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  1. Fidgety Freya Choir finals. Freya sat holding her order of events in her sweating hands. Her hair and make up pristine, her white blouse spotless and her black suit trousers with silver stars perfectly fitted. Last on the list. She could do this. She wasn’t going to let nerves get the better of her now even though her throat felt like it would close it was so dry and her stomach was in knots. She’d expected to be backstage while the other choirs were on stage where she could relax and do last minute preparations, not sitting in the middle of a row of twenty others in the audience nervously watching every other choir before going on. What sort of set up was this? It hadn’t been like this for the semis or quarter finals but there wasn’t much she could do. Every choir was in the same position except the first on so clearly the rules had been changed. The curtain drew and the first choir stood arranged neatly in height order. They started every so slightly off key but by the second line they were more relaxed and settled. Freya sipped her water as she listened intently. They were good, though quite an acquired taste, and she knew that starting first was very much a disadvantage as the judges and audience would likely forget them as time went on. Freya clapped as they finished and bowed before leaving the stage. The host spoke for a few minutes and then introduced the second choir of the evening. Freya sipped more water as her throat felt drier than she could ever remember. She had to loosen her vocal chords before it was her turn to sing. This wasn’t just about being part of a team as she had a lead solo to perform and she intended to be note perfect. By the fourth choir Freya shifted in her seat. Her bladder twinged a little, most likely due to increasing nerves. She took a few deep breathes and finished her water. Another three choirs and then it would be her turn. The fifth choir was introduced and filled onto the stage. There seemed to be hundreds of them! It took almost five minutes for them all to get into place, during which Freya felt another twinge. She shifted in her seat again. Krista whispered, ‘you ok?’ ‘Yeah just nervous.’ Finally the fifth choir began their songs. The first, a jazzy, bouncy piece that made Freya smile and clap along, the second a more moving slow piece making the audience gasp with emotion. They were good, very good. Freya shifted again, nerves really setting in now. She felt uncomfortable, as if the cushioned flip down seat was suddenly made of nails. At first she couldn’t understand it but then her foot caught her empty water bottle sending it rolling towards the seat in front. She closed her eyes for a second recalling just how much water she had drank in the last few hours. Her hands moved to her bladder and she gently rubbed as another twinge made her shuffle towards the side of the seat. It wasn’t nerves, she suddenly realised: she was needing a wee. Well this wasn’t a good thing, not at all. As the sixth choir filled the stage and formed a pattern that intrigued her, Freya couldn’t help crossing her legs. It looked awkward on a chair that folded up in the old grand concert hall. Freya wasn’t particularly caring. There was still this choir and another before hers and her mind turned from listening to the choir to trying to think if she had noticed toilets on her way in. There had to be plenty in a concert hall this size, it was just a matter of where. The issue wasn’t just that the row was too long to slip out easily it was where the rows were that was an issue too. All the competing choirs had been sat right behind the stage to the right where the audience of over a thousand people could watch their every move. Not only that but TV cameras panned frequently looking to catch expressions of worry, nerves, smiles or delight. It just wasn’t an option to get out and find a toilet right now. She had to forget that idea and put any bodily needs out her mind. If only her body understood that and co-operated. Finally the sixth choir exited the stage and the penultimate choir made their way forwards. Freya couldn’t stop herself fidgeting, initially leaning forwards with her ankles crossed under her chair, then crossing her legs in front of her, then bouncing a knee or swinging her legs. Little shivers ran through her body and she couldn’t get comfortable at all. Thankfully the others in her row were restless too as final nerves set in as a concert hall usher guided them out of their seats and behind the curtain backstage ready to go on stage any minute. Freya touched the arm of the usher as he passed. The usher turned towards her and Freya quietly asked: ‘Excuse me, could you show me to the nearest bathroom please?’ ‘Sorry Mam, there’s no time for that right now, though do come and find me when you get off stage and I’ll take you then. Good luck mam. I hope you do well.’ Freya wasn’t sure wether to be angry, shocked or embarrassed. Either way she had no time at all to dwell on it as she was gently pushed by fellow choir members along the line backstage. Suddenly she heard clapping from the audience and knew she was about to be watched by over a thousand people plus cameras whilst bursting for the toilet. This wasn’t how she planned to be remembered! Freya fidgeted from foot to foot as the host introduced the final choir. The choir were silent and standing ready for the curtain to once again open and the choir master was centre with his back to the audience. Sweat formed on Freya’s brow. How could she sing with such a full bladder? This was a disaster! The audience clapped as the first introductory notes played and Freya pressed her thighs together grateful for someone in front of her, at least for this song. She bit her lip and concentrated on holding her bladder without showing it as she sang as well as she could under the circumstances. Her trousers felt so tight, her bladder swollen with fluids now. A pause before the music for the second song started and the choir reformed into a new position to allow Freya to walk forwards to be centre stage. The spotlights shone down on her as she struggled with a strong urge to relax and pee. Instead she tensed everywhere she could and tried to think about her singing. She absolutely couldn’t wet herself in front of so many people regardless how badly she had to go. The first lines were awful. Off pitch, off key and a clear sign of the stress Freya was under. She fidgeted under the lights trying to focus as her bladder raged inside her for release. A choir member close by whispered: “Relax Freya. You can do this.” Freya breathed. She concentrated and forgot herself. She thought about what this meant to her, how long she had wanted this, how desperate she was to win...and she began to relax. As she sang with her eyes fixed ahead, caught in the moment, with cameras from all angles, microphones catching every note and a thousand set of eyes on her alone, she felt a warmth between her legs. She was leaking. She tensed and immediately her voice box tensed and she hit another wrong note. She relaxed again and another dribble ran into her knickers. As Freya closed her eyes, lost in the moment, fully focussed on singing her solo, encompassed entirely by the atmosphere and the music, her body and mind fully committed to her performance, there was nothing left to fight against her swollen bladder. Warm urine pooled into Freya’s underwear, down the inside of her legs and into her high heeled shoes. She couldn’t think about it, she had to keep on signing like everything was perfect. She couldn’t leave, or run or even cover herself. Urine ran faster and faster showing in the crotch of her trousers and forming a dark patch right down both legs. Still Freya remained in the moment, signing for all she was worth, giving her all to the show. By the time the song finished Freya’s body had emptied. Her battle was over. Her show was complete. She walked off stage as if what happened was perfectly normal. The choir was silent until they reached a corridor heading back to their seats in the audience. Freya remained silent, her thoughts completely elsewhere to where her fellow singers were. The usher caught her eye. He walked towards her looking rather emotional. ‘Wow. That has to be the most incredible solo I have ever heard. You were completely entranced in that song, utterly connected and one with the music. You radiated out there. Congratulations. Now would you like me to show you the ladies before you slip back to your row?’ Freya fidgeted again, this time with embarrassment. With her head lowered she solemnly whispered: ‘I wet myself. When I was signing. I had to relax and...’ The usher stood with his mouth agag as his eyes drifted to Freya’s soaked clothing. He froze there then a minute later shook himself back to reality. ‘Right. Well I’ll take you to the...emm...changing rooms instead shall I?’ ‘Yes. But I need back quick before they announce the winner.’ As they walked towards the changing room Freya swore she heard the usher mumble under his breathe: ‘My God she’s a winner in my book that’s for sure!’
  2. A/N So this is my first story, and sorry if some parts don't sound right, English is not my first language ._. This is basically the story of an arrogant young professional singer who's life gets turned upside down because he had a little too much tea to drink before his giant concert. There are some parts where you can follow along the story with what the soloists will be singing to set the mood just a bit better. I can continue this story if you want, with the other singers' desperation plus yaoi smut, just let me know what you think and I can add more to it in the future. Alright, here we go. It's my first time, so please be gentle! Ignacio Campana was sitting in his limousine, about to be known as the greatest operatic tenor in the world. He was a leggero tenor of incredible ability, able to sing a tenor high G that would cause jaws to drop and glass to break. The 23 year old man was born and raised in Milan, Italy, where his parents caught onto his talent for singing at an early age and had him attend music conservatories as his lifelong education. Unfortunately, this immense power to hit such high and mighty power notes at such a young age had led Ignacio to become incredibly arrogant. He would often be at least ten minutes late to every rehearsal with either his recitals or his private lessons with a cup of coffee in his hand. When rehearsing with a group, he would focus solely on hitting on the true sopranos, ignoring the mezzos, altos, baritones and basses. If he ever had a duet with someone, he would almost always drown his singing partners out with his voice no matter how many times the conductor told him to be quieter. Truth be told, most all of his workmates found him to be unbearable, but his audience didn’t. If anything, Ignacio was incredibly popular with his viewers, especially the female ones. He had longish blond hair ending just above the shoulders and sparkling baby blue eyes that would never shy away from winking at a starstruck fangirl, who would then squeal and beg for his autograph. His soprano co-stars couldn’t help but giggle at his jokes and love the way he flashed his bright smiles at them. It would appear to some that he had just about everything under control at the tips of his fingers. And today was just another one of those days, except a thousand times more important. This evening was the first opera concert of the millennium on January 1 2000, the day where millions of people would see Ignacio both in the Met’s concert hall and on televisions all over the country to watch him perform with other incredible singers. To top it all off, the world’s greatest known tenors Luciano Pavarotti and Andrea Bocelli were coming to watch Ignacio sing. It was the evening that would make or break his career, his worldwide reputation, his fame that would last for generations to come. Absolutely nothing could jar Ignacio’s chance at impressing such a large crowd… except maybe his pressing need to urinate. He was actually bouncing his leg as he sat in the back of his limo, wishing he hadn’t drank so much honey lemon tea earlier. He just wanted to make sure his vocal chords were oiled and ready to go for this performance, but now he could feel all of those drinks collect into his swollen organ all at once. He hated the barista for letting him order all of those cups. Ignacio really shouldn’t have felt worried, as his voice teacher of 10 years had never really given him bathroom breaks as they would train together. She was a short, stern, greying old woman who would see him from noon until 10:00pm, only giving him breaks for water. Everytime he asked to use the restroom, she would furrow her brow and tell him, “Come now, Ignacio. If you want to be a professional singer, you must learn how to put off personal needs while you sing. Do you think Maria Callas entered every performance of her life relieved? No! And I would know, I used to train her.” He would only sigh to this and continue singing, sometimes even running to the bathroom in the middle of the lesson when he couldn’t take it, only to have his teacher rolling her eyes and shaking her head when he came back. He had learned to build up some impressive sphincter muscles through these ten years with her, but now he was starting to wonder where all of that effortless control had gone. But no matter, he was sure it was nothing to worry about, as he was not yet full and had finished lessons much more desperate than this. The limo was slowing to a stop in front of the Met, a red carpet laid out before him with flashing cameras and crowds packed on either side of it, and he knew he could do this. All he had to do was smile, flash some winks at the crowd, and have the conductor give him some time to use the restroom. However, he was met with furious eyes from the conductor as he walked backstage. “Where the hell have you been?!” Spat the conductor, “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago to rehearse with the other singers!” Ignacio casually turned his head to look at the singers he was referring to and his eyes widened with surprise. Right in front of him was one of Japan’s most acclaimed sopranos, Hiroko Watanabe, with a flowing green chiffon dress, silver diamond hair clip keeping her hair up in a bun, and a piercing glare at him for such tardiness. Damn, she's really hot, Ignacio thought; maybe if I ask nicely I could get her number. Next to Hiroko was a darker, more mysterious figure. His name was Nikolai Orlov, Moscow’s finest basso profundo. He had dark jade green eyes and hair the color of deep mahogany. He also had some five o'clock shadow, broad shoulders, and as Ignacio trailed his eyes down he noticed that he had a protruding stomach that was not suppressed by his tux’s cummerbund. Ignacio nodded, impressed by Nikolai’s dedication, as he heard that some basses could get the loudest sound possible by adding stomach fat to their diaphragm. But of course, Ignacio could never do that to himself, as his body was a slender temple he refused to add any weight to. Being surrounded by such dedicated musicians made Ignacio feel a wave of guilt for being so late to the rehearsal. He said to the conductor, “Yes sir, I'm so sorry but there was some traffic as I tried to get here. May I please use the restroom before we continue rehearsal?”, he subconsciously started lightly rocking back and forth on the spot. The conductor looked at Ignacio as though he was crazy, “What? No! You've wasted so much time and we’re starting any minute now! Just go on stage now and wait for the curtain to rise.” He exclaimed coldly, giving Ignacio the evil eye before storming off. He bitterly clicked his teeth at the conductor for denying his relief. Who did that man think he was? Now he really wanted to strangle that barista for those five cups of honey lemon tea. However, he wouldn't try to chase down the conductor. His pride told him that he didn't need to go that badly, that he could just hold it all in until morning if he so pleased. And he promised himself that he would hold it until the concert ended, maybe even waiting until after he gave all his fans their autographs. In the meantime, he was looking around the room and thinking of how he could keep himself busy. Well, he thought, I guess I can see if I can get Hiroko’s number. He then walked up to the Japanese soprano, as gracefully as he could, and smoothly said, “So, is this your first time in New York?” “No.” She responded abruptly, looking straight past him. Merda, he thought, No girl’s ever replied to me like that before. Better hit her with my irresistible charm. He looked her straight in the eye and smirked, “Well if you want, I can give you a little tour of the city once this show is over.” He said with a wink and a pearly white smile. However, his smitten appearance was replaced with a shocked one when she smacked him across the face right after that remark. Hiroko then made her way to the snack table and she ate some grapes before the show. Ignacio was still in shock. That was the first time a girl had ever said no to him, especially that violently. Oh great, he thought, now that Russian bass is staring at me weirdly again. Before he could walk over and give Nikolai a piece of his mind, a reporter entered the room and asked the Italian tenor for and interview. He nodded and followed her, cheering on the inside that he was getting more publicity. “Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Ignacio,” said the reporter. “Of course!” replied Ignacio with a grin, glad he was being filmed from the waist up so he could occasionally squeeze his thighs together if needed. “So Ignacio, this is the first opera concert of the millennium. Are you nervous at all?” “No not really, I get to sing with two other incredible stars from around the world, and my voice teacher has been training me hard for this day, so if anything I’m really excited.” “Oh that’s good! I was just recalling upon some of your other concerts and I can’t help but notice what a powerful head voice you have. It’s really fantastic!” “Hehe, thanks.” “Yeah, totally. Are there any, like, rituals you like to perform to sound so good? What do you drink to get your vocal chords so wet and hydrated?” Ignacio cringed slightly at her word choices there, but he speed talked his reply as best as he could, “Well, it’s nothing crazy really. I just like to drink honey lemon tea before my performances and that’s about it.” “Ooh, I see. Well, I won’t keep you here any longer because I hear the orchestra play the overture music now. Better knock ‘em dead! I know you can.” She said with a beam. Ignacio smiled and nodded at her, then speed walked over to the stage where Nikolai and Hiroko stood. He got in between the two of them just in time when the curtain lifted. Here he was, Ignacio Campana, world class tenor, performing at a 2 hour concert with no intermission and a nearly full tank. He merely smiled and faced the audience head on, as his pride told him that he could hold it no matter what happened. He had the opening song to sing, which was a Gregorian tenor chant in which he got to sing out sweetly like a bell in a church. This song was easy for him, as it lasted only a minute and there were no ridiculous notes just yet. He watched the faces of the audience members as he sang, seeing that he got some nods, some silent listeners who merely admired the music whilst leaning their heads on their fists, and Pavarotti and Bocelli, who were whispering fervently to each other about him in Italian. Once he finished, he was met with impressed applause from the audience, the professional tenors smiling in his favor. He beamed at the crowd and bowed, wincing a little as he got low because of the pain in his bladder. A stage hand had appeared onstage to give every singer a 500 mL bottle to take sips from between songs. Ignacio was starting to worry now, seeing as he was only a cup away from reaching his capacity. He would have to take small sips to keep from spilling over during the concert, but he had such demanding songs to sing throughout the concert. But no matter, he would just have to be strategic about how much he drank throughout the show. Up next was Nikolai’s solo. The Russian bass stepped forward, spread his legs a bit more than shoulder width apart, and sang out powerfully (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IfxQQ7nIthw). Ignacio raised his eyebrows in surprise, as this bass was truly incredible. The richness in his voice, the robustness of his volume, the charisma and emotion he projected. The song was actually giving the Italian a warm tickly feeling in his chest. As the song went on, he began to get mental pictures as he listened. He thought of a man trudging through the snow, snowflakes eventually falling on top of his nose and eventually turning into water. No! He yelled at himself internally for thinking about melting snow, squeezing his thighs together. He had to be more careful with what he thought of; he was there to perform, not to recreate the splash zone at seaworld. There was fervent applause when Nikolai finished and bowed, then it was time for Hiroko’s solo, so she stepped forward and began her song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDvE8uKWznc). Ignacio smiled as he heard her sing, closing his eyes and feeling the song waves float straight into his heart. She sounded as gorgeous as she looked. However, as her song continued, he noticed that his throat was getting awfully dry. He cursed his luck, not wanting to add anymore liquids inside of him, but the New York winter was making his throat dry. He promised himself that he would only take a sip, but found that he drank half of the bottle. He cursed himself on the inside, knowing this added weight would not be pleasant for him. * * * * * * * * * * The concert was now halfway through with another hour to go and Ignacio felt like he was ready to pop. His bladder felt taut and full, and it really was, considering he drank a cup of water, topping off at his capacity of 6 cups. At that very moment, it felt like his bladder was an overfilled water balloon that a child was constantly squeezing and jiggling around. This would be the point where he would run out of the room during his voice lessons, but he couldn't do that now during a trio performance. But astonishingly, he showed no outward signs of desperation. He still sang with gorgeous tone and great control, still easily able to sing out those high money notes and act along with the text. It was only when he bowed did he wince slightly at the now fiery pain behind his belt. He had considered just taking off the belt and pulling down his fly, but it would be a direct rude gesture to the audience plus Pavarotti and Bocelli. He could never do that to his fellow Italians. Sure the audience didn't notice his predicament, but Nikolai seemed to sense his discomfort. The Russian bass would look at him out of the corner of his eye, giving a slight but sympathetic nod. Seriously, what’s with this guy? Ignacio thought, Once I use the bathroom after this show, this guy will learn not to stare at me so much. Although Ignacio managed to keep up a cool and collected front, his co-stars and conductor started to notice something about him was slightly… off as time drew on. He would sing a bit more quietly while doing a duet with Hiroko or Nikolai, actually sweating at one point. The conductor furrowed his eyebrows at him, and once the audience applauded after a duet with Ignacio and Hiroko, he gestured for the tenor to finish off his half-empty water bottle. Ignacio had a brief flash of worry in his eyes as he finished the water. At this rate, he’d never finish the concert dry. He had such a quick metabolism, which is why all those drinks had gone through him so quickly. Stay calm, mio ragazzo, he thought to himself, This solo has a seductive feeling to it, so you get to think of sexy things. He walked up to the front of the stage with his legs pressed tightly together and began his song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT-pql5EhzQ. As he sang, he noticed that thinking seductive thoughts worked. The more he thought of Hiroko with rose petals covering her breasts and naughty places, the less pressure he felt between his legs. He pictured himself kissing her marshmallow white smooth neck as she with pleasure sighed into his hair, him sucking and nibbling on her collarbone, Nikolai starting to… wait what? Why is Nikolai invading my sexy thoughts? Questioned Ignacio. Well, the song had ended, so he didn’t need to distract himself for the time being, but he still had 2 more songs to go before he could zoom backstage and release his flood inside anything hollow. It didn’t even need to be a toilet; a bucket, a potted plant, someone’s spare boots would be a perfectly fine substitute. He started to subtly grip the sides of his thighs with his hands, biting his lip and sweating just below the nose as well. Oh, he needed to pee so badly. He could actually feel his overtaxed, overflowing bladder cutting into his waistband. That was a first for him. Up next, he had a trio song with Hiroko and Nikolai, so he shakily stood as still as he could without grabbing his crotch with the Soprano on his left and the Bass on his right. They then began their song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGz3oKKg-QI. Ok, so you can’t grab yourself onstage, thought Ignacio desperately, But maybe it’ll help if you lock your knees and tense up your entire lower half. At this point, the tenor would do anything to save face, so he did. It really worked for most of the song, as his grey briefs didn’t have a spot on them, except he was beginning to feel woozy and lightheaded. The room started fading to black and he felt his balance falter. He kept swirling from side to side until he finally fell to the ground. Ignacio had fainted. When his sight came back, he was surrounded by the conductor, both co-stars, and a not so hushed whisper going through the crowd. “Ignacio, are you okay?” Asked a concerned conductor. “I’m fine, I just really-” started Ignacio, hoping he could get to the restroom now. “You need some water, don’t you? Here, take mine.” A genuinely concerned Hiroko interrupted, holding out her half-empty bottle. Before Ignacio had time to even object, she force fed him the liquid until it was all gone. The Italian looked like he could’ve cried. He turned to the conductor with desperate tears in his eyes, and whispered with such intense apprehension, “I’m not dehydrated, I just-” this time, his own bladder interrupted him with a searing pang. He gripped his crotch to prevent any leaking, now feeling utterly humiliated. He could never be taken seriously in the music world again. Still, he shakily lifted his head to meet the worried gaze of the conductor, and finished his sentence, “-I’ve just never had to pee so badly in my life.” The conductor gasped as his eyes widened. The poor young man must’ve been dying. This was all his fault, he should’ve let him go to the bathroom as he requested when he arrived. “Ignacio, I am so, so sorry. I should’ve let you go before the show, but we only have one song left. It’s your solo, Nessun Dorma. I promise you can make it through.” The tenor was now blushing; be it from embarrassment or strain, he couldn’t tell at this point. He wasn’t even so sure he could stand, but he had to try and sing that song. He felt a heavy tap on his shoulder, and turned to see that Nikolai was offering his hand in helping him get up. His blush grew heavier and he returned with a grateful nod, and without wasting a moment the Russian pulled him up onto his feet and walked him over to the front of the stage. “It’s ok, just take baby steps. You’ll be fine.” Whispered the Russian with his rich, deep voice, encouraging the Italian. Soon enough, it was time for Ignacio to stand alone in front of the crowd, with Nikolai moving back to his own spot. The audience applauded once they saw that Ignacio was feeling alright, and he did his best to smile and wave normally. Most of the audience seemed unaware of his need, except for Pavarotti and Bocelli, who seemed to have inquisitive yet suspicious looks on their faces. Well, thought Ignacio, this is your last song, better make it count: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMl124VvFRg. No no no! This is going terribly!, he thought as he began. He wasn’t singing as loudly as he could’ve because he was worried that any pressure at all from deep breathing or force from the diaphragm could cause his inner torrent to erupt forth from his zipper. He wanted to sing as loudly as he could, but fanculo did it hurt to hold! He could feel the last 8 oz from the water Hiroko gave him filter into his dangerously overstretched bladder and he truly felt like he was going to explode. He was sweating again, and he tried to think seductive thoughts, but literally nothing could distract him from his painfully engorged bladder. The bump in his abdomen had grown and now it felt like a bowling ball was sitting right above his pelvis, even though it merely looked like he had half a cantaloupe behind his belt. His stupid expensive suit didn’t have pockets, so there was no way for him to discreetly hold himself through. He just curled his toes and marched on. At least his pained expression fit with the piece. Suddenly, he crescendoed a note when he felt a spurt go loose into his pants. Fanculo, this is really bad! He internally screamed at himself. But he also found that he was able to sing louder, his voice ringing out through the room. The spurts continued as the song did, but thankfully nothing showed on the outside and he was still able to sing louder with each spurt gone. However, each spurt also meant that his urgency grew. The giant ball of piss inside of him now felt like it was being surrounded by needles and was about to tip over completely. But no matter, he was almost done with the song anyway. He just had that one loud high note at the end to shout out for all to enjoy. He didn’t even care about what kind of pressure this deep breathing and diaphragm power would put onto his bladder, he took the deepest breath he could and powered through that ending. He thought he sounded incredible, he felt great, but something was wrong. There was no applause at the high note, just utter silence. Even the band had stopped playing. Ignacio looked down and realized why everyone had gone quiet… he was wetting himself full force. The Italian’s eyes widened and his blush grew bright. He didn’t even realize he was peeing himself, but it just felt so damn good. Hours and cups of pent of urine finally gushing outside of his body. The sound of his pee was the only thing echoing around in the giant concert hall, and the puddle around him grew and grew. It was even reaching over the edge of the stage and was falling into the orchestra pit. Around when he was half empty he could hear the audience start to whisper in disgust, seeing Pavarotti and Bocelli wrinkle their faces in disgust and the other audience members to jeer. Ignacio tried his best to stop, but his muscles were just too tired. He felt tears well up in his eyes again; this was the most humiliated he’d ever been in his life. If anything went wrong, he’d usually yell at whoever made him mess up, but this time there was no one to yell at but himself. He should’ve held it like the adult he was, not some kindergartener who just finished a juice box. I am definitely killing that barista, he thought to himself. When he finally finished, he found just enough strength inside of him to look at the audience. That’s when they jeered at him with gusto, throwing their drinks at him. Ignacio Campana, world class 23 year old tenor, had just pissed himself. The poor young man finally broke down into tears and ran backstage into his dressing room. He didn’t have any other clothes with him, as he arrived wearing his tux, but he had to find something else to wear; he had to. He could kiss his music career goodbye, but what else was he going to do? A world class tenor was all he had trained to become since he was 3, and he didn’t know where else to turn. Just as he started rummaging through his wardrobe, he heard the door open behind him. Oh, now what? He exasperatedly exclaimed to himself, Has the conductor come to yell at me? Has a female fan come to slap me? Or is Pavarotti about to insult my performance? He whipped around with an irritated expression on his face to see who came in, but his expression turned more into surprise when he found that it was only Nikolai who entered. The basso profundo said nothing, he just gave Ignacio a sympathetic nod, walked slowly to the garbage can near the wardrobe, whipped out his member, and starting wetting an absolute torrent into the trash can. Ignacio’s mouth gaped open when he saw how thick his stream was and how hard and fast it was coming out. Was he holding all of that during the entire concert? He grew even more surprised as the Russian’s stomach deflated while he was peeing; he wasn't pudgy in the middle at all, he was just holding in mass amounts of piss. Nikolai closed his eyes, tilted his head back and sighed, finally relieving himself of his burden load. Once he finished up after 3 minutes, he zipped up his pants and patted Ignacio on the back, saying “Don't worry, I had to go too.” Dumbfounded, Ignacio could only stutter, “B-But you… There was… How?! How could you hold in all of that?” Nikolai smirked and said, “Oh, I've had lots of practice, and I need to drink lots of vodka before a performance to get this dark, rich sound.” “You speak as if that's not your limit.” “What, the 11 cups I just pissed out? No that's not my limit, I still have some ways to go.” Ignacio’s jaw dropped completely, “You can't be serious.” Nikolai chuckled at his priceless reaction, “But hey, you did a great job considering you were two cups over your maximum capacity. How can I tell, you may ask? With this-” he whipped out a small black rectangular device. “This is a volume device. I point it towards anyone’s bladder and it tells me how much they have at that moment and how much their capacity can hold. You have an impressive 6 cup capacity, but the extra 2 cups you were holding was even more incredible. Truth be told, the other reason I can hold so much is because I have a kink for omorashi, do you?” “Um, well I don’t like to hold it… but I have to say, it was really hot.. Watching you pee and all…” said Ignacio, blushing yet again and finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with Nikolai. He could actually feel a familiar tightness in his chest and crotch as he thought of Nikolai peeing into the trashcan. He caught himself, though, and gathered his wits enough for one question. “So, uh, what is your real capacity then?” Nikolai grinned and replied, “Tell you what, how about we have dinner tomorrow after our performance and we can see how far I can go? Here’s my number if you want to contact me, by the way,” he said, as he scribbled his number down on a piece of paper, then gave it to Ignacio and walked away. Ignacio was still dumbstruck, trying to process what he just witnessed, what he just felt. Honestly, he never thought he was gay before. He always found himself hitting on girls, having one night stands with them, his only kink being light bondage, but never would he thought he would be interested in omorashi. Never did he, a 5’7 23 year old, think he would be interested in a 6’3 28 year old Russian man. But, he supposed there was a first time for everything. He decided he would just go home in his limo, order in some Chinese takeout, and watch some TV in the bathtub. That sounded like a great way to stave off the day’s humiliation. Well, on the brightside, he possibly had a new boyfriend.
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