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Holding Games

So, as I mentioned, F and I like to play holding games. One that we do often is I’ll encourage F to drink a lot of liquid until he’s desperate, then we’ll cuddle together in bed and test his limits. Sometimes I’ll tickle him or prod his abdomen to make his urge worsen. I can tell when his bladder is spasming particularly strongly when his grip on me suddenly tightens for a second. He can be very vocal; Cursing under his breath and making small, whining noises in the back of his throat. The most desperate he’s ever gotten during one of these games ended with me having to fetch a jug for him to pee into since he didn’t think he could stand up and get to the toilet without flooding himself on the way. He filled the jug to an impressive level while I rubbed up and down his spine and enjoyed the sight and sound of his relief.

Sometimes, we reverse our roles so I’m the one that is getting desperate. He is a massage therapist, and I’m not sure if he learned this while at school for that, but he seems to know exactly where and how to press on me to make my urgency spike in an instant. I could be feeling like I could hold on for another hour at least, and then he’ll prod me in such a way that I’ll think if I don’t get myself in front of a toilet in the next ten seconds I’ll  explode. When he gives in and lets me use the restroom, knowing that he loves the sight of me letting everything out… It, honestly gives me back some of the confidence I’ve lost to my shy bladder syndrome. Makes me feel so much less ashamed, and much less vulnerable.

Other times, we’ll have contests with each other and see who can hold it the longest. Sometimes I win, and others he wins. Once we both kind of started to lose it at around the same time and had to go together. This was tricky for me at first— even if I can go in front of F, this was a new boundary to cross— but, after a few seconds of him peeing right beside me, my bladder gave out and joined in.

A Story of F’s Desperation

The most desperate I’ve ever seen F get outside of our games happened when we went to see a movie together. The movie we’d gone to see had been highly anticipated and very long. So, once it ended the toilets were bound to be crowded. Before we left the theater to go home, he commented on the length of the line for the bathroom, and said we could probably get home in the amount of time it would take for the line to move.

He probably would have been right about that had we not encountered a massive traffic jam caused by a wreck. We were stuck on an overpass for quite some time with barely any movement. After a while, I noticed he kept drumming his fingers against the wheel and was muttering to himself in German. I assumed he needed to pee a bit more than he’d let on when we were still at the theater, but I still asked him if something was wrong.

“I should have just waited for the toilet before we left,” he told me, mentioning how much he regretted the sodas he’d had during the movie.

It would have taken us about thirty minutes to get home from our current position if traffic were smooth. But, with the current state of things there was no telling how long we were going to be trapped here. And, given we were on an overpass, it wasn’t as though he could go on the side of the road without tons of people seeing what he was doing.

Cars moved at a snail pace, and I could tell F was getting more and more desperate by the minute. He changed position frequently and seemed to be wrestling with his seatbelt, trying to find a way to keep it from pressing into his bladder. His face was tinged pink and his breathing was heavier than it usually is.

Now, F has a pretty nice car, and he’s very protective of it. The material the seats are made of stain easily, and it would be hard to get any kind of liquid out of it. We never drink anything in the car to prevent a risk of something spilling. If he was unable to keep holding it, the seat would be flooded with much more liquid than a spilled drink would provide. I knew his top priority now was not leaking in the car. As much as I usually like seeing him desperate, he was in genuine distress now. The situation was not within control for either of us and he didn’t know when it would end. If he wasn’t able to endure, he would damage something that is extremely important to him. I felt no enjoyment from his need this time and probably wanted the traffic to move just as desperately as he did.

At some point, he got his belt apart and unbuttoned his pants. I heard him exhale, as the release of that pressure must have brought him a little relief, but within a moment he was back to his heavy, pained sounding breathing. I glanced into the back of the car, wondering if we’d left towels there after the last time we’d gone swimming. I thought he could sit on top of them so that if he ended up not making it, the carseats would mostly be spared. But, that was an empty hope since there were no towels.

Next, I checked the glove compartment. I thought that maybe there’d be some kind of container he could go in. Remembering how much of the jug F had filled when we’d played our game, I knew that any container small enough to fit into the glove compartment would be much too small to hold the contents of his bladder. But, maybe it would be enough to take the edge off so he could make it home. There was nothing but an empty Tic-Tac container, which obviously wouldn’t have helped at all.

As more time passed with little to no movement of the traffic, he began to hold himself openly with both hands. I rubbed his thigh, trying to soothe him, but he was obviously starting to panic. We’d been there for so long and barely moved. I used some of the same phrases I use during our games, the ones that usually encouraged him to keep waiting it out. I told him he could hold it, that he wasn’t that full yet. I told him it was just in his head and that he wasn’t nearly as desperate as he thought he was. But, of course, it’s a little different when it isn’t just a game, and he’s actually on the verge of an accident with no way to prevent it.

He suddenly got very still, and his grip on himself seemed to tighten. I assumed he must have just leaked a bit, so continued trying to calm him. “It’s alright,” I said. “We’ll be home before you know it.” Honestly, the sight of him so utterly desperate was starting to make me have to go quite a bit myself.

At long last, traffic started to clear and we were on our way. Only a few blocks from home and the relief F craved so desperately. The hand not on the steering wheel was glued firmly between his legs, thighs crushing it. As he navigated the rest of the way home, he kept muttering “I can hold it, I can hold it,” and I hoped he was right.

We made it home without a flood, but when he eased himself out of the car I saw that he’d definitely leaked a few times. I hoped nothing made it to the carseat, knowing how devastated he’d be if that had happened. When we got to the door to our place, I set to work unlocking it so he could use both hands to hold himself. I heard his zipper already being pulled as I turned the key and the instant the door opened, he bolted inside.

He didn’t have time to shut the door to the bathroom. He knew I wouldn’t mind watching one little bit, anyway. The only thing louder than the thunderous sound of his pee splashing into the toilet was the moan he released. I don’t know if the moan was just for my benefit, or if it actually felt that good, but either way I felt myself start to stiffen at the sound. I’d only heard him moan like that from one other activity, one which I hoped we could enjoy after he’d finished peeing, provided he wasn’t too sore.

Now that he was okay, I didn’t feel guilty finding pleasure from the spectacular view of him relieving himself. He tilted his head back, all tension evaporating from his shoulders, which had been so rigid when we were still stuck in the car. He peed for so long, longer than I’d ever seen him go for before. I was amazed he could hold so much, and could only imagine how incredible he must have felt. The longer he peed, the more my own bladder reminded me that it would like to be emptied soon as well, but I was willing to hold it as long as it took if it meant I could enjoy seeing F feeling so good.

As his stream started to slow, I saw a shiver go up his spine. Once he was finished, he continued to stand there for a few seconds, taking deep breaths. After he’d zipped back up and exited the bathroom, I could see that the wet spot around his crotch was larger than it had seemed earlier. We went back out to check if the car was dry, and luckily it was. His pants had taken the majority of the damage, thankfully.

After taking care of my own need to pee, I asked F if he wanted a reward for holding it so well, and the rest of the evening was a very enjoyable one.

Camping

The most desperate I’ve ever been outside of a holding game is a little harder to narrow down. My shy bladder has meant that I’ve spent a lot of my life bursting with no options for relief. School was a nightmare for me once the doors were taken, as I’ve already said. And I recounted one of my worst days in regards to that in a different topic on this site. There was an incident before I met F where I didn’t pee for around 22 hours due to a massive and intense bout of anxiety. I’d thought that one was going to end with me going to the emergency room. (One of my worst fears is that eventually things will get so bad that I’ll end up needing to rely on catheterization. I think if I hadn’t met F and found someone who could help me, I would have landed there by now.)

However, the cause of my anxiety for that awful day is a bit too personal for me to go into, so I won’t be telling the whole story. Suffice it to say, there were a lot of tears shed that day, both from the stressful event itself and the intense pain of my impossible to drain bladder. When I finally did manage to empty myself, I didn’t even get to enjoy the sensations of relief because it came out incredibly slowly and honestly just kind of hurt. It’s something I never want to have to experience again. That may very well be my most desperate experience, but there was nothing to enjoy about it, no silver lining to speak of.

So, a better story of myself getting desperate, one that wasn’t so emotionally rough or painful and has a happier ending, would be when F took me camping with him. Of course, my response when he suggested this was that he had to be kidding. “What about my problem?”

“We will be going somewhere very close by,” he said. “If you are in trouble, we can come back here and take care of you. I would not expect you to hold it for the entire weekend.” He added that he thought this would be good for me. Peeing outside would make me feel very exposed. If I managed to do it, it would be a big step in making my problem better. But, if I couldn’t, he would not try to push it. If I had to go home, we would go home, no questions asked.

This promise made me feel secure. If I couldn’t go, I could bail the minute I said the word. Still, when we got there, I was wary of drinking much of anything. “You must drink,” he said. “If not, you could get sick.” He reminded me again of his promise to bring me home if I needed it. So, I drank. He kept such careful watch over me the whole day that I felt safe, even as the pressure in my bladder built and I became more and more aware of what I was going to have to try doing.

He’d decided not to go himself until I’d gone, since he thought it might be cruel to me if I ended up not being able to, and he went anyway. I told him he didn’t have to do that, but he said it was a way to show his support.

By the evening, my bladder was well past full, and one glance at him told me he was more than ready to try this as well. He led me to an area where the stream was clearly visible and easy to hear. My hands were shaking as I unzipped and aimed at the tree. This felt wrong, there was nothing separating me from the rest of the world. It was all so open. Even though we hadn’t seen a single other person all day, I kept thinking someone would walk by at the exact moment I started peeing.

My bladder was trembling with the need to push out all the urine it was containing, but just like had happened thousands of times before, something in my brain ordered it to remain clamped shut. F rubbed my shoulders, “This is just like at home,” he said. “It is only us. It is not so different. Listen to the water, it is like the faucets, isn’t it? Close your eyes, imagine we are home.”

I shut my eyes as suggested and directed my attention at the sound of the stream. The lapping, rushing water, so much like what I needed to do. Still, I was tense. This is what it feels like to have a shy bladder, at least to me. Imagine a sink is turned on full blast, but it’s stopped up by this really firm, indestructible cork. You have all this pressure, pulsing and pounding against an opening that’s plugged up. It can really hurt. It feels like it’s right at the very edge, about to come out, but it just can’t make it that extra little bit further.

I tried picturing our bathroom at home clearly in my mind. That’s where I actually am, I told myself. I focused on the water, the feeling of F’s hands on my shoulders and back. F was here, just like at home. If there is anyone else out here, and they do come by here, F will definitely yell at them if they do anything to bother me. It was okay. I had to pee, badly. It would feel so good just to let it happen.

It didn’t happen quickly. It took a while. If I’d been alone I would have given up and resigned myself to suffering after the first several minutes had passed with the tree remaining bone dry and my bladder remaining full and feeling like a grapefruit pressing against my other organs. A few times, I started to fidget, rocking from foot to foot. Basically pee dancing even though I’d been in the correct position to pee for several minutes. F would grasp my shoulders more firmly then. “Still,” he said. “You will not be able to  do this if you fight it like that.”

I wasn’t fighting it, not really. I was just so uncomfortable with the weight inside me that I was trying to find a position that made it feel less intense. But, I did know it would be easier to actually go if I made my body go still. This was tough. I was getting so many signals to shift around, to squirm, to fidget. Ignoring them was not an easy task. I had to go so badly I was sure I must have been swollen in the middle. It felt like eighty percent of my body weight must have been pee. I swore I could feel it all the way up to my eyes.

The sound of the stream was beginning to get on my nerves. Every time I heard it splash, my bladder would spasm and send a bolt of pure, white hot desperation up my spine. Still, my body remained steadfast in its decision to torture me by retaining every drop of liquid it could.

I focused back on F, on the gentle way he was touching me, on every encouraging word. I tried to block out the unfamiliar smells of the outdoors, the cooling temperature of the evening air. There was no reason I shouldn’t be able to pee here, I was safe, I was protected.

Finally, finally a stream started to trickle into the dirt. I released a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in along with my bladder. I cracked my eyes open to adjust my aim when I felt liquid spatter on my shoe. Ahhhhhh, so much better. No matter how many times this happened to me, I’ve never stopped being amazed by how incredible this feeling was. The relief was a full body experience that left me weak at the knees. “That is good,” F said. “Let it all come out.”

He walked a few steps away from me to empty his own bladder. We stood there, peeing together for quite a while. I felt much lighter once I was at last fully empty. I could stand upright again and no longer had to walk hunched over. After F was finished he told me again how well I’d done, and what a big step I’d managed to take. We stayed the whole weekend, it would continue to take me several minutes to relax and pee, but that time got slightly shorter after each successful time.

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Glad people are enjoying. Here are a few more incidents.

A Story of a Holding Game

I posted this in another topic already, but thought I’d bring it here too. Once when F and I played one of our holding games games, it lasted for a couple hours. The TV was on, but neither of us was really watching it. He was too busy focusing on holding it, and all my attention was on him and the way he coiled himself up, whining and whimpering in the back of his throat. I love to tease him when he’s bursting like that, pretending I have no idea what is bothering him. “Do you need something?” I asked him. His squirming ramped up and he dug his fingers into my body as he nodded rapidly.

I kissed him and asked “Do you need it badly?” More nodding. “What is it you need so much?”

“You already know,” he said tensely.

“You need something to drink?”

“No! I cannot hold it!”

“Hold what?”

He eventually began pleading with me for permission to go. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think you need to pee that much, it’s probably just your imagination, try to think of something else. I’m too comfortable here, I don’t feel like moving.” Every time he begged, I’d tell him that I was sure he could hold it, I’d let him up when I felt like it. I’d keep rubbing him beneath his naval, adding pressure to his stretched bladder, enjoying how tense and firm that area of his body felt. He felt like he was ready to split and burst open under my hand, his bladder was so swollen and hard. He was bucking his hips and trying to squirm away from the pressure I was adding to him. “Ah, stop that. I cannot take that.”

I relented, but his fidgeting had ramped up to a whole new level, his fingers were digging so deeply into me that I thought it would leave a mark, but I didn’t care. I loved that indication of how full and desperate he felt. I held his crotch with one of my own hands and he thrust into the needed pressure, but I let go of him only a few seconds later. He shuddered, “Please, I need that.”

Again, I just told him he could hold it and that he didn’t seem all that desperate to me. This continued for a while, with him shifting, squirming and begging and me teasing, poking and denying. At one point I tickled him in the side and he sucked in a huge gasp of air and had this amazing, panicked look on his red, flushed face. I knew I’d probably pay dearly for that the next time it was my turn to be the desperate one. By now, we knew each other’s limits and how far we could push one another. The goal was never for one of us to have an accident, it was a holding game, not an embarrassment game. So when it seemed F really couldn’t take anymore, I told him he’d earned his much needed pee break. I expected him to bolt from the bed like he did every other time, but instead he just stopped squeezing me, coiled up on himself even more, and crammed his hands between his legs.

This was the most desperate he’d ever gotten while we played this, and he couldn’t get up without peeing. I was the one who bolted from the bed this time, I ran to the kitchen for the empty water jug he’d drained to start the game and was back to the bed within a few seconds. He didn’t need to be told what to do, he fished himself free from his boxers and aimed at the opening of the jug before spraying a massive, powerful jet of pee into it. The sound of his long held liquid rattling against the plastic sent a huge bolt of desire through me as I rubbed his back. His moans and shaking only added to the pleasure I felt watching him do what he needed so badly to do. The string of incredibly thankful gibberish he directed toward me was one of the hottest things I’d ever heard. He just kept peeing and peeing and peeing. For a second I was worried he was going to overflow the jug and that he’d be forced to try to stop it mid-stream to avoid a mess, but the last few drops fell before it got to that point. He set the jug down on the floor and took several deep, steadying breaths before warning me that he was really going to get me back the next time it was my turn to hold it.

My Desperation at Work

So, when I was eighteen, back before I met F, I got my first job. It was a crappy place to work, like most people’s first jobs are. A fast food place where I was constantly, constantly on my feet and running around. It was rare that there would be enough of a lull that I could try to take a pee break… Except, then my shy bladder would freeze up once I was in front of the toilet. Somehow, I’d go from feeling on the very precipice of soaking myself to feeling like I couldn’t pee even if someone offered me a million dollars. The worst part was, I didn’t have much time to just stand there and hope that my bladder would decide to comply with my wishes. I had to get back to work right away, so after only a minute or two, I’d have to zip back up, completely unrelieved and full to bursting. Then, I’d be washing my hands at the sink, shifting from foot to foot as the sound and the sensation of the water on my skin sent my need into overdrive… Even though I should have peed a few seconds ago.

I started using up my lunch break just to walk a few blocks to a store that was super quiet, much less busy, and had a single-use toilet in the back corner. This felt private and secure enough to me, so I’d actually be able to go. Then, I’d have to walk all the way back, and rarely would I be able to do all that quickly enough to actually have time to eat something. But, hunger was easier to manage than constantly feeling the threatening trembles from my bladder, struggling to hold back a huge flood while I ran around and tried to deal with customers.

Once, though, somebody didn’t show up to work, or call ahead. So, I ended up having to work their shift. I hadn’t known this would happen until it was about time for me to leave. I was already very eager to get home that day, I was hungry and the pee I’d taken at mid-day had been hours ago so my bladder was thoroughly refilled. I had been thinking I might have to stop at that store a second time on my walk home, because I seriously needed to go. Then, I found out I wouldn’t be leaving for another four hours.

I mean, I needed the money, and I was the only person they had on hand to fill in. I was scared, perhaps unreasonably, that if I said I couldn’t, I would lose my job. So, I said it was fine, even though the pangs in my midsection were furiously reminding me of exactly how not-fine it was. I tried to think about other things. Except, the other thing about this job was that, even if you were constantly doing something, those things were pretty monotonous. Stuff like laying food out on a tray to put into the freezer over and over and over again. You kind of get stuck in your own head while doing something so robotic, and all my head was filled with at that time was a constant drone of “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee!”

I tried to imagine myself somewhere else, doing something fun. But what I kept imagining was standing at a toilet and releasing the tsunami I was keeping at bay. I tried thinking about movies, books and games I liked, but that made me think of being at home, where I could pee. I could not keep a single thought in my mind that didn’t involve how badly I had to go. Whenever somebody came back into the kitchen where I was working, it was so hard to stand in a way that looked normal and didn’t put any extra pressure onto my poor bladder.

Whenever I went into the freezer to place one of the trays, or grab a new box of something, I’d take advantage of the privacy this gave to hold myself for a few seconds. The relief this granted didn’t last that long, especially if I needed to pick up one of the heavy boxes and carry it back into the kitchen. Holding that alongside my overfilled bladder was no easy task. Then, since I’d given in and held myself like that, I’d have to wash my hands again to handle the food, enduring the torture of the running water.

I don’t think I ever went longer than thirty seconds without checking the clock that night. I was literally counting down the minutes until I could leave and wracking my brain to remember what time the smaller store I could pee at closed. If it was closed by the time I got to it, I was sure I’d have an accident before I got home. When things were calmer for a few minutes, I dashed to the restroom and locked myself in a stall. I yanked my zip down and begged my body to please, please just relax and make it all stop. But, it didn’t. I rubbed below my navel, trying to force even just a few spurts out, but all this did was cause pain, not a stream. I had to give up. I had to get back to work.

At one point when I was bringing trays to customers, I was stopped by one who said their order was wrong and started laying into me about it. I was not the one who had taken her order, I didn’t even know what it was, and I could barely even focus on the words that were coming out of her mouth. I was so lost in my own desperation that I didn’t realize she’d stopped talking for several seconds, and this made her angrier. She asked what was wrong with me, and for a second I thought she could tell I was carrying what felt like an olympic swimming pool’s worth of fluid in my bladder. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out I had to go. Much to my embarrassment, I could not unstick my legs from one another very much and had been taking tiny, contorted steps. One of my hands was jammed into my pocket, straining to discreetly hold myself.

I brought her to the cashier who had taken her order. This wasn’t really what I was supposed to do, if a customer came to you with a problem, you were supposed to deal with it, but I didn’t trust myself to be able to even string a sentence together at that point. Once I’d brought her to the cashier, I drug myself back to the toilet, thinking that it had to work now. How could I have this much in me and not be able to get it out? I unzipped once more, rubbing in my bladder area again. I held my breath. I counted to one hundred. This torment was something that was both emotionally draining and physically taxing.

Nothing came out and I swear I was blinking back tears. The customer was chewing out the cashier now, quite loudly. It set me so on edge that I just couldn’t pee. But, I couldn’t not pee. If I didn’t get something out, I was going to go crazy. But, I had to go back to work. I think after that second attempt to relieve myself, there were about thirty minutes left until I could leave. I remember telling myself over and over that I could make that. I had to make it. Obviously if I couldn’t go when I was at the toilet and doing everything I could think of to make myself pee, I wouldn’t be able to have an accident, right?

I spent the remainder of the time back in the kitchen, filling out another tray. I worked much slower than I usually did, because I didn’t have to walk back and forth to the freezer. Walking had become increasingly difficult. I was hunched over the tray, my legs wound around one another, fighting with every fibre of my being not to grab myself at each pulse I felt ricochet through my overstretched bladder. Finally, it was over. I could leave. When I tried to stand up from my hunched position a bolt of urgent need shot through me. I couldn’t stand up straight, I just hoped no one figured out why. I hoped they’d just figure I was really tired or something. I somehow found the strength to stumble back into the freezer to put the tray up. I paused just before I left and briefly considered trying to pee there one more time, but I knew now it would never work. All I could do was hope that the store was open.

I wanted to break into a run the instant I was outside, but knew that would be a bad idea. I couldn’t even manage to walk that fast and had to stop completely ever so often to (literally) get a hold of myself. It was dark out by then, so I doubt if anybody was around they saw what I was doing, but I was still so embarrassed to be clutching at myself like a little kid in public.

I didn’t even notice it happening, but the next time I stopped to grab myself there was a little dampness at my crotch. I must have leaked, but been so desperate I didn’t even feel it coming out. As I walked, my hand kept snaking down between my legs. At last, the store was in view, and the lights were on. It was open. I was gonna make it. I’d be peeing in just a couple more minutes. I was gonna make it. I dragged my hand from between my legs before I went in, wincing at the increase in pressure that caused. I got inside, and stumbled my way to the restroom.

I locked the door and faced away from the toilet while I got my zipper down. I knew if I looked at it, I’d start peeing even though my clothes were still up. At least, freed from the confines of my pants, freed from the lack of privacy and loud noises of my place of work, I could go. Now that I no longer felt anxious, the flood was instant, I didn’t need to do anything to coax myself into going, it happened perfectly automatically. To say I felt better would be a massive understatement, I probably would have been moaning if it weren’t for the one employee I knew was in the other room. I held that back, but didn’t have to hold back anything else anymore, I could pee and that was the most amazing feeling to me. I don’t know how long I was peeing for, it was quite a while, and I kind of wished this incredible feeling would never stop. Eventually, though, I did finish. I zipped up, noting that I was a bit tender in my middle now. I was glad I didn’t have to go to work the next day, my bladder probably needed time to recover from all that.

F Teasing Me

A couple weeks ago, I somehow forgot to pee before going to sleep. Ordinarily I don’t have to go that much when I wake up each morning. But due to that mistake, my first thoughts of the day were in regards to how my bladder was screaming to be emptied. F had been holding me all night, and I needed to wake him up to let me go. But, instead of letting me up, he kept holding me where I was. “You have to go bad?” Bad was an understatement, I had an entire evening and then a full night’s worth of urine in my bladder. I nodded at him, trying to pull my wrist away so I could go. “I do not think you need that much,” he said. “You are warm, come lay with me some more.”

Laying down beside him and holding my bladder was both exactly what I wanted to do, and the last thing I wanted to do. I lay myself down next to him, focused on the liquid ebbing and flowing around inside me. Unlike the pain and emotional weight that being desperate in public gave me, being desperate at home beside F was exhilarating. He put his arms around me and pulled me close. He commented on the pinkness of my face, “You need it a lot, right?” he teased me.

Soon, he was palpating the skin that was stretched over my bladder, each time I sucked in a sharp breath or hitched my hips he would grin at me. There is this one spot that, if there is any pressure placed on it, will shoot my need to pee through the roof. He pressed me right there, hard, and I instantly felt like I was about to seriously burst. I had to clutch myself with both hands to get it even semi under control, only for him to press there again. This was enough to get me to sit back up, pulling my knees up to my chest, trying to press my heel against myself to keep it in.

We went back to laying together, I pressed myself tightly against him as I squirmed. He scrolled through his phone while he rubbed my back for what felt like hours. Then he asked if I needed something. My bladder convulsed because I thought he was about to give me permission. I told him yes, I needed to pee. “Oh, but you are so warm. You must be able to wait a while longer, right?”

I shook my head frantically. I needed to go right then! He reached a hand around to cup my bladder and my knees turned inward at the sensation. “I guess you do feel full here,” he said. “You must be needing a lot.”

Again, I assumed he must have been just about to let me pee. But, instead, he pressed me in that spot again. This made me grit my teeth so tightly I’m surprised I didn’t crack them. I tightened every part of my body as I felt as though the ocean I was holding was about to rush out in one huge burst.

“You have to go so much, don’t you?” he asked. “I guess you have held enough.” I was so relieved to hear him say that. He asked me if I could get up and walk, and I said I thought I could. The bathroom is right beside the bedroom, so it thankfully wasn’t a long walk— Well, a hobble was more like it. I lowered my pajama pants and let loose everything I’d been holding. It didn’t bother me at all that F was watching anymore. It felt good, because I knew he was enjoying it. I don’t even mind when he talks to me while I go, because it’s just so soothing to me. “That is good, let it all out. Feels better, right?” It felt much better, the pressure and pain slowly dwindling to be replaced with blissful nothingness. Finally finished, we returned to bed to rest together some more, me now much more comfortable.

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A Story of F Helping Me

F and I had gone to a festival together. They sell these really amazing tornado potato chips there. They’re delicious especially fresh from the fryer, but they’re also super salty and make you very thirsty. I’d thought I’d been keeping up with my fluid intake, but after a few more hours of games, rides and much more to drink, my teeth were floating. When we’d taken a break to sit down for a few minutes, that’s when it really hit me just how much I’d had to drink and how long it had been since I’d last peed before we’d left. All of that liquid had made its way down to my bladder. Sitting down had compressed it, and sent a slew of signals up to my brain alerting me to the danger of an imminent flood.

Now that I had consciously acknowledged the need, it became the biggest thing on my mind. I had to pee right away or things were going to start hurting. The problem, as ever, was to find a place where I could actually coax my bladder into releasing.

There were a few portaloos set up. This late in the day, I knew they’d be really disgusting to start with. It was Summer and we live in a very warm climate anyway, so the heat would have made them even grosser. I have issues with germs and don’t like feeling grimy, and knew if I went into one of those my brain would fixate on the feelings of filth. Plus, the lines were huge, meaning I’d have a long wait and once I got in, there’d be a ton of people waiting on me to hurry up. That would be so much pressure, too much for me. I didn’t want to touch the grody door and deal with the smell of the thing when, in all likelihood, my bladder would remain just as full as it had been before. I knew I’d have too many anxiety triggers to fight with to be able to go; The unfamiliar space, all the noise, people waiting on me, feeling unclean… I’d have a better chance of being struck by lightning twice than I would have of emptying my bladder in there.

I told F about this. Obviously he couldn’t accompany me to rub my back and calm me down. There wouldn’t be enough space, and it would look very odd, everyone would definitely assume we were doing something else other than trying to use the portaloo for its intended purpose. He said it was fine, he didn’t like using those things unless it was an emergency either, and it was understandable that I didn’t even want to try when there was such a high chance I’d get nothing out of it. But, it was okay because there was a gas station not too far away that I should have an easier time peeing at. We could walk there and it wouldn’t take too long.

So, we did. The restroom there was still kind of gross, but nothing compared to a portaloo that had been sitting in the sun and used by hundreds of people all day. There was one stall and one urinal. The issue was that the stall was clogged. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d successfully used a urinal. I hadn’t been able to since the bullying incident had taken place. Just the fact that somebody could walk in at any second set me on edge.

The idea that they’d come in before I’d started peeing is worse to me. The idea that they’d be waiting on me to start going and grant them access to the urinal, and then wondering why I’m not peeing, bothers me. I know on a base level that that’s silly, it’s very unlikely that anyone’s going to pay attention to what I’m doing or not doing, at least not if they’re an adult. I know that it’s incredibly likely everyone’s ‘frozen up’ a time or two in their life, and it’s just that it’s more extreme for me. But, my anxiety is always telling me that anyone who comes in would instantly start judging me for this inadequacy. It’s ridiculous to think that anyone would be laser-focused on me and thinking “What’s wrong with that guy? Why isn’t he peeing? He must be broken,” but my nervous brain is not always rational and I can’t force it to listen to my more reasonable thoughts.

But, I was bursting. My bladder had loosened in anticipation when we’d got to the station, making my need to just relax and let go intensify. Still, my nerves were at an all time high. What if I couldn’t go here? Where else could I go? It was a long drive home, and I didn’t think I could make it, especially not if there was traffic. Again, I knew rationally that F would find me somewhere on the way home if I told him I needed it, he always did. But, my mind had already gone off the rails and I couldn’t reign it back in.

“Here is what I can try for you,” F said. “I will wait outside. If someone comes up, I will tell that it is closed to be cleaned. Take as long as you need. There is no rush.”

I nodded, and hoped that would work. I still hoped no one did come by, or that if they did, I wouldn’t hear them at all. But, the knowledge that nobody would come in made me feel better.

F waited outside for me and I readied myself at the urinal. Just unbuttoning my pants was a relief as my swollen bladder was granted a bit more room to expand. As I expected, nothing happened at first. The liquid remained where it was, taunting me. I shut my eyes, pretended I was at home. It helped that it was quiet there, I didn’t hear anything other than slight buzzing from the lights. But, that wasn’t too loud. I reminded myself F was keeping watch for me, that wasn’t too different from actually having a locked door.

I know that I stood there for a while, repeating to myself that I was actually at home, that I was safe, that I just needed to let nature take its course. I think if F wasn’t there, hoping for success as much as I was, I would have just given up and decided I either needed to find somewhere else or try to make it back home. But, knowing he was there made me want to keep trying so that his efforts wouldn’t be for nothing.

My heart was pounding really, really hard and I could hear blood rushing in my ears, but at last a slow, stuttering stream broke through my anxious grip. It didn’t spray out in a huge flood, like I was dying for it to, and I had to kind of push to keep it from stopping altogether again. After a little bit, I was peeing in a much more consistent flow and started to feel the relief I was craving. Besides the incredible feeling of release was the sensation of accomplishment. I hadn’t been able to use a urinal in so long, and hadn’t thought I’d ever be able to. Sure, this wasn’t like being able to use one with people lined up beside me and coming in and out of the room, but it was a step, one I hadn’t thought I’d ever be able to take.

It took me quite a while to finish since I was both really full and couldn’t get myself to relax enough to pee at full-force. After I was finally done, F and I left and I said to him that I’d been able to go. He hugged me tight and told me he was so glad to hear that.

F’s Line Desperation

There’s this old building in our city where shows are held sometimes. It’s so old that the AC doesn’t work so well, and there’s just one toilet for everyone visiting to use. So, once we went to see something there, and we must have been seated at the warmest section or something. Sweat was rolling down my back the whole time. You can order drinks, and we got several. I was struggling to replenish enough lost fluid while monitoring my intake so I didn’t fill my bladder too much. Since F doesn’t have a shy bladder like I do, he was a bit less observant of how much he was taking in.

Partway through the show I noticed him shifting. I could easily recognize when he needed a pee by then and asked if he wanted me to get up and out of his way so he could go. He told me he wanted to wait until the end. Since I’d grown up here, I’d been to this place a few times with my parents and had seen how long the line for the one toilet got at the end of each show. This was my first time taking F to something here, and I don’t think he knew what the situation was. I whispered to him that the line was usually pretty long, but I guess he was expecting a more typical line with just a handful of people since he still said he’d wait.

After the show, I could tell that the line was not at all what F had been picturing. Dozens of people lined up for a single toilet. He’d been in almost constant motion for the last half hour and now looked pretty worried. I bit my tongue, knowing nobody likes to hear “I told you so” when faced with a bad situation. Instead I asked if he’d like to find somewhere else, or just head home. He shook his head, home was too far and it was late so he didn’t know which places would be open. He had no choice but to wait here.

The line moved very, very slow. F was clearly trying not to let on how much he needed it to speed up. He was doing pretty well at that for a while. I’m probably the only one who noticed how close together his legs were, and how his knees would occasionally tilt inwards just the slightest bit. But, after enough time had passed he was stepping in place, and it was a bit more obvious that he was really eager to get in there. I started to think we probably could have gotten home and him in front of the toilet sooner than he could have gotten to the front of the line. Granted, he would have had to deal with bumps in the road if we’d done that, so I’m not sure which would have been better.

I was worried by the amount of shifting he was doing. We’d played holding games enough times that I didn’t think he seemed too close to having an accident in public, but I didn’t want him to overexert himself either. I kind of wished someone ahead of him that wasn’t in as dire a state would let him cut, but knew he’d be pretty embarrassed if anyone offered. Even if I did think his dancing was cute, and didn’t think he was in danger of an accident, this situation wasn’t in our control and I hoped the line would clear up and put a stop to it soon.

When he was near the front of the line, I left my place near the exit to show him some things on my phone, wanting to distract him a little to make the last several minutes he needed to endure more bearable. I… Probably should have done that earlier, but I just hadn’t thought of it. Closer to him now, I could see the pink tinge to his face, unsure if it was just  from embarrassment or from strain. At last, his turn came and he hurriedly rushed inside the restroom. I wished I could have gone in with him, and settled for waiting in the corner beside the door instead. I could somewhat hear his tsunami splashing against the water of the toilet. Once he was done and we were back at the car, he remarked that he probably should have listened to me and gone during the show instead.

A Story of A Holding Contest

As mentioned, F and I sometimes have contests to see who can hold longer. At first, I usually won these since I’d been holding for fun for a while before I’d met him and had more experience with it. After we’d played holding games more often, he started to win more rounds as his bladder strengthened, he got more used to the sensations, and learned new ways to combat them.

In the beginning, he was often impressed by how much I could hold. Strangely, I don’t feel at all self conscious or anxious when he comments on it. If anyone else said something to me while I peed, I think for sure I’d clamp up and be unable to finish, but when F does it makes me feel pretty good. Sometimes, when I’m going after a game has finished he’ll say something like “Wow, how do you fit all that in?” and it will make me feel kind of proud.

I’m okay with him talking to me while I pee even if it’s not in the context of a holding game. Him saying things like “Oh, you poor thing, you had to go a lot, right?” when I finally relax my shy bladder and let it out makes me feel safe and cared for.

At the start of a contest, we’ll both drink large jugs of water as quickly as we can, then sip from smaller bottles more slowly. We both have to finish the second bottle by a set time to keep it fair. Then, we see who lasts longest. We’ll poke and rub each other’s abdomens and tickle one another to speed things along, but we’re usually more lenient with each other if we’re both holding since we know that whatever we do, the other can give it all back and worse.

One particular time, I had been feeling on the verge of exploding for a long while, but kept holding out because it looked like F was going to give in any second now. His hands were both buried in his lap and he was fanning his legs up and down. I was sure I looked much the same way, but still figured I could outlast him if I waited just a few more minutes. A few more minutes turned into half an hour and I was gritting my teeth and writhing against my pressed hands. It was time to admit defeat. He’d won.

Just as I was about to declare him the winner and take care of my emergency, he said “I cannot wait anymore, I have to go.” I’d won, but didn’t think I could wait until after he’d finished to go. But, he couldn’t wait for me, either. We’d both hit our limits and any more waiting could get messy.

We decided to just go together. I was unsure if I could actually do that. Even if I could pee in front of F, this was quite a bit different, and newer, and we’d be in a much closer proximity to each other. But, at least this way if the sound of his release made my bladder give out, I’d be in the correct place for it to happen. He was peeing the second his boxers were lowered, giving a satisfied sigh as his stream gushed into the bowl. It took me a few more seconds, but the sight of him peeing and the sounds of relief he couldn’t help but make gave me the push I needed to let it out. There was something immensely intimate about the two of us desperately peeing side by side like that. It made me feel very, very close to him, and made the sensations of relief even more satisfying.

Edited by segaface (see edit history)
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The Closest I’ve Come To A Complete Accident

This is another story from before I met F. Back when my bladder shyness was at its absolute worst, I had no one to help me, and I forced myself to just grit and bear it no matter how much physical pain it was bringing me.

I had a several classes to go to that day, and managed to make the worst mistake I possibly could have. I somehow forgot to pee after waking up that morning and just left. I have no idea how I could have let that happen. ‘Pee before you go anywhere’ has been one of the biggest unwritten rules in my life since my problem first made itself known in elementary school. It wasn’t until I got to my first class and sat down that I realized my bladder felt oddly full, and what I’d done wrong. I couldn’t believe it and remember feeling so angry with myself and filled with dread of what was sure to follow.

I frantically thought of ways to lessen the torment I knew was going to be inflicted on me. I would drink absolutely nothing until I got home. No matter how thirsty I got, no more liquid could be put into my body until I’d peed. I told myself that would work and tried to remember when the last time I’d gone was. I went right before dinner, and then I studied for a long time, and then I went straight to bed. I hadn’t peed before going to bed, either. I knew that this was much too long to be healthy, and that adding another several hours was going to be miserable.

I made it through my first class with minimal feelings of desperation. I passed a restroom on my way to the next one and considered trying it. But, no, the whole building was bustling with noisy people then. I knew it wouldn’t work.

Partway into the next class I started to feel it more. I tried to sit very still and straight because every movement made the liquid in me slosh about. It made me all the more aware of how long it had been since I’d last let any of it out. I was trying to think of places I’d be near on my way home and if any of them would have a usable toilet. But, no. It was mostly residential streets. Just the image of myself knocking on someone’s door and asking to use their toilet while visibly close to flooding my pants made me feel hot with embarrassment. Besides, it shouldn’t come to that, anyway. I was being good with not drinking anything. I still lived with my parents then, and their house was very close to the college so I didn’t have far to go anyway. I just needed to stop obsessing over this, and I’d stop even noticing I needed a pee break.

I tried to focus on the lecture instead. I didn’t notice how much my knee was bouncing until I realized someone was looking at me. I brought my leg up and tucked it underneath myself instead. I got through the rest of that class in that fashion. My desperation reached new heights throughout and I’d try to push myself against the heel of my shoe to quell it. It was a long lecture, but seemed about ten times longer thanks to my ever growing need to get home.

When that class ended, I stood from my seat, eager to get to my final class so the day could end. My bladder pulsed with a vengeance from the sudden change in gravity and loss of the pressure from my heel. I paused near the steps to steady myself and get a handle of things. One of my friends was in the room as well and came over to ask if I was feeling sick. I remember him saying something like “You look a bit… not okay.”

This was one of the friends I went to that faire with that had the trough I mentioned in my first post. As embarrassing as it was, I had tried explaining to them what my problem was. I did it poorly since I’d felt so ashamed and inadequate, so I don’t think any of them understood it. They’d said everyone got stage-fright sometimes, you just had to wait it out and try to relax. It was hard to put into words that what I had was a lot worse than stage-fright and that it was like an actual, physical blockage.

Still, I shrugged at my friend and told him nothing was wrong, I just kind of needed to pee. He, of course, told me to just go and pee, then. I didn’t want to try explaining again, especially not with my bladder so full and me knowing that talking about it would make it worse. But, he was right, I did need to at least try to go. I had another lengthy class to get through, and then I had to ride my bike home. I knew that all the noise here was going to make it impossible to get anything out, though.

One option, that I thought would work, would be to go to the library. Much quieter there. Maybe so quiet I’d be able to pee. It was a bit of a walk to the building the library was in from here, but at least in college they don’t really chew you out if you’re late to class like they do in high school. So, I got myself to the library, located the restroom and locked myself in a stall. All the while I was trying to give myself a pep-talk of sorts, trying to convince myself I could do this. I unzipped, took aim, and… As usual, not a drop. I rubbed beneath my naval, I held my breath, I counted to myself. Time kept ticking, my bladder remained full of an entire evening, night, and morning’s urine. I tried not to think about how long it had been, told myself that it didn’t matter because I could pee now. But, it was the same vicious cycle it always was, I was anxious that I wouldn’t be able to pee, so I couldn’t pee, so I was even more anxious because I couldn’t pee, which made it even harder to pee. Around and around and around. Adding onto that, I was missing my class. I was surely pretty late now, and I still had to walk all the way back.

In a last ditch effort to force something out, I pressed my hand over my bladder as hard as I could stand it. The pain I was under ratcheted up considerably. I think I might have felt tears springing to my eyes from the torture. But that didn’t matter, I still couldn’t pee. Dear God, how I needed to!

Reluctantly, I zipped back up. I figured I ought to still wash my hands, but didn’t know if I could take the sensations of the water hitting my skin, so I remember skipping that and just going back to class. At least nobody seemed to care I was late, as I’d expected. It was nice to have been right about one thing. I did the same thing here that I’d done in my last class, bringing one leg up on the chair with me and occasionally pressing myself against my heel when I felt like a leak was coming. Except now I was much, much more desperate than I’d been earlier, so I was basically doing that all the time. I’m sure someone noticed I was sitting so oddly, which was embarrassing. Still, it was either that or literally grabbing my dick like a child, which would have made my problem much more obvious.

I don’t think I learned much in class that day, except for the fact that one of the people sitting in the row in front of me really, really liked to twist their water bottle about in their hand while they wrote something down. I was far enough away I couldn’t hear the water sloshing too much, thankfully, but I also couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It hypnotized me, and the liquid in my bladder seemed to swish alongside it.

I remember feeling sweat pouring down my back from the intense physical strain I was feeling and the unbearable anxiety that strain was causing. I can recall hoping that the sweat might actually help; I was getting rid of fluid in a way that didn’t involve my bladder. Except, by then I was so, so terribly full that it couldn’t have made that big a difference.

I’m not even sure how I made it to the end of that class without at least starting to dribble, but I did it. It was over. I could go home. And once I was home, I could pee. Walking out of the room wasn’t fun, to say the least. I know I was walking in a strange, lopsided way and that people were probably looking. Walking all the way out the building was more of the same, each step seeming to add more weight to my overstretched bladder. I made it out, I’d be home soon…

I finally realized the next obstacle; Getting home dry. The image of myself begging a stranger to use their bathroom was seeming less like a fearful imagining dreamed up by my overly nervous brain and more like a distinct possibility. I’d ridden my bike there, but was unsure about riding it back. I weighed the pros and cons. If I walked, it would be much easier on my bladder, but it would take longer and there was a chance of my bike getting stolen if I left it there overnight. If I rode, it would be faster, but I really doubted my ability to hold it while doing something so physical.

A third idea presented itself; Call my Mom to get me. I’d have to think of some other reason I needed a ride. I didn’t want to call her and say “Please, please drive me home, I’ll wet myself if I try to ride my bike!” no matter how true that statement might be. I could tell her that something was wrong with my bike, that the tires were too low on air to ride. Yeah. That would be good. I’ll just need to wait a few minutes for her to get over here, then it will be a short ride home to relief. I called her up and told her that I didn’t think my bike was safe to ride home and she needed to get me. But, she wasn’t at home. She was at a store that was a fairly long drive away, and she’d have to bring the groceries home to put them in the fridge before she came to get me.

I could not wait that long. That wouldn’t be quick enough for me. Honestly, anything that didn’t result in me being in front of the toilet at home two hours ago wasn’t quick enough. I said I’d try to ride home and call her again if I ran into trouble. I didn’t add that the trouble I was worried about involved me completely drenching my pants with all the pee I’d been holding since the previous night.

I dreaded what I was going to do, but it was my only option now. I couldn’t pee here, I could only pee at home. So, I had to get home. It was only a few blocks, it really wasn’t that far. It was mostly downhill, too. I could do this. I had to do this.

Riding a bike with a bladder ready to pop has got to be one of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced. You can’t cross your legs since they’re otherwise in use. You can’t really hold yourself without feeling like you’re going to crash since you need your hands on the handlebars. The motion you need to move your legs in places much more pressure onto an area of your body that’s already under too much strain. It’s miserable. I was more or less grinding myself into the seat, but every few seconds I’d begin to dribble out my tip. The dribbles eventually turned to leaks, and then to gushes.

Once I was a couple streets from home, I couldn’t take being on the bike anymore. I had to use one hand to roll my bike along while the other instantly pressed itself against my damp crotch. I wasn’t sure if the dampness was more due to pee or due to sweat. I remember very clearly how good it felt to finally hold myself properly. At last I had something in place to keep the flood at bay.

I’ve written previously about how, sometimes, when I’m bursting, the pain will move into my back. I know that this means I am damaging my body. Since I’m left with no way to remedy the thing causing that damage, I can do nothing about it. All I can do is hope the damage done isn’t severe. I’m grateful that the worst thing that’s ever happened to me is I’ve gotten a minor infection from being made to hold for too long. I am terrified of one day needing to be catheterized. If it were not for F, I’m sure I would be very close to reaching that point by now, if not already there.

Anyway, towards the end of my walk, that back pain began. It’s horrible. It’s excruciating. It’s honestly frightening because I know that it means I’m endangering my health. There have been a few times when the back pain began, that I consciously tried to just wet my pants so it would at least be out of me and I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. But, it never happens. I remain full, and in agony, and so scared I’m going to legitimately break something. I think I tried to just wet myself to make it end that day, too. I was definitely dribbling a lot by the time I reached my street, but the flood I wanted so desperately to create remained blocked off by an impenetrable dam. The only small mercy was that no one was outside to witness me fumbling and stumbling my way home with one hand gripping my dick and a wet patch slowly but steadily forming over my crotch.

I made it home and just ditched my bike off to the side of the driveway. I could move it later. I hastily unlocked the door and rushed inside, holding myself with both hands and now back to trying to keep it in. The last thing I needed to do was make a puddle on my parents’ floor and not be able to clean it up before Mom got home. I hobbled into the bathroom, and faced away from the toilet as I fought with my clothing. This is what I usually did to prevent myself from releasing a few seconds too soon. But, this time, that wasn’t enough. My bladder recognized it was at last in the correct room, and had decided enough was enough. It wasn’t just a leak or dribble, but a stream that jetted from my tip and wetted the front of my pants before trailing down my leg. I tried to clench off my muscles as I got my belt apart, but they wouldn’t listen, they were too tired. The trickling continued as I yanked my zip down in a panic and spun around to face the toilet. Now that everything was flowing into the correct place, I could enjoy the feeling of draining out all of the burden I’d been carrying.

Ahhhhhhhhhh…. I can still remember that as one of the most satisfying pees I’ve ever had, I honestly couldn’t stop myself from vocalizing how good I felt, but as I was home alone it didn’t matter. It was probably also one of my longest pees, one that I didn’t think would ever end. I wouldn’t have minded it going on for hours, it felt so, so good. Eventually, it did finally stop. I kind of felt my bladder still pushing, trying to make extra sure it was completely empty. I felt sore afterwards, as I usually did when I’d been made to wait past my limit. I zipped up, but felt the slick wetness on my fingers and decided to look over the damage. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but still obvious that I hadn’t completely made it. I would have to get them in the wash before Mom got home. I also remember looking over the floor to make sure none of my spill made it there.

The soreness remained into the next day, and I had to go a bit more frequently. I guess my muscles were too exhausted after what happened. But, I didn’t have to be anywhere that day, so it was fine. I haven’t forgotten to pee before going out since then.

Some Things F Has Told Me About

-F’s mentioned he wet the bed a few times when he was younger. The house he grew up in is very, very old. To get to the toilet from his room, he’d have to go through this narrow, dark hallway and it freaked him out so much at night that he was too scared to traverse it. So, he’d end up going to bed with a full bladder and waking up wet. I asked if his parents were upset. He says they weren’t, they just were considering taking him to a doctor until he told them the hallway was just scaring him. So, they got him a flashlight to use. I just think that's kinda cute.

-I’ve posted this in another topic. There’s this massive festival in his home country that never has nearly enough toilets for all the people there and how many drinks they’re having. Once when he went, all the lines were massive and kind of just blended in with the rest of the crowds. When he started really needing to go, he couldn't find where the toilets were for quite a bit. When he finally found one the line was so, so long he didn't think he'd be able to make it. He tried waiting for a while, but started to leak in his pants and had to use a tree. There were so many people everywhere that it wasn't private at all, and he's sure people knew exactly what he was doing. But, he certainly wasn't the only person who'd ended up peeing against trees or behind bushes, so he doesn't feel too embarrassed about it. He told me the leaks were pretty visible on his pants, though and he spilled something else on himself on purpose to help make it look less like he'd wet himself. He’d been drinking a bit, so I guess that made sense at the time, haha.

-Another thing I talked about in a previous topic; F is a massage therapist, and when he was in school for it, part of what they'd do is practice on one another. Kneading on your muscles will get fluid pumping through you, so it's normal to need to go afterward. Since this also gets you a little dehydrated, he told me the first few days he was always dying of thirst while someone practiced on him. So, he decided to drink a bit more beforehand, but this backfired with him needing to go really badly shortly into the session. He was a bit too embarrassed at first to ask to pause the whole class just so he could pee. It was a challenge to hold still like he was supposed to, and when the student practicing on him placed a little more pressure onto his abdomen he could no longer keep laying there, just waiting for it to be over. He had to ask for a break to relieve himself, which was granted. He says he probably would have gone on the table if he hadn’t been allowed to leave.

-He’s still able to do his job during COVID, there are just a ton more protocols to follow (Masks, open windows for air circulation, a new kind of air filter, gloves, barrier covers for the table, to name a few.) And there needs to be more serious sterilization done between each client, for him, the table and anything else that had been touched. This has resulted in some desperation for him, as the time between each client where he previously could have had a pee break is taken up by getting everything sterilized and properly washed. You’d think that since appointments are more spaced out now, it would be easier to find time to pee, but the cleaning takes so long he ends up missing his chance to go pretty often. And since it’s a pretty physical thing, he’s always well hydrated, too. So, some days he ends up needing to pee quite badly before he finally finds the time to go. I do wish I could be there with him to watch. The idea of him getting all flustered and trying to remain professional with his clients while he’s got a bursting bladder is pretty hot.

-F has a fear of scorpions. They aren’t a super common sight where he’s from, but where I’m from you tend to run into them occasionally. When he first came here, and before he met me, he stopped off at a gas station and discovered multiple scorpions in the restroom there. He’d never actually seen any outside of enclosures before, let alone several at once. So, it really freaked him out. He says they were just small ones, but that didn’t matter. He had to go badly, but couldn’t stand being in a room with those things and just had to hold it the rest of his way home, the result was that he ended up having to use an empty bottle because of traffic. We once had a scorpion turn up in our shower somehow. It was during a drought, so I guess it was looking for water. I ended up having to kill it and look down the drain for more with a flashlight to convince F to go back into the room again, haha. I sometimes use this memory during our holding games. I tell him that he shouldn’t just run in there and pee until after I’ve checked for scorpions first to get him to wait just a little bit longer for me.

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Another Time F Helped Me

There was one time F and I went to a house party for one of our friends. These can last for a long time, pretty late into the night. I don’t drink alcohol for personal reasons, but to still feel included I’ll drink sodas with everyone else. Partway through the night, those drinks had worked their way through me and I needed to go let them out.

This was a long while ago. F knew about my shy bladder issue, and had been successful at helping me a few times. But, I still felt weird going to him for that help, and we hadn’t started holding for fun yet. At this point in time, going up to my boyfriend and telling him that I had to go pee felt really awkward. I was sure that very few relationships included the things that ours was starting to. So, I kept holding, figuring we’d leave soon anyway.

F had noticed that I’d gone off to one corner and wasn’t talking to people anymore. So, he came over to me and asked if I was okay. I felt my face getting very warm. I tried to do what I usually did, straighten myself up and grit through it, but he could see through that. He knew my tells and how I stood when I was struggling with my bladder.

“Are you needing to go?” He asked.

I nodded, still embarrassed.

“I said that you should tell me when you have problems,” he reminded me. “I will help.”

I told him I knew that, it was just embarrassing for me. He told me, as he had many times before, that I should never feel embarrassed in front of him. He took me into the bathroom, and I hoped no one noticed that, since they definitely would have assumed we were about to do something else. He did what he normally did, he rubbed my shoulders and back, telling me I was safe. He flipped on the faucet and told me to just focus on the noise it made.

The music outside the room was loud and thumping, though. It was too unfamiliar. It made me nervous. My bladder was convulsing from the sight of the toilet it had been asking for for so long, but it still didn’t release.

We were there for a very long time, and I couldn’t get even one drop out. As much as F was trying, the music and other sounds from outside were making me too anxious.

Then, there was a knock on the door. I jumped, startled. I remember feeling annoyed then that the noise had failed to scare the pee out of me. I immediately started to zip myself back up. There was no way I was going now. We had to leave together, and the person that knocked made a comment as to what we’d been up to in there. I’m sure my face was bright red, which would have done nothing to assuage his suspicions.

F then asked me if I needed to go home. The offer was incredibly tempting. We could get home pretty fast from here. I could be peeing in a little less than half an hour. But, I shook my head. I didn’t want to ruin the night for him just because I was broken and couldn’t even pee. He said it was fine, we’d been here a very long time, it was late and time to get to bed anyway. He wouldn’t have fun knowing I was uncomfortable. So, I agreed.

He told our friends that we had to get some sleep since we had plans the next day. I remember feeling so incredibly grateful that he didn’t say something like “My boyfriend can’t pee in your toilet, so I have to drive him home before he wrecks your carpet.” Then feeling pretty silly that I’d even imagined he’d say such a thing.

On the drive home, he rubbed my thigh in a soothing motion that made me feel so much better. He really didn’t mind, I’d realized. Just the fact that he wasn’t upset, that he was just trying so hard to understand my problem and make it better, made me feel loved in a way I never had before. I’d always seen this issue as a fundamental brokenness in me. Something to feel ashamed of and keep hidden. Something that made me less of a man, less of a person. But, F didn’t make me feel those things. I felt better beside him, comfortable, even if my bladder was still full to the brim.

I was squirming in my seat the whole way home, and could tell that it was making him worried. I’d keep trying to lean back further because my pants were cutting into my bladder and making it that much harder to hold. I felt much more desperate than I had when we were still at the party, F’s hand was the only thing keeping me from panicking that I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way home without some of my pee coming out. F kept repeating how close we were and that it wouldn’t be long. He was right, it didn’t take that long. It just felt longer to me, with so much liquid trying to force its way through my opening.

We got home, and I went straight to the restroom to relieve myself. F had followed me to make sure I was okay, and even though he was there, my pee came out right away. It was spraying at full-force, even. That was the night I realized that I didn’t care if he watched anymore. I knew he wasn’t thinking anything bad of me. I gave into the relief, not only of my bladder, but of knowing now that there was one person who would never, ever judge or ridicule me for my problem. And who would never tell anyone that I didn’t want to have know. The flow lasted for a long time, and I relished the feeling of going from the white-hot agony of holding gallons of pee, to the sheer bliss of finally releasing it, all in the blink of an eye.

F mentioned to me that he thought the face I was making was really cute. It’s so rare that I don’t look tense and nervous, so he enjoys seeing me look so relaxed and comfortable. He asked if I thought that it was weird for him to think I looked so cute when I peed, he hoped that didn’t make me uncomfortable. I said it was fine, it actually made me more comfortable to go in front of him if I knew he was liking it. It was shortly after this that I explained how I used to hold it for fun at home because of how good it felt to let go afterwards. Like I said, at first he didn’t know what to think of that since he was unfamiliar with the idea. But, soon he admitted that the expressions I made while I peed were actually a bit more than just cute to him, he thought they were pretty hot. And the fact that he was the only person I was comfortable enough around to show that to made it more attractive for him. So, he wanted to try holding games too and found it to be just as fun as I do.

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Me Helping F

So, F doesn’t have Paruresis like I do, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable just peeing wherever. For example, where he comes from, those street urinal things are a lot more common. He says he was never comfortable using them, because it really does feel like you’re just peeing openly in the middle of a public street. He only used one once when it was a complete emergency. He says it was a very awkward feeling, and that if he hadn’t been about to wet himself, he would have never done it.

As you know, when I’m in an unplanned desperate situation, F will help me out by trying to get me to relax enough to go wherever we are. But, when F is experiencing unplanned desperation, what I will do is try to distract him so that he has an easier time holding on until he can get relief.

There is this street festival in our town that happens each year (at least before COVID, anyway). There are stands selling handmade items, and a few games, and things of that nature. The last time we went to it, I ended up having to return the favor for all the times F has helped me out.

F is not used to really, super spicy foods (I thought I was gonna have to take him to the hospital the first time he tried habanero sauce, haha.). He was even less used to them when this happened. One of the foods they sell at this festival are fried jalapeños, and they can be pretty warm if you aren’t used to that sort of thing. Which led to F rapidly drinking several cups of lemonade to be able to finish eating the jalapeños. This, inevitably, resulted in him needing to pee pretty bad shortly after. There were some of those portable urinals set up, which F says are even worse than the street urinals. At least the street urinals have a little cover, but with these you really were just out there peeing with a crowd of people not far away.

Uncomfortable, he looked at the line for the portaloos, and realized he wouldn’t make it that long. So, he went to use one of the urinals, and I waited a bit off to the side for him. He was gone for a while, much longer than I’d thought he’d be. I started to wonder if he didn’t know where I was and if I should look for him, when he came back. He hadn’t been able to use the thing, he told me. It felt too weird and awkward to him. But, he wouldn’t be able to wait through the line for the other toilets without risking an accident.

Since I knew the area better, and had an idea of which businesses stayed open during the festival and which closed in order to participate, I told him where the closest place was that he could go. He didn’t know where that was and asked how long it would take. I said we could walk there in about half an hour, or we could try driving. But, traffic would be busy because of the festival, and it would take time to get back to where we’d parked. He decided we should just walk. As we walked, I became more aware of how desperate he was and felt bad. I wished he could have gone at the festival, but considering how the mere idea of trying to pee in one of those things made me feel, I understood why he hadn’t. F was walking a little strangely, never allowing his legs to get too far apart from each other and taking small steps. Every time we had to wait at a crosswalk, he’d start to bob up and down the tiniest bit.

I did think the pink tinge to his face and the tiny squirming motions he couldn’t stop were very cute, but tried to ignore my growing interest in favor of making sure he was alright. I’d ask every so often if he was okay, and was relieved each time he insisted he was, even if I wasn’t completely sure how sincere he was being. I would talk to him about random topics to distract him from the fullness I was sure he was feeling. Once I’d made him laugh, but then he winced and told me not to do that since it was making him need to go a lot worse. So, I tried not to say anything funny.

The more I talked to him and distracted him, the easier walking seemed to get for him. He didn’t dance about nearly as much when we were stuck at crosswalks when I spoke to him about other things. We made it to the place I’d suggested, which was a restaurant, and we decided to just eat there so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by asking to just use the toilet and leave. I noticed him fidgeting quite a bit more while we got seated, and he took off as soon as we were settled. I decided that I should go to wash my hands before we got food, and if that meant I got to see something of F’s relief, who was I to complain? I was a little concerned that, depending on how F looked and any noises he made, I may end up having a very visible reaction that wouldn’t be good in a public place, though.

It was just us in there, which was good. F peed very, very forcefully into the urinal, I remember the spattering being pretty loud. He’d definitely needed that. I felt warm at the sound of his pee and breaths of relief, but kept my body under control. I took much longer than necessary to wash my hands at the sink, only stopping once F was finished up with his very long pee.

Later, he mentioned how awful it must be for me to get that terrible “freezing up” feeling all of the time like that. He thinks it's a frustrating thing to deal with, even though he doesn't have it happen very often. I told him that was why I'm so grateful to him for always helping me, so that it's less frequent. 

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Another Holding Game

I go on a run most Saturday mornings if I have the time. Recently, I drank a bit too much water while doing that and came home ready to explode. F was in the shower and wasn’t able to hear me knocking over the sound of the water and the fan, so I had to hold it a bit longer. I made it okay, but hearing the shower running like that was causing me to dance from foot to foot as I waited. I really, really needed to go and bolted for the toilet the instant the door was open.

F felt really bad that he hadn’t heard me knocking. So, to make it up to me, the next day he wouldn’t take his morning pee and he’d hold it until I gave him permission. Plus, I could make him drink as much water as I wanted. I knew already that all that extra time I’d spent holding was going to be well worth it.

So, the next morning, F didn’t pee, as promised. I filled a jug with water and had him down it. Then gave him another water bottle to sip slowly, saying he had to have it finished by a certain time. He was already pretty fidgety before finishing off the jug, and was obviously struggling to keep convincing himself to drink the bottle.

I had to go a bit, so I made F come with me to watch and listen. My pee came out easily, knowing that F enjoyed the sight, and that it was definitely going to have an effect on his bladder. I sighed exaggeratedly, telling him how amazing it felt to let it all out. How much of a relief it was to finally pee after not going all night. How it had been hours since I’d last gone and that it was great to not have to hold it even one second more.

I could tell that my words were wearing on his bladder. He was bouncing on his toes when I asked him to join me back in bed. He did, and I noticed him curl his fingers inward as he got into bed. I pointed to the half-empty bottle of water next to the bed and reminded him he still needed to hydrate. He finished it off quickly, then lay back down. I held him for a while, rubbing below his navel, and paying attention to the expressions he made in response and the choppy way his breath was coming out.

Soon, his legs were wound together and the hand I wasn’t holding in my own had pressed itself firmly between his legs. It seemed all the water I’d given him had worked its way through him to join all the liquid he’d been holding through the night. His face was so pink and his breathing so haggard. I pressed on him some more, delighting in the tense, round feeling of his full bladder.

In response, he took his other hand out of my grasp as he now needed both his hands to hold himself. He sat up more, then doubled over. I pretended to be confused, and asked if there was something bothering him.

“Ah, yes,” he said.

“You need something?” I asked. “I can get you more water if you are thirsty.”

“No, no,” he pleaded. “I have to pee.”

I tried to look surprised, “Oh, you do? Guess I should get you to the toilet, then.”

He looked so relieved as I helped him to his feet and led him to the restroom. But, I wasn’t done yet. There was one thing I’d been wanting to try for a while. I told him he could go stand at the toilet and unzip, but he was not allowed to start peeing yet.

He groaned aloud at that, but did as I’d said. He was bouncing up and down, shifting from one foot to the other. His urgency clearly reaching a whole new level now that he had to stand at a toilet while still keeping everything in. He kept making all these wonderful sounds of desperation and was now in constant motion. I felt myself getting so hard I thought I’d cum in my pants even without being touched. Especially when he started to beg me for permission.

He ended up having to clutch himself with both hands again when he started to dribble before I’d said he could let anything out. I waited just a little bit longer to indulge in his panicked, pleading desperation some more. Then, I told him he could pee.

Immediately a massive torrent sprayed out, splattering into the water in the toilet. The look of sheer relief on his face was amazing, as was the moan that came from his lips. “There you go,” I said. “Let it all out.” Not that he needed any encouragement, all the liquid he’d been holding was draining away full-force. I got closer to him and rubbed a hand over his bladder. Now, instead of adding to his agonized desperation, my touches added to the bliss he was feeling. He peed for an incredible length of time, shivering as he finished up. “All better now?” I asked him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, his face still pink.

This was one of my favorite experiences with a holding game, and one of the most recent. I rewarded F quite a bit for doing such a good job.

My Traffic Jam Desperation

So, once F and I went out to this one store to buy some plants. It’s kind of far from where we live, but they have kind of interesting plants you can’t get other places. We got lunch while we were out, and it was pretty salty, so I drank more than I normally would have. I got a little bit worried once I’d realized how much I’d had to drink, and already felt a bit of a need to go. It was a small restaurant though, only one toilet and nobody near it. F was able to help me relax and pee pretty easily before we left. So, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem.

But, later we found ourselves stuck in traffic on our way home. And I discovered that all I’d had to drink hadn’t worked its way through my system before the last time I’d peed. All those drinks were making themselves known in a pretty insistent way. I tried to ignore it for a while, sure that we’d start moving again soon, and we’d be home in an hour, at most. I could wait an hour.

But, there was a sports game being played in town that weekend. Traffic was backed up all down the highway. That hour came and went and we weren’t that much closer to home. But, I was quite a bit closer to a full-out emergency. Adding to the urgency in my bladder was the anxiety in my mind. I had no control here, and no clue as to when I could stop holding. If I knew I’d be at the toilet in half an hour, then I’d know I could make it. But, what if we were stuck here longer than that? I didn’t know. I’d been trying not to do anything to make it obvious I was needing a pee-break. I tried to still my legs, keep my hands at my sides, keep my expression neutral. But, the need had grown so much that I couldn’t hold still for the life of me, and F noticed. He asked if I was okay.

I felt much less awkward about telling him I needed to go by then. He’d helped me so many times now. It was feeling more like a normal part of life and less like a really weird thing we had to do sometimes. So, I told him I really needed to pee soon. He glanced around for any signs advertising a place to stop, but there weren’t any visible from where we were. And with how slow everything was moving, we might not see such a sign for a while. Still, he told me he’d stop at the first place he saw, adding that if I had trouble going he’d help with that as well.

Now that he knew I felt more free to fidget and do what I had to to make my need feel more manageable. As more time passed, I crossed and recrossed my legs, I bounced my knees, I eventually gave in and held myself tight with both hands. But, the longer we sat there, barely moving and with no signs promising any relief, the less my squirming seemed to work. It felt like I had waves crashing against one another in my bladder, and not knowing how much longer I’d have to keep them at bay made me feel much closer to flooding my pants. I got worried then that I wouldn’t make it, that I’d pee on the seat of F’s car and he’d be angry. I panicked as the next pounding thrum of urgency overpowered me. I told F in a rush that I didn’t know how much longer I could hold it, and begged him not to be mad if I went on the seat.

He tried to soothe me. He said we’d find something soon. That I wouldn’t go on the seat, and even if I did he wouldn’t be angry, we’d just get it cleaned. That made me feel better, but I couldn’t move my hands from between my legs. I pressed them even harder against myself as I felt the first few drops dribble out. Shortly thereafter, another bigger leak trickled forward. I squeezed and squeezed, and panicked again. I told F I wasn’t going to make it and that I’d already started going a little.

I wasn’t sure what he could do for me apart from comforting me. There still weren’t any places to stop and traffic had still barely moved. There was nowhere to pee, but even so, I was sure I was going to be peeing within the next two minutes.

F reached into the backseat and pulled an item from one of the bags. It was a bottle of distilled water for some of the plants. I remember him advising me to look somewhere else and to try not to listen before he poured the liquid out the window. I did look away, but it was hard not to listen. Even if I couldn’t hear it that well, the splashing wore on my bladder and I had to tighten my grip on myself even more.

Now that it was empty, F gave it to me. He didn’t need to tell me what to do with it. I fumbled to get myself free from my clothing and positioned the opening of the bottle where I needed it. Then, I tried to relax. But, my muscles remained taut. After so much time spent on the very edge of wetting myself, now that I could pee to my heart’s content with no consequences, my bladder had decided to remember how to hold it.

F said to calm down and let it out. He said he knew I was dying to go and it would feel so much better to let it out. But, nothing happened. I did not normally pee inside of a car. This was unfamiliar and so it was stressful. I was nervous someone in one of the other cars could somehow see what I was doing. I was worried they would be judging me to themselves for not holding it like an adult. I, of course, knew that was ridiculous. It was unlikely anyone could see my lap from their car, and even so the windows were tinted. Furthermore, if someone could see me, it wasn’t a big possibility that they’d actually cast judgement. I probably wasn’t even the only person stuck here that was dying for a pee and considering alternative ways to alleviate it.

I asked F to grab my sweater from the back and placed it over my lap for a little bit of cover. This made me feel a bit better, but I still couldn’t go.

F suggested I just keep the bottle in place and try not to think about it. This was, of course, difficult to do. All I’d been thinking of for so long had been how much I needed to pee. There were no other thoughts in my head. The fact that I could pee now wasn’t actually helping, since my bladder wouldn’t release. I tried to do as he’d said and think of something else, but the steady throbbing and pulsing in my bladder wouldn’t let that happen. I had to fight to stop squirming, stop bouncing my feet, stop twisting at the hips. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out if I kept subconsciously trying to pin myself shut. But, every new pang of urgency made me want to coil up even more.

F started to talk to me. He told me stories about when he’d been growing up. And of things he’d done in Germany and why he’d chosen to come to the US. I tried my best to get absorbed in them. Many of these things I hadn’t known before, which made it easier to focus on what he was saying. He talked for quite a while before another sound started to fill the car, the sound of liquid pattering against plastic. I became aware of a sudden, intense wave of relief coursing through my body. Finally, my muscles had relaxed a bit of their tension and I was peeing. I felt almost dazed from the relief, as I began to remember what it felt like not to be filled to the brim. I checked that it was all flowing into the bottle correctly and covered myself back up with the sweater.  I remember just resting my head on the back of the seat and letting my eyes drift shut for a little bit as I absorbed the wonderful feeling of my bladder deflating back to its proper size. I felt F reach over and rub my thigh at some point, and that just made me feel all the more relaxed.

I felt the bottle growing much warmer and heavier in my hand and moved the sweater again to make sure I didn’t overflow it. It was such a large bottle I didn’t think I’d be able to do that, but it was better to be safe. I filled it up pretty high, but by the time I was finally, blessedly empty there was still a bit of space left before I really had to worry about spilling. I put the cap back onto it, basking in the new feeling of lightness in my bladder. It felt so good just to not have to hold anything anymore.

F seemed impressed by how much I’d filled the bottle. “Oh, poor thing. You really needed that one, right?”

His words didn’t make me feel embarrassed or self-conscious, like I’m sure they would have had they come from anyone else. I thanked him, told him I felt loads better, and the remainder of the traffic jam was far less agonizing for me.

Edited by segaface (see edit history)
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Game Gone Wrong

Like I’ve said, F and I only enjoy holding when we are at home and still in control. We can stop when it gets to be too much, and don’t have to worry about having any accidents. We can usually hold for fun at least a couple weekends each month if we don’t have anything going on. But, this has gone wrong before.

One time that this happened, we had been intending to have a holding contest with one another. We both drank big jugs of water followed by a few smaller bottles. Soon enough, we were both ready to burst and teasing one another as usual. But, then the phone rang.

It was my Mom. She was having trouble with the kitchen sink’s garbage disposal. My parents didn’t have all the things they needed to fix it, and with their car in the shop, they wanted us to get the tools for them.

So, the game was postponed to a later date. It was disappointing, since we’d been having fun, but there’d be another chance soon enough. We both peed before we left, of course. But, the thing about these games is that after they end, we tend to need to go pretty badly not soon after. All the liquid we drink needs to keep being processed, and we’re a little sore from holding so long. It’s normal for either one of us to run back and forth to the toilet a few more times once the game is done.

So, by the time we got to the store, it was like we’d never even peed. We were both as desperate as we’d been when we’d still been purposefully holding. I knew that the bathroom here would be multi-stall, and it was a weekend so it would probably be busy too. I probably wouldn’t be able to use it, but told F if he needed to go he still should, no sense in both of us suffering. He asked a few times if I was sure as he rocked back and forth on his feet, then bolted for the restroom once we were inside.

I waited near the entrance, and F came back pretty quickly. I knew how large his bladder was and couldn’t imagine he’d actually gone in that short amount of time. He informed me that the restrooms weren’t open. This was shortly into the COVID pandemic, and many stores had closed their restrooms to customers. So, it looked like both of us were going to be stuck holding it after all.

We tried finding all the things on the list as quickly as possible. It’s… Not very fun to be looking through a store’s plumbing section while absolutely dying for a pee. F commented to me that he wished the display toilets were actually hooked up to something. I’m not sure how much of that was just him joking. He was crossing his legs and trying to look casual, but his desperation was pretty obvious to me.

For my part, I remember being unable to stop myself from leaning on one foot to the other. Every step I took was making me feel more and more like I was going to explode. If the toilets had been open, I was at a point where I would have at least tried to get myself to use them. I felt like my skin was struggling to stretch itself over my bladder.

It took a while to find all the stuff we needed. Too long for either one of us to be comfortable with. Checking out was hard since we needed to stand in one place for a few minutes. The good thing was that since we had to stand further away from the cashier and were wearing face-masks, I don’t think she could have really seen how frantic and stressed our expressions no doubt were.

We didn’t know whether to go back home or straight to my parents’ place. My parents lived closer to where we were, but we’d have to talk to them before we could pee. And at home we’d be able to just go together without having to wait on one another. If we did that at my parents’ they’d raise a few eyebrows. What made us choose to go to my parents’ house was just the fact it was closest and F didn’t want to drive that much in his current condition.

The drive there was only a few minutes, but it may as well have been a few years for how slowly that time crawled for me. When we arrived, it seemed F had forgotten about the stairs that led up to the front door. I’d hated them growing up since I’d have to scramble my way up them while ready to burst every day after school. Climbing stairs—even if it’s just a few— while your bladder is so full it feels like you’re going to split open, is tortuous.

I remember F asking me if my parents would be too upset if he just peed against the tree in the front yard. Again, I couldn’t tell if he was joking. We both got out gingerly. Both of us were so focused on just holding it in that we almost forgot to grab the items my parents had wanted. We struggled up the stairs. I hated having to part my legs just that tiny bit further, and F seemed to be handling it no better.

We waited a few seconds after we rang the bell, both of us dancing on our feet, feeling so, so close to peeing right where we were. The door opened and we tried to straighten ourselves up as we went in. I gave my Mom the stuff, and she wanted to talk to us for a bit. It was agony to have to stand there and talk normally. It was hard to really speak, since the only thing I actually wanted to say was “I have to pee right now!”

I was impressed by how well F was holding it together and responding. He was shaking a bit, but he wasn’t jumping on his feet like he had been outside. When there was finally a break in the conversation, F said; “The toilets at the store had to be closed for the pandemic. We are both really needing a break now. That is alright?”

My Mom said it was fine, of course, and I told F he could go first, knowing I would struggle a bit if I knew he was waiting for me, holding it and holding it. He was less reluctant to take my offer this time and hurried off. I wished we could have gone together— That way I could pee sooner, and get to see those hot expressions of F’s face— but we couldn’t do that with my Mom there. First, I was embarrassed for her to know how big of an emergency I was having. She’d know that if I couldn’t wait a few extra minutes for F to finish up. Second, I didn’t want her to know that we like to watch one another pee. I knew that she probably wouldn’t figure that out just because we went in there together. She’d probably only think we were doing that solely because we were both dying to go. But still, this is one of the last things I’d ever want my parents to know about.

I struggled to keep making conversation with my Mom and tried to will F to hurry up and finish faster. But, again, I knew how large his bladder was. With as full as he’d been it was going to be a bit before he was done. I managed to keep myself more or less still somehow, I’m not sure where I found the willpower to do it. I wanted to double over, cross my legs and hold myself as tight as I possibly could, but somehow I resisted all those urges and held mostly still. I felt a few drips escape and tried not to react, and to keep any more from coming out.

F came back, but I didn’t have time to take in how relieved he looked. I got myself to the restroom, and was so thankful that I’d been wearing sweatpants. All I had to do was lower them a little bit and I could pee. No fighting with belts, buttons or zippers. I was peeing the instant I was free. Whenever I guzzle so much water for a holding game, my pee is always super, super clear. For some reason, clear pee feels extra good coming out. The relief was stunning, and I remember kind of trying to catch my breath once I’d finished.

We talked for my Mom for a bit longer, then went back home. By the time we reached home, we both really needed to go again. It was alright, though, since we could both go together the second we were through the door. And we didn’t have anywhere to be, so could stay home and close to the toilet while all the water we’d had finished processing through us.

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On 3/9/2021 at 7:31 PM, astralis said:

I love your stories so much; they're so well-written and hot, and your relationship is a beautiful thing to read about. F is an incredible boyfriend, and you guys have some amazing experiences!

Glad you are enjoying them. If you have anything you want to know more about/questions, I will try to answer them as best I can. 

F and I Go To A Waterpark

F and I do not play holding games in public as a rule. Public desperation isn’t fun for me because if it goes too far, I might not have anywhere to get relief. We also don’t want to risk leaving a mess somewhere, and involving people who didn’t ask to be involved.

There was only one time we broke this rule.

There is this waterpark a little outside the town I live in. It’s honestly one of my favorite places in the world, I’ve been going there since I was really young. You may be wondering how I spend all day at a waterpark with my shy bladder, and I’ll tell you one of the reasons I like the place so much. There’s one single use bathroom underneath one of the rides that I don’t think many people even notice since it’s always empty and nobody even really goes near it. Water from the ride above it also continually pounds down on the roof, so loud that any other sound is drowned out completely. This was one of the few public places I could go before I met F. Too bad all public toilets can’t have gallons of water splashing on their roofs constantly, my life would be so much easier.

I was, of course, excited to take F to my favorite place. He mentioned how it might be fun to do a hold there because of all the gushing water and splashing noises. I told him it would be fun, but that we shouldn’t do it. We never do holds in public. If something were to go wrong, we’d leave a mess for someone else to have to deal with. He pointed out how we were going to be in the water all day and lots of people were probably already peeing in it anyway. I agreed that that was probably the case. But, if he wanted to do anything like that, he’d have to be the one to get desperate since desperation in public just stresses me out and is never fun. He agreed to that.

It’s a bit of a long drive out to this place, and when we got there, F mentioned that he was already sort of needing to go. I asked if he was sure he wanted to do this here, he said yes. I wasn’t about to press on his bladder in public, or anything like that. But, the image of him dancing about was tempting me, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to encourage him to hydrate in the hot sun. So, that’s what I did. I showed him all around the massive park, which I knew better than my hometown. We went on several rides. The lines were long, but that was okay since we could talk… And F could listen to all the rushing water and finish some more drinks.

It wasn’t until we’d been on quite a few rides that F informed me he really, really needed to pee. I told him I did too, and I showed him where the ‘safe’ bathroom was that I could use. I told him he could go first, but he shook his head and said he could wait longer. I was glad he was having fun with this. I actually found myself wishing the water on the roof was a little quieter so F would be forced to listen to my stream as he just kept holding it. As I peed, I couldn’t stop thinking about how F was currently dying to do exactly what I was doing. I decided teasing him a little wouldn’t be a bad thing, and when I came back I gave an exaggerated sigh and told him how much better I felt.

If that bothered him, he didn’t show it. I kind of wanted to push his bladder, but the public setting made me hold back. Depending on what squeezing his bladder did to him, I might not be able to hold back certain physical reactions of my own.

We got lunch instead, and I was far more interested in the bouncing of F’s knee than the cheap food. He was a little more wary of his drink now, and I scolded him for it. Told him it was very hot today, and with all our running around it wouldn’t be good to get dehydrated. He looked uncomfortable, but finished his drink as I’d asked.

We continued going on more rides, and I noticed him getting more and more antsy in each new line. I headed back to the hidden restroom a couple more times to pee. Each time F said he could keep waiting. Each time I would exaggerate how great peeing had felt for me, and the last time I did it, it did seem to make F a bit more squirmy. I wondered if anyone around us was able to tell why he was so fidgety. I hoped not, and found myself feeling a bit protective. These holding games of ours were for us, someone else seeing him desperate and judging him for it would kill the fun. Between each ride, I asked him if he was okay for another line. He had to at least be in the water if his desperation got to be too much.

I felt better whenever we were in the water. If F did manage to lose control, it wouldn’t matter. Plus, if anybody was looking at him, wondering what all the squirming was about, they’d be less likely to guess he needed a pee really badly since if that was the case he’d just go in the water, right? I noticed his hand sneak down to palm his crotch a few times. It was very brief, and if I hadn’t been specifically watching for such actions I would have missed it.

Eventually, he said he couldn’t do another line, unless it was one for a toilet. I pretended to look surprised, as if we hadn’t been playing that all day. I told him I didn’t need to go that much, and we were lucky to be near this particular ride at a time when its line was so short. I said he could wait for one more, surely. He shook his head. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to go now!

Well, alright, I agreed. I took him to the nearest restrooms, but the lines were crazy. Even for the men’s. I suggested we go to the hidden restroom, but he said he couldn’t walk that much. I figured he wouldn’t be walking very quickly, either. It would probably take the same amount of time to get through the line that it would take to get him over to the other restroom.

And, well, this way it wouldn’t look too weird if someone saw me going in with him. I definitely wanted a glimpse at his relief. I got into line with him, even though I really didn’t have to go and, even if I did, would never be able to do it in an environment like this one.

Now, it was guaranteed that anyone who looked at F would instantly know why he was moving about like that. The only reason someone would dance from foot to foot outside of a bathroom was if they really, really, really needed to use it. I wanted to shield F from anyone else that might have been watching him. I was the only one he wanted to have enjoy his desperation. I didn’t want anyone to see this and think badly of him.

The line moved quickly, at least. Faster than the ladies’ room. It didn’t take too long for us to get to the front and for F to make a mad dash to the first open urinal. I went over to the sinks, pretending I wanted to really scrub my hands, but actually looking into the mirror to watch F. It was the best view I could get given the circumstances. I saw his shoulders droop and his head tilt back a little, and a very hot shiver move through his body as he finished up. I kept my hands under the faucet for a couple more seconds, then left to wait outside for him.

I did admit to him that having him hold for me in public was kind of fun. We’d picked a good place to do it in where there was much less risk of causing anybody trouble. That lessened the guilt I would have felt if we’d done it somewhere else. Still, we agreed that doing this at home was more fun, since that meant we could touch each other and say whatever we wanted without worrying about somebody noticing. It’s more intimate when it’s just the two of us.

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School Desperation

I’ve seen a few classroom desperation stories being posted lately. So, here’s a story about my most desperate day in high school, one that I’ve posted before in a different topic. I was fifteen or sixteen when this happened, so I won’t put too much detail. Just felt like giving you an idea of what I had to go through every single day for a while.

After the doors and dividers were all taken down and I could no longer relieve myself at school at all, I started to take precautions. I limited how much I had to drink no matter how thirsty I felt. I’d wait until the last minute to pee before I left so my bladder would be as empty as possible for the day ahead. Still, the long bus ride usually meant 11+ hours without being able to pee, and so desperation was pretty much a daily occurrence. I’d spend the last several classes unable to concentrate and just wishing time would speed up, then suffer the ride home trying to ignore how much each bump in the road shook my bladder.

I think the worst incident was on this day we had some test for gym. We were instructed to drink a minimum amount of water beforehand. So, that meant my usual strategy of restricting fluid intake at school in the hopes of it being more manageable went out the window. I had gym before lunch, and that extra bit of water put me over the edge. By mid afternoon, I was in agony, and doing everything I could to not let anyone notice how desperate I was. That's the worst part to me, fidgeting around does nothing but let everyone around me know that I'm bursting. I tried to go at each break, to no avail. I tried to go in the middle of one class since I thought that maybe if the room and the surrounding halls were empty, I'd be able to relax easier. That didn't work either, because I continued to worry that someone would come in. You'd think that with how hard it is to keep still when you need to go, it would be easy to let it out once you stop moving around, but no. Instead, all I'd get is an increase in the pressure and an urge to start squirming again. It is ridiculously frustrating to be standing in front of a toilet, desperately shifting from foot to foot, and still not peeing a drop. I felt too vulnerable without a barrier between me and any other potential people.

I made it to the end of the day, and made one final attempt to get something out. I think this was the day I tried to get permission to use the restroom in the nurse’s office. All I wanted was a door with a lock so I could feel safe enough to pee. But I was told I couldn’t go in there unless I was sick or had a doctor’s note. I remember telling her it was an emergency and I couldn’t go if there wasn’t a door, but she was unsympathetic and said something about school policy needing to be followed. So, I tried again to use one of the exposed toilets, but nothing would come out, and I didn’t want to miss the bus.

I sat in the furthest back corner of the bus so that it would be less likely anyone would notice how twisted up I was. I stared out the window, counting down the streets left until I'd be home and finally be able to relieve myself. Partway through the ride, I had to start holding myself, and kept looking up in paranoia of someone looking my way and seeing where my hand was. I was sure someone must have noticed and figured out what was wrong with me, and I could feel my face burning. The ride seemed to last an eternity, but finally it was over and my stop had been reached. Thankfully, the stop was very close to my house, but having to stand up and walk off the bus after spending so much time doubled over made it feel like I was about to split open. 

After the bus had left, my hands immediately went back between my legs. It was murder getting up the stairs to the front door, and I felt myself start to dribble as I unlocked it and rushed in. I was always home alone after school, so the instant the door was shut, I was already tearing at my belt while rushing to the restroom. I'd learned from experience that if I didn't get it apart right away, I'd leak in earnest once I saw the toilet. I was unzipping before I got to the restroom, and had started peeing a couple steps from the toilet before I could really aim. But, finally I could relax and let it all out. It was pure bliss, it nearly felt good enough that it made up for all the pain I'd endured leading up to it. 

Holding It For Fun

After I was removed from my school, I no longer had to spend each day out of my mind with desperation. I could pee whenever the need arose and didn’t have to leave it until it went well past the point of pain. However, I realized I was missing one aspect; How incredible it felt to finally let it out after hours of agony.

So, some days I would tell myself to wait a bit longer so it would feel better when I went. I didn’t recognize that it was a sexual thing for me for a while, and when I did figure that out I felt a bit ashamed, and a lot confused. I was literally fetishizing a medical condition of mine that had brought me countless hours worth of pain and suffering throughout my life. How could even a small feature of something that had done so much harm to me tie its way into my sexuality? I didn’t understand it. I still don’t, really. Maybe my mind is just trying very hard to make the best of a bad situation I’ve found myself stuck with? I don’t know.

But, since I felt so ashamed and confused at myself when I finally realized what I’d actually been doing, I stopped for a while. I ignored the weird urges I got to hold to my limit when I was at home. I tried not to feel any sort of pride in being able to pee for such long periods of time. I tried not to be interested when someone else appeared desperate.

It took a while, but I eventually realized I wasn’t actually hurting anything by having this interest. Even if I couldn’t understand why I’d derive pleasure from one of the things that had brought me so much pain, it wasn’t worth beating myself up over. I decided to try and do a big hold, like I’d read about people doing online, just to see if I liked it.

I’m pretty sure this was after I’d turned eighteen, so I feel a little less iffy writing and posting about this. I waited for a day my parents would be out for a while, and gave it a try. Since I’d never done this before, I wasn’t sure what the best method for rapid desperation was. I just kept refilling a glass of water until I started to feel dizzy and decided that meant it was time to stop.

For a long while, I just felt bloated, not desperate. I played videos of trickling water to try and speed myself along. I remember the desperation hitting me super suddenly. I went from just feeling kind of sick to feeling like my bladder was about to burn through my skin without any warning. If I’d felt that happen in public somewhere, I would be in a panic. Knowing I was free to go whenever I wanted made me feel less on edge and kind of excited to try and discover where my limit was.

I kept the water sounds on as I tried to work on other things. I remember starting to touch my abdomen in different places out of curiosity to see how my bladder would react. Soon, I couldn’t focus on anything else. I just had to sit where I was, coiling my legs together and palming my crotch. I remember my abdomen starting to feel very, very firm as my bladder swelled further and further. I considered giving in multiple times, but kept convincing myself I could wait longer. I didn’t get up to go until I felt the first leak pulse out.

I recall standing up way too fast when that happened, gravity taking effect and making my bladder squeeze itself even more harshly. I clutched myself tighter at the feeling, wishing I’d decided to do this a little closer to the restroom. I told myself to keep that in mind next time, as I’d already decided there would be a next time. I made it, albeit walking a hunched, pained way.  Since I’d been in my pajamas I needed only to lower my pants a bit and I was free to go.

If I hadn’t been totally convinced to continue playing this game before, the bliss I felt as so much drained out of me solidified it. It had been a while since I’d been that desperate. So long since I’d last felt this wonderful feeling of hours of agony coming to such a pleasurable close.

The year I was eighteen, I did quite a bit of fun holds. Any day I didn’t have to go to my job, I hadn’t tired my bladder out holding at work, and my parents were out, I would do a hold. I didn’t do them as much in the coming years as I got busy with college. Technically I would still be holding for a lot of that time, but not in a way that was fun, and well past the point that was healthy.

It was weird to me for a while that I liked being desperate in a controlled setting, but got so stressed out and miserable when I felt the same way in public. But, I guessed it made sense, things don’t tend to be very enjoyable when they’re being forced on you. It’s fun and exciting when I know there’s a way out I can take whenever I want, it’s just stressful when I don’t know how long I’ll be made to wait.

I wouldn’t really start holding for fun again until I met F and we started doing it together.

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Posted (edited)

OmoRoller Game 

Today, F and I decided to play the OmoRoller game that was made by another user here. Since I'd done a lot of holding last weekend, it was his turn this time. I’d looked through the tasks a bit beforehand and saw that many of them looked very difficult, and that there was only one tile that granted access to the restroom compared to many, many others instructing you to have more drinks and hold longer. I knew this would be brutal on him. I got some towels for the floor, just in case it actually went that far. As well as an empty container in case he got permission to pee but couldn’t make it all the way to the restroom. I also made sure to remind him of the safeword, and stressed how intense this game looked.

The first several rolls went okay. He ended up having a lot to drink right away, waiting for a bit, rinsing his hands in warm water, doing some exercises, and things of that nature. The second time we landed on a tile instructing him to wash his hands in warm water, followed by drinking even more, that’s when he started to show signs of real desperation. He was making small, whining sounds in the back of his throat as he plunged his hands into the water and was really, really forcing himself to keep drinking. The tile had said he was free to squirm and hold himself, though, and he took full advantage of that as he waited out the rest of the time until we could roll again.

But, then he got what must be the worst challenge from the game:

Drink 500 mL

Touch your Toes

5 Deep Breaths

No Holding

No Squirming

Do for 5 minutes.

Roll in 7 minutes

This was brutal, he had such a pained look on his face as he finished off the drinking requirement. When he bent over to reach his toes he moaned out loud, and I’m positive that’s when he had his first leak. Breathing in seemed to almost help him regain his control, though. He put his hands behind his back, but I could see the muscles in his arms kind of spasming as he clearly longed to hold himself. Every few seconds I’d have to remind him he was not allowed to bounce on his toes, or shift his weight from foot to foot. Eventually, he managed to get himself still. I could see he now had a pretty sizable bit of swelling in his middle.

After five minutes passed, I told him he was allowed to hold himself again and instantly his hands flew between his legs. He exhaled a bit once he’d gotten a grip on himself, it must have been such a relief to have something to help hold everything inside.

When the time came to roll again, we somehow landed on the same one again.

Drink 500 mL

Touch your Toes

5 Deep Breaths

No Holding

No Squirming

Do for 5 minutes.

Roll in 7 minutes

He asked me if I was kidding, or if I’d done it on purpose somehow. I promised him I did not. I was sure he was going to use the safeword then, but he didn’t. He got more to drink, he touched his toes again, and when he came back up there was a visible wet spot over his crotch. He breathed in and out and returned his hands to their place behind his back. He was having a great deal of difficulty following the ‘No squirming’ rule. He was able to restrain it mostly, but complete stillness was unachievable.

I realized that while the game had said that he couldn’t hold himself, it hadn’t specified that I couldn’t do it for him. To help him out I put my own hands over his crotch and he thrust into the badly needed pressure gratefully. I’d been thoroughly turned on the whole time, but when this happened my pants started to become uncomfortably tight.

Time ran out and we rolled again.

Wait 15 minutes.

Standing.

No hands.

He groaned at that, but was grateful it wasn’t the red tile again, and that it hadn't said he couldn’t squirm. He spent the time alternating between jumping from foot to foot and crossing his legs tight. Sweat was beginning to coat his face and upper body.

Time for the next one.

Leak a little, stop, then leak again and stop.

Wait 5 Minutes

Squatting

No Hands!

Truth be told, he’d already been leaking pretty steadily the last couple minutes, at least. Clamping off all the dribbling obviously took him a great deal of effort. He was very dismayed by the fact he was supposed to squat down. That position is one of the most brutal for him. Even if he’s only starting to get a bit desperate, having to kneel down like that and put so much extra pressure on himself makes his need amplify instantaneously. But, now he was going to have to do it for five minutes straight, with a bladder that was stretched to the limit, and without being able to hold himself. I asked if he was okay to do that or if he wanted to quit, he didn’t have to keep going if it was hurting him. He insisted he wanted to at least try.

As he got into the position, he made sure the towels were right beneath him. He’d never actually wet himself during one of our games before, since the goal was always just desperation and release, but that seemed to be a distinct possibility now. He was cursing under his breath, and his hands kept instinctively trying to grip hold of his dick with him only barely able to keep them from making contact. I could tell he’d started dribbling again very shortly into the waiting time and kept asking if he was okay to continue, making sure he wasn’t starting to experience real bad pain.

Somehow, he made it. The instant the timer went off, he collapsed with both hands gripping himself super, super tight. Seeing that, I asked if he was sure he wanted to roll again. He said he did, that this was exciting, that he wanted to see how long he could last.

Wait 10 Minutes

Standing

Free to Hold

I had to really help him get back to his feet, I was amazed by how much he was trembling and how tightly he held my hand as he stood. Having the freedom to hold and squirm and do everything in his power to keep it all in helped him regain a bit of the control he’d lost to the last challenge. I had never seen such an intense pee dance from him before; He’d drank so much, held so long, and everything we’d been doing had made his need so, so severe. There was quite a bit of wetness around his crotch and down one of his pant-legs. I was stunned he was still holding on at all after all that had taken place, he was going to need a very big reward.

One more roll.

YOU WIN!!

Just let it go right now 

(or in bathroom)

He was kind of shocked when I read that one, and I guess thought it was too good to be true because he asked, “I can pee now?”

I told him yes, that he’d done amazing, that it was time to let it all out. I’d had good judgement when I’d decided to leave the empty container there, because there was absolutely no way he was gonna be able to walk to the toilet. He quickly grabbed it up, lowered his pajama pants, and was peeing before he’d lined up correctly, some of it hitting one of the towels instead as he adjusted his aim. The moan that fell from his lips was amazing, his eyes drooped shut and I rubbed his back as he just kept peeing and peeing and peeing. “Oh, I can’t hold it…”

“You did,” I told him. “You held it so well! Just relax now!”

He continued peeing. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to hold enough pee to overflow the container he was using, but as more and more time passed and he was still going full force, I started to wonder if he was gonna break some kind of world record for bladder-size. Finally a huge shiver went through his body as his stream slowed. Several more large spurts splashed into the container, and then he was finally empty. He couldn’t really speak for a few minutes, I’m sure he was exhausted after holding all that back. I should have used a measuring cup or something, so I’d know how much he’d had in there.

When he finally remembered where he was enough to be able to talk, he told me that that was one of the most fun, most exciting experiences he’d ever had and couldn’t wait to do it again. Except, next time it’s gonna be my turn. I look forward to it.

Here is the game: 

 

Edited by segaface (see edit history)
Link to post
19 minutes ago, segaface said:

OmoRoller Game 

Today, F and I decided to play the OmoRoller game that was made by another user here. Since I'd done a lot of holding last weekend, it was his turn this time. I’d looked through the tasks a bit beforehand and saw that many of them looked very difficult, and that there was only one tile that granted access to the restroom compared to many, many others instructing you to have more drinks and hold longer. I knew this would be brutal on him. I got some towels for the floor, just in case it actually went that far. As well as an empty container in case he got permission to pee but couldn’t make it all the way to the restroom. I also made sure to remind him of the safeword, and stressed how intense this game looked.

The first several rolls went okay. He ended up having a lot to drink right away, waiting for a bit, rinsing his hands in warm water, doing some exercises, and things of that nature. The second time we landed on a tile instructing him to wash his hands in warm water, followed by drinking even more, that’s when he started to show signs of real desperation. He was making small, whining sounds in the back of his throat as he plunged his hands into the water and was really, really forcing himself to keep drinking. The tile had said he was free to squirm and hold himself, though, and he took full advantage of that as he waited out the rest of the time until we could roll again.

But, then he got what must be the worst challenge from the game:

Drink 500 mL

Touch your Toes

5 Deep Breaths

No Holding

No Squirming

Do for 5 minutes.

Roll in 7 minutes

This was brutal, he had such a pained look on his face as he finished off the drinking requirement. When he bent over to reach his toes he moaned out loud, and I’m positive that’s when he had his first leak. Breathing in seemed to almost help him regain his control, though. He put his hands behind his back, but I could see the muscles in his arms kind of spasming as he clearly longed to hold himself. Every few seconds I’d have to remind him he was not allowed to bounce on his toes, or shift his weight from foot to foot. Eventually, he managed to get himself still. I could see he now had a pretty sizable bit of swelling in his middle.

After five minutes passed, I told him he was allowed to hold himself again and instantly his hands flew between his legs. He exhaled a bit once he’d gotten a grip on himself, it must have been such a relief to have something to help hold everything inside.

When the time came to roll again, we somehow landed on the same one again.

Drink 500 mL

Touch your Toes

5 Deep Breaths

No Holding

No Squirming

Do for 5 minutes.

Roll in 7 minutes

He asked me if I was kidding, or if I’d done it on purpose somehow. I promised him I did not. I was sure he was going to use the safeword then, but he didn’t. He got more to drink, he touched his toes again, and when he came back up there was a visible wet spot over his crotch. He breathed in and out and returned his hands to their place behind his back. He was having a great deal of difficulty following the ‘No squirming’ rule. He was able to restrain it mostly, but complete stillness was unachievable.

I realized that while the game had said that he couldn’t hold himself, it hadn’t specified that I couldn’t do it for him. To help him out I put my own hands over his crotch and he thrust into the badly needed pressure gratefully. I’d been thoroughly turned on the whole time, but when this happened my pants started to become uncomfortably tight.

Time ran out and we rolled again.

Wait 15 minutes.

Standing.

No hands.

He groaned at that, but was grateful it wasn’t the red tile again, and that it handed said he couldn’t squirm. He spent the time alternating between jumping from foot to foot and crossing his legs tight. Sweat was beginning to coat his face and upper body.

Time for the next one.

Leak a little, stop, then leak again and stop.

Wait 5 Minutes

Squatting

No Hands!

Truth be told, he’d already been leaking pretty steadily the last couple minutes, at least. Clamping off all the dribbling obviously took him a great deal of effort. He was very dismayed by the fact he was supposed to squat down. That position is one of the most brutal for him. Even if he’s only starting to get a bit desperate, having to kneel down like that and put so much extra pressure on himself makes his need amplify instantaneously. But, now he was going to have to do it for five minutes straight, with a bladder that was stretched to the limit, and without being able to hold himself. I asked if he was okay to do that or if he wanted to quit, he didn’t have to keep going if it was hurting him. He insisted he wanted to at least try.

As he got into the position, he made sure the towels were right beneath him. He’d never actually wet himself during one of our games before, since the goal was always just desperation and release, but that seemed to be a distinct possibility now. He was cursing under his breath, and his hands kept instinctively trying to grip hold of his dick with him only barely able to keep them from making contact. I could tell he’d started dribbling again very shortly into the waiting time and kept asking if he was okay to continue, making sure he wasn’t starting to experience real bad pain.

Somehow, he made it. The instant the timer went off, he collapsed with both hands gripping himself super, super tight. Seeing that, I asked if he was sure he wanted to roll again. He said he did, that this was exciting, that he wanted to see how long he could last.

Wait 10 Minutes

Standing

Free to Hold

I had to really help him get back to his feet, I was amazed by how much he was trembling and how tightly he held my hand as he stood. Having the freedom to hold and squirm and do everything in his power to keep it all in helped him regain a bit of the control he’d lost to the last challenge. I had never seen such an intense pee dance from him before; He’d drank so much, held so long, and everything we’d been doing had made his need so, so severe. There was quite a bit of wetness around his crotch and down one of his pant-legs. I was stunned he was still holding on at all after all that had taken place, he was going to need a very big reward.

One more roll.

YOU WIN!!

Just let it go right now 

(or in bathroom)

He was kind of shocked when I read that one, and I guess thought it was too good to be true because he asked, “I can pee now?”

I told him yes, that he’d done amazing, that it was time to let it all out. I’d had good judgement when I’d decided to leave the empty container there, because there was absolutely no way he was gonna be able to walk to the toilet. He quickly grabbed it up, lowered his pajama pants, and was peeing before he’d lined up correctly, some of it hitting one of the towels instead as he adjusted his aim. The moan that fell from his lips was amazing, his eyes drooped shut and I rubbed his back as he just kept peeing and peeing and peeing. “Oh, I can’t hold it…”

“You did,” I told him. “You held it so well! Just relax now!”

He continued peeing. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to hold enough pee to overflow the container he was using, but as more and more time passed and he was still going full force, I started to wonder if he was gonna break some kind of world record for bladder-size. Finally a huge shiver went through his body as his stream slowed. Several more large spurts splashed into the container, and then he was finally empty. He couldn’t really speak for a few minutes, I’m sure he was exhausted after holding all that back. I should have used a measuring cup or something, so I’d know how much he’d had in there.

When he finally remembered where he was enough to be able to talk, he told me that that was one of the most fun, most exciting experiences he’d ever had and couldn’t wait to do it again. Except, next time it’s gonna be my turn. I look forward to it.

Here is the game: 

 

Incredible story as always. Y'all are so lucky to have such a wonderful, trusting relationship. Can't wait to read about your turn with the roller!

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23 hours ago, astralis said:

Incredible story as always. Y'all are so lucky to have such a wonderful, trusting relationship. Can't wait to read about your turn with the roller!

That should hopefully be in just a few days, if nothing comes up and gets in the way. I'm excited, but a little nervous after seeing how intense it got for F. 

When I Told F

As I said, when I initially started seeing F and going out with him, I tried to keep my issue a secret out of embarrassment. It was such a huge source of shame to me that I didn’t want him to ever know. When we went out to dinner, I would try not to get anything with a high salt or spice content so I wouldn’t drink too much water. Even if we were doing something active outside and I was very thirsty, I would try so hard not to drink very much. I didn’t want him to notice I needed to pee and wonder why I didn’t just go, thinking there must have been something very wrong with me.

I wasn’t always successful at regulating my fluid intake in those early days, though. There were a few times he’d drop me off at home and I’d have to go straight for the toilet, after I’d just spent the last half hour at least trying to squirm as subtly as possible. The worst time this happened was when we got a little lost in one area of town and couldn’t find the way back to my parents’ house where I was still living. I had to go so badly my teeth were floating, and I was kind of just jiggling my knee because it was all I thought I could get away with without being noticed. Not being able to twist and writhe like I was dying to made it worse, and I only barely made it in the end.

He could always tell that something was wrong. He scolded me to drink more water when he realized I wasn’t keeping myself hydrated like I should have been. On the occasions when I ended up desperate, he got confused about why I would suddenly get so quiet on him. He would invite me to spend the night, but no matter how badly I wanted to, I always said no. I could always tell how disappointed he was, and that he was worried he was screwing something up. But, I couldn’t make myself explain what the problem really was.

The night that I finally told him, it was after I had again declined his invitation to spend the night. He looked so sad, and asked if I just wasn’t as interested in him as he was in me. I realized how I must have been making him feel, none of this was his fault. I was very interested in him, he was the most interesting person I’d ever known, and I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. But, my actions— always being in a rush to get home and never telling him why— were indicating the exact opposite. I was the one hiding something, and if I couldn’t be honest, our relationship would never go anywhere.

I said I did want to be with him, and I really did want to spend the night, it was just hard for me to do that, because I had a personal issue. It was so difficult to get the words out, and I had to repeat a few times. He initially guessed that there was an issue with my parents, that they weren’t very happy with the idea of me being with a man. I assured him that that wasn’t the problem, and that my parents liked him very much and didn’t care about that. He asked what was the problem, then.

I had him promise me not to laugh, because I thought it was silly. He promised, and I told him that I had a lot of anxiety problems and that one of the things that did to me was that it prevented me from peeing around people. I wanted to spend the night, but I couldn’t hold it that long. I explained that it wasn’t like I just got a little stage-fright every now and then, or that I just preferred to have privacy, but that my body physically wouldn’t relax and let me pee.

He smiled, and I was scared that he was going to laugh, or that he thought it was funny. But, that wasn’t why he was smiling. He was just relieved that that’s all it was. He’d thought he’d really messed up somehow and that I was trying to get away from him. Finding out that the reason I always seemed so uncomfortable and hurried was just because I was holding my pee all the time made him feel better. He said that my weird behavior, such as my refusal to drink enough water, suddenly made sense. He told me it was okay and that he didn’t think less of me now, just asked how he could help so I could stay with him longer. He offered to wait as far from the bathroom as he could whenever I used it so he wouldn’t hear anything, and assured he would not care how long it took me. He told me he’d gotten frozen up a couple times himself, so he knew how it felt, and it must have been hard to feel that way every time I tried to go.

So, that was the first time I was able to spend the night with him. I had fantasized about him holding me at night a few times, finally I could have it for real. But, when I started to really need a pee, I was still reluctant to say anything. When he’d offered to stand further from the door and give me as much privacy as possible, I hadn’t been thinking about how that meant I’d have to tell him every time I needed to go. Looking back, I think it’s funny that I felt so embarrassed about telling F I needed to pee. Now that we play holding games so often, I end up saying that exact phrase to him all the time, and even more ‘embarrassing’ things like “I’m going to burst!” or “I can’t hold it anymore!” But, back then it was still embarrassing to tell someone I was so attracted to, and so wanted to impress, that I needed to pee and that he had to go into another room so he didn’t hear me doing that.

And the result was that I held it much longer than I should have that first night. We watched movies in bed until pretty late, and being able to lay beside him as he put an arm around me felt wonderful… Until my bladder filled too much. I soon had to go very, very badly, and was trying to conceal my discomfort as best I could. Even under the loose pajamas F had loaned me, my bladder felt distended and firm. F eventually noticed I was tense and started to rub my back. It was very soothing and relaxing, but it made my bladder want to relax too. I endured a while longer, but eventually my bladder was convulsing so much that I couldn’t keep any other thought in my head. I remember I still couldn’t quite tell him that I had to pee. I kind of just stammered things like “I… I have to… Uh…”

But, he understood what I was trying to say and got up for me. Since the toilet was right beside the bedroom, he waited further off in the kitchen for me. I remember being stunned that he hadn’t groaned, or complained, or anything about having to get up and move around when I’m sure he’d been so comfortable where he was. His willingness to help and to understand, even just right after I’d told him what I was going through, blew me away. He really, really cared about me. I remember it taking a few minutes for my bladder to release, but it eventually did. The relief I felt was not just from finally draining all the fluid I’d been holding, but from knowing that I could now spend as much time at F’s place as I wanted.

When I came back out and we both got back into bed, all F did was ask if I felt better now, and when I nodded he didn’t bring it up again.

So, I started spending most weekends at F’s place. Sometimes even longer if he had time. I could pee whenever I wanted, but sometimes I’d still end up holding it since I was embarrassed to tell him what I needed to do. That started to get better eventually. Soon, I was spending so much time there with him that he asked me to move in with him, so I did. I wanted to be with him all the time, and I no longer had anything to worry about. Soon after that was when he started helping me get comfortable with peeing in front of him, and then trying to help me go in public more.

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Desperation While on Hold

One weekend last Summer, I’d gone on my run and come back absolutely dying of thirst. It had been really hot, and I’d forgotten to bring any water. As soon as I was home, I chugged down a ton of water until I finally stopped feeling so overheated and light-headed. Our cable box had broken, and I had to make a call to our provider to get them to send a replacement. F was out getting some stuff from the store, so I decided to make the call and get it sorted out before he got back so it would be gotten over with.

I made the call, and after fighting with the automated system for a bit, was placed on hold. The message warned of longer than usual wait-times, and did not give an estimate on how long it would be until I could talk to somebody. I ended up drinking more water as I waited, since the thirst still hadn’t gone away. More time passed with the same automated messages replaying, and I started to feel a building urge to pee. I’d had a lot to drink in a very short window of time, and I hadn’t been thinking about where it was going to end up. I also hadn’t thought I’d be on hold for so long.

Since I’d drank so much so fast, my need ramped up quickly. Soon, I was tapping my feet and crossing my legs at the ankles. I had to go bad, but knew I could wait longer. I tried to think of other things and sit in a way that gave my bladder more space. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer.

But, it was much longer. Before long, my bladder started to send some very worrying signals. If I had some way of knowing how much longer I’d have to wait, it probably wouldn’t feel so urgent. But, the idea of having to keep it in indefinitely for who knew how long was making it worse. Soon, I was standing up and pacing in place.

I could see the doorway to the restroom, and more importantly the toilet, from where I was. I remember thinking it was pretty silly that I was pee-dancing with the toilet right there, when I wasn’t just trying to hold it for fun. I started thinking about just going to the toilet and taking the phone with me. But, then I realized that if somebody picked up before I was done, the first thing they’d hear would be the sound of me taking an absolutely massive pee. That would be so embarrassing!

I resolved to keep holding it. But, it was getting more and more difficult to do that. I cursed myself for drinking so much and for not thinking to pee before making the call. I thought about disconnecting, relieving myself, and calling back, but then I’d be at the back of the line again and I’d already wasted too much time with this.

When a more intense spasm went through my bladder, one that made it necessary to hold myself, I gave in. I put the phone on speaker and brought it with me to the restroom, hurriedly getting myself out. But, I quickly found I couldn’t relax. The idea of someone picking up and hearing me peeing was making me anxious, and it made me so anxious that I couldn’t go. I got very annoyed with myself then. This was ridiculous. I was getting pee-shy because some person who likely lived very, very far away from me, who I’d only speak to one time and would never actually see… That that person might possibly end up hearing the sound of running water for a few seconds, somehow know instantly it was the sound of me peeing, and judge me harshly for it. It was completely absurd. But, even knowing all that, my body remained locked up tight.

I left the restroom, since standing in front of the toilet and not going was just making my bladder feel more swollen. I got back in my seat and left the phone on speaker so I could have both hands to hold myself with. That helped a little bit, as did squirming around. I fidgeted and writhed, mentally berating myself for not being able to go before. Still, nobody had picked up, if I’d peed when I’d tried to I’d have an empty bladder by now with no one who would have heard me. Still, I knew that another try would end the exact same, frustrating way.

I kept waiting and waiting and waiting, certain that someone would be talking to me soon. But, I was a little wary of that, I didn’t know if I could manage a coherent conversation at that point. The only thing my mind was really processing was that my bladder needed some serious emptying. I was clutching myself tightly as the spasms came more and more frequently.

Finally, I heard something that offered a promise of relief. The sound of F’s car. A few minutes later, he was in the house, carrying a couple bags of stuff. He started to ask me for help with the rest, before noticing how coiled up I was. Even if he hadn’t seen me ready to burst so often, it would have been easy to figure out the situation I was in. I was doing the textbook definition of a pee dance. So, F asked if I’d been in the mood for one of our games today and had gotten a head start. I shook my head and gestured to the phone, explaining I was stuck on hold with the cable provider and that was why I couldn’t pee. I asked if he could please, please take the phone so I could go

“Oh, you have to go real bad, right?” he said in a somewhat teasing voice. I’m sure the performance I was giving was very nice for him; my hands pinned between my tangled up legs. I was sure my face was all pink, and my expression and voice were both so desperate and needy. I nodded at him, ‘bad’ didn’t even cover it.

He noticed the timer on my phone screen and commented that I had been waiting a very long time. He asked if I’d needed to pee all that time, and I told him I’d been needing to go through most of it. He made some more comments about how full I must have been feeling after so much time without a break, and his teasing was starting to turn me on. If it weren’t for the phone I wouldn’t have minded this turning into a game. If the idea someone hearing my pee trickling into a toilet was embarrassing to me, the idea of an outsider hearing even a tiny snippet of the sorts of things we said to each other during a game was even worse.

I just nodded along to everything F was saying. Yes, I had to go very, very bad, I’d waited so, so long, my bladder was so, so full, I wasn’t going to make it much longer. Finally, he said that he’d take the phone while I took care of my need. I managed to thank him before forcing myself back up and walking, partially crossed-legged, to the restroom. Now that there was nothing causing me anxiety, I peed the instant I was freed from my clothing. The release was so intense and left my whole body feeling raw and sensitive. By the time the last of it was out, I was sure somebody must have picked up and F was getting things sorted out.

But when I came back, F was still on hold. “All better now?” he asked me, like he often did after I’d had a very badly needed pee. I nodded before heading out to get the rest of the groceries. It wasn’t until I’d put all the stuff away that someone finally answered our call.

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Posted (edited)

Cuddly Desperation

There was an issue in December involving a large, fallen tree branch, that led to the power in our neighborhood being out for about a day. It was also one of the coldest days of the year, reaching an abnormally low temperature for the area. Since I’ve lived in a warm climate all my life, I’m just not used to feeling cold. In the winter, it rarely ever actually gets below freezing, and when it does I just stay inside with a heater on, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen with the power out. I don’t actually own many super warm articles of clothing since stuff like that is usually not needed. I’ve only seen real snow a small handful of times in my life. But, unfortunately, the power just had to go out during one of the super rare occasions that the temperature fell below freezing.

Since F is more used to cold, he wasn’t as bothered by the temperature. He thought my shivering was pretty cute for a while. Then, he got worried when it just kept getting worse and I never seemed to start warming myself up at all.  Once my teeth were chattering so much I couldn’t make myself talk, he got me one of his thick coats he’d had since before he’d moved here. Then, he had me lay in bed with him. He put his arms very tightly around me and held me super close. He was so warm, and eventually my shivering died down and wasn’t happening constantly anymore.

He said he was returning the favor from our first Summer together, when I’d taught him ways to fight the heat. He’d never once felt such intense heat before, or such dry air. Sometimes, the mere act of stepping outside hurt to him because it was just so hot.

There wasn’t really much to do with no electricity, and with me not wanting to come out from the warm cover of F and the blankets. So, we just kept laying there and talking to each other, and it wasn’t long before we were just falling back asleep. I woke to the power still out, the temperature outside the bed still frigid, and my bladder full to bursting. Neither of us had actually peed that morning since we’d been focused on the electricity issue. Which meant the last time either of us had peed was the night before.

I really didn’t want to get out of bed where it was so warm. Nor did I want to wake F so I could get up. He was fast asleep and looked so cute, and I loved the warm feeling of his arms around me so much. I held it for a bit longer and tried to just go back to sleep, but I had to go too much to be able to sleep through it anymore. Since F hadn’t peed in so long either, I was sure he’d have to go just as bad once he was awake anyway.

I gently nudged him awake, apologizing before telling him I needed the restroom. After waking himself up for a few seconds, he confirmed that he was bursting as well, but didn’t feel like getting up. Instead, he just held me closer.

I’d already waited too long to wake him up and my bladder was searing. I told him that I was serious, I hadn’t peed since last night and needed to go as soon as possible. He just kept holding me there, saying it was too cold to get up. I had to agree with him there, I was not looking forward at all to removing all the covers so I could pee. But, there was nothing on the nightstand that I could use to hold the contents of my bladder, nor could said contents stay in me for much longer. I couldn’t tell because of my position and the thick coat I had on, but I was sure my bladder must have been protruding slightly by then. The weight of the coat was certainly pressing down on it pretty hard, too. As helpful as it was at fighting the cold, it was an enemy when trying to hold back so much pee.

F held me for a bit longer, and I started to squirm and fidget, tangling my legs up beneath all the covers. F was squirming a bit too, but I was so caught up in my own need that I barely felt it. Every so often I’d tell him again that I had to pee really bad. He’d just laugh and say something like, “I know it, you have mentioned that to me a few times.” Eventually, he reached one of his hands beneath the coat and pressed on me. He pressed in that one spot that always makes my need to pee shoot through the roof. Plus, his hand had been cold enough to startle me a bit.

A jet of warmth wet the crotch of my pants the instant he did this. But, this warmth wasn’t comforting like all the other warm things had been. I knew it would cool off pretty fast, after all. And now that a little had come out, the rest wanted to start spraying right away. I squirmed a hand away from F’s grasp and pressed it against myself until I felt I had control over things again.

I knew F had to go at least as bad as I did, and two could play at this game, so I turned and mashed my hand over his bladder hard. He made a strangled sound at that, hips twitching violently beneath the weight of my touch. I did not let up for quite some time, until he said in a panic that it was coming out and if I didn’t stop we'd wreck all the warm blankets we needed.

I stopped pressing on him and he got up and started for the restroom. I followed suit, shuddering at the chill leaving the bed had given me. Suddenly feeling so cold made my need to go a lot worse for some reason, and the shivering I couldn’t help seemed to squeeze my bladder somehow. I needed to grip myself with both hands, but my hands were cold and may have only made it worse. By the time I managed to hobble my way to the restroom, he was already standing there, peeing away. I absolutely could not wait for him to finish. Especially not when it meant I had to hear his stream flowing out and the sounds of his relieved moans. I started to beg him to move over a little, which he did, and I quickly joined him.

Exposing myself to the cold in order to pee was not a pleasant sensation, but a couple seconds later my bladder started to drain away and that feeling instantly erased any unpleasant ones I had. I kind of ended up resting my head on his shoulder as we kept peeing together. Relieving ourselves side by side when we’d both been bursting just feels so utterly intimate to me, one of the most intimate things in the world, really.

F had been holding in a shocking amount. Even though he’d started before me, and I’d been seriously bursting, by the time I was finished he was still going for a few more seconds. I had no idea how he’d been able to keep all that at bay as he teased me for so long. The pressure of my hand on all that must have been agony!

When we were both done, we headed back to bed, where we found plenty more ways to keep ourselves warm.

*** 

I'll be doing the OmoRoller game on Saturday, and will be sure to post about that here afterwards as soon as I can.

Edited by segaface (see edit history)
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OmoRoller Game II, and Measuring My Capacity

This time, it was my turn to play the OmoRoller Game from a previous post. After seeing how brutal it was for F and the amount he ended up holding, I was a bit apprehensive. Just as we’d done when it was F’s turn, towels were laid out on the floor, some empty containers were set aside just in case, and F reminded me of the safeword I could use if it started to hurt.

It started slow, just as before. I drank a ton of water, did a few jumping jacks, drank some more, waited some more, submerged my hands into warm water, drank even more… Then, it all seemed to slam into me at once. It was like everything I’d been drinking was suddenly transported into my bladder in an instant. I went from barely feeling an urge to having to double over on myself. It was suddenly so intense! I’m used to my desperation being at least a bit more gradual than that, but that was also the most I’d ever had to drink in such a short amount of time, so I guess it makes sense it went through me so fast. I also knew there was probably still more filtering through me, and I’d likely end up needing to drink even more, and I started to get a little worried.

Eventually, after my desperation reached new peaks, we landed on the accursed red tile again.

Drink 500 mL

Touch your Toes

5 Deep Breaths

No Holding

No Squirming

Do for 5 minutes.

Roll in 7 minutes

It was pure torture having to pour more water down my throat, knowing exactly where it was going to be soon. It didn’t feel like I could fit any more in there! I felt swollen, my abdomen was hard as a rock to the touch, achingly firm as it tried to contain my filled-to-the-brim bladder. Once I’d finished the drink, I struggled to touch my toes. The act of bending like that caused a short, hot jet of pee to shoot out my tip and drizzle down my leg. I bore down hard with my muscles to make it stop and thankfully managed to contain the rest of the ocean I was holding.

I stood up, took some deep breaths. Whereas last week, breathing deeply seemed to help F regain some of his control, when I did it it made things very noticeably worse! Each deep inhale made it feel like the skin stretched over the round, firm shape of my bladder was going to tear or something. Like F, I discovered the easiest way to keep my hands from impulsively diving down to squeeze myself shut was to just keep them behind my back. I understood now just how F must have been feeling when he wasn’t allowed to squirm a week ago. Every nerve ending in my body was pleading with me to move, to jump around, to cross my legs, to do SOMETHING to hold back this massive tide. My bladder pulsed and pounded, and felt with each passing second more and more like it was going to throb too hard for me to keep it restrained.

I could feel sweat pouring down the back of my neck, and thought ‘Good, now at least some of the water won’t go to my bladder’. Time moved so, so slowly, I wanted to hold myself so bad. I wanted to twist. I wanted to cross my legs. I wanted to run to the restroom. I wanted to unzip. I wanted to pee. I wanted to pee more than I’d ever wanted anything!

F pressed one of his own hands against my dick and I accepted this gratefully. The added pressure of his hand against my opening made it feel slightly more manageable, but only slightly. I think it also made me a lot more motivated to keep holding, as the last thing I wanted to do was to suddenly start soaking his hand with my pee.

Time inched forward, soon it was time to roll again. I was hoping against hope that it would be one that told me I could pee, but I wasn’t that lucky.

Drink 500 mL

OR

Press on your bladder for 3 minutes

Wait 5 Minutes

Sitting

No Hands!

I cringed that I STILL wasn’t allowed to hold myself, but chose to press on my bladder. I thought that sounded easier, but I wasn’t so sure once I’d started. Even just lightly resting my hand on top of that firm, swollen area of my body made me tremble with need, let alone applying actual pressure. It didn’t say that I couldn’t squirm around, though, so I crossed my legs as tight as I possibly could, keeping my dick pressed between them. I ground my teeth as I kept pressing on my bladder, even trying to do it lightly was unbearable and in spite of all the clenching I was doing with my muscles, and the position of my legs, I started to dribble little drops in a steady, constant rate. I was much more vocal than I think I’d been in a while. At this point I was whining to F, barely coherent strings of words that were all just variations of “Oh my God, I need to peeeeee!”

He kept encouraging me, and telling me I was imagining it. He’d seen me hold more for longer, after all. He insisted I didn’t have to go that much. At last, I could stop pressing. As I tore my hand away from my poor bladder, I exhaled a loud sigh of relief. But, within a second, the feeling of that pressure vanishing was too much like the feeling of actually peeing, and I had to squeeze my legs even tighter.

Wait 2 Minutes

Sitting

Free to Hold

I was very relieved I didn’t have to try to stand up, I was starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to without all the liquid in me pouring right out. Plus, I could finally hold myself. I gripped myself with both hands, and soon started to feel more in control. I was wishing this one would last a bit longer than two minutes so I’d have more time to get a handle on myself in case the next one was particularly bad. F sat down next to me, he commented on how cute my pink face was and brushed some sweaty strands of hair from my face. “You have to go bad, right?” he teased.

I nodded rapidly, “So bad. I can’t hold it.”

“I think you can,” he told me.

When time was up, I felt very nervous.

Wait 10 Minutes

Sitting

No Hands!

I groaned, very reluctant to release my grip. My hands felt like the only things left keeping it inside. F nudged my hands a bit and drew them away. I couldn’t help but whine a little at the loss, but thank goodness I could stay sitting down. F would sometimes put one of his own hands against me, and I was extraordinarily grateful for the meagre respite that granted me. Before time was up, I’d leaked a few more times. If F felt any of the dampness himself, he didn’t say.

Hold your hands above your head for 1 minute

Wait 2 Minutes

Sitting

Okay, good, I still didn’t have to get up. Any change in gravity, and I was sure I’d be soaked in an instant. I didn’t think moving my hands above my head would do anything worse than not being able to put them between my legs already had, but I was wrong. Stretching out like that also stretched out the skin over my bladder and made it feel even more like it was going to sear through my flesh. I was breathing very strangely. F rubbed my back, and told me what a good job I was doing, so I kept at it.

At last, it was time for another roll.

Wait 15 Minutes

Standing

Free to Hold

Yes! I could hold myself! But, wait, I had to stand up. I couldn’t stand. If I even tried I’d have pee running down my leg for sure. F helped me up, a few threatening leaks spilled out as I’d predicted. I squeezed myself for dear life to keep anything else from coming out, and mostly succeeded. F asked if I was okay to continue or if I wanted to stop. I told him I thought I could handle a little bit more.

I spent the next fifteen minutes with my hands glued around my dick, my legs coiling together, occasionally pacing in place, and fantasizing about being able to pee. I could think of nothing else. My poor, swollen bladder commanded every ounce of attention I had.

The game continued like this for a while. I can’t remember all the tiles we got. I know I leaked quite a bit more, and had to endure the torture of putting even more water into my body when so much was already screaming to come out. Finally, we got to one where I was allowed to sit down and grip myself again. The crotch of my pants was feeling pretty damp by that point. F was holding me in his arms, really enjoying every needy shudder he felt going through my body. I couldn’t talk to him, even taking tiny breaths was intensifying the sheer desperation I was under. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait. If we got another tile that said I couldn’t hold myself, I was sure that would be it for me. I’d never peed myself during a holding game. I’d never full-out peed myself since I was little. I’d had plenty of close calls and some very bad leaks, but I’d never had a complete and total accident. I was starting to think it was gonna be the day. I was considering safewording. I wasn’t yet in very bad pain, but I was heading towards it, and I didn’t think I was ready to try actually wetting myself, I might not even like it.

The timer went off, F rolled again. And, my luck finally changed. It was the green tile, the one that said I could pee. F asked if I could get up and make it to the toilet, and I shook my head, still unable to speak through my desperation.

He uncapped the container, and asked if I could get my pants down myself. I shook my head, I couldn’t move my hands from around my dick, even if it was to lower my pants so I could pee. So, he did that for me as well. I only had to move my hands for about a second while he got them down and pulled me out before aiming me into the container’s opening. For a second, nothing came out. I’d peed with and in front of F tons and tons of times, so that wasn’t the problem. It just felt weird telling myself to pee in a room that wasn’t the restroom, and I’d never done it with F touching me there, aiming for me.

“Go ahead and let it out,” he told me. “I’ve got you.”

Something about those words and the way he said them made me relax. A huge deluge of pee erupted from my tip and collected in the bottom of the container. I couldn’t resist the moan that fell from my lips, nor could I resist dropping my head back and letting my eyelids droop closed. I didn’t have to worry about anything now. I didn’t even have to worry about aiming, F was taking care of that. I was so, so relaxed. More relaxed than I think I’ve ever been. It felt so good I can barely find the words to describe it.

This time around, the containers we’d gotten did have measurements on the side, but they were also smaller than the one F had used last week. I managed to fill the first one before I was empty, and I cracked my eyes back open when F said I’d need to hold back for a second while he got the other one.

It was murder to try and clamp myself off mid-stream like that when peeing had been feeling so wonderfully good. I couldn’t really manage it and kept spurting onto the towels. But, like he’d said, it was just for a split second and then I could stop trying to keep anything back and just resume where I’d left off. I was surprised I’d filled the container, that meant I’d already peed a whole liter and still had even more left in me. A bit more time passed as I started filling the second container, finally a few last spurts sprayed out and I was blissfully empty. I’d filled the second container quite a bit as well. All together, I’d been holding about 1.2 liters. No wonder it had felt so good to let it loose. That was the first time I’d measured my capacity, and even if I’d always known it was pretty high I was still surprised to see that it was that much. F was impressed, “Where do you fit all that in?”

I will have to get F to measure sometime eventually, too.

F said I looked extremely cute writhing around on the floor, so I decided to draw that. 

ImGonnaExplode.jpg

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First Time Wetting

For a while, F and I talked about if we’d ever try holding past our limits. What we’d always do was just hold until it got to be too much, then use the restroom. The goal was never an accident, and neither of us had actually completely peed ourselves since childhood. Still, we’d found ourselves getting curious about how it would feel to literally not be able to hold it anymore and have a total loss of control.

One obstacle was that we knew there would be a huge mess. We both have pretty large capacities and take very, very long pees when we’ve been desperate. We knew this meant the shower would probably be the best place to do it to minimize the mess, but one thing we really wanted was to be cuddling each other while we lost it. To do that, we’d have to be in bed, but obviously that was going to require a lot of protection.

I never wet the bed as a child, but F did for a bit, so he knew there were covers that could be used to protect the bed from damage. We ended up getting a few in order to layer them since we didn’t think one would be nearly enough for both of us. And when the time came, I put some towels down on top of all that, just to be safe.

I felt both excited and apprehensive when the day came that we’d agreed to try this. I didn’t know if I’d like this, it might just end up feeling gross. And, what if instead of peeing myself when I went past my limit, I just locked up and hurt myself? I know there have been numerous occasions where I’ve been so full that I probably should have wet myself, but the mental block was so strong it overrode that and I just did damage instead. That’s what the pain in my back I get whenever I’ve held it too long is telling me.

But, I knew that if it turned out I couldn’t actually wet myself and I started to feel pain, F would let me up to use the restroom instead. It would be okay. And if we didn’t like this, we wouldn’t ever have to do it again. This was just to experiment, after all.

Beforehand, we did the same thing we do to prepare for a holding game. We didn’t pee after we’d woken up, and we drank a bunch of water. Except, this time instead of just one jug of water, we did two, making sure to pace ourselves a bit more on the second one to avoid just getting sick. Once we were starting to feel a need, we got into the protected bed and cuddled together watching TV, but not really watching. I was too focused on what was going to happen, and I’m sure he was, too.

Drinking two jugs instead of one definitely made us get desperate faster. It wasn’t long before we were both squirming. My bladder felt super swollen after only one show, when usually it takes a bit longer than that. F rubbed his hand over it every so often, asking if I needed anything. I started to laugh, saying I had to pee really, really bad already. He agreed, he felt the same way. But, otherwise, he was so comfortable he didn’t think there was any reason we should get up. I nodded.

We started to tease each other some more, F kept pressing on my firm, round bladder. I got out my phone and showed him images of urinals and toilets. (One of my favorite ways to tease F when he’s desperate is to tell him to think of urinals.) This was maybe not the best idea because the images were having an effect on me as well. I started to wish the facilities in the photos were in front of me right then so I could use them. F kept pressing in that spot that always makes my bladder convulse like crazy, and eventually I squirmed away from his touches to jab a hand into his middle myself. He winced at that, and we went back to just holding each other and tried to focus on the show.

I wanted to hold myself, but F was holding my arms in such a way that I couldn’t reach down and do that, so I had to just squeeze my thighs together to try and keep my opening closed. He knew what I was trying to do and started to almost taunt me. “Do you need your hands for something?” he kept asking. “Is there something you are wanting to grab?”

Every time I would nod and say I needed to hold myself. He just said that I didn’t really need to, I just wanted to. He’d know when I actually needed something, and I definitely didn’t need to hold myself. I kept insisting I did need to, because it was going to come out otherwise. He pointed out that I wasn’t peeing yet, so I must not have actually needed to go that badly. As much as I longed to hold myself and take some of the edge off, his words and denials were turning me on so much that I wanted him to keep teasing me even more than I wanted to hold myself.

Eventually, he did let go of my arms, and I used one hand to clutch myself and the other to rub his bladder. The skin there was stretched taut and everything beneath it felt much firmer than usual. He twitched his hips and writhed beneath my touches.

I pressed down on him harder, which was enough to make him yelp out-loud. I pretended to be confused, “I thought you liked when I touched you?” I said. He said he did like it, just please, please not there right now. I pretended to be more confused, “What’s wrong with touching you here?” I asked, pressing down on him again. “Is there something here that is making you uncomfortable?” He nodded rapidly at me, trying to grab himself with his hands.

I asked what could possibly be causing him so much discomfort as I rubbed his bladder even more. He whimpered that he needed the toilet, and I shook my head at him and told him he was probably just imagining things. He should just watch the end of the show and then we could discuss if he actually needed to go. Truthfully, neither of us even knew what show was on anymore, we were too focused on holding in our own bladders and watching the other getting frantic.

Once F had gotten a handle on things enough he didn’t have to hold himself anymore, he put his arms around me and held me close. Again, he was holding me in a way that prevented me from gripping myself, which made me start to dribble a bit into my boxers.

We both held out for a very long time, but those two big jugs were stretching us really far really fast. I kept feeling like I was surely going to pee any second, but somehow kept holding on. It went on like this for a bit, until we started to discuss if maybe our bodies weren’t going to let us have a real accident. My need had been stagnant for a while, so I suggested we drink a little more and give it a bit more time, and if still nothing happened we could give up.

The problem then was that I had to get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, and fill a jug at the sink. Even if I hadn’t felt any increase in my urge while I was laying there, when I stood up I suddenly felt like it was all about to rush out in a massive wave. I gripped myself tight for a few seconds before hobbling to the kitchen, practically doubled over. The sink surrendered the water, and the sound of it filling the jug caused a loud, long spurt to leak from me. I held myself even tighter. The goal was to pee in bed with F while he held me, not to have an accident all over the kitchen floor. I returned with the jug and we each drank about half, then settled back in.

Soon, I was leaking pretty steadily, but I kept clamping back up and holding the rest. The small dribbles that continually leaked from my tip were just tiny drops in the massive ocean I was holding back. Even if I was releasing some of the burden, it only made me feel like I had to go more. F was again holding my arms in a way that kept me from clutching myself, but I kept trying, pretty much involuntarily, as each new wave of pressure collided into my bladder. I don’t think I’d ever been this desperate during one of our games before. F always lets me go long before I’m in this state. I couldn’t really breathe, it felt like every bit of my body was filled with liquid and there couldn’t have possibly been any more space left anywhere.

I was trying not to squirm anymore. I’d managed to contort my legs in such a way that they seemed to be doing a good job of holding things at bay. The occasional jiggling I couldn’t stop was just irritating my bladder and making it harder to hold in instead of easier. I was so clenched up it was like every muscle in my body was knotted.

Then, I suddenly heard a strange noise. It took me several seconds to realize what was happening, but I was peeing. Full-force, too. My bladder still felt rock hard and full beyond belief. If it weren’t for the feeling of warmth pooling around my crotch and thighs and the loud sound of it hissing into my boxers and the towels and coverings beneath me, I wouldn’t have noticed I had started going.

For a few seconds after that, I tried to reign my control back in instinctively, but control was long-gone, my bladder was too exhausted, too full, it wasn’t going to listen to anything I tried to say anymore. It was going to empty no matter where I was. I really, flat-out, just couldn’t hold it any longer.

It felt very weird at first, to have zero control over what my body was doing, and to suddenly feel so much warm wetness all around me while knowing exactly where it was coming from. It was honestly a bit shocking. I actually said out-loud, “Oh, oh, I’m peeing!” because I was so surprised I could actually lose control of myself so totally.

But, after a few more seconds of my pee forcefully draining away without my full consent, it started to feel good. My swollen bladder was slowly deflating back to its proper size, I didn’t have to try to fight to keep anything in anymore, I could just let it flow. So I did.

I just peed and peed and peed. I exhaled a bit and started to draw my eyes closed, I felt F rubbing my back, a little jerkily since he was still holding on. “That’s okay,” he said. “That was just too much, right? Let it all out now…” His words made me feel good. Even though my basic understanding of right and wrong were telling me I should not be peeing like this, and I definitely shouldn’t be liking it, him encouraging me silenced that little voice. As I continued flooding my boxers, F’s soothing words turned into a moan about how loudly my pee was hissing and the effect the noise was having on his own bladder.

Before I could mumble an apology, I heard a very forceful jet of urine spray from him, followed by a groan of relief.  “Ahhhhh… Finally…”

After I was pretty sure that I was empty, I turned myself about a bit so I could hold F as he kept going and going. I stroked his back like he’d done for me. “Oh, poor F, you had to go so bad, didn’t you?” I said. “It’s alright, you have too much in you, just let it come out now. You don’t have to try to keep it in.” I hoped this feeling wasn’t too gross to him.

I had decided I liked this, just not as much as I enjoyed the feeling of barely making it. It was weirdly relaxing for some reason, I guess because of the warmth and the sensation of all that tension going away. I’d been worried the smell would end up being bothersome to me, but I guess since I’d been so hydrated that meant the odor wasn’t very strong. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, but if F didn’t like it, that was fine too. He seemed to like it though, his expression was very relaxed, and he appeared very at ease. He shivered against me as he finished, and I thought it was really cute how he gets pee-shivers even when having an accident.

We lay there for a few minutes afterwards before discussing how it was. He said he’d never felt that out of control before, and it was kind of exciting. So, he wouldn’t mind doing it again, either. Probably not that often though, it wouldn’t be very good health-wise to repeatedly push our bodies past their limits too frequently. We inspected the bed, and were both relieved when we found the towels and covers had saved it from any damage. In spite of us both just releasing what felt like gallons of liquid, the sheets and comforter were perfectly dry. The towels definitely needed a very thorough wash, though, they looked like they’d just gone through a massive hurricane or something.

The liquid in my boxers was starting to cool, and that felt a little weird as well. I’ve had a lot of substantial leaks when I’ve been desperate before, and there was usually a little bit of a clammy feeling after that cooled off, but this was different. This time I’d released the entirety of my very, very full bladder and I was thoroughly soaked through. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, but I don’t think I’d want to stay that way for very long. So, we ended up showering together as part of the clean-up process, which was pretty fun.

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Awww, you two cuddling while both having genuine accidents sounds so wholesome and perfect 🥰 If I ever find myself an omorashi loving boyfriend, that's what we're going to do as well!

I'm glad you both liked the experience and that you shared it with us. It was awesome to read and I had to smile the entire way through! The way you both kept teasing each other was just so adorable 🙂

 

Thank you for sharing the experience with the forum! Here's to hoping that you and F are going to have lots more fun together :3

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