He shook his head. “I'm afraid not, kitten. You'll just have to exercise a little patience.” He went back to his newspaper, ignoring her as if she didn't exist.
She gritted her teeth. Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for her. There was nothing for it but to focus her attention on other matters. Hopefully, she wouldn't feel the pressure on her bladder so much if she found something else to focus on.
Not for the first time, her eyes were drawn to the blue tarpaulin under her chair. It was large, covering an area about eight times as big as the area covered by her chair. Why had he put it there? He'd never used a tarp in their scenes before, although they probably could have done with one the night he'd trussed her up and covered her in whipped cream. She smiled at the memory of how messy it had been, although she hadn't smiled quite so much when he'd told her to clean the carpet afterward.
The tarp worried her. There was, of course, the possibility that he'd learned from the whipped-cream accident and was hoping to avoid a recurrence on his next attempt. She hadn't seen any whipped cream in the fridge, but perhaps he had hidden
it to surprise her? Or perhaps he was going to try something else this time. He had looked rather thoughtful when a kinky friend of theirs had told them about the time he had covered his sub in honey, and he'd smiled at her with the mischievous grin that usually spelled impending doom. The thing was, she didn't think he actually liked honey. Or did he? Did he like it enough to lick it off her cunt?
Thinking of her cunt reminded her of the problem she had been trying to ignore. It was becoming increasingly obvious that she could ignore it no longer. The pressure on her bladder was reaching critical levels, to the point where she didn't think that focusing on other things was going to help her anymore. She needed to go to the toilet, and soon.
“Sir?” she asked again.
He glanced up from his paper, looking a little annoyed at the interruption. She knew that this was an act. He couldn't possibly be as immersed in his newspaper as all that, not with her sitting naked and sweaty less than ten feet away from him. She was certain that he'd been watching her from the corner of his eye, amused at her fidgeting and obvious discomfort.
“Yes, kitten?” His voice was mock exasperated, as it often was in their scenes.
“Sir, I really need to go to the toilet. Please let me go to the toilet, Sir, or things could get messy, if you know what I mean.”
“You're already a mess,” he replied casually. “I mean, look at you. You're all sweaty and stinky. Your hair is a bloody disgrace. A bit more mess won't make a difference.” He smiled engagingly and turned to his newspaper again.
She groaned, feeling despair rise in her stomach. The pressure was becoming quite unbearable now, as if she could explode any minute. She had to make him see reason. She had to, before she dissolved into a giant puddle of pee.
“Sir,” she tried again. “I don't think you understand the urgency of the situation. Please let me go to the toilet, Sir. I'll do anything for you. Anything.”
“Anything?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “That's a dangerous promise, kitten. You know I might take you up on it. Are you sure you want me to do that?”
At the moment, I really don't care what you do to me
, she thought.
Just let me go to the loo and I'll do whatever the hell you want, no matter how dirty or public.
She gritted her teeth. “Please, Sir. I need to go very badly.”
He laughed. “I know you do, kitten. Trust me, I do.” He was silent for a moment, then threw her his most wicked smile. “You may be interested to learn that you're not the only one with a full bladder,” he continued in the emphatic tone he used when he was making a particularly important point. “As a matter of fact, I had a little bit too much tea myself this morning. And I haven't been to the loo since breakfast, as you may have noticed.” He looked at her with unmistakable glee in his eyes, waiting for the meaning of his words to sink in.
It took her a few moments to grasp his meaning. When she did, she felt as if she'd been hit with a sledgehammer. It was, by some distance, the most shocking thing he had ever said to her. More shocking than the names he sometimes called her. More shocking, too, than the things he occasionally asked her to do for him, some of which made her distinctly uncomfortable. It was so shocking that she froze and for a moment forgot all about the heat and the uncomfortable chair and the fact that her bladder was about to burst.
Of course.
That's
what the tarpaulin was for. He was going to pee on her. He was going to pee on her and didn't want to soil the beautiful carpet they had bought together. She supposed she should be grateful that he had considered this aspect of their
scene, but what she really felt was rage. Rage and an unholy amount of terror.
He had promised her that he would never pee on her. He had promised her when they had first gotten together that he would never do anything that disgusted her, and water sports had pretty much topped her list of things she found disgusting. She remembered telling him that she'd never talk to him again if he ever indulged in such a kink with her. She had meant it, too. But even so, it seemed that it was about to happen. Her own master was going to pee on her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Please, Sir,” she protested, hearing the terror in her own voice. “Please don't. I beg you.”
He made no reply. Instead, he rose and made his way toward her, unbuttoning his jeans and taking out his cock as he did so. She was not surprised to see that it was somewhat hard. Her begging usually had that effect on him, and he'd never been able to resist her when she was naked and sweaty. He had told her so himself.
He positioned himself in front of her, his legs nearly touching hers, his half-rigid penis pointed at her breasts. For a moment, she thought that she was going to faint. Surely,
surely,
he wasn't going to go through with this? She'd die if he did. She'd die on the spot, and she wouldn't even be sorry.
He looked down on her, searching her face. She involuntarily moved as far away from him as she could, pressing herself against the sticky back of the chair in a vain effort to put more distance between them. Judging from his amused smile, the movement did not go unnoticed. More likely than not, it only fueled his arousal. She had noticed before that he seemed to get off on her attempts at evasion.
He cocked his head to one side and arched an eyebrow at her.
“What's the matter, kitten? Why are you flinching away from me?”
She glared at him. “You know why,” she said stiffly, not bothering with the usual formality. If he was going to be disrespectful to her, he didn't deserve her politeness.
“You know why,
Sir
,” he corrected her. He looked at her sternly, then burst out laughing. “Oh, Mel. You are so easy to rile up.”
She stared at him, unsure what was going on. The pressure on her bladder was now such that she could barely think straight. Only one thought was clear in her mind.
Mustâholdâitâin.
“I have no intention of doing what you seem to be thinking I'm going to do,” Steve explained, his eyes aglow with merriment. “I just wanted to see how you'd respond, kitten. And I have to say, your response was
most
gratifying.” He laughed heartily at her indignation, as if he believed his cruel game had been the greatest prank ever. Then, at long last, he explained what he was really after. “I want you to give me your best blow job, kitten. Your slowest, most leisurely blow job.”
Her head nearly exploded at the rapid succession of emotions this order brought about. Relief flooded over her, powerful and intense and warm. It was as if a fire had been lit inside her, dispelling the chill that had momentarily taken hold of her heart. Suddenly, her life did not seem quite so dreary.
However, her relief quickly turned to frustration. How could she be expected to give him a leisurely blow job when she was squirming in her seat, feeling more uncomfortable than she ever had in her life? Hadn't she made it obvious to him that she really,
really
needed to go to the loo? She didn't think she could handle sucking him. Not now. Not while she was melting and glued to her chair and in danger of erupting in the most horrible way possible.
She began to remonstrate with him. She begged him to let her go, offering to give him her most sensual blow job
after
he'd let her go to the toilet. She even offered to give him a blow job that would last the entire duration of the football game he was planning to watch, but to no avail. He was implacable.
“I need relief
now
,” he calmly explained as he leaned forward and inserted the tip of his penis between her lips. “That's what the sight of your filthy, sweaty body does to me, kitten. So be a good girl and open your pretty little mouth for me and show me what you can do.”
Bracing herself, she told herself that she could do it. She told herself that she had given him countless blow jobs, slow and leisurely ones as well as fast and furious ones. She told herself that she could get him off before her own situation became untenable, notwithstanding his command that she go about the job slowly. It would be hard, but she could do it. She had to do it. She absolutely
had
to.
Ignoring the cramps in her underbelly, which were getting all but unbearable, she began to lick the tip of his cock, which was wet with precome. She flicked her tongue against the bottom of his head, then gently sank her teeth into him and began to suck him as he'd taught her.
Her ministrations soon had the desired effect. Within minutes, she could hear him breathe heavily as he steered his hard cock in and out of her mouth and told her what to do with it. As always, she found herself relishing his moans, as well as the compliments he paid her in between moans.
That's it, kitten. Just like that. Go on, that feels wonderful.
Soon his need for a slow and leisurely blow job seemed to evaporate. He shoved his cock deep into her mouth and pulled her head closer to him. She knew what was coming now, and to her own amazement, she welcomed it. She needed his cock in
her throat, needed it like she needed a loo. She needed to feel its full length and girth, as well as its power to take possession of her. It had been too long since he had last taken complete possession of her. And of course it didn't hurt that he generally came quickly when he fucked her face, which had to be better than a long, protracted blow job under the circumstances.
She tried to relax as he slammed into her as if it was the last thing he'd ever do. It was hard. She could feel the bile rising in her stomach, and on several occasions she gagged. Even so, she remembered her priorities.
Keep squeezing those pelvic floor muscles
, she told herself as he pushed himself into her and made her eyes water.
Tighten your pelvic floor muscles, relax your throat, swallow. Repeat
.
To her surprise, she soon found herself responding to the heat of the action. No sooner had she spat out her first mouthful of bile than she felt the familiar throb between her legs, intense and pulsating, craving a release. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her. Cocksucking generally got her hot and bothered, a fact Steve never failed to point out to her. So did having a full bladder. She had always liked the sensation of a full bladder pressing down on her vagina. Even as a young girl, it had made her extremely randy, long before she had been aware that the word
randy
existed. Even now, when the pressure was such that it was actually quite unpleasant, she could feel it add to her randiness. It all added up to one overwhelming sensation: that of enormous, inexorable
need
.
Need to come. Need to empty her bladder. Need to have one of her orifices stuffed completely while another emptied itself.
At that point, Steve's thrusts became faster. She heard the grunts that usually preceded his climaxes and knew that his orgasm was imminent. With a flash of triumph, she felt his balls contract against her chin as he shot his sticky seed into her. It
was such a huge load that she had to swallow several times to force it down. When he withdrew himself from her, she moaned at the loss of him, moaned at the sudden emptiness in a place that needed his presence.
Of course, Steve didn't fail to notice. “Look at you,” he said with a barely suppressed grin. “Such a cock-hungry slut. You can't get enough of it, can you?”
She shook her head. It wasn't the answer she wanted to give him, not even close, but it was all the answer she could manage.
He searched her face, still with that wicked glint in his eyes. “You're randy as fuck, aren't you, kitten?”
She shivered as he bent over and inspected her cunt. The mere touch of his fingertips was enough to make her lose control a little. To her horror, she felt a dribble of urine escape and trickle onto his probing fingers. She hoped with all her heart that he wouldn't notice, but of course he did. He always did.
“Oh, yes,” he said, clearly reveling in her embarrassment. “You are
quite
wet.” He paused, then flashed her his most devilish smile. “And getting wetter all the time, it seems.”
She cringed. Why did he always have to notice? And why did he
always
have to rub things in?
He touched her again, a little longer this time. She moaned. In her heart of hearts, she wanted nothing more than to give in to him, to let him take her on this journey he seemed to have mapped out for her. However, she was too much of a control freak to let it happen. If she allowed him to take her over the edge, she would make a mess of herself. It was as simple as that. And so she squeezed her muscles with all her might, forgoing her pleasure in favor of keeping her dignity.