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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...

 

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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...

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