenching (be it with his hands, thighs, or internal muscles) could stop the flow. Once he realized that there was no longer any point trying to fight his body, he let go of his penis and shifted his focus to processing what Wanda had just said. Clockwise, eh? He held a hand in front of him as though gripping a dial, figured out which direction clockwise would be, then put the hand on the lock dial behind his neck and started slowly turning it clockwise as he continued to wet himself. As soon as Kevin heard the clunk, he immediately pushed his chair back and stood up. The others around the table cheered as he did this, but he didn’t take any time to listen to them, or to see if Emily had joined in; he turned and ran to the bathroom Emily had used to clean up. He heard the female staff member next to the hallway laughing at him, but it barely registered as he checked the bathroom door quickly to make sure it was unisex, went in, ran up to the toilet, lifted the seat, removed the lock from his neck, unfastened the back of the outfit, and pulled it down to his waist. Below his waist, the wet material clung to his skin, making it difficult to pull down farther, but he was eventually able to get it past his still-peeing penis and finish his pee in the toilet. When he had finished peeing, Kevin found the toilet paper, tore off a square, used it to wipe the tip of his penis, and flushed it down the toilet. He then kicked off his purple flip-flops and peeled his outfit the rest of the way down his legs. He could feel how wet it was, particularly in the back; he doubted he had left the table much drier than Emily had; the portion of Kevin’s pee that had made it into the toilet would probably have ended up on the floor, rather than in his outfit, if Wanda hadn’t helped him take the lock off when she did. Once Kevin finished pulling his outfit off over his feet, he turned his head to look around the bathroom. He saw the shower and shelves of neatly-folded white towels that Debbie had mentioned, as well as a sink. He also saw a small door in the wall with the words “Laundry Chute” written above it. Figuring that Wanda would probably want her lock back, he removed the lock from the outfit hole in which it was still hooked before putting the outfit itself into the laundry chute. He then washed his hands and the lock in the sink, put the lock down at the edge of the sink, locked the bathroom door (which he hadn’t had time to do on his way in), picked up his flip-flops, and got into the shower. He turned the water on and rinsed the flip-flops under it before washing his body as quickly as he could, using a bottle of soap he found in the shower that he assumed was provided the club. He then put the flip-flops back on, dried himself with one of the towels on the shelves, wrapped the towel around himself, picked Wanda’s lock back up, and left the bathroom. As he came out in his towel, Kevin saw Wanda chatting with the nearby female staff member with the reddish-brown ponytail. Kevin walked up to them and handed the combination lock to Wanda, saying, “Here,” as the women both turned to look at Kevin. “Thanks,” Wanda said, taking the lock. “Did you put your outfit in the laundry chute?” “Yes,” Kevin said. “Great,” Wanda said. “You can change back into your outside clothes now.” Turning to the staff member, she confirmed, “That’s okay, right?” “Yes, absolutely,” the staff member said. “Good job to both of you.” She looked at Kevin to include him in the compliment, then added, “The nearest changing room has another laundry chute for your towel and flip-flops.” “You can come sit with us again when you’re done,” Wanda told Kevin. “Your place has already been cleaned. Of course, if you’d rather go home, that’s fine too.” “Thanks,” Kevin said. He went to the lockers, removed his key from his wrist, unlocked his own locker, took his clothes and shoes out, and went into the changing room closest to the bar to put them on. He found the laundry chute and put his towel and flip-flops into it before returning, dressed, to Wanda’s table. As Kevin sat back down, Wanda said excitedly, “You’re back!” and hugged him as well as she could, given that they were both sitting down. “That was amazing!” Wanda went on, releasing Kevin from the hug. “I really loved messing with you as you desperately tried not to wet yourself. But my favorite part was seeing you stand up after starting to pee helplessly into that white cotton outfit. It went just as see-through as Emily’s, and it was really magical to see the pee continue to flow, both while you were standing there and as you turned and ran to the bathroom. You really couldn’t stop it, could you?” “I really couldn’t,” Kevin admitted. “I’m lucky I got any in the toilet at all.” “Well, thanks for the show,” Wanda said. “I hope you’re not traumatized. They screen people coming in as well as they can without ruining the game.” “I’m fine,” Kevin reassured Wanda. “I’m glad you had fun.” “That’s good to hear,” Wanda said. “We’ll probably hang out here for another half an hour to see if we can snag a third target, and then we’re planning to go to an afterparty. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” She looked at Emily and said, “You, too.” “Sure, I’d totally be up for that,” Kevin said. “Yeah, that sounds fun,” Emily agreed. Overall, Kevin had found Dark Smiles to be the most exciting place he had ever visited. The End
  8. Videos with no women at all don't interest me much, but what I would really like to see would be male desperation videos with a smiling woman tickling and teasing a man who desperately needs to pee but who is somehow prevented from getting to a bathroom. I can think of additional elements that would make it even better, but even as it stands this theme may not interest enough people to be profitable. If necessary I might make the movies myself once I have some savings, but if someone else is up to making them then I would almost certainly buy them.
  9. I started writing a story awhile ago, and I have a question about which of the following people would rather see: 1. a theoretically realistic story that includes people with capes that vaguely resemble wings OR 2. a magical story that includes people with actual wings who can fly I would appreciate any input on this. Thanks!
  10. Dylan hugged his parents good-bye as the bus pulled into the station. He had had a good visit with them, but since he lived a three-hour bus ride away he was only able to see them about one weekend a month. He looked forward to his next visit, but he also looked forward to getting home to all the games that he hadn’t packed, not to mention the friends he had made since moving. He had packed light; everything he had needed to bring for the weekend had fit into a backpack, the same one he had used when he was in school. He didn’t bother to give it to the person loading the luggage compartment, opting instead to bring it onto the bus with him. After showing his ticket and boarding the bus, Dylan chose a row near the middle; he didn’t want to be the very last person to leave the bus, but he wanted to make sure that the frontmost seats were available for anyone who had trouble walking. He sat in the seat by the window, put his backpack under his seat, and watched the bus continue to fill up. Some of the passengers sat near the front, some near the back, and some not too far from Dylan himself. He noticed one extremely attractive woman with long, wavy caramel-coloured hair boarding the bus, wearing a backpack of her own. Dylan hoped she would sit somewhere in his field of vision, so he could glance at her once in a while to make the long bus ride pass more quickly. Dylan glanced frequently at the woman as she walked along the aisle. He couldn’t help smiling slightly as she got closer. When she was a few rows away, he directed his gaze elsewhere but continued to watch her from the corner of his eye. When she reached his row, she startled Dylan by looking straight at him. Dylan looked at her nervously, and she gestured to the seat the seat next to him and asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?” “Sure,” Dylan said, not believing his luck. “Thanks,” the woman said, taking off her backpack and sitting down. She unzipped her backpack, took out a bottle, and handed it to Dylan. “Want some lemonade?” she asked. “Sure,” Dylan said again, taking the bottle and opening it. He took a sip, then closed the bottle back up and handed it back to the woman as she zipped her backpack back up. “Keep it,” she said, not taking the bottle back. “I have others for myself.” Dylan opened the bottle back up, took another few sips, then closed it and put it into the netting on the back of the seat in front of him, while the woman put her backpack under her seat. “I’m April,” the woman said, extended her right hand. “Dylan,” Dylan said, shaking her hand. The bus started moving. Dylan looked out the window and saw that his parents were still there. He waved good-bye to them until they were out of sight. “Friends of yours?” April asked. “My parents,” Dylan answered. “I came to visit them for the weekend.” He retrieved the bottle of lemonade and took another sip before putting it back. “Did you enjoy seeing them?” April inquired. “Yes, I did,” Dylan replied. “It’ll be good to get home, though.” “I hear you,” April said. “Trips are fun, but carrying around luggage can make you a bit weary. I mean, I know you only came for the weekend, but you must have at least brought a change of clothes, right?” “Yeah, and even if I’d just brought my toothbrush that’s still more than I’d have to have on me at home.” “Do you come this way often?” “About once every three weeks.” They continued chatting as the bus made its way to the freeway and then picked up speed. Occasionally Dylan would glance out the window, but most of the time he was focused on April. This was better than he could have imagined. He didn’t have to steal sneaky glances at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice; she was actively encouraging him to look at her, to the point where she might be offended if he looked away for more than a moment. In fact, she was engaging with him; it seemed she had no end of questions to ask and stories to share and comparisons to make between their two lives. What was most surprising was that she was socializing so eagerly with someone she had never met before, and knew nothing about other than the fact that he was traveling. Dylan had always been under the impression that talking to strangers was an exercise that had to be undertaken with the utmost caution if at all, but far from being frightened, Dylan actually found April’s attitude quite refreshing. Dylan was grateful for the lemonade April had given him. It was a warm day, and, particularly with all the talking, Dylan found his throat drying out quite a bit. He took sips every few minutes while he chatted with April, but he was hardly aware of it; April herself held most of his attention. It had been a long time since Dylan had seen anyone as attractive as April, and the way she smiled and laughed and seemed to really like Dylan completely captivated him. He was actually surprised when he found that the bottle was empty. He couldn’t have finished it already, could he? He would have to remember to bring his own beverage the next time he went on a long bus trip. “I can take that,” April said, holding out her hand. He handed her the empty bottle and she put it back in her backpack. “Is it okay if I put my legs on your lap?” April asked. “I’m feeling a bit cramped.” “Sure,” Dylan said once again, and she did so, stretching her legs out all the way to the wall. This was beyond belief. The most beautiful woman Dylan had seen in three years was cuddling with him after knowing him for — Dylan looked at his watch — less than half an hour. April put her mouth close to Dylan’s ear and said softly, “I really like you.” Was she a prostitute? “You’d better watch it,” Dylan said, “or I’m going to think you’re a werewolf.” April leaned back and laughed, then told Dylan a story about one of April’s college classmates who had called April a werewolf. Dylan did not find this entirely reassuring, but eventually he decided that he could call for help if April attacked him. And if she picked his pocket he would have plenty of time to find her before the driver let her off the bus. He decided he would enjoy the situation while it lasted and worry later about any ulterior motives April might have. April started moving her legs in Dylan’s lap. When she was done with her story, she kissed Dylan on the cheek and asked, “Am I scaring you?” “A little bit,” Dylan admitted. “Do you want me to sit somewhere else?” She didn’t seem offended; she was still smiling pleasantly. Dylan was sure that he could have politely asked her to move and she would have done so without fuss. But the idea of her leaving almost made Dylan start crying. He suddenly no longer cared if she picked both his pockets and then stole his backpack for good measure. Nothing he had with him was worth more than the experience he was having right now. “No, stay,” he said fervently. “Thanks,” April said, smiling even more widely, and she put her arm over Dylan’s shoulders. “Tell me about the last party you went to,” she said. Dylan did so, and April continued to move her legs around, occasionally going so far as to rub Dylan’s penis with her thigh through his pants. When he was done with his story, April squeezed his shoulders with her arm, kissed him again, and then told a story of her own. Dylan never wanted this bus ride to end. When she was done with her story, April said, “I’m not a werewolf. But I did play a trick on you. I put something special in your lemonade. In a few seconds you’re really going to wish you were sitting in an aisle seat.” She smirked. Dylan looked at her uncertainly, trying to figure out what she meant. Then, out of nowhere, Dylan suddenly felt an unbelievably strong need to pee. He had to immediately grab his penis to keep from wetting himself. As he did this, April triumphantly shouted, “GOTCHA!” and started laughing hard. Dylan tried to stand up to get to the bathroom at the back of the bus, but April’s legs kept him pinned in his seat. “You’re staying right where you are,” April said, feeling the attempt. “I want to watch you struggle not to pee in your pants.” “April, move!” Dylan said insistently. “And give up my front row seat to this show? That’s not going to happen.” “April, I really have to go the bathroom.” “I know,” April said, still laughing. “That stuff hits really hard.” “Come on, April, this isn’t funny!” April laughed even harder. “Aww,” she teased. “Do you have to pee? Do you have to pee really, really bad? Do you feel like you might start peeing in your pants at any second if I don’t let you out?” “Yes! Come on, April, hurry up!” He was squeezing his penis tightly, desperately trying to keep control until he could get April to relent, but he could feel the pee pushing to get through, and he didn’t think he could hold on much longer. Clearly this was a game to April. How could he explain the reality of the problem in a way that April could understand? All of his attempts just seemed to amuse her more. Laughing did make April even more beautiful, though. And Dylan found her triumphant, mischievous laugh even more pleasing than her warm laugh of earlier. If the prank had been only mildly annoying like spraying Dylan with silly string he would have let it go and simply enjoyed April’s reaction. He would have made a face both to give her some satisfaction and to discourage her from doing it constantly (Could one face do both of those things?), but he wouldn’t have spent half an hour complaining about it. But what she had actually done created a serious issue for Dylan, and his enjoyment of April’s pleasure was much less than his desire to get out of the situation. April lifted Dylan’s shirt above his bellybutton and ran her fingers along the exposed skin. Dylan was starting to pant. April pressed a finger between Dylan’s bellybutton and waistband, making him gasp and press his thighs together to keep from peeing. Then April started tickling Dylan’s sides, making him laugh. He crossed his legs and tensed his thighs. “April, stop!” Dylan begged. “I really, really have to pee. Please let me out!” “I got you so good!” April gloated. “I love watching you squeeze your penis and hearing you beg me to let you go to the bathroom. It’s really amazing how well that lemonade works.” “I’m glad you’re having fun, April, but I really don’t know how much longer I can hold it. Could you please stop tickling me?” “Why, am I making it worse?” April teased, still tickling Dylan. “What if I talked about flowing water like rivers or waterfalls, or if I made sounds like ssssssss…” “What is wrong with you?” Dylan demanded. He was starting to rock back and forth while he continued to squeeze his penis tightly with his hand and to tense his thighs regularly. “Don’t you understand how badly I have to pee?” “Why don’t you tell me?” April suggested playfully. “Describe how it feels to be trapped in your seat, tickled, and teased after drinking my special lemonade.” “April, I’m panicking right now. I’m having trouble breathing. I’m starting to sweat, even though the air conditioning is on full blast. And it’s taking all of my strength to keep from peeing right here, in my pants, on the seat.” April stopped tickling Dylan, and she also stopped laughing. She slid a hand into her pants and started moving it around. “What are you doing?” Dylan asked incredulously. “I’m fingering myself. This is just too beautiful.” “What? April, let me out!” “Why? Are you about to wet yourself? Do you feel like, even squeezing as hard as you are, the pee is about to start flowing uncontrollably through the length of your penis and into your cute little pants?” Dylan felt a spurt of pee shoot through his penis into his underwear. He clamped down even harder with his hands, thighs, and internal muscles. “April,” he said desperately, “I just spurted. You have to let me out now!” April removed her legs from Dylan’s lap, then started rubbing herself harder. Dylan rose from the seat, hunching over because the overhead compartment prevented him from standing fully. He tried to get past April, but her legs were in the way. “I’m not letting you out yet,” April said. “I just didn’t want you damaging the seat.” Dylan felt another spurt escape his penis. “April, please!” he begged. “I spurted again. I can’t hold this any longer!” He was still squeezing himself frantically with his hand, and also moving his legs constantly, but he was sure that pretty soon it wouldn’t matter. April, still masturbating, watched Dylan with her lips slightly parted, then licked them. “You look so delicious,” she said breathily. Perhaps she was a werewolf after all. More spurts of pee made their way through Dylan’s frantic penis, despite all of his efforts to stop them. They were becoming longer and more frequent. It was becoming a broken but otherwise steady, and very embarrassing, flow into his pants. He looked down and saw a growing visible wet spot. “April,” he said, almost crying, “I’m wetting my pants. Why can’t you let me out?” April looked at the spot, open her mouth wider, then said, “Okay. All right. You can go.” She took her hand out of her pants and swung her legs into the aisle. Dylan made his way as quickly as he could past April’s seat, into the aisle, and toward the bathroom. He was peeing into his pants almost continuously now, even while clamping down as hard as he could with his hand. He was grateful that no one else on the bus said anything as he walked along the aisle. When he finally made it to the bathroom he closed the door as quickly as he could, opened the toilet, and wrestled his still-peeing penis through the flies of his underwear and pants. Then he completely stopped his failing efforts to hold and let the pee flow freely into the toilet. It felt amazing. When he was done, he flushed, closed the toilet, put himself back away, and looked down to see the damage. It was pretty bad. Not as bad as it could been, but fairly noticeable. Also, he could feel quite a bit of wetness, and he did not think it would make for a pleasant bus journey. He again felt like he might start crying. Dylan heard a knock at the door, and a familiar voice asked, “Are you done yet?” He opened the door a crack and saw April standing there holding his backpack in one hand and wearing her own. Defiantly, Dylan decided that he no reason to hide the wet spot from April, since it was her fault, and so he opened the door the rest of the way. April opened her mouth wide in an impressed expression. Dylan found that he wasn’t angry with April for ruining his trip. He was discouraged by the situation, but April herself was so enchanting that Dylan couldn’t resent anything that she did. In fact, at that moment he was ready, almost eager, to have her take on her wolf form and eat him. It would save him another two hours in wet pants, and if April really did find him delicious then Dylan thought she deserved the meal. He would consider it an honour to bring her the pleasure. What April actually did, though, was to close her mouth again and hold Dylan’s backpack out to him. “Do you have anything to change into?” she asked. “If not, I’ve got some men’s clothes that should fit you.” Dylan took his backpack from her. Yes! He could change into yesterday’s underwear (it wasn’t that dirty) and the shorts he’d brought in case it got too hot. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Yes, I do, thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you back at the seat,” April said. “If you still want to sit with me, that is. I certainly won’t take it personally if you don’t, and since I’m pretty sure all your stuff’s in the backpack, you can just go straight to whatever seat you like.” “Thanks again,” Dylan said, and closed and locked the door. Perhaps it was rude of him not to tell April whether he would continue to sit with her, but he was a bit anxious to get changed. Changing was rather difficult in that tiny room, but he was able to do it, and when he was done he put his peed-in pants and underwear into his backpack and walked back along the aisle to April’s seat. April had moved to the window seat. When he saw her, Dylan asked, “Am I still okay to sit with you?” April smiled brightly. “Absolutely!” she said, and gestured toward the aisle seat. “Please.” Dylan sat down, putting his backpack under his seat. When he straightened back up from doing this, April rose from her own seat, straddled Dylan, facing him, with her knees on the seat on either side of him, and kissed him passionately on the lips. Even with all of the difficulties he had endured, Dylan decided that he was having a very good day.
  11. The store was there. It may only have been there for a few hours, but it was there. I think it would be too sad to take it away completely, but I have considered making it a timeshare, perhaps an irregular one. Trent might walk down the same street the next day and find it gone, perhaps replaced a major chain, and because there were so many shops on that street he might not even remember exactly where it had been. Perhaps he would even forget what street it had been on and look somewhere else. But then a few weeks later, just when he was starting to think the whole experience might have been a dream, he might walk by and suddenly see Miss McMillan's Milkshake Parlour again. Thanks for the comment. Do you have any specific thoughts about how this idea might fit well into sci-fi? That wasn't something I had thought of.
  12. Walking past a row of shops one afternoon on his way home from work, Trent noticed a sign above one of them that read AMiss McMillan=s Milkshake [email protected] He was not familiar with that particular establishment, but he did love milkshakes, so he decided to go in. The parlour was about ten feet wide. The front wall, including the door, was completely paned with glass. A counter ran the width of the parlour about fifteen feet from the entrance, preventing passage past that point. In front of the counter were five round tables, each of which had four chairs around it. Behind the counter stood a rather attractive woman, and behind her was a wall with a door leading into a back room and, beside the door, the milkshake menu. Trent looked at the menu and was completely floored. One hundred and sixty flavours of ice cream, any possible percentage of milk fat in the milk, five different thicknesses, five different glass or cup sizes, and seven different methods of preparation including stabbing the milk-submerged ice cream repeatedly with a hot knife. Trent studied the menu carefully from just inside the door, trying to figure out what everything meant. While he was doing this, the woman beckoned him to the counter. ACome on up,@ she said pleasantly. AUm, I haven=t decided yet,@ said Trent uncertainly. AThat=s okay, there=s no one else here,@ the woman replied. It was true; Trent and the woman were the only ones in the parlour. Trent approached the counter cautiously, looking away from the menu just enough to avoid colliding with any tables or chairs. When he reached the counter, the woman introduced herself. AI=m Miss McMillan. Welcome to my milkshake parlour. Take your time, and let me know if you need help deciding. I have a knack for matching people to [email protected] Trent could feel Miss McMillan=s eyes on him as he continued to read the menu. It was not the passively expectant gaze of someone waiting for a decision to be made; Miss McMillan appeared to be examining him. Perhaps she was merely trying to, as she said, match him to a milkshake, but it made Trent feel a bit uncomfortable. He tried to read the menu (and thereby make a decision) more quickly, but Miss McMillan=s stare was making it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate. AI=m having a bit of trouble deciding,@ Trent finally admitted, hoping that Miss McMillan could help him speed this process along. ADo you have any dietary [email protected] asked Miss McMillan. AI won=t eat mushrooms or olives, but that=s just because I really don=t like [email protected] AAnd how are you for [email protected] AI=m okay for [email protected] Miss McMillan glanced around the parlour quickly, then leaned in close and said quietly, AI=m about to offer you something that is not on the menu, and is not available to just anyone. I don=t want you advertising this. Is that [email protected] AYes,@ said Trent. A definite answer seemed best, even though he had no idea why Miss McMillan would make such an offer. AIt=s my own personal creation. I call it the McMillan Shake. It=s basically a vanilla milkshake with a few extra herbs and spices mixed in, but believe me, it tastes fantastic. It would be on the house. The only condition is that you can=t take it out of the parlour; I can=t risk having you analyze it and figure out the recipe. So what do you [email protected] ASure,@ said Trent, not wanting to spend any more time or mental power making a decision. [email protected] said Miss McMillan, straightening up and smiling brightly. AI=ll go make you [email protected] She went into the back room. Trent thought he heard a click behind him. He looked over his shoulder but didn=t see anything unusual. Perhaps someone had dropped something on the pavement just outside his field of vision. It didn=t really matter; noises in the city were as common as grains of sand on the beach. After a few minutes, Miss McMillan came back out with a glass of white milkshake, complete with a straw and a paper napkin. AHere you are,@ she said, handing Trent the milkshake and smiling. Trent thanked her, brought the milkshake to a table, sat down, and took a sip. Whoa! Miss McMillan had not been exaggerating when she had described the McMillan Shake. It was by far the most delicious thing that Trent had ever tasted. He looked back at Miss McMillan in amazement. She was smiling at him. He smiled back, then broke eye contact and continued to drink his milkshake. Why was she doing this for him? Trent wondered. It was not as though she knew him personally. Perhaps she thought he was some sort of celebrity. If so, then correcting her might cause unnecessary embarrassment, so he decided to leave that issue alone. Glancing back at Miss McMillan, Trent noticed that she was still watching him, and that her smile had widened. She licked her lips, and Trent thought about the witch from AHansel and [email protected], who fed children candy to fatten them up so that she could eat them. This had to be some sort of trap. Trent could think of no other reason why someone would give the world=s best milkshake to a complete stranger for free and then watch with an ever-widening smile as the stranger drank it. He looked around the parlour, but could not see anything suspicious, other than the grinning woman behind the counter. He looked out the window and watched the rush hour traffic go by. Would Miss McMillan risk doing something unethical in front of so many potential witnesses? Trent briefly considered simply getting up and walking out, leaving the milkshake unfinished. But he couldn=t actually prove that this was a trap, and the milkshake was so good, so instead he merely tried to drink it more quickly, hoping that, if this was indeed a trap, he could get out of there before it sprang. Through the window, Trent saw a man who looked to be in his seventies walk up to the door of the parlour and try to open it. The door wouldn=t open, even though the man seemed to be pulling pretty hard. The man gave up and walked on. Trent had not found the door particularly difficult to open when he had entered, so it couldn=t simply have been a matter of the man being too weak. Trent turned to Miss McMillan, who was smiling even more widely. AAre you trying to [email protected] he asked. He did not think that he could drink his milkshake any more quickly than he already was, but perhaps Miss McMillan would offer him a shortcut. Of course, if she was setting a trap for him then it was unlikely that she would help him to escape, but he had to try. ATake your time,@ said Miss McMillan, without the slightest hint of impatience. No shortcut there. Trent, of course, had no intention of taking his time. He finished off the milkshake as quickly as he could, then brought the glass and napkin back to the counter, handed them to Miss McMillan, and said, AThanks. That was truly [email protected] Miss McMillan took the glass and napkin to the back room while Trent quickly walked to the front door. The front door wouldn=t open. There did not seem to be a mechanism for opening the door from the inside when it was locked. Trent turned back to the counter. Miss McMillan was coming out of the back room. She was starting to giggle. Trent deliberately kept his tone casual as he asked, ACould you unlock the [email protected] ANot just yet,@ Miss McMillan replied, still giggling. AI want to have a little fun [email protected] ASo you lock me in a store,@ Trent said quizzically. AYes,@ Miss McMillan responded without missing a beat. AAnd guess what? One of the ingredients of the McMillan Shake is a powerful diuretic. You=re about to have to pee really, really [email protected] Her giggle turned into a laugh. [email protected] asked Trent, horrified. But he was only half surprised. He had been fairly certain that Miss McMillan was up to something, he just hadn=t known what. Now that she had revealed the nature of the trap, or at least part of it, he could fight it directly. AUnlock the door now or I will scream,@ he said firmly. AI don=t think you want to call attention to yourself with the rate that your bladder is filling right now,@ Miss McMillan said, shaking her head but still laughing. She was right, Trent realized. He was already feeling a rapidly intensifying need to pee. Not wanting passers-by to see him in this condition while he negotiated with Miss McMillan, he started taking small steps towards the counter, staying alert for further traps. ACome on,@ he said when he reached the counter, trying to sound reasonable. AUnlock the [email protected] AYou=re feeling it, aren=t [email protected] Miss McMillan asked, starting to laugh harder. AYes, I=m feeling it. Unlock the door,@ Trent said impatiently. Still laughing hard, Miss McMillan chanted, ACute guy drinks a special shake Delicious as can be But something in that special shake Makes him have to [email protected] ACome on! [email protected] Trent begged, grabbing his penis tightly. He really needed to pee soon. Miss McMillan started to laugh even harder. AAww,@ she teased. AYou have to pee so-o-o bad, but you=re locked in a store and you can=t get out. Whatever will you [email protected] Trent, still holding himself tightly, scowled at Miss McMillan, who just kept laughing really hard. AWhat do you [email protected] Trent asked, irritated. AI want to watch you squirm and dance, trying not to wet your pants,@ Miss McMillan chanted gleefully. AReal clever,@ Trent said sarcastically. ASeriously, though, what=s it going to take for you to let me [email protected] AYou want me to think of something I want more than a man who needs to pee really bad standing right in front of [email protected] Miss McMillan asked with apparent incredulity (though her laughter did not diminish). She shook her head. AI=m sorry, I [email protected] Trent tried to think of an amount of money that might impress Miss McMillan without putting him into debt. AI=ll give you $300 if you unlock the door right now,@ he said desperately. Miss McMillan seemed to consider this, then said, ATempting. But no, I can=t buy situations like this for $300. I can=t buy them at all, so don=t bother raising the [email protected] Maybe if Trent could get behind the counter he could wrestle the key from Miss McMillan and use it to unlock the door himself. He looked along the counter, but it stretched from wall to wall with no visible gaps or hinges. He looked along both side walls of the parlour, but could not see any doors in either wall. (He probably wouldn=t have wanted to go through a door anyway, since it might have led deeper into the trap.) The only way he could think of getting behind the counter would be to leap over it, which would be difficult considering the state of his bladder and the fact that Miss McMillan would almost certainly not cooperate. He briefly wondered how Miss McMillan had managed to lock the front door between the time he had entered the parlour and the time he had finished his milkshake, but he quickly realized that trying to figure this out would be a waste of precious time. AYou can=t keep me here forever,@ Trent protested. ANot forever,@ Miss McMillan replied casually. AMaybe thirty, forty-five minutes [email protected] Trent felt certain that, by the time thirty to forty-five minutes had passed, he would have wet his pants uncontrollably, they would have dried again, and he would be ready to call for help (it would still be rush hour, so he needn=t fear a shortage of witnesses). So Miss McMillan wasn=t really offering him anything. Unless C AIs there any chance that time could be [email protected] Trent asked hopefully. Miss McMillan shrugged. AI might let you go sooner,@ she said offhandedly. AIf I get [email protected] What could he do to bore her? Trent thought frantically. Well, he could let go of his penis, for one thing. But if he did that, he didn=t think he would be able to prevent himself from peeing. Another thing he could do would be to stop complaining. But was he really supposed to just stand there and do nothing to end a situation that was getting worse by the second? AWhat if I get [email protected] he asked, frustrated. AAre you [email protected] Miss McMillan asked, surprised. ADo you want me to tell you some stories to pass the [email protected] ASure,@ he said, exasperated but hoping to throw Miss McMillan off by going along with a stupid suggestion. AAll right, let=s see . . . Oh, here=s one. I went whitewater rafting a few weeks ago. You might think that, being on a floatation device, one would stay more or less dry, but I can assure you that is not the case. There was water splashing all around us, and quite a bit of it ended up on me. Of course, that was nothing compared to when I actually fell off the raft and ended up completely soaked, with the rapids still splashing [email protected] [email protected] yelled Trent. This was not helping. ADo you have any other [email protected] ALet=s see . . . There was one time when I went to a museum on one of my days off. I don=t remember much about the museum itself, but I do remember that I had decided to walk because it was a nice day. When I was about two thirds of the way to the museum, though, clouds started to fill the sky really quickly, I heard a few rumbles of thunder, and then rain suddenly poured down, drenching me in seconds. I tried to find some cover, but there weren=t any trees and the only buildings around were private houses, so I just kept walking. By the time I got to the museum my clothes were saturated with water and it was dripping onto the museum floor [email protected] [email protected] Trent yelled again. He could feel himself starting to pee in his pants and there was nothing he could do to stop it. AI=m starting to wet my pants. Unlock the door [email protected] Miss McMillan=s laughter reached a crescendo to match that of Trent=s desperation, then subsided. She watched Trent intently as his pants became wetter and wetter. Trent let go of his penis so that his hand wouldn=t get wet. He didn=t bother to say anything further as his bladder emptied; any attempts to convey the seriousness of the situation only seemed to amuse Miss McMillan further. Trent wanted to close his eyes and pretend that he was somewhere else, somewhere safe, but he needed to stay alert in case Miss McMillan tried any more tricks. Trent hoped that the tables and chairs would hide what was happening from people outside. He looked out the window and was relieved to see pedestrians walking past the parlour as though it didn=t exist. (This is what they would do normally; an independent shop in the middle of town does not tend to draw much attention.) As Trent continued to wet himself helplessly, he looked around the parlour continuously, hoping to catch the next part of the trap before it sprang. He still could not see anything suspicious, but he continued to look until his bladder was completely empty. At that point, Miss McMillan, presumably noticing that Trent=s pants weren=t getting any wetter, clapped her hands three or four times and said, in an impressed tone of voice, [email protected] Trent looked at Miss McMillan. She was smiling ecstatically. Trent had never seen anyone smile like that before, and it was beautiful. It made Trent think of a rainbow after a ferocious storm. And it was because of him. He instantly forgave Miss McMillan for what she had just put him through. He also stopped worrying about whatever else she might have had planned; that smile was worth anything he could imagine her doing to him. He smiled back, faintly. For a few moments, they simply gazed at each other. Then Miss McMillan seemed to come out of a trance and bent down to reach under the counter. AI=ve got some goodies for you,@ she said. AGoodies,@ Trent said, chuckling. ANo more tricks, I promise. I need to get home [email protected] She took out a spray bottle and handed it to Trent. AThis is a deodorizer for the smell. Spray it on wherever you see [email protected] AYou really think the smell is the first thing that people will [email protected] Trent asked incredulously. ANo,@ Miss McMillan replied evenly. ABut it=s the first thing you need to take care [email protected] Shrugging, Trent took the bottle and sprayed it on the wet parts of his pants, then held the bottle out for Miss McMillan to take back. Miss McMillan was already bending down to reach under the counter again, though, so Trent put the bottle on the counter. Miss McMillan straightened up and handed Trent something made of cloth. AThis is a kimono to cover up the spot,@ she said. Trent took the kimono, unfolded it, and put it on. It was quite a nice kimono. AIt=s yours to keep,@ Miss McMillan continued. AYou deserve [email protected] Miss McMillan then put the deodorizer back under the counter and took out a booklet. She tore a page out of the booklet (they were apparently perforated) and handed it to Trent. AThis is a coupon for a free milkshake of your choice,@ she said. ADon=t bother using it for a McMillan Shake; that one=s always on the [email protected] She winked. AIf you decide not to come back, you can give the coupon to a friend C or an [email protected] She put the coupon book back under the counter. ALet me get the door for you,@ she said, then turned and went into the back room. Trent heard a vaguely familiar click behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see what it was, but he couldn=t see anything that C then it struck him. The door! She had a power lock on the door so that she could open or close shop from her side of the counter C or trap unsuspecting customers in the parlour. Miss McMillan came out of the back room. AThe door=s unlocked,@ she said. AHave a good [email protected] AThat=s [email protected] Trent asked, surprised. AI told you, I need to get home [email protected] Trent turned, walked to the door, and pushed on it. This time the door opened easily. He left the parlour, letting the door swing closed behind him, and started walking the rest of the way home. He would not make any more stops; he wanted to get home as soon as possible so that he could change his pants. As he was walking, he heard the familiar click of the parlour=s power lock. He smiled to himself, relieved to have finally been released from the parlour and also glad to have been such an immense source of entertainment.
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