The Long Walk Home

How do I have to pee this bad? It's been years since I've felt the level of desperation and pressure that I do now. Years since I really even had to think about the tug of war between my bladder and time. But here I am, hoping that I can wait out the final mile walk home, the urgent pang of urine sloshing around my bladder.

The night had started so well. I met a long-time friend at a restaurant for dinner and a couple of drinks. We spent the night catching up, talking about our lives, our hopes, the future. Throughout the evening we shared stories that made each other laugh and shared advice on how to handle the light difficulties that life had presented us both as relatively affluent suburbanites, living just outside the city.

Kelsey, my friend spent a good chunk of the night complaining about her job and I did the same. And while she wouldn't be classified as terribly attractive, our personalities always seemed to gel just perfectly, often making me wonder about what a more physical interaction would be like. At about 5'5", she was a little on the heavy side, with short blonde hair, wire glasses, large breasts and a big bottom. She tended to stay away from the details of her romantic entanglements, but every now and again would share a detail that would add a piece to the puzzle of her sexuality.

We had three or so drinks with dinner and, instead of taking an Uber, we decided to walk home. Despite living in roughly the same neighborhood, we had agree to check out this restaurant a few miles away. As we both decided we didn't want the evening to end, we kept ordering drinks.

As we got ready to leave, I decided to go to the bathroom once more, just to be sure I could make it.

But that was then.

After a few drinks everything seems closer than it really is. So here we are, half-way home and I have to pee like I haven't in years.

At first, I thought about stopping to just go behind some bushes. But Kelsey and I never had that kind of relationship. While good friends, we were never comfortable enough with each other to even divulge details of our sex lives, much less public urination tips. Besides, it'd be embarrassing to have her know I couldn't control my bladder enough to get home.

So we carried on, her not knowing I had to pee and me clenching my teeth in hopes of making it another mile.

We moved another couple of blocks before the need, the urge returned in force. I flinched slightly, clenching so as not to let the coursing urine river free.

Kelsey carried on happily chatting about her perfect job and her ideal set of circumstances to thrive in the city. I was present as I could be, but the gnawing yellow menace jumped on my bladder.

The first outward sign of distress came about a half-a-mile from her house, 3/4 mile from mine.

The pressure disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me to feel like I was in the clear. But, out of nowhere came the sudden force, like tsunami headed for the tip of my member.

I stopped, suddenly.

"Are you okay?" Kelsey asked.

"Yeah," I responded, "just a cramp."

After a beat, the pressure subsided and we carried onward towards her house. Knowing the hands of time were pressing directly on my bladder, I picked up the pace, moving towards Kelsey's house.

Yet, it wasn't another two blocks before the pounding pressure returned, with a shot of adrenaline so stiff, I could feel it in my neck and taste it in my mouth, like a computer with a virus, freezing. I crossed my legs and stuck my hand in the waistband of my khaki shorts.

This time, it was obvious. Too obvious. Again, Kelsey tried to help me, "everything okay?" She asked again, clear that she wasn't going to state the obvious.

"Yep, I just have to--"

"Pee?" She cut me off.

I nodded quickly in agreement.

"Well, go!" Kelsey encouraged, "Go ahead, I won't look."

"It's okay," I said, "I'll make it."

She looked at me, then down at my hand in my khakis and offered a simple, "You sure?"

Never would I admit it, but the fact of the matter was that I didn't exactly feel well-endowed. And Kelsey had a mixture of quiet and satisfaction without much of a real sex life, that it could be assumed that a 9" dildo awaited her by the side of her bed. My 6" grower, even from behind a tree would look and sound small.

I put on a brave face, reassuring her, "It's okay, really I'm good."

And we were. The urgency subsided. I was going to make it. Until we got to her driveway.

We were saying goodnight, chatting about the next time we were going to hang out when piss rushed in so harshly that I swear my molars were drowning.

"Can I please use your bathroom," I cut her off mid-sentence. The urgency outweighing my manners.

A spurt of hot piss shot into my boxer briefs.

"Please?" I pleaded, losing all sense of dignity.

"Erm, sure," She acquiesced.

Now, Kelsey didn't really like people in her house, that included friends and strangers alike. But this was an emergency and she knew she really had no choice in the matter.

She unlocked the door and headed in. "Bathrooms on your right," she shouted over her shoulder, putting her purse down on the sofa.

Taking small, measured steps, I followed behind. I didn't notice her decor or her landscape photo wall art or her cluttered bookshelf or her couch that looked like it's never been sat on or any of the details of her home because the moment I stepped through the threshold and into the kitchen, I knew I had a problem.

Three...two...the clock in my head was going off, the alarm was flashing red, sirens everywhere. I wanted to run to the bathroom. Rip off my pants if necessary. Hell, briefly, I had the feral thought of pissing in her sink.

One.

No matter how badly I wanted to move, to run, my whole body spasmed, feeling like static ran from my neck through my arms, shooting lightning into my bladder. I was stuck.

Zero.

"Oh god," I whispered.

"What's happening?" Kelsey shouted from the living room. "The kitchen really isn't that dirty."

Then it started. Frozen as a warm jet of pee leapt from my dick straight into my pants, creating an unmistakable river patten along my khaki's, creating a stain of shame. The warmth, the relief. It was all temporary as Kelsey rounded the corner.

"What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing?! Are you pissing your pants in my house?!"

I couldn't respond, frozen, I tried to regain control. She saw what was happening. Could read the shame and humiliation on my face.

Worse, she could see the wet outline of my penis through my khakis.

"Oh my god!" She shouted, "how old are you? Can't you control yourself?"

"I couldn't hold on any longer," I muttered, shifting my eyes to the floor.

"You look like a little kid who was too embarrassed to tell mommy he had to go to the bathroom at the supermarket."

There was nothing I could say. She was right. But my dick had an unexpected reaction to the abuse. I was getting hard.

"Tell me you're not pissing your pants and getting a hard-on!" She shouted.

Everything was laid out plain. I couldn't deny it. Couldn't blame the light or my bulge or anything else. I had an erection, moments after pissing my pants.

" Can I please use your shower?"

"You're hard, in my house, after pissing all over my floor and you think I should let you get naked?!"

"Please, I need to clean up."

"You should've really peed outside."

"I was embarrassed."


"And this was better?!" Kelsey said, making sure she made eye contact with me, "Pissing your pants is better?!"

"No," I mumbled, "I really thought I could make it."

"Well, news for you, you didn't." She threw me a towel, "Go. Shower."

I entered the bathroom and, as I went to close the door, I heard a firm, "Leave the door open. I want to make sure you don't touch any of my stuff."

"But-I-I need to get rid of this," I said, pointing to my hard-on.

"Oh, no, no, no." Kelsey said sharply, "If you're going to piss your pants in front of me, you're going to cum in them too. Come here."

I returned to the kitchen, where a puddle of my pee stood.

"Go ahead. Tug away. Give me a show with that little cock of yours."

"Good boy," she encouraged me, "tug that little dick harder. I don't have all day."

Doing as I was told, I felt the rapid cooling urine covering my balls and taint.

"Hey, look at me." She commanded. "I'm going to enjoy this part. You know, I used to think about us having sex as I railed myself with my big dildo, screaming your name. Now, you're going to do the same." She pulled out a medium-sized butt plug, lubed it with her mouth and instructed me to bend over.

I did as I was told, "Good little submissive boy," she cooed.

I always wanted to try anal with a girl. I thought the concept of putting my cock in her tight little asshole so humiliating for her, so deliciously degrading, so submissive to let someone violate you like that. Many times, I heard the grunts and stifled cries from Kelsey in my fantasies as I slid my member in her butthole. Now the shoe was on the other foot.

She railed the butt plug in and out for two or three minutes, before pushing it all the way in and letting my sore asshole stretch around it. She patted my piss-soaked ass and said, "Good boy."

Peeling off her shirt and jeans, she revealed her heavy-set figure in a thong and enormous bra. Seeing the tears stream down my face, "bounce," she commanded.

I rocked on the butt plug in a puddle of my own urine, pulling on my dick, hoping soon this would end.

"Shout my name," she demanded.

"Kelsey," I said back.

"No. Shout. It."

"Kelsey!" I said louder.

"SHOUT IT."

"KELSEY."

She was playing with herself now, getting off on the fact that she now owned me.

"Does my little boy need to cum?"

"Yes, please."

"Beg. Me." Her sadistic eyes turned towards me.

"Please Kelsey, please may I cum."

"Not before me."

After a few minutes of vigorously playing with her self, she walked over towards me, forced my tongue onto her clit by roughly grabbing my hair and forced me to get her off. She squealed in delight, her heavy legs squeezing my head until it felt it would pop.

Panting, screaming, her legs quivered before she shoved me back against the cabinets.

"Cum in 3," I tugged furiously.

"Two," I was so close.

"Look at me!" She demanded one final time, pausing before saying, "One. Cum in your pants, little boy."

She maintained eye contact with me as jet after jet of hot cum shot into my grey boxer briefs.

"Looks like little boy made another mess," she laughed. "God, you're pathetic."

I went to clean myself up, but was cut off. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Well," I blushed, "I thought--"


"No," she cut me off, "you wear that with you until you shower. To think, I almost thought about letting you fuck me tonight. Had I known you were such a submissive sissy boy, I wouldn't have met you this evening."

"Go. Shower. Now." She commanded.

I got in the bathroom, peeled my sopping wet underwear off, and turned on the shower. The door shut and locked behind me. She had taken my clothes.

In the next five or so minutes, I replayed the weirdness that was that night and determined it must've all been a bad dream. Even so, I washed myself thoroughly and exited the shower feeling clean and refreshed. I did my best to ignore the humungous collection of suction cup dildos and waterproof vibrators sitting on the bathtub ledge.

I dried myself thoroughly, approached the bathroom door and was pleasantly surprised to find it was already unlocked.

Outside was a kitchen chair with a note on it that said, "For the walk home."

Kelsey was nowhere to be found.

On the chair was a tight, clingy shirt from a bachelorette party that read, "My other ride is your cock." The shirt, while not exactly brilliant would do the job, but what wouldn't is the pair of spandex bike shorts she left out. They were *short,* not even long enough to cover my manhood. As I picked them up, something fell out of them and onto the floor.

It was the thong Kelsey was just wearing.

The back of the note read, "thong to help hide your little pee-pee on your way home. Try not to piss your pants like a little boy."

He chuckled, but she was right, it was the only way to hide my manhood from leaking out past the leg of the bike shorts.

Figuring it was only a couple blocks, I put on this new outfit and speed walked home.

I woke up from this horrible, humiliating, completely emasculating dream, relieved to know none of it really happened. I guess I never realized how active my sexual imagination was.

Leaping out of bed refreshed, but still deeply relieved that it hadn't really happened, I went to the bathroom and enjoyed, thoroughly peeing in the toilet like a real man.

It was in the middle of planning my day, thinking of all the things I was going to do when I realized it.

A feeling in my ass.

I reached back, with a complete sense of dread.

There, lodged in my rear iris, was a medium black dildo.

My phone pinged.

It was a text from Kelsey that read, "That wasn't part of the gift asshole [winky face] bring it back or I'm going to punish you."