notthewees 248 Posted September 29, 2021 Share Posted September 29, 2021 My first story, featuring a long-term m/m relationship where one partner introduces his secret bladder control kink and the other decides to humor him for their anniversary, but finds he enjoys it more than he thought. I liked playing with these characters and trying to make sure they were plausible as fem-leaning middle class millennial guys. This is an endurance story, with all the delicious drawn-out suffering that entails. I chose a hold length of 9-12 hours that would be agonizing for an untrained person, but also within the realm of reality. There is some sex in this, but it's not described as vividly as the desperation. ______ As promised, the LGBTQIA+ art history exhibit at the Newsome Gallery was unsuitable for visitors under the age of 18. “I feel like we’re the least kinky gays who ever lived,” Jack mused as he looked up at the Tom of Finland print on the wall, which depicted beefy park rangers having a four-way at a highway rest area. Jack was slender guy, just past 30. He had warm brown eyes and a debonair hairstyle with a side part. His nose was long for his face and crooked, which made him look gawky, but his smile more than made up for it in the eyes of his husband, Leo, who stood beside him. Leo was a little older, a little stouter, and a lot blonder. He had a mustache. “I see it as my mission in life to bring them back,” he would tell people with regard to the mustache, to Jack’s good-natured annoyance. “Nonsense. You can’t compare us to,” Leo gestured at the beefiest and most generously endowed park ranger, “the seventies!” “I’m not talking about the seventies. I’m talking about our friends. Bo and Tim just opened their relationship and started going to steam rooms, and they won’t shut up about it. They’re probably laughing at us behind our backs for being so vanilla. We have zero kinks put together.” “Well, I wouldn’t say zero kinks,” Leo mumbled, low, and then stopped himself. Jack turned to him, eyes wide, mouth open: “oh my God, do you have a kink?” he whispered, teasing. Leo stammered. “Oh my God, you have a kink. You totally have a kink. I can see the kinkiness in your eyes.” “It was a joke. I was kidding.” “Don’t lie to me, kinkster! What is it? Bondage, spanking, 1970s park rangers?” “Honey, we’re in public.” “Yeah, in public looking at porn.” “Did you ever think Tom of Finland helped promote unrealistic male body standards that plague the gay community to this day?” “Don’t change the subject.” They heard a yelp behind them: “Leo, it’s you! And you brought Jack!” It was Ramona, Leo’s mohawked friend from the upholstery studio where he worked. She promptly swept them up in an arty conversation about the unique ways various lesbian painters utilized space, which Jack, a CPA by trade, couldn’t quite follow. She would end up luring them to a remarkable tiny Jamaican restaurant between a boxing gym and a rail yard, where she regaled them with funny stories about her ex-girlfriend who tried to keep koi in the bathtub. The strange conversation under the Tom of Finland print receded to the back of Jack and Leo’s minds as they dug into escabeche and basked in Ramona’s boisterous energy. It was dark before they started for home. ____ As Jack was driving home along back roads that evening, something nagged at him. He turned to Leo in the passenger’s seat. “What was that kink you mentioned at the gallery? I’m still dying to know.” Silence. “Come on, just between you and me.” “I told you that was a joke.” “It doubt it. You had a weaselly look on your face.” “Uh…” “Well? Spill it, Jill. We’re married!” he couldn’t help but laugh. “I do have a kink. A secret kink. It’s my deepest, darkest secret. I let it slip. You got me,” Leo confessed. “Is this kink, whatever it is, really your deepest, darkest secret?” Jack was becoming concerned. What could this possibly be about? “Kind of.” “What is it? What on earth are you into that it’s your deepest, darkest secret?” Jack’s mind crowded with alarming possibilities. Nazi uniforms. Bugchasing. Whatever it was called when people liked car crashes. “Well…um…it’s called omorashi.” Omorashi. It sounded Japanese. What kind of depravity was Leo into that had a Japanese name? Jack didn’t want to stereotype, but when it came to fetishes, everyone knew about the Japanese. “What’s omorashi?” he asked, with increasing trepidation. “Well, it has to do with…bladder control.” “Watersports?” Watersports was Leo’s deepest, darkest secret? Really? That was one of the most basic fetishes out there. “Not really. Watersports is about, you know, pissing on people. What I like is seeing a man, a grown man, desperate to pee. Like, he has to hold his pee as long as he can for some reason, and I get to watch him, you know, try to hold it in. Sometimes just knowing he has a full bladder. Knowing he’s been holding it for a long time, or drank a lot, or both, and he’s bursting.” He paused. “I really like the squirming.” “The pee dance is your kink?” Jack tried not to sound judgmental, and in truth he wasn’t. Leo got off on seeing a guy do the pee dance. It was eccentric, certainly, even a little funny, but there were so many worse things people were into. “Basically, yes.” “Do you like to watch guys actually, you know, pee?” “If they really need to go, yeah. Last Christmas, I was in the bathroom at the airport and I could hear a guy at the next urinal, behind the partition, who maybe didn’t get to go on the plane and had a lot to drink. He…took a long time and had a strong stream and I couldn’t stop thinking about…” he trailed off. “What if they don’t make it and wet their pants? Does that ruin it for you?” “No. That can be fun, too. Wetting, I mean. I was at a straight bar in college one time with Samantha - you remember Samantha? The place was full of frat guys. It was game day and I saw…” he trailed off again. Jack could sense that it wasn’t just embarrassment that made him clam up. He couldn’t even talk about this omorashi thing without getting turned on. He had a personal spank bank full of memories of random guys he’d seen in public who needed a piss. After three years together and a year of marriage, Jack was only now finding this out. Jack was silent for a moment. “I bet you think I’m disgusting. I should have never told you,” Leo said. “No, not at all, sweetie! It’s not, like, a bad kink, unless you’re kidnapping people and forcing them to wet their pants for you in your basement or something. It’s just different. It’s different enough that I have to think about it, you know. I’m not mad at you for having a little kink,” Jack replied. “You’re really not mad?” “No.” Leo visibly relaxed in his seat. “Maybe if I’d known, I wouldn’t have ducked into that smelly cubbyhole of a bathroom before I left the restaurant. Maybe I would have given you a little show on the way home.” “Really?” “Maaaaaaaybe.” Leo laughed, but there was an edge to it. Anxiety, or desire. Later that night, Leo overcame his embarrassment enough to show Jack some videos. They were cell phone videos of men in nondescript apartments, testing the limits of their bladders and then wetting their underwear. Jack observed how much Leo’s eyes focused on the stuff before the actual pissing. He got off on seeing guys do the pee dance, all right. “It’s slim pickings if you’re into male desperation more than female. If you want to see women wet their pants, there’s a big studio in Japan that makes professional videos. Japanese businessmen love nothing better than seeing a 25-year-old actress wet a schoolgirl uniform,” Leo said. “How did you even find this?” “I’ve…always liked it, since I was a kid. Since before I knew what it was.” “Wow.” “I know, I know.” “Can I ask you something?” “Okay.” “Remember the time when we were first dating and we went to Vegas? I drank a ton of coke because it was hot, remember? And when we got out on the interstate and I had to pee really bad and there wasn’t a rest stop for miles?” “Yeah,” Leo averted his eyes and blushed bright red. “I had to take a risk and piss on the side of the road while you watched for the highway patrol…” “Yeah.” “And when we got to the hotel you were so horny you practically tackled me? And we almost missed Alexis Mateo? Was that because…” “…Yeah.” “I had no idea.” “I’m sorry. I wasn’t about to turn to you in the car and say, ‘could you hold on a little longer? Your awkward situation is really getting my motor running.’ I was so embarrassed.” “I forgive you.” “Thanks for being understanding.” “Would you like it if I held my pee for you sometime? On purpose?” “You would do that?” “It’s not a problem for me. Our anniversary is in a few days, after all. It’ll be like an anniversary present.” An anniversary present for $0.00. Jack felt like a genius. “That would be,” Leo swallowed hard, “incredible. Just incredible.” “Is there any particular fantasy you have for me and my, um, bladder?” Leo’s eyes lit up. _______ Leo made a note of the time. It was 8:29 on the morning of their anniversary when Jack finished his before-work pee. Well, this is the last time I’m allowed to go before I get home from work, he thought. He’d had a cup of coffee and an 8 oz. glass of orange juice with toast for breakfast. He hoped that fluid had had time to make it through him in the past 45 minutes. Leo wanted him to hold it all day at work, drinking the normal amount of fluids, and come home to him with a nice full bladder. The time aspect seemed to excite him. “Just thinking about you slowly getting desperate at work, having to act professional when you’ve been holding it for hours and hours, not being able to sit still at your desk,” he had rhapsodized. Leo himself would be at home all day, having rearranged his schedule at the upholstery studio. When Jack got home, he would be given permission to go to the bathroom, but only if Leo could watch. Needless to say, neither of their mothers would be hearing about this particular anniversary gift. Jack would have to say he got Leo a tie or something. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Leo asked as Jack stepped out the door in his slim fit pressed khakis, brown oxfords and belt, light blue button-down shirt, and tasteful dark blue linen sport coat. “I’m a big boy,” Jack said, kissing him goodbye, “I can hold it.” _____ TO BE CONTINUED... Kei, YouDon'tSeeMe and eucoloco 3 Quote Link to comment
notthewees 248 Posted September 29, 2021 Author Share Posted September 29, 2021 PART 2 He drank a bottle of water at his desk over the course of the morning. Normal fluid intake, Leo had specified. When Leo texted him near noon to ask if he felt anything yet, he said no, which was almost true. He could have peed, it’s just that he didn’t have to. At lunch he had another cup of coffee. He was worried he would regret it later, but he was getting a headache from sorting out the Zimmerman account and caffeine would help. Big boys can hold it, he reminded himself. It was something his dad said to him when he was a kid on car trips. It was what he had said to Leo when he had wondered if a whole work day was too much to ask. It was 1:06 PM when Jack first pressed his thighs together, a movement so subtle no one in the office would have seen it. The water and coffee and orange juice had been processed into a dull, persistent ache under his navel. He wasn’t suffering, not really, not yet, but he knew how hard it could be to hold it in all day. It had been a long time since he’d done it, but he’d done it many times. He was thirteen then. He grew five inches in a summer and the world was suddenly full of beautiful men: the neighbor’s college-age son who would mow the lawn without a shirt, tan and muscular and glistening with sweat; the high school boys’ track team that ran past the middle school in green Adidas athletic shorts that showed off their strong thighs; the impossibly dreamy hunks beckoning to him from underwear packaging and cologne ads. He lay in bed at night, his spindly body wracked with lust and confusion and anxiety. Is this gay, am I gay? He didn’t dare go to the big beige family computer and ask Jeeves, no matter how he burned to know if the World Wide Web had pictures of naked men the same way it supposedly had pictures of naked women. One day he couldn’t use the boys’ bathroom at school anymore. He had been standing at one of the two urinals in the boys’ room behind the cafeteria getting ready for his routine after-lunch pee when Jeremy “the Stallion” Lewis, who already had chest hair and a deep voice and had supposedly taken Crystal Fletcher’s virginity, trundled up next to him. There were no dividers, and although Jack averted his eyes when Jeremy exposed his nakedness (a polite term for it), Jack found his bladder sealed with desire (a polite term for it) and fear, the fear of having his then-darkest secret found out. Jeremy didn’t notice anything, but Jack was mortified. His cheeks burned. It was a matter of crushing shame, at that wretched age, to be aroused by another boy in such a disgusting, utilitarian room. The longing and terror that turned the locker room into his personal torture chamber had spread to public bathrooms. Boys’ rooms, men’s rooms, boys boys boys, men men men. He couldn’t pee, he simply couldn’t. It would be tenth grade, the year he joined drama club, before he found the courage to use school bathrooms again. Until then, he held it all day every school day. No matter how little he drank, there was an afternoon inflection point where he began to suffer. He would always endure at least an hour of pitched battle against wetting his pants before he made it home. Big boys can hold it. He always made it home, or at least to the front door. He had had to hide soaked underwear from his mom a few times. It was strange to think that what he had endured for homophobia all those years ago, he would now be enduring to please his sweet but saucy husband. He wondered if Leo had had a similar formative experience that had given birth to this kink of his. ________ He took calls and had to pee. He reassured Laura Grant, his immediate supervisor, about the O’Reilly account spreadsheets and had to pee. He started the O’Reilly account spreadsheets and had to pee. At 2:39, Leo texted: “Babe, how are you doing?” It returned to Jack that he wouldn’t get to pee for hours, and the thought made his bladder wince. He crossed and uncrossed and recrossed his legs, then surreptitiously picked up the phone. “I’m okay,” he typed. “No, really ;)” “I haven’t peed since this morning and my bladder feels as big and round as a honeydew melon.” “That’s so sexy.” “My back molars are swimming.” “Do you think you can make it home?” “Without a doubt,” Jack wrote, suddenly confident, thinking of how turned on Leo must be. “Let’s play a game,” Leo responded. Uh oh. “I want you to go to the all-gender restroom and stand in front of the toilet for exactly two minutes. I’ll time you. Hold your cock like you’re aiming, but don’t go. No squeezing or cheating. I don’t want a single drop of urine to slide down your tube. After that, flush the toilet and wash your hands. Understand?” Jack felt a sloshing inside as he stood up. He grabbed his phone. “Your wish is my command, sir.” “Oh yes, call me sir. Just for today. I love that.” “Yes, sir,” he responded, feeling a curious frission of delight. A minute later he stood in front of the toilet in the single-occupancy bathroom, the phone held to his ear. He shifted from foot to foot. A conditioned response deep within his body had the waters battering against the levees at the sight of the toilet. This was going to be more of a challenge than he thought. He shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee. “I’m here,” he said into the phone, “Oooooooooooh, seeing the toilet really makes me have to go, sir,” he moaned half-theatrically and half sincerely. “Take out your cock,” he could hear the warmth of arousal in Leo’s voice, “I’ll time you two minutes.” Jack unbuckled his belt, unzipped, and held his penis in his hand. He felt a muscle shudder and cramp inside him instantly. His bladder contracted and throbbed. “Start.” He felt a tingling at the end of his dick like a tickle of the Angel of Desire herself, inviting him to experience blessed relief, drawing his pee outward like a magnet. Wait, magnets didn’t act on urine - a reprieve of two seconds of thinking about abstract science - it just felt that way. It was a metaphor. He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth. He’d been doing alright, but now it was taking every ounce of willpower not to pee. Leo was going to ruin his own anniversary gift if he wanted to play games like this. “One minute.” “How is that one minute when it feels so much longer?” “How is that one minute when it feels so much longer, what?” Jack gulped, “how is that one minute when it feels so much longer, sir?” Jack was cheating, allowing his knees to buckle and his thighs to turn inward to aid his pelvic floor muscles as much as possible. His penis twitched helplessly in his palm. Not a single drop of urine, Leo had said. He tried to think about sex and how Leo might reward him for all this, hoping for an erection to help him. “A minute and a half.” “Uuuuuuhnf. Fuck,” he groaned as Leo’s voice interrupted his reveries before they could bear fruit. He began counting backwards from 100 by threes: 97, 94, 91…He pretzeled his legs, curling his right foot backward daintily around his left and rubbing his left ankle with his Oxford. If I could just give it a squeeze, he thought, one little squeeze. He realized he had sweat on his brow. The whole exercise had made him frantic. He was going to leak. He felt an internal shudder and a few drops of urine, bright yellow, dribbled on the toilet seat. “Time!” “Oh, oh, oh, oh Jesus,” Jack moaned, reeling backward and dropping the phone on the floor, squeezing himself with both hands. He hunched over motionless, gritting his teeth, clenching with all his might until the overwhelming urge passed. Trembling, he zipped up and cleaned the seat with a bit of tissue. He flushed the toilet, feeling his bladder complain. He washed his hands more quickly than the CDC advises, dancing foot to foot and weathering twinge after twinge of thwarted relief. He rubbed his face, trying to wipe off the anguish of the exercise lest his coworkers wonder what was wrong with him. He picked the phone off the floor, cringing as his belt buckle poked his bladder. Thankfully, he’d invested in a sturdy phone case. “I’m sorry, sir, I dropped the phone. And I leaked a few drops at the end. I couldn’t help it, sir. I really, really have to go and you made me stand like that…” he whispered. He was surprised by the abject tone. He sounded like a child apologizing to his strict military father. “Leaked? Is it under control? Contained?” there was a smirk in Leo’s voice. Who was this person? This dominant type? This sexual sadist? It was a new dynamic for their relationship, that was for sure. “Yes, sir.” “You can go back to your desk now.” He finally exited the restroom, walking a little gingerly. His bladder felt twice as full as it had ten minutes ago, overfull, aching full. 2:51 PM. The afternoon inflection point of suffering. _________ I’ve got to piss like a racehorse. He bounced his knee and tried not to think about it, tried to think of anything else. He was about two days ahead making spreadsheets of the O’Reilly account, distracting himself with work, work, work. Like a racehorse. What an idiom. He remembered the time at summer camp he had actually seen a male horse piss on the dirt floor of a pen. The horse had had a casual horse expression, but it looked like the most satisfying thing in the world, those liters of piss gushing out with such force, thundering, splattering, leaving a massive puddle in the packed dirt. Ohhhhhhhhhh. He bounced his knee a little higher. The O’Reilly account. It was 4:28. He hadn’t peed in eight hours. He could get away with going home in about 15 minutes. He wished he could unbuckle his belt, which felt so snug around his bladder. His bladder had swollen into a hump that protruded below his belly button and any pressure on it hurt. At this point, he didn’t want to get home to his husband to please him, he wanted to get home so he could pee. Leo - sir - was going to let him pee and that was going to feel so good. It was going to feel so fucking good. The language Leo had used for what he wanted: I want you to come home desperate. I want to see you bursting. Evocative: a water balloon so stretched and heavy that a few extra drops would make it burst. The tip of his dick began to tingle again. Jack slid his left hand into his lap and gave himself a firm squeeze. The dirt under the horse had foamed with the force of the pee slamming into it, all those years ago. Idioms, proverbs. If wishes were horses, for want of a horse the battle was lost, my kingdom for a piss. A thousand horses in a pen, every one of them pissing a flood, flooding the farm. He squished his penis down to calm the quivering sensation in his urethra. He’d forgotten how the urethra itself seems to quiver. Both his knees were bouncing of their own accord. In Leo’s fetish terminology, he was desperate to pee. So, so desperate. “Are you okay?” It was Laura Grant. He struggled to assemble a presentable facial expression, to move his left hand to a work-appropriate position on his thigh. “I’m…I’m fine. It’s just been a long day with these spreadsheets. I mean, longer than usual,” he flustered. Was he giving himself away? How would he explain this when the bathrooms were right there? “You’ve been working hard. I even heard you cursing in the bathroom earlier. If you’re exhausted, you could go home a little early. I’ll cover for you with Crawthorne.” She must have seen the hope in his eyes when she said “go home a little early.” It was irrepressible. God, he had to pee. He was going to get home a little earlier and Leo was going to let him pee. He could hug Laura. He could cry. “You’re welcome,” she said, turning on her heels. Conscientiously, he closed out his desktop. His legs started to shake and wiggle uncontrollably once Laura could no longer see him. He picked up his phone and texted Leo: “Sir, I’m coming home a little early and I’m desperate beyond belief, just like you wanted.” “Big boys can hold it, like you said. Observe all traffic laws.” _____ TO BE CONTINUED... eucoloco, YouDon'tSeeMe and Kei 2 1 Quote Link to comment
notthewees 248 Posted September 29, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted September 29, 2021 PART 3 Jack rocked forward and back and patted his bouncing thighs as he stared at the bumper of the car in front of him. 5:59. It was official: he hadn’t pissed for nine and a half hours. Anything Laura Grant had unknowingly done on behalf of his poor bladder had been undone by two accidents on the freeway during rush hour. The pressure on his bladder from the seat belt in the cramped PT Cruiser was agonizing. He kept trying to pull the seat belt off his lap, but he needed to keep his hands on the wheel because of the traffic. He was squirming and writhing in his seat. It hurt to be this full for this long. Yet a kind of determination had taken a hold of him. He didn’t suffer all afternoon to arrive in a puddle instead of letting his weird pervert of a husband see him in this state. He longed with every cell in his body for that moment when Leo would give him permission to use the goddamned bathroom and the most ill-advised anniversary gift anyone ever agreed to was finally over. He squeezed himself with one hand, bit his lip. God, Jesus, Buddha, and Lady Gaga, please let me get home and pee. The command to observe all traffic laws meant that he could not text Leo to inform him that he had hit traffic while holding what felt like the Pacific Ocean inside his body. He pictured Leo at home in a state of erotic suspension, so aroused by the idea of his husband’s suffering but impatient and wondering. He imagined him stroking himself in anticipation, without reaching orgasm. Little Leo, his bunny rabbit, was a secret pee desperation fetishist who gave commands, who wanted to be called “sir.” You think you know a person… Traffic ground to a halt again and Jack’s bladder somehow swelled even larger. The muscles surrounding it quivered with exhaustion. He had to clench deliberately not to leak. He had never had to pee this badly as an adult, drunk or sober. He pinched the tip of his penis and started rubbing the shaft through his khakis, trying to think of Leo. Sir. Yes, sir, I’m coming home. I’ve been holding it all day, just for you. Happy anniversary. He started getting an erection. He basked in the provisional relief of erectile tissue compressing his urethra. Corked up by desire, just like when he was thirteen. He had a vision of his bladder expanding infinitely, on a cosmic scale, like a universe of within a universe of mathematically inconceivable volume, but tied off and kept from bursting and drowning all of creation by a crack team of gorgeous male astronauts and their captain, his husband. Yes, sir, yes. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he neared their exit. ______ The fat, orange sun was setting when Jack staggered out of the car, clutching himself in one hand and fumbling with the door with the other. He could see Leo watching from behind the living room curtain. His bladder spasmed with the motion of getting out of the car and the sheer proximity to relief; he could not stop jogging in place long enough to stand. His briefcase could stay in the car until he’d used the toilet. Until he’d let Leo watch him pee. He felt ten hours worth of fluids bearing down hotly inside him. He hadn’t even leaked since the evil game in the afternoon. He clutched himself harder and loped to the door, pounded on it with his keys in his hand: “Let me in, sir!” He gasped. He was breathing hard. Leo opened the door and looked at him, hunched over and on the verge of tears. “Come in, Jackie.” Jack threw himself into the entryway, tearing towards the bathroom in the hall. “Sir? Sir! Sir, I held it for ten hours just for you! I barely made it home! I’m about to burst!” “Not so fast!” Leo caught Jack by the collar of his shirt, pushed him gently back into the entryway, “stand here for a moment.” Jack shut his eyes tight as his bladder spasmed again, hard. He couldn’t stand up straight. “Please let me go, sir,” he whimpered in a pained falsetto, “I have to piss so bad, sir. I’ve been holding it all day, sir. You can watch, like you said, but please, please let me go to the bathroom! Please, sir.” The sense of being at the finish line and not permitted to pee right away was unbearable. He rubbed his thighs together. He dropped the keys and squeezed his penis with both hands. If Leo didn’t let him past, he was going to wet his pants. Is that what Leo wanted all along? “You held it for ten hours. Big boys should be able to hold it for twelve,” Leo said. Jack looked at him in horrified disbelief, “Sir?” “I want you to hold it two more hours, for our anniversary dinner.” The madman! “I can’t.” “I think you can.” “I can’t! You haven’t seen me all day and you don’t know how hard it’s been to hold it for so long. Sir, please, please be….reasonable.” His husbands green eyes twinkled mischievously. Jack was leaning toward him, bent halfway over, unable to endure standing up straight or the sharp pressure of his belt buckle when he bent further. He had a thought to knock Leo down and run for the bathroom, literally slamming the door in his face to make a point about how this kink was unacceptable and depraved. But he didn’t. The word “sir” had colored the evening, changed its tenor, made it - well, made it hot. He was suffering, but he was also turned on. The deep memory of that middle school bathroom where he didn’t look but he wanted to, and his punishment for wanting was having to hold it. Leo could always read him like a book. “Come with me.” Two more hours. Two more hours. His mind struggled to adjust. The thwarted relief made his bladder ache so much he could feel it in the tips of his ears. He felt Leo’s hand on his back, guiding him into the living room. Jack still grabbed his privates as he staggered past the old-fashioned umbrella stand Leo had bought in New Hampshire for too much money, but he felt his panic dying down as he somehow managed to steel himself to keep holding it in, one second at a time. Leo had brought out the turquoise tea table with the fleur-de-lis around the edges and set it for two: brown rice and a small chicken breast for himself, and a romaine-based salad for Jack. The implications were obvious, but Jack couldn’t imagine bottoming in this state. He had to put it out of his mind. There was also a sweating pitcher of ice water and two glasses. Ohhhhhhhh. “You’re not going to make me drink, are you, sir?” Jack asked. He was thirsty, in fact, very thirsty, but just looking at the drops of condensation on the belly of the pitcher made him feel like he was about to burst all over the rug. He sat down gingerly in front of his salad. He leaned back, pressed his thighs together and cupped his lower abdomen helplessly. His belt was so, so tight, squeezing his swollen bladder like a vise. It was torture. “My belt, sir. I….” “Here,” Leo said, going down on his knees to undo Jack’s belt and remove his shoes and jacket. Jack sighed involuntarily as the belt buckle came undone. Leo placed the jacket on a nearby ottoman, set the shoes and belt aside on the floor, then untucked Jack’s shirt, unbuttoned his pants, and uncovered his bloated lower abdomen with its modest treasure trail of brown hair. Leo’s face showed genuine tenderness and wonderment as he placed a hand on Jack’s bladder, feeling its firmness and contours as gently as he could. Jack moaned and arched his back, his head tipping over the back of the chair. “You must be desperate.” Leo had never sounded so turned on, not even when they first got together and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. “I’m desperate, sir,” he realized how much Leo wanted to hear him say it, “I’m bursting. Please let me go pee before dinner, sir.” “No.” Leo stood up, visibly aroused, and went to his side of the table. He poured two glasses of water slowly, too slowly, with blatant sadism, and the sound made Jack bite his lip and squeeze himself. He put his hand inside his unbuttoned pants to squeeze through his underwear. Dry after ten hours, God. But what if Leo made him drink ice water, which was somehow drastically worse than room-temperature water even though it was the same stuff? At least it wasn’t beer. He hadn’t married a complete monster, apparently. “Drink the water first. Fast. In one go.” Jack picked up his 12 oz. glass and drank, gulping. He really was thirsty. He could see through the distortion of the glass that Leo was watching him intently. Then Leo refilled the glass and made him drink again. For the next ten minutes, Jack ate his salad mechanically, tasting none of Leo’s homemade vinaigrette. His legs jiggled under the table. As Leo prattled about his day at home and an unusual call from a customer in New York, Jack waited with dread for all the extra water to filter through him. How much volume could he even hold? His bladder already felt like a medicine ball inside him, so round and so heavy. “Sir, may I please be excused? I need to go to the bathroom,” he asked when he finished the salad, knowing that it was hopeless but that Leo would love hearing it again. “You can go at 8:29. It’s 6:55 now,” Leo smiled. Never had an hour and a half sounded like such an eternity. ______ At 7:23, Leo had divested him of his shirt and pulled him onto the couch to make out. He had to sit across Leo’s lap with his legs apart, which made him tremble and draw short shuddering breaths with the effort of holding it against gravity. Sweat beaded on his brow. Leo stroked his thighs, feeling the trembling. “You must have to pee so bad.” “I can’t hold it much longer,” Jack moaned. He was telling the truth. Why hadn’t Jack put a towel on the couch? It was a West Elm couch. He couldn’t pee all over a West Elm couch. The water he’d drunk had reached his bladder and every movement made it slosh painfully, but he couldn’t stop moving, wiggling on Leo’s lap which Leo clearly loved. His bladder swelled and swelled and swelled and his muscles cramped and his penis ached, in that awkward position, kissing but unable to feel the kisses. I must not pee on a West Elm couch. I must not pee on a West Elm couch. He felt the next bladder spasm through his whole body. It forced a dribble of piss into his boxers. His piss was so tormentingly warm and wet against his skin that he leaked again. “Oh, oh, oh,” he panted, “I’m pissing myself, sir! I’m about to piss on the couch, sir!” He reared up onto his knees and put both hands down his now-rumpled khakis, which had a wet spot. Tears sprang into his eyes. “Don’t move.” “Don’t make me pee on the couch, sir! It’s a West Elm!” Jack was shaking. He felt another dribble escape into his hands. “Touch yourself.” How? All he could do to stave off the flood was squeeze his penis as hard as he could. “You love this. You could’ve quit so many times, but you didn’t. You love holding it for me. You can make it to 8:30.” “It’s 8:29! I only have to hold it to 8:29!” Jack let out a sob as he leaked again. This time a single drop of pee fell onto the upholstery of the couch between Leo’s legs. “I can’t hold it, I can’t hold it anymore, sir, sir! Please let me go to the bathroom. I have to go so bad. I held it all day and I can’t hold it anymore, sir. Please, I’m gonna pee on the couch, sir,” his face contorted with anguish and a tear slid from his left eye. His voice dropped to a whisper, “Sir, it’s coming out. I can’t hold it. I can’t hold it. I’m so s-s-sorry, s-s-s-sir.” “Oh boy,” Leo relented, “let’s get you to the bathroom.” Jack could barely walk the few steps down the hall. His face was white. He had a wet spot on his pants the size of a grapefruit. “Please, sir, please, sir, please, sir,” he whimpered. He saw the toilet and prayed Leo would not want to play a game this time. He simply could not endure it. But when he let his pants drop and opened his damp boxers, all he could do was dribble. His bladder spasmed and spasmed but he could not piss more than a few drops. He thought he would die standing there, bearing down on his pained bladder but unable to get relief despite wetting his pants just moments ago. Somehow he knew that if he pulled up his pants he would wet them immediately, but something inside him wouldn’t relax. “Please, please, please, please, please, please!” he cried, bouncing on the balls of his feet in his agony. Leo moved behind him, slid his arms around his chest, and said, “it’s okay, sweetie. I called it off a little early. I’m not angry. You’ve been such a good boy. So good. You can go now. Shhhhhhhhhh. Breathe.” Jack took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. “Breathe.” Another breath, and another. And finally, finally, he could feel the fatigued muscles inside him give. He heard his stream hitting the water for a few moments before he felt relief, but when relief came it was a swooning, shivering ecstasy that made his eyes roll back, his whole body tremble. “Ohhhhhhhh God, ahhhhhhh…” he sighed. His knees went weak and he sagged backward into Leo. He gushed and gushed, moaning sluttishly, barely able to aim. It felt like it took forever for him to empty himself, but later Leo would say it was more like a minute and a half. At that point he began to start and stop, pushing out a bit more and a bit more, and when nothing else came he was genuinely shocked that his bladder was empty. His piss was a Van Gogh yellow from those long hours of holding it. It felt odd to shake, as if what had just occurred was a typical pee before bed and not a religious experience. He was tingling all over from endorphins. He stood upright and breathed deeply, steadying himself, and touched his abdomen where the aching dome of his bladder had protruded moments ago. “Thank you, sir. I…I needed that, sir.” “You did. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Almost eleven hours. Mmmmm.” Leo’s arms tightened around Jack’s chest, and Jack felt his erection pressing against his tailbone. It occurred to Jack that Leo had been denying himself a different kind of relief all day long while the thought of his husband’s brimming bladder kept him in a near-constant state of excitement. “May…may I flush the toilet, sir?” “Yes, yes,” Leo breathed, burying his face in Jack’s neck. Jack turned to face Leo after flushing, woozily offering himself to be kissed. “Sir?” “Yes?” “That felt amazing, sir. Amazing.” When the toilet stopped running, Leo undressed and they got in the shower. The hot water lasted for a long time. Leo soaped the sweat from Jack’s body worshipfully, pausing over and over to kiss his lips and praise him: “You did amazing, baby. I love you. You’re the best gender-neutral spouse on the planet. I couldn’t ask for anything better. Happy anniversary.” The hot water made Jack suddenly desperate again. All the pent-up liquid in his system had to come out, period. It felt like needles in his exhausted bladder, and he pissed at least half a cup down the drain. Leo watched in a kind of rapture. ______ After the shower, they went to bed and made love. Leo was gentle, because stretching his bladder had left Jack’s flesh tender. His dick was so sensitive it was almost like having a big clitoris, and a simple caress or lick left him convulsed with pleasure. He gasped when Leo penetrated him, shocked by the exquisite sensitivity of his prostate; it took some doing to find an angle and rhythm that didn’t hurt. His bladder was so tired he peed a little on his belly with each stroke, which drove Leo wild. When Jack came, it was strange, slow, different, wonderful. And afterward, an overwhelming need to sleep. “The sheets need to be changed. They’ll smell in the morning.” “Can we change them in the morning, then? I’m so sleepy, sir.” “Please, Jackie, sir time is over.” “Will there be another sir time?” Leo paused, stroking Jack’s flank, considering. “Only if you want.” Jack was asleep, a small smile on his face. ______ END Kei, kilianj74, Loom_Omo and 7 others 5 5 Quote Link to comment
notthewees 248 Posted September 29, 2021 Author Share Posted September 29, 2021 Hmmmmm...writing fic is a great outlet. I see why people on this forum do it. Quote Link to comment
YouDon'tSeeMe 64 Posted December 23, 2021 Share Posted December 23, 2021 This is an underappreciated GEM Quote Link to comment
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