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SecretPerson

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  1. You know, there’s a statue in Norway called “Don’t be a stranger”. It’s in a city called Asker, in a spot called Bakerløkka Square. It looks like this: Obviously, being a statue, it’s always there. And you have to wonder… after sitting out in this public square for 24 solid hours a day, day in and day out, never moving or going anywhere or even standing up… don’t you think she needs to pee?? Here’s what I think. Even a statue can’t hold it forever, so you have to assume that, at some point, she’s getting up and going to take a piss. I haven’t heard anything about an unusual number of earthquakes in the area, so she must be incredibly light-footed, able to move silently despite being a 20-ton concrete block in form, perhaps by making use of the same magic that enables her to move at all. But even magic can’t make you be somewhere you’re not, and I doubt the citizens of Asker would be happy if one day they showed up to Bakerløkka and found their statue had stood up and walked away. No, obviously she can only go when no one is around, which means for one thing, she can only go at night, and for another, she can mostly only go Sunday through Thursday, with the late-night city-prowlers of your typical Friday or Saturday evening keeping her firmly at her post the other two nights of the week. Consecutive nights, I might add. Sunday evening is a bit dicey as well, as everyone knows Sunday is the best night for a romantic date, and it’s not too uncommon for there to be enough couples walking around that she just never gets a chance to go. The morning sun of Monday’s dawn, almost as often as not, catches her glancing imperceptibly back and forth, looking anxiously for one last chance to step away before the rush hour crowds take to the streets, but ultimately being forced to twist her grimacing face back into the sculptor’s intended expression of invitation and admiration, and to stifle her by-this-point quite significant urge to squirm on the spot. As you can imagine, the constant exhausting demands placed on her bladder have trained it to be an impressive specimen of patience and capacity. When she gets to pee on Sunday evening, she might not go again until Tuesday evening, passing up her chance to pee on Monday not because she doesn’t need to go – the urge sets in within 12 hours every time – but because she can wait, and finds it more relaxing to stay put. (She is a statue, after all.) The same reason might keep her on her knees Wednesday night, and then on Thursday she gets up again to relieve herself before the weekend rush. And when she doesn’t get to go on Sunday, then of course she must pee on Monday (even giant doe women have limits) but after that she might wait until Thursday, ignoring her need for two nights in a row even when it’s of course very noticeable on the second night, and uncomfortably urgent by the third when she finally gives in. Maybe she thinks her bladder empties itself more completely if she waits longer, and that she’s therefore better preparing herself for the long haul… or maybe she just takes a little pride in her ability to prioritize what she really cares about: serving the citizens of Asker with her welcoming and gorgeous presence. Naturally, every now and then there are some close calls. Both in the sense of her needing to rush back to her station when she was off taking a break lest she be caught off duty by a passer-by, and in the sense of her getting stuck right where she belongs for a little too long. If the third night of a hold is uncomfortably urgent, then the fourth night (i.e., a Monday night after having to hold through Friday, Saturday, and Sunday) is usually borderline painful. Humans are infamously unpredictable, and nobody knows it better than a doe statue who’s stuck waiting for a couple of randos who decided to hang out on the bench right behind her after work to get a move on so she can go drain her bladder of more than 300 liters of piss. Overall, though, she manages herself pretty well, and generally enjoys life despite the interruptions caused by her inconvenient urges. But what if one day, our curvy lady got put in a situation she couldn’t handle? Let’s paint a word picture. Our one and only human character will be Jada, a tourist from France, visiting Norway for the last week of her Summer vacation before going back to finish up college. Give her green eyes, a round face, long black hair that she wears all sorts of pretty ways, and skin the color of dark walnut wood. Equip her with a strong but nervous heart, a journal that she brings everywhere and uses to write down poems when she’s feeling inspired… and a recent breakup that’s been giving her plenty to write about. And bring her to the Bakerløkka square on a Thursday night, halfway through her visit to the Nordic region, up past her usual responsible bedtime but further from sleep than she’s ever been. Since there is a second character on the scene, the doe statue now needs a name; I will call her Sue-Anne, or Sue for short. Having been kept in her spot by couples all Sunday night, Sue’s penultimate pee had been one of those highly-necessary Monday ones, the ones she just couldn’t possibly not take after keeping herself under control for nearly a hundred hours straight. And normally, those were the ones that would last her until Thursday… but this time, sitting around on Wednesday evening, she just hadn’t been able to shake the distracted, antsy feeling of having a bladder that’s a bit too full for comfort, and in the end, she’d picked herself up, tip-toed down to the river she used as a bathroom, and let loose a four-minute stream into the running water. So when Jada wandered by the next night – and Heaven only knows how this story would be different were this not the case – she was only on the first night of a new hold. The ladies’ first encounter was brief and informal. Jada wandered by, hands in her pockets, poem journal under her arm as always. It was her first time in this particular square; she looked up at the statue as she passed by (utterly unaware that the statue was looking back at her), stopped for a minute to appreciate its artistry and see if it would inspire any artistic words in her, and then resumed walking past. This was the sort of interaction that Sue lived for. She’d given up years ago on the task of wondering what was going on in the minds of those who walked by. Nowadays, she just appreciated the attention when it came (including when it was lustful, or even downright lewd, as it often was) and silently wished happiness into all their lives. As mentioned, people didn’t come by too often this time of night on a Thursday, so when Jada had come and gone and half an hour had passed since then without a footstep or a word of conversation to be heard, Sue decided that it was as good a time as any to get that pesky Thursday pee out of the way. But just as she made to stand up, she did hear a footstep. And then another, and another, and more, until Jada appeared once again, coming back from the direction she’d left to the first time. The girl stood herself in front of the statue and looked it up and down, in much more detail and with much more focus than before. She walked around, pacing about as slowly as anybody could ever care to, taking in Sue’s form and contemplating the craftsmanship once again, before finally coming back around to the front, looking the stone lady in the eyes, spinning around, and sitting herself down on Sue’s ungiving stone lap. “Have you ever had your heart broken, doe?” “…” The human girl shifted her position to get comfortable. At first it seemed like she was actually waiting for an answer, but after some time, she went on without one. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. I guess I’m just sad. I need someone right now. I don’t mind if you can’t talk back.” “…” “Do you understand English? I speak French too, but I guess in Norway that doesn’t get you very far. Sorry that I can’t say it all in Norwegian.” “…” “I want to tell you about my girlf– well, about my ex. Heh. We only broke up a week ago, I’ve gotta stop calling her that before it gets weird. I dunno. Is that okay? People must come here to talk to you about their problems all the time. You look so ready to listen… I bet you’ve helped people, even though you’re just a statue.” “…” “Well. Might as well start at the very beginning. I hope you’re okay with this, because it’s gonna be a long ride.” “…” “I met her at a bar in my sophomore year…” – Come Friday morning, Jada was gone. Sue didn’t always sleep at night – she had the ability but usually not the need – but when she searched her memory, she found she didn’t remember Jada leaving, nor did she really remember anything beyond the outlines of a long and winding tale of unfortunate love. She surmised that the Z’s had come for her. But the one thing she didn’t have to remember came to the front of her mind rather quickly: she still needed to pee. The physics of fluids remembered that fact on her behalf. And seeing as she’d just held it all Thursday night, until dawn and the morning rush came to work their shift of holding her down for the entire weekend, she had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to let her forget. She’d slept last night, but suddenly her belly felt heavy and her face felt flush, and she suspected she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Fear is the mind-killer, and the worst part of Friday by far was the fear that spent the day creeping up Sue’s sides and around her body, poking and prodding her for attention and tickling her in indecent places. There was nothing new about being on the second consecutive day of a hold; what was new about it was that it was only Friday. Feelings that would be confidence-inspiring on a Sunday and par for the course on a Saturday were dread-inducing when they came a day earlier than that. When the crowds thinned out between the morning rush and lunch, and again between lunch and the afternoon rush, Sue allowed herself to turn her head just slightly to get a better look at her surroundings. There was nothing to do – getting up during the day was categorically too risky to attempt – and nothing really to see either – since she obviously knew the area well – but somehow she still had the urge to look, and somehow, appeasing the urge did pacify her mind just a little. But the concern only grew as the day pressed on and turned to evening, when the party-goers came out like they always do, and killed any hope Sue might have had that she’d magically get a reprieve from them. I said earlier that Sue always started needing to pee within 12 hours of relieving herself. She would say otherwise; to her, the 12-hour mark was when she became aware that she would be capable of peeing again if it was required of her, and the first night of a hold was when her body started letting her know that a bathroom break would be useful – not needed. But now? Now, on the second day, she needed to pee. There was no denying it to herself, when she made such a habit of ending holds after just this amount of time. Every other week or so, she threw into jeopardy her perfect track record of having never failed to be exactly where every human in the city expected her to be, for no other reason than than to empty her bladder, after only two days of waiting. She’d done it just earlier in the week, and if fate would have permitted it, she’d do it again now. Loud party music and the screams and shouts of drunk 20-somethings didn’t bother Sue (and what a hell she’d be in if they did) so she was able to spend Friday night meditating on various soothing thoughts about how things might not be so bad after all. For one thing, there was the obvious: yes, maybe this Sunday would be one of the ones that kept her at her station by force, but maybe it would be one of the ones that would let her step away for a minute. Then the weekend hold would be no longer than typical: it would end on the fourth night, and she’d be uncomfortable and even in a bit of pain, but only the kind of pain she already had to deal with now and then, and knew she could handle. Yes, maybe every day for the next week would be dry as a bone but maybe it would rain sometime between now and when she hit her limit, and she would be able to empty her tank, even if only partially, by very slowly releasing it into the natural flow of rainwater, as she had done once before in a dire situation not too different from this one. And yes, maybe her bladder would fill as fast or faster than it usually did on average, but maybe it would fill slower, and she would simply be able to hold her pee until Monday night, rain or not. And in the end, she made herself so confident and comfortable that sleep found her anyway. – But Saturday morning dashed most of her hopes. She woke up to a bright sun, a clear sky, and a bladder that was filling ahead of its normal schedule. What fickle gods controlled her urges in this department, she didn’t know, but today they were not smiling on her. “Uncomfortably urgent” was already beginning to sound right as a descriptor, and the sun was barely over the horizon. A few early birds were out and about (so no chance to lie to herself and pretend it was still night and ergo safe to sneak away) and as the sleep drained from her mind, she realized it was already taking effort not to squirm. Millions of eyes had seen her but not one had seen her move, at least not enough to be perceptible to human vision, and although she knew at the bottom of her heart that it was imperative to maintain that streak, jitters were jitters. Her legs didn’t quite want to cooperate, and it was executive function – not inner peace – that kept the cat in the bag. So the sky turned from pink to blue, and Sue needed to pee; and the weekend tourists all crowded around and took pictures of her and made fun of her naked body and touched her indecently, and Sue needed to pee; and the lunch rush came and went, and Sue needed to pee. And at some point during the day, the word “badly” came to haunt her mind, stuck in her ear like an irritating pop song, and wouldn’t go away. She didn’t want to admit to herself that it was apt, to think of herself as someone who could get stuck in a predicament like this, but it was getting harder to deny by the second. Another wave of tourists; another wave of laughter and touching; a dinner rush. All in all, it was an experience that Sue was quite used to. It was everything a Sunday should be, typical in all respects… except for the fact that it was happening on Saturday! And finally, it came to evening, which meant that it came to the part of the hold when Sue was used to waiting around hoping for a lucky chance to stand up and go answer the call of nature. This time there was little chance of it, but she found her heart spinning up into that mode anyway. Years of practice and experience had taught her to approach the problem patiently under normal circumstances. A full bladder, even one full to the brim, was nothing a lady like her shouldn’t be able to handle with dignity, grace, and sense. Desire was desire, but risk was risk; her personal rule was never to abandon her post within thirty minutes of someone walking by. She was used to putting the twinges of need aside and counting backwards from 1800 – the number of seconds in half an hour – in her head, never letting the perceived urgency of the situation tempt her to count faster than one number per second, and dutifully resetting the clock every time there was a human. This time, though, with the stress of the situation ripe inside her soul after simmering for two days, with the thought of getting unlucky tomorrow too at the forefront of her mind, and with far more people around than there usually were during this exercise, well… Sue was hardly getting past 1500 before needing to reset every time, and for once, she was letting frustration get to her. It had been a while since she’d passed up a chance to think positive thoughts about a human who found themself in her sight, but tonight, things were just a tad less friendly up in her mind. The whole night passed. Sue did not get a chance to leave. “Forgiveness is a virtue,” she thought. “Forgiveness is a virtue. Forgiveness is a virtue.” – And so, the hold got to the point that Sue’s holds only ever got to involuntarily: the fourth day. Her normal method of dealing with the fourth day was to focus on other things. Normally it would be Monday, and the crowds of Norway would mostly be at their jobs, leaving her area relatively empty and giving her the space she needed to deal with a bladder that was, frankly, beyond full. Normally, there would be opportunities peppered throughout the day for her to shift position, just a bit, just for a moment, to appease her body so that she could maintain her composure better long-term. Normally, the most urgent and difficult part of the hold came to her with good timing, when she was best equipped to address her discomfort and when she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Normally, she would be in control. As previously harped upon, this time was different. The Sunday crowd conflicted in her mind with the feeling in her tum, and parsed to her as uncanny and discordant. The attention, which she normally welcomed and enjoyed, felt stressful and constraining. And the lewd component of said attention, which had once confused her but which she had learned to understand and even revel in, felt different today too. What she normally saw as a wholesome, modest display of her stone-borne sexuality, her mind was now interpreting as a ridiculous and inappropriate self-exposure. When she normally felt confident and appreciated, her bladder was making her feel vulnerable and embarrassed. And the yellow cherry on top was that she was still noticeably worse off than she would normally be by this point. By noon, she needed to pee about as badly as she had that one Monday night when the two randos had been hanging out on the park bench behind her for hours… which was to say, she was pretty much desperate. So the afternoon crawled on, and Sue tried to tell herself that she’d be okay. Two of her three hopes were still technically alive – that she’d get a chance to pee tonight, and that it would rain soon. The sky was clear, but there was no reason beyond blind pessimism to believe that the other wish wouldn’t come true. For all she knew, this could be the last day of an entirely normal, run-of-the mill hold by her standards. Well… except for the uncomfortable thoughts that were racing through her head every time some female-attracted bean felt up her tum or put their hand on her ass. The discord in her mind was unlocking some seriously buried feelings in her. Could people tell when she needed to pee? Were they touching her more because of it? Did they find her situation as laughable and pathetic as her better self pretty much did? Do other statues go through this stuff, or was it only weird little Sue?? Her body was being even less cooperative than the day before, requiring even more willpower to clamp down in place and sit still for the nice people of Asker, and every time she fought off a wave of temptation to start wriggling around, her brain told her that she was being ridiculous and pathetic for needing to go this badly. Clench after clench got her to and through the dinner rush, until finally, finally it got to the point in the evening where she might actually get a chance to go to the river. Like, realistically, as opposed to the BS she’d been feeding herself yesterday to try to stay hopeful. There was no “pretty much” about it anymore – Sue was desperate to pee. The river would be seeing her at its earliest available appointment. She didn’t have a choice; her bladder situation was going south fast. So the counting began. 1800… 1700… 1600… reset. 1800… 1700… 1600… 1500… reset. 1800… 1700… reset. 1800… 1700… 1600… dammit. (It had been a while since Sue had sworn, but she wasn’t entirely above it in times like this, and this seemed like an apt moment to use her “one”.) Last night, this exercise had frustrated her to the point of thinking discharitable thoughts about her beloved citizens; tonight, it was starting to downright freak her out. Everything between her hips was in pain, and the thought of “cheating” her rule just a little bit continually flitted through her mind. There are only so many hours in an evening, reader, and if you keep resetting a countdown, it will never complete. Would it really be worth peeing herself all over Bakerløkka Square just to respect an over-cautious “rule” she’d made up naively within the first week of being set up? If she did lose control, there would be far too much pee to blame on a human. Everybody in the area would know she was a gross little pee slut who couldn’t get a grip on her bla– –No. No, no, no. Sue was not going to let her thoughts get to her – not here and now, when she was still within the normal range of hold durations, and when at any moment she might be released from the hell that was springing up around her. It was just pee. It was just pee. She could handle pee. It occurred to her that she had been counting just a minute ago, and had lost count when her mind had turned to other thoughts. That was okay, she told herself. She took a deep breath – in, out, being careful to avoid actually moving her chest in the process – and began again from the top. So, Sue’s bladder was unnaturally full. And, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. And now, the young couples of Asker were just. Not. Leaving. One would walk by every ten minutes or so, often with one of the partners making direct eye contact with Sue, making her feel watched and nervous and embarrassed all over again. Sue had never been so tempted to break the rule in her life. So many times this evening so far, she could have stood up, dashed across the field to her river, pissed to her heart’s content, dashed back, and easily made it back in time before the next couple walked by. Easily! But no, here she was, having a bathroom emergency but tormenting herself for no reason, and if things kept up the way they were going, she’d be heading straight into day five of still not emptying. She waited until the coast was clear, and then sighed. The logic of the rule made sense – it really did. Longer periods without people meant fewer people in the area total, and therefore a better chance of making it back in time to not be missed. But with so many missed chances right in front of her eyes and still coming in fast… it was just making her crazy. The hours dragged on; Sue’s bladder got even fuller; there was no opening. At some point during the night, her bladder’s volume surpassed what it had reached that one fateful evening when she’d pissed on the town square in the rain, and entered personal record territory. Not that it exactly mattered to Sue – she didn’t know the moment it happened, of course, and she was completely bursting either way. But if you’re curious, I happen to know the numbers. Her previous record had been precisely 398 liters – enough to fill a sphere 91cm in diameter – and she surpassed this record at 2:25am on Monday morning. Not long after, she crossed 400, and by sunrise, the total volume of piss inside her, in liters, was 417. How she got through the fifth day was beyond her to imagine in advance or remember after it happened. Owing mostly to her bizarre need to piss every once in a while despite being made of stone, she had never in her life up until this point even sat still for five days straight, let alone held her pee for that long, and her muscles were beginning to feel sore and stiff. She badly wanted to change posture, not only because the piss was on the verge of coming out, but also because she just wanted to stretch. The crowd ambled past her like they always did, with just a few glances in her direction, but every single one felt like daggers flying through the air and stabbing into her on impact. Her abdomen was in constant hot pain. It was taking her full concentration not to move; if she let her guard down for one second, her legs would shift or her hand would twitch or her knees would knock together, or something… and if she let it down any longer, she might well begin to leak. She had never before had this much trouble hiding her desperation from the human world, and if things went much further, it was starting to look like the truth would come out one way or another. What anyone would see if they looked at her was an innocent, static stone statue; what she really was was a dire bursting emergency hiding behind nothing but vain willpower and the authority of the mandate that had dominated her mind ever since she came to life: don’t move. A few tourists came by before lunch, but there were never as many on the weekdays as on the weekends. The first one just looked at her and then shuffled on. The second one spanked her. And the third walked all around her again and again taking picture after picture, renewing her feelings of embarrassment and her desire to know whether anyone could tell what state she was in. The thought of anyone finding out about her secret was mortifying, and the photoshoot (regardless of that consideration) only served to humiliate her. By the way, I happen to have one of that tourist’s photos right here… she may not look any different on the outside, but know that on the inside, she’s barely holding herself together, and is just inches away from losing control and letting a firehose of piss spray out all over the concrete. Sue wouldn’t have guessed it possible this morning (though by now, anything that would make her life harder seemed possible by default, even inevitable), but in the afternoon, her need got even worse. If she thought it was a dire emergency before, well… reader, now it was a dire emergency. One last tourist came by and reclined on her lap for a bit, and the contrast between appearances and experiences was awful. The human couldn’t have been more cavalier, or have put less thought into what an inanimate object might be experiencing at that particular moment; but the inanimate object’s experiences couldn’t be more lucid and visceral. Her bladder situation was bad, and spiraling. If before it was taking her full concentration not to move, now it was taking her full concentration not to just start pissing all over the ground; she didn’t know how she was sitting still. Sue was 5 times the height of a normal human, and hence had around 125 times the bodily volume; that, plus her naturally large bladder, her patient demeanor, her strong will, her obligations, and her years of practice, made her quite formidable in this department of life. But reader, even statue girls have their limits, and this one needed to leave her post – badly. 5pm came, and work let out, and the crowds shuffled by again, and Sue was hanging on by a thread. Her face was flushed; her heart was pounding; her hips were quivering imperceptibly (she just couldn’t hold completely still no matter how hard she tried) and her pelvic muscles were in a constant state of agony and exhaustion, straining to maintain the clenching force they’d been exerting continuously for hours at this point, clamping down on pee that wanted to force its way out, unable to relax for even one second lest she explode. The doe was locked in a desperate game against her bodily urges, and all it would take for her to lose would be for someone to hang out in Bakerløkka Square for a few hours, keeping her tied down to her spot and unable to take a break. As humiliating as it was to admit it to herself, that was really all it ever took. Without her chances to sneak away, the poor girl was unequivocally incapable of keeping her bladder in check. The crowd dissipated, the sun set, and Sue had the first relieving thought she’d had since Friday morning: I’m almost there. She only needed to hang on for a bit longer. Her rule, which she’d so meticulously upheld during the hardest hours of the previous night, was already out the window for tonight. Sue was going to spring up and go pee the moment the coast was remotely clear, even though it was a risk. At this point, the bigger risk was that she wouldn’t be able to wait. She was going to piss herself, imminently. This needed to happen. Finally, the moment came. Nobody was around, and there were no sounds of footsteps, near or approaching. Sue stood up– –and then immediately snapped back down again, when, with the height advantage gained from standing, she saw a familiar someone approaching the square. It was Jada, notebook under her arm like before, looking forlorn once again. The girl approached the statue (apparently not picking up on the internal vibe of extreme panic that Sue felt she was giving off), looked her up and down once again, and then sat herself down on Sue’s lap like she’d done before. “Hi again.” “…” “I just wanted to come back and give you the resolution to my story I was telling the other day. My plane leaves tomorrow evening. I don’t live here, I don’t know if I mentioned that. I’m from France.” “…” “Anyway… I was thinking about stuff. I think being out here in a foreign country really helped me, although it took a few days to set in. I… gosh, you know, it’s weird how normal it suddenly feels to talk to you. You’re like an old friend to me now. What’s up with that?” “…” “Well. Like I was saying. I think being out here really helped me. Because, I don’t know, somehow seeing a city full of people living their lives, gave me a better perspective on my own life. I mean, I live in a city, but it’s just a bunch of people I know. Not literally. But like… ugh. I dunno… I think being out here reminded me that the world is so much bigger than me and my life, and so the space of possibilities is a lot bigger than just what I’ve tried so far. That I don’t need to go back to what I knew before to be happy. I can just uproot myself and start walking in any direction, and maybe I’ll end up better off than before. You know?” “…” “You know, I think you do know. I think you really do get it. Maybe not in the literal sense, but I felt a lot better after talking to you the first time, and I feel a lot better talking to you now. I think maybe there’s something inside you that listens, and understands. Maybe that’s all I needed, is to be understood. Even if the one who understands me can’t t– whoa!! Was that an earthquake?” But it wasn’t – Sue just couldn’t fucking control herself any longer. Her leg had shifted up by an inch under Jada’s body in a frantic last-ditch effort to stop pee from coming out. Sue snapped it back to what she thought was the right position as quickly as she could, before Jada could fully register what was happening… but not before she knew something had happened. “Holy crap, doe, did you feel that? That felt like an earthquake! I – gah!” And here again, Sue was involuntarily writhing under the hapless human girl’s form, and this time, before she could think, she breathed a quick “sorry!” Jada lept up, spun around, and switched to an outdoor voice. “You can talk?!” Sue was still, and silent. “You… you can… no. No, that’s…” Jada looked around, an embarrassed expression on her face. “That’s dumb,” she whispered to herself. She stared at Sue’s lap in visibly conflicted feelings for a moment, debating whether to get back on or not. “Hey, um,” she began. “I’ve gotta get out of here. Us humans are kinda fragile, and if there’s going to be an earthquake, if there’s going to be more tremors… I can’t be near a huge stone statue when it happens. Okay? Sorry, I hope that’s not insulting. I just… I gotta head out. Um, bye.” And she turned tail and hurried away. – In the end, Sue did inspire a poem in Jada’s heart. It would be one that she wrote on the plane back to France, in that cabin-pressure high, the kind of mood that only comes when you’ve spent all day in an airport and are desperate for something interesting to do, and she would always look back on it with confusion, curiosity, and eventually plain amazement. It was a poem about a dream she’d had while in Norway – a dream so vivid that she remembered it like it really happened. She dreamed that, on the last day of her trip, she’d gone back to visit a statue of a large, humanoid doe that she’d already visited once earlier on. She dreamed that she had talked to it about her feelings, the ones inspired in her by her stay in the Nordic city. She dreamed that there had been an earthquake (or maybe that the statue had moved underneath her – it wasn’t clear) and that it had spoken to her briefly, but that she hadn’t been able to make out what it had said. But strangest of all – and this was how she knew it had only been a dream – was that after saying goodbye and turning the corner on her way back to the hotel… well, Jada had dreamed that she’d doubled back to say one last thing to the statue. But when she got back to where it had been… …it wasn’t there!!
  2. I would figure, and people don't look at the floor to figure out if someone pissed their pants or not, and also yes, assuming you're talking about this bean, that's me 😇
  3. More than enough to make it obvious to anyone who sees your shorts 🤭
  4. "Not that noticeable" this is the most obvious pants-pissing I've seen all week 😏
  5. SecretPerson

    SecretPerson's art

    All of the omorashi artworks I've created since late 2020, and a few from before that. You can find the same images at my website, secretperson.org. A few images had to be scaled down to half size for omorashi.org to accept them.
  6. My gut reaction is that she's more likely to be into it from the opposite perspective, enjoying her own desperation. Maybe that's because she's subby in general, or maybe it's just because of a certain story I wrote. Maybe she develops the fetish after the events of that story 🤭
  7. @Soulboy202 Thanks! I probably won't write stories about any of the other characters. I kind of latched onto Gangle when I first saw the pilot, and felt uniquely inspired to write an omo story about her specifically. That said, I'm not ruling it out.
  8. Spoiler warning: This story is a work of fanfiction for The Amazing Digital Circus. At the time of writing, only one episode of the show has been released. The story contains spoilers for that episode. – It was the only song she liked to listen to when her comedy mask was broken, and as such, it had become an honorary “fixing my comedy mask” theme song. Gangle turned the speaker up a little to drown out the sounds of Jax arguing with Zooble out in the hallway, shut the door to her room, and set the ceramic pieces down on her desk. She used to resent the time it took her to do the job, but after a few dozen repair sessions, it had occurred to her that there wasn’t anything much better she could be doing with her evenings. Sadness hurt less than anger anyway. Upon request, Caine had provided her with a bottle of glue that stuck very well to the fractured slices of her happy face, and which, if left to dry overnight, would magically meld into the material and render the mask whole again, without a trace left behind to suggest it was ever broken. The label on the bottle branded it as BUBBLESNOT™; Gangle had taped over this with an index card and written “Glue”. She arranged the fragments into their correct positions in front of her, uncapped the bottle, turned it upside down… …and immediately remembered that she needed to pee. She’d sort of been wanting to go earlier that morning when Pomni had appeared, but the excitement of the day had kept her busy right up until the feast, and she’d decided to wait. At dinner, she’d drank more than her usual amount (which was none) maybe owing to all the time she’d spent chasing gloinks around. Now, it was catching up to her. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the bottle in her hand and the pieces of mask on the desk. Getting up would be a whole hassle, especially with Jax around, but repairing her mask took concentration and a steady hand. She looked at the door. His voice could still be heard faintly over the music. Gangle really wished he’d stay in his wing of the corridor, but coming over here to argue with Zooble outside their room – and hence outside her room, since the two were neighbors – was a long-time habit of his, and one she didn’t think the rabbit would take kindly to being asked to kick. She gripped the glue bottle harder, used her ribbon hands to push the two largest pieces of mask together so their shared seam could receive the glue, and began squeezing. When she got to the end of the seam, she looked back at the line of glue she’d made, and saw that it was noticeably wobbly. Her legs weren’t exactly straight, either; her left “foot” was curled inward, and the right one was swinging distractedly, making ripples in her leg. She put the bottle down. Maybe she would need to pee first after all. Gangle stood up, paused the music that was playing on loop, and headed out into the hallway. “…and that’s why– Oh, look, it’s Gangle. Hey, crybaby. Have a nice nap?” Gangle didn’t respond. Responding to Jax was the worst thing to do when you wanted to be left alone. “What, nothing?” “Come on, lay off her,” Zooble admonished him. “What? I’m just saying hi.” “Tch. Anyway, I was saying…” The conversation faded into the background as Gangle turned the corner, made her way down to the ground level, and walked over to the bathroom. She grasped the doorknob. It was locked. Gangle sighed internally, then sighed again externally. Her hands were too floppy to knock on a door and have it make a sound, and she wasn’t feeling up to calling out with her voice, so she just leaned against the wall, crossed her arms across her chest, and waited. Waiting for the bathroom was always the hardest part of needing to pee. The part where you’ve admitted to yourself that you need to go, and that the urge is strong enough that emptying your bladder should be the next task, but the world isn’t cooperating, and you’re forced to delay just a bit longer. Gangle looked up at the ceiling. She wished she knew how to whistle. It might help distract her from the discomfort. “Hey Gangle. Are you waiting for the bathroom?” It was Ragatha. Gangle nodded. She liked Ragatha. “Is Jax taking forever again?” “No, I, I saw him, up in the bedroom area, w-with Zooble…” “Do you know who’s in there?” “N-no…” Ragatha looked around. “Well, Kinger went to bed an hour ago, so…” The pair looked at each other. The only other character it could be was Pomni. If the poor girl was feeling as good as she was earlier, there was every chance she was in there vomitting. Ragatha walked up to the door and knocked. “Pomni? You in there?” No response. “Pomni? I know you’re probably not having a great time, but do you think you could finish up? Someone’s waiting out here.” No response. Ragatha knocked again. Still nothing. She shrugged. “This door has ended up locked when no one was in there once or twice before. Maybe you could find Caine and ask him to open it for you?” “…” Ragatha’s demeanor soured a bit. “And if that doesn’t work, you could try asking Jax! Because apparently we all found out that he’s” – she made rabbit ears on her head with her pointer fingers, and took a mocking tone of voice – “got keys everywhere! Maybe one of them is the key to the bathroom.” “…okay…” Gangle said. A pair of teardrops fell from her ceramic cheeks, and two new ones appeared in their place. “Anyway, good luck, Gangle. I’m heading to bed. Goodnight!” Gangle watched her leave, and took a deep, forced inhale. Caine was never around when she looked for him, so it would have to be Jax. Her body didn’t want to stand still, but the last thing she wanted to do was end up writhing around like a desperate idiot in front of that smug bunny, so she summoned up her willpower, exhaled, and made her way back up to the living quarters. When she turned the corner into the corridor, the first thing she saw was Jax himself coming the other way, having arrived back at the door to his own room just as she appeared. “Ah, Gangle again!” Jax said. “There’s nothing more pleasant than running into you twice. How ya been? We talking again?” Gangle put her hands together, glanced down at the ground, and then looked up at his face. “Do you have a key to the bathroom?” she asked. Jax looked confused, but then his mouth spread open in a typical, face-consuming grin. He whipped a key out of nowhere. “Oh, you mean this?” he asked. “Sure I do. It’s right here.” “Can I borrow it?” “Whatsa matter? Gotta go?” “Kinda…” “Wellll, I dunno Gangle! You were pretty rude to me earlier. What did I ever do to deserve the silent treatment from you?” “Well…” Gangle said. “You were kind of a jerk today… like when you threw a bowling ball at me and Kinger, or shoved–” “Oh, come on!” Jax interrupted. “I only threw it at Kinger. And anyway, you’re bringing that up? Maybe you need to learn a thing or two about moving on. The past is the past! Can’t we all just get along?” Gangle tapped her hands together nervously. The difficulty of not turning into that squirmy, desperate idiot was high and climbing. Her body was trembling imperceptibly. She shifted one of her feet across the carpet. “So can I have the key?” she asked. “Hmm…” Jax said, making an exaggerated gesture of deep thought with his thumb and forefinger. “On the one hand, I could give you my key, and just have to cross my fingers that I can trust you to give it back. On the other, I could keep it for myself… and send you to bed shivering and trembling like a madwoman!” He smirked at her. “I think I like option two.” Okay, she had thought it was imperceptible. Maybe it was more obvious than she realized. She wondered if Ragatha had been able to tell how urgent it was. “You could just unlock it for me, if you’re worried ab–” “Nope!” Jax said. “Sorry, I’m tired of this conversation. I’m heading to bed.” He opened the door to his room, turned back to smile at Gangle as he set the key down on top of his dresser, and shut the door behind him. Gangle stared at his closed door, fighting back tears. She involuntarily crossed her legs, and put her hands to her face. A soft squeak escaped her. The urge to pee was mounting fast, and impossible to ignore. She was running out of ideas. Once she got control over her legs again, she hobbled out to the balcony and looked around to see if Caine was anywhere in sight. “C-caine?” she called softly. There was no answer. “Caine?” she called again, almost managing to produce something above an indoor voice. Still nothing. She thought about calling out again, maybe even louder this time, but the massive discomfort coming from within her body – that empty space inside her coil of ribbon – was seriously sucking the charisma out of her. Her feet were shifting constantly as she stood by the hole where Kaufmo’s abstracted form had plowed through the wall earlier that day. Her hands couldn’t stop moving. For the first time she could remember, sweat drops were accumulating on her mask alongside tears. Finally, she couldn’t take it. She dashed down the hallway to her room, seized the handle, ducked inside, and slammed the door behind her. It’s not like there was a bathroom in here either, but at least now she could be alone. When the adrenaline died down, Gangle looked around the room tearfully. Her broken mask was still sitting on her desk. There was no chance of fixing it tonight. The art supplies would also have to wait for another day. Sometimes she liked to stay up late into the night drawing, but tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights. If she couldn’t get into the bathroom, there was really nothing left to do but go to sleep, and hope it would be unlocked in the morning. She slunk over to her bed, laid down in it, and pulled the covers over her body. Every now and then, she wished she had a body pillow to cuddle with. It might make the intrusive thoughts hurt just a little less… or in this case, make her urge to pee just a little less distracting. But she didn’t, so instead, she just laid there, wriggling and curling and whimpering, fighting back the ocean inside her as she waited for sleep to come. – Sleep came, but morning didn’t. When Gangle woke up again, she knew it was still the middle of the night. Her body woke her up not because it was time to get up, but because she was going to piss herself within the next 10 minutes if she didn’t do something fast. She winced, stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then slid out of bed and crept out the door to her room. Her bladder was making it hard to walk normally. She made her way down the stairs and across the floor to the bathroom again… …only to find the door still locked, like before. “%$#!” she said softly, the black box of censorship appearing over her mouth as she did. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody else seemed to be awake. She hobble-ran back up the stairs, but tripped on the top step, sending her flying face-first into the ground. She picked herself up, gangled over to Jax’s room, and paused outside the door. It wasn’t like her to do this… but desperate times called for desperate measures. She grabbed the handle, and, as gently as she could, pushed the door open. The first thing she heard was Jax’s loud snoring, which gave her the confidence to creep further into the room, towards the dresser where the bathroom key still was. She looked over at Jax to make sure he wasn’t faking being asleep – he wasn’t – and reached out to grab the key, before hesitating again. It was so not like her. She really hated to be so intrusive… but there was no time to sit around internally debating it. The clock was ticking. She grabbed the key, crept back out of the room, and began slowling closing the door behind h– “Gangle?” “Deeh!” It was Ragatha. She was standing out in the hall, hands on her hips, looking in confusion at the poor bursting ribbon. “What are you doing?” “Um, ah, I was just…” She trailed off. “Were you sneaking into Jax’s room?” Gangle put her hands together in front of her chest. Her legs were quivering and rubbing against one another. Anybody looking at her would know immediately that she had to pee. She looked to the side, and didn’t say anything. “…is that the key to the bathroom? He actually had one?” Gangle looked back and nodded. “You still haven’t gotten to go?” She shook her head. Ragatha gazed at her, her expression softening from exasperation to empathy. She put her hand on Gangle’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” Ragatha said. “I get it. Jax is a di… Jax can be a bit of a jerk sometimes. Go ahead and use the bathroom. I won’t tell anyone you snuck into his room. Just don’t do that again, okay? Respecting people’s personal spaces is important, even when you have every reason not to like them.” Gangle nodded. She was barely listening. She didn’t have the mental capacity to. She could barely even move. It wasn’t until Ragatha raised her eyebrows at Gangle and gestured down the hall that she realized she was free to go. She dashed back down the stairs again and ran across the floor, almost slamming into the bathroom door when she reached it for the final time. Her hands were shaking so badly that she almost dropped the key. She juggled it for a second before regaining her grip on it, shoved it into the lock, and turned it… …only to find it wouldn’t turn. She tried turning it the other way. No dice. She slid it out and slid it back in. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. And that was when it hit her. Jax didn’t have a key to the bathroom. He was just being an asshole. This was just some random key he happened to have on him when she’d asked. It could be the key to her room, for all she knew. But it wasn’t going to help her here. “Nhh,” Gangle whimpered. “Why…!?” She looked over her shoulder again, but this time, there was nothing to be done. Pee came spurting out from between her legs, slowly at first, then faster, as the poor girl’s overloaded bladder finally gave in and released its full days’ worth of piss onto the floor. Tears streamed down her mask, and blush lines appeared under her squeezed-shut eyes. The pee came for almost a minute before finally dying down. Looking back on things later, Gangle’s least favorite part of her accident wasn’t the discomfort she felt during the lead-up or the panic of getting caught sneaking into Jax’s room. It wasn’t the awkwardness of having to soak her ribbons in the digital lake to get the pee smell out of them. It wasn’t even the embarrassment of losing control of herself right outside the bathroom door. And it certainly wasn’t having to explain the puddle on the floor to the others the next morning, because as a matter of fact, the puddle was gone by the time they all woke up, and she never had to explain anything. It was seeing Bubble in an especially chipper mood the next day, his soapy body perhaps just a shade yellower than usual, and knowing exactly what had happened.
  9. “Please??” The human boy smirked down at the cat enby in front of him. Eli, the boy, was nearly a head shorter than Ezra, but he was still smirking down at them because the poor kitty was hunched over, paws shoved between their legs and tail twisted into a knot, desperately trying not to piss themself in the middle of the Target the two were standing in. Hours of desperate whining and tugging at Eli’s shirt had finally made the boy cave and bring them to the bathroom. It had been occupied, so the pair had waited outside the door, Ezra unable to stop pacing and Eli unable to stop grinning. When the bean inside had finally come out, Eli had grabbed Ezra by the paw and ordered them to wait another five minutes before going in. And despite what a good kitty they’d been today, now he was telling them he’d changed his mind, and wasn’t going to let them pee after all. “Oh my god, please,” they begged. One or two people were looking on curiously, but Ezra didn’t even notice. They grabbed Eli by the shirt collar, claws hooking into the fabric. Their demeanor was quickly turning sour, but it only made the boy’s smile wider. “Eli.” “Yes, my Ezra?” “I need to pee.” “Yes, and?” Their claws extended further, and their ears turned back, but Eli was unaffected by the menacing. “What’s the matter? Poor kitty can’t control their bladder?” They growled. The furious catby was standing still now, as they usually forced themself to do when they got angry. Their tail was puffed up like a Christmas tree. Eli made a mock-pouty face. “Poor baby,” he said. “Guess you just need to find a way to handle it.” He grabbed their paw and removed it from his collar, and began walking away from the toilet, pulling them along with him. Their other paw flew to their crotch, and as soon as it did, Eli added another comment – “idiot” – and Ezra hissed at him for it. As he dragged his fuzzy sub away from the restroom, Eli was acutely aware that his own bladder was quite full as well. He’d intended to pee after they did, but telling them “no” was so much fun that it had slipped his mind. Well, no, that was a lie – it was too urgent to slip his mind. He’d held it on purpose, because he wanted to tease Ezra by acting like he didn’t need to go, because he enjoyed the feeling of fullness and need, and because years of being Ezra’s hornyfriend – sometimes the dom, and sometimes the sub – had taught him that good things come to those who play with fire. And fire it was becoming. His bladder was decidedly not happy with his decision to put off peeing, and it was voicing its displeasure loudly inside his tum. He wondered how much longer he’d be able to hide it from Ezra. Already he was sorely tempted to grab between his legs… but then again, the poor kitty was a bit out of it at this point. He settled for putting his hand on the waistband of his pants and adjusting his belt, and then promised himself he wouldn’t show any more signs of needing to pee for the rest of the outing. “F…f…fuck!!” came the anguished voice of the kitty. They yanked their paw away from Eli, shoving it into their crotch along with the other as they twisted their legs into a knot. Their breathing was hard and rough, and tears were coming to their eyes. “Doing oka–?” Eli began to ask, but they were interrupted. “I can’t!! I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t, fuck, I can’t–” Ezra cried, and they launched out of their pretzel pose into a mad sprint back towards the bathroom. Eli thought about calling out, but didn’t. There was enough pain in the poor kitty’s voice to convince him that this was truly a hard limit, and that any attempt to delay them further would be vetoed with the safeword. He stared at their ass as they retreated, and began to follow. The bathroom door slammed shut just as he turned the corner. No one else was around, so he invited himself to stand outside and listen to their pissing. It would be quite the tease to his own bladder… and that was half the reason he wanted to do it. The stream began almost immediately, and sounded loud enough that it could have been the sink faucet, if not for the unmistakable aural quality of liquid splashing into liquid. His bladder twinged hard; his dick perked up a little; his smile became a mirthful grin. The splashing went on for almost a minute. Someone had to go. Finally the peeing stopped, the toilet flushed, the sink and the hand dryer ran, and Eli’s best friend emerged from the bathroom, tail between their legs – literally. “Sorry…” they said. “I… I had to pee.” Eli reached up and put his hand behind their ears, scritching them affectionately in their favorite spot. “Bad kitty~” he teased. Their countenance brightened at the scritching, but folded back up a little at his words. “Hhhh… s-sorry…” they said again. “That’s okay, cutie,” he said. The scritching continued, and turned into petting. “Next time you’ll wait forever?” he asked. “Next time I’ll wait forever,” they echoed. “Good kitty.” They exchanged a peck, joined hands, and made their way back into the store, Eli once again declining to drain his tank, despite its insistent demands that he deal with it now. The pair wandered around for a bit, the boy showering his cat friend with physical affection whenever the two were alone as a reward for holding so well, until eventually they came to the clothing section. “Hey,” he said to them. “Wanna try on some outfits? Maybe we can buy you something today. You know, for being such a good kitty.” “Sure!” they said. Trying on clothes, especially with Eli, was one of their favorite activities. Who doesn’t like feeling cute? They walked around and gathered a few candidate items, then convened in the changing area, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and ducked together into the same stall. Eli tossed his picks next to Ezra’s, sat down on the bench, crossed his legs, and gazed up at them blissfully. They leaned down and kissed him once more before beginning to undress. The first outfit was a pair of tight, high-waisted black shorts, the kind with multiple buttons, and an orange tank top that left nothing about their tum to the imagination. They spun around to give Eli a good look, which he took liberally. Next was a black sweater with a red stripe across the chest, paired with an unlikely twin: a pink, less-than-knee-length skirt, which they lifted up with a sly expression so that Eli could see their underwear – not that he wasn’t already seeing it every time they undressed to change, but somehow this was even hotter. Next was a striking, solid-white tux with a bright green tie, which Eli stood to straighten for them. Fourth was… “…hey…” Ezra said. Eli smirked up at them as they held the pink bikini in their hands. He uncrossed his legs and bent forward a bit. “Yes, cutie?” “Did you–” They looked at the door and lowered their voice to a whisper. “Did you pick this out just so I’d strip naked?” “Cutie,” he said, his hand unconsciously migrating back to his belt. “I can neither confirm nor deny these unfounded accusations.” They smirked. “Say yes and I’ll do it.” He grinned. “Yes.” “Thought so. Got you.” So their underwear came off, exposing their naked body entirely to their friend, and the pink bikini bottom went on. They handed the top to Eli so he could help them into it, and once he’d done so, he spun them around, took them by the shoulders, and looked at them the way a sculptor looks at a finished statue. “Gosh, you’re something,” he said. He slid his hands down their sides and rested them on their hips. “What a beautiful devil you are. Really.” They smirked again, and wrapped their paw around his head, petting his hair. “Someone feeling a bit horny?” “You could say that,” he said. He stepped in closer, pressing his body against his friend’s, crushing his bladder (but not caring). His tight jeans had already been giving him a hard time, and the extra pressure made it just impossible to stand still. So he grinded himself against them, pressing his crotch into their thigh, using it as a source of physical pleasure as well as a much-needed squeeze of his nethers. And their paw slid down and rubbed his back as they kissed the top of his head. And the next thing they knew, there was a loud knock at the door, and a voice snapping at them sharply. “Hey! You two had better get the hell out of that stall and scram, before we call security. Get changed and get out.” The noise startled Eli badly, and very nearly scared the piss out of him in the most literal way. He took a moment to compose himself and return to his usual state of unflappable calm. “Guess we’re caught,” he said to Ezra. He took the opportunity to smack their ass a few times. They probably wouldn’t be back in a pink bikini any time soon. “Guess so,” Ezra said. They pushed him away gently and hurried to change back into their normal clothes as he stared at them hungrily. His bladder was still giving him hella trouble, and he found his hands lingering in front of his crotch with the fingers intertwined. He decided it would be too difficult to try to remove them, and just hoped he wasn’t being too obvious. When Ezra was all dressed up again, the pair opened the door and slunk past the employee who had found them out, leaving the clothes behind in the stall. They made their way to the exit. Ezra slung their arm around Eli’s shoulders. “Hi,” they said. “Hi,” he replied. “Did you enjoy today’s session?” “I sure did, lovey,” they said. Their ears were perked all the way up, and their tail was swishing back and forth. Perhaps it had been a mistake to do something likely to get them worked up when his bladder was this full. He had meant to pee before they left, but circumstance had taken away his chance to do so. Whoops. “Something, uh… on your mind?” “Shh,” they said. Yeah, the jig was definitely up. Now it was just a matter of doing damage control. It was an hour-long trip back to his apartment, where the pair were heading next. Judging by the feeling in his bladder, that was about how long he had left. At this point he was pretty sure they wouldn’t let him get away with sneaking off to pee in the bushes. Their arm was gripping him tightly, pulling him into them, claws poking gently into his shoulder. He knew this mood. Possessiveness… the harbinger of torment. His heartrate picked up a little as they descended the stairwell down into the subway station, and he kept the best poker face he could as he tried to remember if he had enough detergent at home to run a heavy duty load of laundry tonight. Waiting for the train, Ezra stood on the platform near the yellow border, holding Eli’s hand tightly. Eli tried to stand next to them, but at this point standing still was so difficult for him that after just two minutes he gave up, let go of their hand, and went to go sit on one of the benches. They watched him, stared at him from a distance as he shyly refused to look back, then came over and sat beside him. “Is something on your mind?” they asked. Their mouth was just inches away from his ear; their tail curled around his body. “N-no,” he blurted out before he had a chance to think. As soon as he did think, he realized he’d made another mistake. The words came rushing back to him. Ezra had once made him write them out a hundred times over while he was on the verge of pissing his pants. There was nothing– “There’s nothing more pathetic than a liar,” Ezra said, a smug smirk plastered across their fuzzy face. They reached their paw around him and grabbed his arm again. “Do you need to pee, Eli?” He breathed. One lie was less bad then two. The best time to come clean is always now. “Y-yeah,” he said. “I kinda wanted to go before we left, but, well…” Ezra put their other paw on his chest and gazed into his eyes. “That’s not what you said the first time I asked.” His heartrate picked up even more, and the feeling of the pulse beating against their paw told him they could feel it too. And that in turn meant that his fate was probably sealed. The grinding had made them horny, and either the physical sensation of his tum had told them how full his bladder was or they had noticed his uncomfortable pose, and now their interest was piqued. He needed to pee badly, and with the spotlight of their attention shining directly on him, there was nothing he could do about it. They were a cat, and starting now, he was their mouse. “Maybe my lovey boy needs to drink some water,” they suggested. “I don’t believe you when you say you need to pee. You changed your story. Who’s to say it won’t change again? Maybe you’re just dehydrated.” “I… I think I’m good,” he mumbled, but he knew it was no use. They reached into his backpack and grabbed the one liter bottle inside. It had been meant for them; now he was sorely regretting bringing it along. They put it in his hands. “You’re making it so obvious that you’re uncomfortable,” Ezra said, looking at his legs. “Be a bit more subtle about it, would you?” “S-sorry,” he said. He crossed his ankles and pressed his knees together, hoping the tight posture would make a good enough substitute for the squirming and shifting he’d just been reprimanded for. “And get started on that water. I want it all gone by the time we get to your place.” He looked hopelessly at the water. There wasn’t room, and they knew it, but he knew who would win if he tried to argue with them in this state. He uncapped the bottle and threw back his head, drinking the first quarter of it in one go as Ezra’s claws held him firmly in place. “Good boy,” they said. “Purrfect boy. Keep doing what you’re told and I might consider going easy on you.” “Hhh…” Eli shivered involuntarily. The horniness from earlier was still there, but it had refocused itself from his friend’s body to his own situation. The sheer weight of the water in his stomach was making him need to pee even more, and suddenly it wasn’t feeling like he could last another hour… The train came, and the pair got on. Eli tried to find a seat, but Ezra led him forcefully over to a section where the seats were all taken, leaving him with no choice but to grab the handlebar and stand. He crossed his legs and tried to take his mind off the discomfort, but before his thoughts could wander far, Ezra tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at his lower half, and shook their head. He uncrossed his legs, looked desperately up at the ceiling, and tried to clear his mind. “– This is the 1-line, South, toward Angle Lake. –” said the announcer’s voice. And in his anxious state, it took a moment to register, but– “Wait,” Eli said. He looked at Ezra. “We’re on the wrong train.” “No we’re not.” “We are. My apartment is north of here. We have to get–” The doors closed, and the train started moving, and Eli sighed. Here came ten more minutes of travel he wasn’t expecting and probably couldn’t handle. “We have to get off at the next stop and turn around.” “Do we now.” It was a surprisingly firm non-question from someone who’d nearly been pissing their pants just an hour earlier. “We–” Eli began, and then remembered where he was, and who he was. “Um,” he said. “I-I mean, we don’t have to, i-it’s just, that, um…” Ezra was staring a hole through his head, and he trailed off. “How about you do a little less bitching about which train we’re on and a little more drinking the water you brought?” they suggested. “I, nng, sorry…” Eli breathed. He gripped the bottle and faced toward the window, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to conceal his face from any onlookers who had picked up on what was going with him. It was getting hard to hide. He stamped his foot on the ground gently and uncapped the bottle for another chug. As he drank, he felt Ezra’s paw come to rest on his butt. His face turned red, but he pushed through the embarrassment and focused on drinking the water down to a half-empty bottle. “You’re a purrfect boy,” Ezra said again when he had put it away. “A purrfect boy. That’s you.” “T-thank you,” he said. They put their arm around him again and pulled him into them, his shoulder digging into their chest. One hand gripped the handlebar; the other was squished between his body and theirs. He tried to wriggle it toward his crotch to give himself some relief, but he couldn’t manage to move it. It was stuck against their furry body. “You’re a purrfect boy,” they repeated. They were leaning in so that their mouth was inches from his ear. “But purrfect boys don’t pee. They don’t ever pee. You hear that? Purrfect boys don’t pee.” And they went on like that for minutes and minutes, repeating a dozen or so variations of their stance on purrfect boys over and over. Eli looked hopelessly out the window, shuffling his feet around on the ground as much as Ezra’s firm hold would allow and clenching his pelvic muscles like there was no tomorrow. The water couldn’t possibly have reached his bladder yet, but it felt like it had, crammed in there along with all the pee that had accumulated throughout the day, which he’d been holding back for hours now. Even without the extra volume on the way, it was starting to wear him down. Twenty minutes later, they reached the end of the line: “– Next stop: Angle lake. Doors to my left. This is the last stop. All passengers must deboard at this time. –” Ezra led Eli onto the platform and sat him down on one of the benches. He crossed his legs and began grinding his thighs together. “How’s my lovey boy doing?” they asked him after the crowd had cleared a bit. “Hhh, I… I… I need to, g-go to the bathroom,” he answered. His forehead was shiny with a thin layer of sweat. “Awww,” Ezra cooed. Their ears were fully perked up. “You’re not gonna let something stupid and petty like that cause you so much grief, are you?” “Hhh, sorry, i-it’s just… I really need to pee, I… I wanna go.” They shook their head. “Sorry, handsome. If you wanted to pee, you shouldn’t have lied to me. You’d be a lot closer to home right now if you had told me the truth.” And then they smirked. “Idiot.” He grimaced. “C-can I use a public bathroom?” “No.” By now the water did seem to be reaching his bladder. His tum was painfully taut and tense, and he was rocking back and forth as Ezra cuddled him. The northbound train pulled into the station a few minutes later, and Eli tried to stand up, but the catby wouldn’t let him move. “T-the train is here, come on, we gotta get on…” “Again with the demands,” Ezra said flatly. “Nnnnngggg,” Eli said, looking despairingly up at the sky. “Ezra, fuck, I gotta go. Please can we get on the train? Please?” “Nope,” they said. “Not until you finish your water.” He threw his backpack to the ground, yanked the zipper open, seized the water bottle, uncapped it, and began chugging. If he could finish it fast enough, there would still be time to board before– Shk! The doors slid shut, and the train began rolling out of the station. He lowered the bottle for a breathing break, looked forlornly at the departing train, then went ahead and chugged the rest. “T-there,” he said. “I drank the liter. Okay? Can I pee soon?” They smirked. “You can pee when we get to your place. How’s that sound?” He looked around helplessly. The next train would be ten or fifteen minutes. “Shouldn’t be a problem for a boy with a bladder as big as yours, right? Purrfect boy.” “But it’s full,” he protested. “I told you, I… I need to pee…” “Too bad.” And this time, there wasn’t even a follow-up. Too bad. That was that. So the pair waited for the train, and waited, and waited. Much to his discomfort, it took more like twenty-five minutes. The excruciating wait only made him worse off with each minute, and towards the end of it, he was losing his ability to sit still. By the time the announcer’s voice declared an inbound train coming in two minutes, the boy was constantly wriggling around and scissoring his legs in the least elegant, least rhythmic way possible, making it plainly obvious to anyone who looked at him that he really had to go, and wasn’t just dancing to music or fanning himself or some such. When it pulled up, Eli let go of Ezra’s paw, dashed on board, and made a beeline for the back where nobody would see him squirm. He sat down in the window seat and Ezra sat down beside him, locking him in, their hips pressed up against his. He slid a hand between his legs and squeezed himself hard. “Purrfect boys don’t grab themselves like that, lovey boy,” Ezra told him. They wrapped their tail around his torso and tickled his hand with it. “I… I can’t-t… ggggghhhhhh….” he groaned, and removed his hand, only to shove it into his pocket a moment later, trying to accomplish the same thing at a discount. It didn’t do much. He was still desperate to pee. It would be over an hour from here until their destination, which was nearly the northernmost stop. Panic was starting to set in. He definitely did not have that much time left anymore. The train left the station, and Ezra began coddling and caressing him again. Their paw found its way to his tum; he flinched and twisted away from it, partly because he was ticklish there, and partly because it felt like any pressure at all would make him wet himself. He tried to signal to Ezra with his eyes to be more gentle, but they weren’t having it. The cat scooted in closer, crushing the boy against the wall as his bladder pulsed and throbbed inside of him. The situation was spiraling out of control. Twenty minutes passed, and over the course of that time, Eli’s self-control and dignity slowly died out. First his hands came back to his crotch and refused to stay away, even when he tried repeatedly to remove them, and even when Ezra repeatedly reminded him that he wasn’t allowed to. Then his voice began to crack when he spoke, and grunts and groans of pain began to escape him. Finally the squirmy virus his legs had caught spread to the rest of his body, and he began writhing around in his seat like an inchworm. He looked around the traincar and saw dozens of people who might notice him and start staring at any moment. He looked out the window and saw that they were less than halfway to where they were going. He looked at Ezra and saw the same horny smirk they’d been wearing ever since leaving Target. He ran a light brown hand through his dark red hair, trying to reassure himself, but succeeded only in wiping off some of the sweat. Another ten minutes passed, and any semblance of control he’d once possessed was gone. Both hands were jammed firmly between his legs, his knees were twisting and untwisting every thirty seconds, his breath was audibly shaky, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Anybody who happened to look at him would instantly know he was having a pee emergency. He could barely hold it. And Ezra was whispering in his ear again: “Purrfect boy. You’re a purrfect boy. Such a well-behaved, purrfect good boy. Purrfect boy.” Finally he looked up at them with tears in his eyes. “Ezra?” “Yes?” He sniffled. “I need to pee.” They smiled kindly. Now it was their turn to understand. Eli wasn’t going to make it home. “Want to get off at the next stop?” “…yes…” They nodded. The frantic, uncontrolled squirming continued until the train rolled to a stop. When the doors opened, he dashed out of his seat and ran out onto the platform, looking back and forth wildly for a bathroom. There was none in sight, so he made a dash up the stairs, hand jammed into his crotch, and – thankfully – found one there. A unisex bathroom. He ran inside, slammed the door shut, and began frantically undoing his pants, first the button and then the– –first the button, then– –then the– … But when Eli gripped the fly with his sweaty, slippery, trembling fingers and tried to pull it down, it wouldn’t come. His damp eyes welled over with tears, wetting his cheeks. The zipper couldn’t be that stuck, but his bladder was burning to release, and it was becoming clear that he wouldn’t be able to hold it until he could get it free. Having been so close to relief, going back to the waiting stage was simply impossible. The pee was already spurting out uncontrollably into his jeans. He yanked at the fly, desperately trying to get it down before he pissed himself completely, but to no avail. Each failed tug left him wetter. When four or five spurts had come out, he switched strategies and began trying to tear his pants off without bothering with the fly, but they wouldn’t budge. The fit was just too tight, and it was too late anyway; he was having an accident. The pee streamed down his legs, soaking his butt, thighs, and ankles, and finally his shoes. When he was done peeing, he stood still for a minute or two, coming to terms with the fact that he’d just peed his pants in public, completely unintentionally. It had been a while since that had happened. Finally there was a knock at the door. It was Ezra. They smiled at him, their ears upright and relaxed. “Whoops,” they said. “Guess you didn’t make it?” “The zipper was stuck…” he said. Ezra stepped in and pulled the boy into a hug, ignoring the fact that the contact was getting their pants wet too. “It’s all right, my lovey boy,” they said. “You’re a very good boy. We’ll get you cleaned up as soon as we’re home. You can borrow my hoodie to cover up until then. Are you all right?” He couldn’t speak, but he nodded into their chest. Their paw came to the back of his head to hold him as he cried. “You’re a purrfect boy,” they said again. “A purrfect boy.”
  10. Content warning: war and death (depicted whimsically). – The three enbies comprising Team Starblaze were huddled together behind a boulder in the middle of a hot battlefield. Bodies were strewn across the trampled grass; the sun beat down from above and was responsible for more than a few deaths of the wounded; wooden arrows piled up on the ground like autumn leaves. “You fucker. I got them first. Don’t put a tally for yourself.” “Idiot.” On the back of the boulder was carved a table with three columns, labeled F, V, and G: Fritz, Valla, and Gale. Fritz held a chisel and hammer in their pale, slender fingers, and was busy adding the fifteenth tally mark to the F column. Before they could finish, Valla reached over and grabbed the tools out of their hands. “Asshole. I’m keeping these until you get another kill. That tally mark doesn’t count.” “Those are mine.” “Not anymore.” “Shithead.” “Cunt.” Gale glared northward over the top of the boulder, their body flopped over it like a towel. They held the team’s prize possession at the ready: Blazing Star, a bow of Katsura wood, blessed by a priest, passed down to them from nine and seventy generations past, said to have never been on the losing side of a battle. Each of the three enbies considered it to be rightfully their own. Today, it found its perch in Gale’s dark hands. “You’re both pricks,” Gale said. “Shut up and let me aim.” “I told you not to call me that,” Fritz said. “I told you to shut up.” “Maybe you’d be able to aim better if it was your destiny to wield that weapon in the final war of Geerd,” Valla cut in. Their round, chesty frame was curled up by Gale’s feet on the South side of the boulder, and they were fiddling with a slingshot. “Just saying.” “Fuck off.” A soldier from the enemy kingdom appeared out from behind a bush, raised their sword high above their head, emitted a reverberant holler, and began charging toward the stone. Team Starblaze was deep into enemy territory, and so was the entire army of Geerd. Another half mile and they’d be at the castle’s gates. Finally. After months fighting this wave of the war, the three idiots were getting sick of each other. Gale fired; the arrow pierced skin; the soldier fell. “I’m putting that one down as mine,” Valla said. “Like hell you are.” “Stop me then.” Gale shuffled to the side so that their legs were blocking the carved table. Valla tried to reach between their calves to add a tally mark, but Gale kicked at them until they backed off. “Fine,” Valla said. “I’ll just remember that I have one more than what it says.” They tossed the hammer down, but pocketed the chisel. “Now watch my back, I’m taking a piss break.” “I’m going first,” Fritz said, and stood up. “No you’re not,” Valla argued, rising as well. “I need to piss. Stay here. You can go after.” Fritz turned to face them down, a head taller and a barrel thinner than their companion. “I need to pee twice as badly as you do.” “I need to pee three times as badly as you’ve ever needed to in your life,” Valla retorted. “I haven’t peed since yesterday.” “You peed this morning.” “No I didn’t.” “I saw you.” “Pervert.” “Scumbag.” Valla crossed their arms and stuck their tongue out at Fritz. Gale turned their head to the side and gave the other two sideeye. “I need a piss break too, you know. Maybe I should go first because I have the most kills today.” “But I have the most,” Fritz said. “Only if you can’t count.” Valla stamped their foot on the ground. “I don’t have time for this crap. I’m bursting to piss. Gale, I’ll let you keep using Blazing Star for the rest of the day if you hold Fritz back and let me go pee.” “Sure,” Gale said. They grabbed Fritz by the straps on the back of their leather armor before the other enby could duck away. Fritz’s hands had been resting on their crotch, applying just a bit of pressure to emphasize how badly they needed to go, but the enby removed them and crossed their arms across their chest when Gale grabbed them. “Fine,” Fritz said. “If I can’t go first, then I’m going last. I don’t need to pee that badly. You’re both being babies. I can hold it.” “I’m not going first,” Gale said. “If you can hold it, so can I.” Valla looked back and forth between the other two. Their own hands had been lingering in front of their nethers, but now they crossed their arms too, and struck a defiant pose. “Well then so can I,” they said. “Fuckers trying to start a bladder contest when you’ve both peed more recently than I have. Whatever. I’ll still win.” “I’m not peeing until we win this battle,” Fritz said. “I’m not peeing until we win the war,” Gale said. “Well I’m never peeing again!” Valla yelled. The wind fell; the sun slid behind a cloud and darkened the world by five or six shades; warriors screamed in the distance, but far fewer than the number that had been there earlier in the day. The conflict was wearing on. Progress was slow but sure. The voice of their general rang out and called on them to advance. So the three enbies gathered their things, bitched at each other about who should carry what, and then avoided making eye contact as they tried to discretely appease their bursting bladders during the walk. As the day crawled toward dusk, Team Starblaze pressed onward, advancing from one strategic point to another, picking off Northern soldiers with their variety of ranged weapons as they went. Those who knew the three well might have picked up on their tell-tale signs of discomfort – Gale’s slow shifting of their weight from one foot to the other, Valla’s sour and impatient facial expressions, Fritz’s darting eyes and flushed cheeks – but as it was, each warrior was too distracted by their own bladder to care much about the others’. When parked and serving as snipers, they tried to stand still; when moving, they tried to move naturally. Day became night, and their bickering dwindled away as the cuties lost the will to do anything non-essential. And finally they came to the face of the Northern castle of Onn, and the forces of Geerd consolidated together at the gates to demand a surrender. The four thousand or so remaining soldiers were pressed together shoulder to shoulder, the members of Team Starblaze dead center among them and squeezed in like sardines. “Time for you to take a piss, Fritz,” Gale said. “Battle’s over.” “I’m fine,” Fritz spat, one hand resting on the waistline of their leather pants. “You’re the one who should be pissing. This is the end of the war.” “I don’t need to go.” “Crapass.” “Douche.” But the Northern forces did not surrender, so the voice of their general rang out again and called for them to charge and storm the palace. The wooden gates cracked and fell; the warriors poured into the courtyard for a final slaughter; Team Starblaze split off, entered the palace through a side door, and took to the corridors. “Where are we going?” Gale asked. “Finding Valla a bathroom,” Fritz said. “I’m not going,” Valla said. “But you need to.” “So what.” “Fine, piss your pants then.” “You’re a dick.” Fritz crossed their arms and huffed. “I told you not to call me masc-charged names,” they insisted. “Dick is gender-neutral.” “No it isn’t!” The three wandered up a flight of stairs, and then another, and then a third, and found themselves on top of the outer wall, looking out over the battlefield they’d just conquered. They lined up by one of the crenels of the castle wall to gaze out over it. “Shove over, you two,” Gale said, shouldering the other two away as they encroached from either side. “I was here first. Get your own crenel.” “Selfish fuck,” Valla said. “I’ll use whatever crenel I want.” They climbed up into the gap and plopped down inside it, legs dangling over the edge, blocking the view of the other two. “Move over,” Fritz said. Valla didn’t respond. “Move it!” Fritz said. “You’re in the way!” Valla didn’t respond. “Come on! Shove over!” Gale grabbed the lanky enby by the armor straps again, and held them still as they desperately tried to wriggle away. “Hey! Fuck you! Let go! I need to pee!” “Shut up, pipsqueak,” Gale barked at them. “I hate you. I hate the way you look. I hate the sound of your voice. I hate everything about you. Shut your mouth and be quiet, for once, please.” “Let go!!” they cried. None of the three of them noticed the sounds of a few last holdouts of Onn bounding through the nearby corridors, towards the sound of their argument. Valla turn around to face the other two. “You know, Gale has a point,” they said. “I kinda hate your voice too. You sound like a field mouse that’s been thoroughly fucked up by a barnyard cat.” “I do not!!” Fritz said. Their violent thrashing was clearly betraying the bladder predicament they’d been trying to keep on the down-low for hours (which they’d just shouted about involuntarily a moment ago) but the other two didn’t even care. “You do too.” “I do not!!!” “Yes you do. Prick.” The slender enby’s eyes popped out of their head, and finally they wrenched themself free of Gale’s grip. “I told you–” they screamed “not to call me that!!” They lunged at Valla, who was still sitting on the wall, and before they could think twice, shoved their companion clean off of it, down three stories to their death. “Frisk!” Gale cried out. “Frisk, you soulless fiend!!” Gale charged at them, toppling them over, and the two began brawling on the ground, wrestling each other for control and trading blows all over, until finally a castle guard burst through the door, approached them with their sword in the air, and drove it down through both their hearts. – The first thing each enby noticed when they awoke in Hell was how hot it was. The second thing they noticed was that they were still there. Not alive per se, perhaps, but still there. And the third was that they still needed to pee. The three of them were seated around a circular stone table, sitting on a bench that went all the way around it, positioned at equal angles. The table was stationed in a small, humid room barely big enough to accommodate it, with only a single door out. The door itself was barely big enough for a person fit through – Fritz would have to duck, and Valla would have to squeeze – and on the other side was a closet-sized room with a single, hole-in-the-ground toilet inside. Valla was the first to speak, and they addressed the other two in a haughty tone. “I’ll have you two know I’ve been here for five minutes longer than either of you, and in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t fucking pee. I’m sticking to what I said. I’m never peeing again.” “Assho–” Fritz began, but Gale interrupted. “Of course you didn’t,” they said. “You’re the same stubborn shithead you’ve always been. You wouldn’t pee if your life depended on it. Which it can’t, anymore.” “Nor yours either,” Valla fired back. They were squirming desperately under the table, but keeping as much of a straight face as they possibly could. “Good job getting yourselves killed. What did you in? Felt like jumping off the wall and coming to join me?” “I don’t see you still kicking around. And it’s none of your god damn business,” Gale said. Their legs were twisted into a knot and bouncing up and down. “For once I agree with pighead over here,” Fritz volunteered. Both of their hands were shoved between their legs, and their mousy voice was trembling with the effort of holding their pee. “And I’m not going either. You two are the shittiest friends I could ever ask for, and I’m going to prove for the divine record that I’m better than both of you, even if it takes me until the end of time.” “Fine,” Gale said. “I’m not pissing either. I see no reason to lose to a pathetic dork like you. Not like I’ll ever have anything better to do again.” “You’re both cunts,” Valla said. “And I’m going to outhold you both. I’m showing you once and for all who the real MVP of Team Starblaze always was, and I’m not quitting no matter what.” The three enbies glowered at each other, stifling moans in their throats and adjusting themselves in their seats in futile attempts to get comfortable. Between the vicious glares, they cast apprehensive glances around the room, taking in the limited scenery, and slowly coming to grips with the eternity that their final judgment had condemned them to. “I’ve got plenty of time.”
  11. @huberp76 Thank you! Glad you enjoyed :)
  12. @Chamomile226 Thank you! Glad you enjoyed. I definitely plan to keep writing, and although I don't have any ideas for a sequel at the moment, I might try to write one eventually :3
  13. This one is great too. There's so little trans omo out there, so I'm very happy to see someone posting some 😊 Don't hesitate to write more if you get the itch!
  14. Context: This is a story about a kinky couple. They have a safeword. – Spark knew something was different tonight the moment he opened the front door and looked Ace in the eyes, and although his sixth sense didn't tell him what it was, his dick provided a theory: Ace needed to pee. His heart started racing in his chest, but he swallowed forcefully and took control of himself again. Ace was the stunningly, irresistibly cute trans girl who'd been his It's Complicated for almost a year by this point. He loved her to bits for all sorts of reasons, mostly non-perverted… but one additional thing that kept him hooked on her, one little detail he couldn't let go of, was that in all that time, he had never seen her go to the bathroom. The girl would never admit to needing to pee, even when they'd spent all day together, and whenever Spark asked her about it, she would shrug it off, murmur that she was “all set”, and change the subject. He'd tried this at several points during their relationship, and gotten the same answer each time: Ace was fine. She didn't need to go. Tonight was different. He knew it before she even came inside, before he even said “hello”. Something – probably he'd never know what, but something – had kept Ace from going to the bathroom today, and in the end, she'd come over without emptying her bladder. His dick hardened immediately; his brain switched to planning mode. This might be his only chance to see what he'd wanted to see ever since he'd caught sight of the wonderful girl from across the bar last Summer. First rule: either Ace or the bathroom (preferably Ace) must be in his sight at all times. He breathed, blinked, internalized the rule. It might be a hard one to follow, but Spark was not going to let this opportunity slip away. If Ace used the bathroom tonight, he would know. “You okay?” Spark stared at her, and slowly cracked a smile. “Doing just fine, my lovely birdie. Come in.” She came in. Spark let the door close behind her, then grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss, which turned into two kisses, then three, and then several minutes of making out. It had become their standard greeting. Second rule: offer the girl drinks at every conceivable opportunity. Even a full bladder can need a little encouragement before it really becomes a problem its holder can't ignore. When the two were done drooling on each other, Spark grabbed Ace by the hand and led her to the kitchen (a nice place to be, given that the bathroom was comfortably in line of sight from anywhere within it). Two two-liter bottles of coke came out of the fridge. Spark scrutinized his partner's eyes carefully as he poured diet carbonation into his own cup, and regular into hers. He saw no signs of discomfort, at least not beyond the baseline. Fine. It was only 6 o'clock. He'd break her soon enough. “You forgot the vodka,” Ace said when Spark handed it to her. “I heard today that it's better for you if you start with a non-alcoholic drink.” She eyed the cup, eyed Spark, eyed the cup again, then eyed Spark again. A question seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it, and just took the drink. The pair went to the living room, which was a less nice place to be, because it was around the corner from the bathroom. If Ace left the room, Spark would have come with her to be sure she wasn't peeing. They sat down on the couch, and scooched in until their hips were touching. Ace caught Spark's eye; the horniness peaked; they made out again. As they kissed, Spark planned. It might come across as weird to keep following Ace around if she didn't stay in one place, but… wait. “Hold on,” Spark said, pulling back from the kissing. “Be right back. I gotta pee.” Third rule: fuck the first rule, Spark would just lock the bathroom door. He lived alone, so there was no danger of a roommate needing to pee while Ace was over, and the door could be unlocked from the outside with a key he kept in the kitchen drawer. Spark emptied his own bladder first, washed his hands, opened the door, engaged the lock, and closed it behind him as he exited. That made his heartbeat pick up once more. It was really happening. He grabbed the key and put it in his pocket, collected the bottles of soda from the counter and then came back to the couch. “The faster you drink that soda, the faster you get your vodka,” he teased Ace. The question from earlier came back to her mouth, and this time she asked it. “You really think it's necessary?” Spark nodded. A lie. “It's just…” Ace said. “I dunno, I don't think I really need it.” He kissed her. “Come on, birdie, I'm not giving you any alcohol until you drink it.” The two had developed a bit of a dom/sub dynamic in the time they'd known each other. Ace looked up at Spark; Spark stared her down with a smirk. Finally she looked away. Submission. He picked up her drink and put it in her hands. “Good girl,” he said. Playing Mario Kart might seem like a bit of a step down from the pair's earlier interactions, but the way they played, it wasn't. Spark sat in the center of the couch, and Ace sat on his lap. His arms reached around the girl to hold his controller, and he rested his hands directly on her crotch. Whenever Spark won a race, Ace would grind herself on his legs, and whenever Ace won, Spark would reach under her shirt and give her chest a feeling up. Sometimes they didn't even wait until the race was over. Six races in, and Spark's brain latched onto another oddity: Ace hadn't won any of them yet. Normally she won more than half the time! By now her first drink was gone, and Spark had refilled her cup with more soda, and this time, a shot. But, he left the shot out of his own cup when he refilled it. Fourth rule: no alcohol. Spark wanted to be fully conscious and sober for everything that happened tonight. Three more races, and Spark's win streak remained unbroken. He wrapped his arm across Ace's chest, not-so-subtly resting his hand on her boob. “Something wrong, my birdie?” he asked, planting a kiss on her neck. “No,” she said. “Why?” “Because you just lost nine races in a row.” She looked to the side awkwardly. “I guess you're getting good?” “Guess so,” Spark said. “Or maybe you need to pee, and it's distracting you.” Her cheeks turned red almost instantly when he said it. She looked away again, a grimace on her face, unable to even respond. The next race started without Spark pressing any buttons. She lost that one too, as well as the remaining six races in the match. “Here, birdie,” Spark said. “Come to the kitchen, I got something I wanna show you. Bring your cup.” Ace brought her cup and set it down on the counter when Spark told her to. It was still half-full of her second drink (the first alcoholic one). “I need that to be empty,” Spark said. Ace glanced at the bathroom door. “Why?” “Gosh, you're full of questions tonight,” Spark said. “Because I'm going to make you a new drink I invented, that's why. Bottoms up.” Ace put the cup to her lips, hesitated, then closed her eyes and drank it down. “Good girl,” Spark said again. He took the cup from her, and stared at his girl with hungry eyes. “Ready for it?” he asked. “I could use a break first.” “Sure.” He continued staring at her, his dick fully erect and pressing almost painfully into the crotch of his jeans. As he stared, his sixth sense began tingling again. Having spent 90 minutes with Ace, he was more sure than ever that she needed to pee. The look was still there in her eyes, and now she was shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot, her hips swaying provocatively as her mostly-bare legs took turns supporting her body. It was all Spark could do to resist grabbing her short-shorts by the belt loops and yanking them down right there in the middle of the kitchen. He looked her up and down, up and down. His eyes couldn't get enough. Finally she smirked at him. “Someone's horny,” she remarked. He grabbed her by the shirt collar and pulled her into him. “Someone's sexy,” he replied. Ace smiled, and this time, it was less of a controlled, teasing smirk, and more a mirthful, giggly grin that she couldn't have contained even if she'd wanted to. She was still shifting her weight back and forth, though now that she was practically pressed up against her boyfriend, she seemed like she was trying to be more subtle about it. “You look like you have more to say,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “Yeah, I do,” Spark said. “I got a question for you. Do you need to pee?” Ace's face turned beet red again, and her smile was replaced by another grimace. “Y-you're asking again?” she said. The swaying stopped immediately, and was replaced by a statue-still, if rather tense, standing pose. Got her. “I'm just making conversation,” Spark said. “So, do you?” She turned her head away, but kept her body where it was. “I… I'm f-fine…” she murmured. Spark wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. One hand grabbed her head and scritched her scalp. The other came to rest low on her back, then slid down a bit to find her butt. He squeezed her tight, trying to put as much pressure on her bladder as possible. His dick was pressing directly into her tum, and nearly pushing him over the edge. He wondered if the embrace was bringing her as close to the point of explosion as it was him… in a different way, of course. Spark knew the poor girl was forcing herself to stand still. Her body was too tense for the lack of motion to be natural. And from what he could tell, the aforementioned tum was firmer now than it usually was. Fifth rule: Ace does not fucking leave this apartment until she admits to needing to pee. It was too good. Too obvious. The girl was too fucking sexy to be let go without showing her hand. Spark would never be able to forgive himself. He needed to see her break. Finally Ace pulled back from the hug, and Spark had to wonder whether she was just satisfied with the amount of affection, or whether it was that she couldn't take the pressure anymore. “I'm ready for that drink?” she suggested. Spark patted her ass, and kissed her on the lips. “Of course, my good girl,” he said. He opened up the fridge and pulled out a jug of orange juice. “Hold the cup, birdie.” She picked it up and held it carefully in front of her. He uncapped the juice, looked her in the eye, and began pouring it in. This time he was sure it was affecting her. Ace was strong, but her eyes couldn't hide what she was feeling inside. She seriously needed to pee, and the splashing sound of the pouring liquid was making it noticeably worse. He poured until the cup was half full, then traded the orange juice for lemonade and filled it most of the rest of the way. Next he added a small handful of raspberries, and finally a squirt of concentrated lime juice. “Just need a shot of vodka,” he said. “I call it a Fruit Cocktail!” “Isn't that a salad?” Spark shrugged. “All right then, birdie, hit me with one of your genius names.” It was a running joke between them that she could think of a good name for almost anything, almost instantly. Quite a few of her names stuck around and became everyday phrases between the two of them. “Uhm,” she said. There was a silence. “Can't think of anything.” Spark smirked at her. She looked back at him and pretended not to know why, and he pretended not to know she knew. “Back to the couch, then? Movie time?” “Yeah.” Even in the Summer, the two lovebirds liked to cuddle under a blanket while they watched movies. Somehow it felt more private (and therefore, more intimate) than just sitting on the couch… as though the lamp would be spying on them if they didn't cover up. Spark sat normally, and Ace sat to his side, legs swung over his lap, intertwined with his. One of his arms was around her, helping her balance; the other hand was under her shirt, and its fingertips kept sliding down and slipping into her shorts. Spark couldn't help but notice that applying any pressure down there would reliably cause Ace to shift position, rearranging herself to get out of his grip and, presumably, relieve the pressure on her bladder. He did this periodically, trying not to make it too obvious what he was up to, but unable to resist the thrill of it. Half an hour in, and Spark noticed that Ace was starting to squirm just a little in his embrace. She wasn't full-on potty dancing or anything, but she couldn't quite seem to keep her legs still. She'd scissor them gently for fifteen seconds every now and then, cross them briefly and then uncross them a minute later, or wiggle in place as though to grind on Spark's lap. And every time she did one of these things, Spark heard a barely-audible grunt escape her throat under her breath. Spark paused the movie, looked at Ace, and glanced at her half-full cup. “Would you like another drink?” he asked. “I haven't finished this one,” she said. He smirked. “Someone likes to argue.” She gave him a look, and crossed her legs. “Someone likes to tell me what to do.” He kissed her. “Sure do, birdie. Drink up?” “Fine.” She picked up the glass, uncrossed her legs, bent forward a bit, and drank it. Spark reached under her shirt and scritched her back as she gulped it down. He tried to take the cup from her when she was done, but she gripped it tight and wouldn't let go. “I'm full,” she said. “Are you now?” “I don't want to drink any more.” “That's interesting.” Ace grimaced. “Unpause the movie.” “Yes, my birdie.” The cup she'd been drinking out of was (not by coincidence) the largest one Spark owned, around 800ml when full to the brim. By now she had drank more than two liters over the last three hours, and that was on top of a bladder already full enough that Spark had sensed something was up. It had to be getting to her. And by the looks of it, it was. Her squirming was amping up constantly; Ace was getting less and less subtle about the state of her bladder. By an hour in she was moving almost continuously, shifting her weight from side to side, repositioning her hands for no reason, and grinding her ass against Spark's lap to disguise the fact that she couldn't sit still if she tried. Spark wasn't watching the movie at all; he was entirely in his own world, focusing on her body, her bladder, her emotions, her everything. Fifteen minutes of grinding later, he couldn't take the tension anymore. He paused the movie again. “You definitely need to pee,” he said. Ace huffed. “Is this your secret fetish??” she asked. “I can't believe you're talking about that again.” He grinned. “It couldn't be more obvious, birdie.” She crossed her arms and stopped grinding, but Spark felt the immense tension in her body. It was, again, completely forced, and probably quite fragile. “I'm fine.” “You don't need to pee?” She didn't answer. “I think you might need to pee.” Ace rolled her eyes. Her face was the color of a tomato. “What's wrong with you?” “You're not answering my question,” Spark teased. “I said I'm fine!” “But you didn't say you don't need to pee.” “I… I don't.” “Don't what?” She glared at him. “Need to.” “Say it.” She squeezed her thighs together despite herself. Spark put his hands between her knees and pried them apart, forcing her legs to a 60 degree angle. She stayed silent. “Come on,” Spark said. “Full sentence. I wanna hear it.” “…I… don't need to go…” “That's not how I phrased it.” Ace looked at him fiercely, half incensed and half embarrassed, trying to play it cool but obviously quite riled up. She swallowed. “I don't need to pee.” Spark kissed her. “That's a good girl,” he said. “You sure?” “Yes. Can we please unpause the movie now?” “Anything for my sexy birdie.” During the rest of the movie, Ace kept her body much more under control. Her squirming stopped almost entirely, and was replaced by only the occasional change in posture or shift in weight. Her vocalizations, though, betrayed what was really going on. They were much more audible now, loud enough that she had to know Spark could hear her. Every two minutes she was grunting like someone doing overhead presses. Or someone getting punched in the gut. Or someone who desperately needed to pee but was constitutionally incapable of admitting it and excusing herself to use the bathroom. Spark was sure he'd cum in his sweatpants, but somehow he made it through the movie without an accident, and so did his girlfriend. She stood up and stretched immediately after it was over, and with her arms raised high above her head, arcing her body into a single, hotter-than-hell curve, Spark saw that her bladder was jutting out from her tum considerably. “Alright, I think I'm gonna head h–” Nope. Sorry, but Spark couldn't let her get through the rest of that sentence. He lept to his feet and stood next to her. “So! Birdie,” he said. He put his arm around her hips, and brushed her nose affectionately with his finger. “Birdie.” “Uh,” she said. “Yes?” She grabbed the waistband of her short-shorts with one hand, fiddling and fidgeting with it as the two of them stood in the empty living room. She spun her body back and forth at the waist, perhaps just a bit impatiently. “Birdie~” he said again. “What?” “Birdieeee~” he teased. She sighed. “Yes, my king? What is it?” “I was thinking we could try something tonight that we've been talking about.” She gazed at him. He grinned. “Bondage?” This brought a twisted, conflicted expression to her face. In their texting chats, she had been unspeakably horny for the idea, practically begging him to buy the supplies and try them out on her. And Spark knew she still was. They were on the same wavelength about this kind of thing. The only problem was how badly she needed to pee. Spark gave her ass a slap. “The supplies are in my car. I'd just have to run out and grab them.” “Hhh, um,” Ace said. She glanced over at the bathroom door again. “Okay, sure.” Spark grinned at her, kissed her, and then left the apartment. But he didn't head to the car immediately. Instead, he paused outside the front door, which was positioned quite nearby to the bathroom. He waited there in carefully-maintained silence for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty, and then… …and then, as expected, he heard a quick sequence of two sounds that almost finished him off right then and there: first, the sound of someone rattling a locked doorknob, and then the sound of Ace's voice, saturated with dismay and exasperation, softly exclaiming “Fuck! What??” He suppressed a giggle of delight, and dashed down the stairs and out to the car to get the stuff. When he returned, he did what he could to put on a straight face. Ace was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, legs crossed and jiggling, arms folded across her chest, looking angrily to one side. She uncrossed her legs and softened her expression the moment the door opened, but Spark still saw it. “Ready?” “…yeah…” They went to the bedroom, Ace resting her hands on her crotch whenever she thought Spark wasn't looking. Spark tossed the supplies down on the bed and turned to face her. She was shifting her weight back and forth again, and her forehead was visibly shiny with a thin layer of sweat. “Lay down,” Spark told her. Ace obeyed. “Put your hands above your head, at the head of the bed frame.” Ace obeyed. Spark slipped a handcuff over one of her wrists and snapped it shut. He ran the other cuff through the bars of the bed frame, then locked it over her other wrist. Ace twisted her body back and forth, moaning under her breath. Spark put a hand on her crotch to keep her still, and found she was just a bit firm down there. “Lie still, my birdie,” he said. Ace grunted and moaned, but managed to stifle her writhing. Her breath was rough and fast as Spark cuffed her feet to the base of the bed frame. She couldn't stop moving. “Good grief, birdie,” Spark said in a mocking tone of voice. “You really couldn't be being more obvious about the fact that you need to pee. It's embarrassing.” Her face turned red again, a hot shade of humiliation and shame. “I… I… I don't,,,” she sputtered. Spark sat down on the bed next to her, and stuck his hand up her shirt, resting it on her chest. “You obviously do, my birdie. You need to pee. Badly.” “I don't!” she cried. The words were mixed in with her pained breathing. “I, I don't, I don't n… I don't.” “Well,” Spark said. “I'd like to see a bit more of your body. Really, I've wanted to see that all evening. I think I'll take off one item of your clothing every time you say you don't need to pee. How does that sound, my birdie?” Ace was beginning to sniffle. Her body started twisting again. Her legs desperately tried to cross themselves, but couldn't get far because of the cuffs on her ankles. She didn't answer. Spark put his hand on her bladder bulge, which by this point was considerable. “Do you need to pee?” he asked. “No,” she whimpered. Spark grabbed her shirt by the hem and pulled it up over her head and arms, exposing her bra. He put his hand back on her tum and gave it a firm squeeze. Ace groaned and squirmed away. “It's so obvious,” Spark said. “You're dying to pee. You have been for hours.” “No,,,” Ace said. Spark reached under her back, unhooked her bra, and yanked it off of her, throwing it across the room. He slapped his hand down on her bladder hard, and she cried out in pain. “Your bladder is bursting. Your muscles are exhausted. You couldn't possibly need to pee more urgently.” “I-I-I'm.. nngngnggggg I'm fine!!” she yelled through gritted teeth. She squirmed and writhed under his grip, knees knocking together, butt slamming against the bed as she struggled against the bonds. Spark grabbed her shorts by the waistband and began unbuttoning them, making no effort not to dig his fingers into her bladder as he did so. He pulled them down around her ankles, leaving Ace exposed to the world, chest completely bare, crotch covered only by a pair of panties. “Please,” she said. “Please, please, Spark, hhhhh, please!” Spark smirked at her, and cupped one of her boobs in his hand. “You tried to use the bathroom while I was out getting these handcuffs.” That broke her. Her face completed its transformation into a tomato, and tears began streaming from her eyes. Her body was shaking with the pain and stress of holding her pee, and when she spoke, her voice was in pieces. “I-I-I-I-I-… ngn, I, nnnnnngggg, no, no, no, I, I, hhhh, I d-d-, I, I d-didn't!” Spark leaned in to kiss her on the lips, a gesture she managed to return despite her utterly fractured state of mind and body. “Sorry, birdie, but that was your last chance to get out of this.” He hooked his thumbs around the hem of her panties, and slowly dragged them down her legs, revealing her already partially-erect penis as they slipped off of her hips. He brought them down to her ankles too, put a hand on his birdie's chest to let her know he loved her, and grabbed what she once told him was his. His heart was pounding, her heart was pounding, the energy was palpable, and he began to rub. Ace's variously-inspired vocalizations merged together into one continuous stream of sound, sobbing and crying and laughing and begging and moaning with pleasure and needing to pee all at once. Her body was still twisting and writhing in place, simultaneously because she needed to pee as badly as she ever had in her life, and because she couldn't for all the world get enough of Spark's hand. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, telling her over and over how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how badly he'd been wanting her, what a good girl she was being, and how he wasn't going to slow down until she finished. She'd never felt more like herself. Finally it happened. Gasping and shivering with pleasure, Ace tipped over the edge and came on Spark's hand, on herself, and on the bed. Spark rubbed her just a little longer to make sure she was satisfied, and then leaned in and kissed her on the lips again. “You're a perfect girl,” he said. “A perfect girl.” “Hhhhhfmasndf fuckkk fuck fuck nnnnngngggg fuck, thank you, thank you, hhhhh fuck, hmgmshgmalmnhmmhdaljhhffffffff, hhh, thank you, ,, thank you, hhh, I love you, hhh, fuck… I… I love you…” Finally, for the first time in an hour, her body became still. She was breathing hard, but was slowly relaxing into a state of tranquility and bliss. “Ohhhh my godddd,” she moaned. “Spark.” “Yes, my love?” “I love you.” “I love you too.” They kissed again. For a few moments, they simply lay there, Spark's hand still resting on Ace's belly, still covered in her cum, just enjoying each other's touch and presence. But of course, there was another aspect of the situation that neither of them could forget. Within a minute, Ace was moving again, rocking her hips slowly from side to side under Spark's touch. “Something wrong, my wonderful birdie?” he asked. He wiped his soiled hand mostly clean on the bedsheets, and rested it on her shoulder. She grimaced, and looked to the side. “N-nothing,” she said. He felt her abs tense up in his hand, and the girl stopped moving temporarily… but seconds later, she was right back to it, and seconds after that, she was squeezing her thighs together uncontrollably. Her whole body was tense. Spark smirked at her again. “You need to go to the bathroom.” “I-I don't–” “You've needed to go since you got here.” “…” “You probably haven't gone all day.” She looked into his eyes. Everything about her body language was frantic. Her skin was covered in sweat. She was having an emergency. “I-I'd like to be untied now.” “So you can go to the bathroom?” She swallowed, and squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm not untying you until you admit it,” Spark said. “…” “Why do you need to be untied?” “…” He leaned in close, kissed her neck, and whispered in her ear. “Is it so you can go to the bathroom?” Ace nodded. “Use your voice. Full sentence.” “…” “Come on. Now.” “…” “…” “…it's so I can go to the bathroom…” A domineering grin spread across Spark's face. He smacked her bladder again. “Guess what?” She opened her eyes and stared timidly at him. “No.” “…what…?” “No. I'm not letting you go.” Ace blinked. “Ghh… I… what? …please?” He shook his head. She was full-on writhing again, twisting in place and panting with pain. Panic was slowly dawning on her face. “P… please?” “No.” “Wh… ghhh,” she moaned. “What… what do you need me to do to get untied?” Spark just smiled at her, gripping her bladder in his hand. He didn't need anything he didn't already have. “U-uhm, Spark? Do you… just want me to say that I… need to pee? Is that it? You kept asking…” “…” “Okay, um, hey, I…” She swallowed. “I need to pee. Okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I… have to pee.” With every word her squirming became more frantic, her voice more pained, the sweat on her naked body more visible. “Can you… can you untie me now? Please? I really… I really need to pee. Please.” “…” “Ghh… oh my god, please, Spark. Please. I really… need to pee now. I need to go to the bathroom. You kept asking me if I needed to pee. Yes, Spark, I need to pee. Okay? You were right, I haven't gone all day. I didn't get a chance. I needed to pee when I got here. And I need to pee now. Spark. Please.” The silence was torture. Intentional torture. “I… hfff… I don't… I don't know what else you want me to say. I… I've been hiding it all evening, I was gonna wait until I got home. Okay? I was hiding it. I've needed to pee this whole time. B… badly.” “…” “Spark. Seriously. I don't want to pee on your bed. Seriously. Please.” The girl was struggling violently against her bonds now. Tears were coming back to her eyes. Spark leaned his weight into her bladder, and Ace started turning incoherent. “Please, please, ohmygod, p-please, I… it's… please, Spark, it's so ur-, ghh, please, I-I can't, I can't wait. S-spark, please.” Spark only grinned, and leaned in harder. He knew it was coming. “S-spark!! Please! It's g-gonna, i-it's gonna l-l-leak! I- hhhh, nnnnngngggGGG!!” The first jet of pee spurted out of her, and dribbled onto the bed with an audible patter. Ace broke down crying, her sobs punctuated only by continuous groans of effort and pain. Spark ran both hands up and down her body, feeling every part of her, loving every part of her, and helping himself generously to, among other things, her overburdened bladder, which he squeezed and pressed and rolled to his delighted satisfaction. Another spurt of pee came out as he tortured it. He kept on playing until another followed, and then another after that, and finally, Ace simply couldn't stop the flow. The pee leaked out in an unbroken stream, just a trickle at first, but soon enough an appreciable jet. It puddled up on the bed, soaking Ace's ass as she lay there helpless, then Spark's too as he sat there next to her. He kissed and caressed and praised her ceaselessly as she peed, dipping his hand into the stream to feel her warmth, pressing on her tum to make the pee come out faster, and loving his girlfriend infinitely more than he ever had before. Finally, the pee was done. Any more and it would be spilling out over the edges of the bed and onto the floor. There must have been a liter and a half of it. No wonder he'd never seen her go before. She probably barely ever needed to. Spark lay down next to Ace and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead and softly telling her how beautiful she was as she sobbed. Until finally, like the pee, the tears stopped too. Ace opened her eyes. They looked at each other. “Doing okay?” Spark asked. He touched her cheek gently with two fingers. Ace looked around the room: at Spark, at the ceiling, at the soaked bed, at her own bare crotch, and finally back at Spark. “Yeah,” she said. He kissed her. “Wanna do something like this again some time?” “…” “…” “Yeah.”
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