Drinking to much at the bar and walking home, feeling your bladder slosh around as you slightly stumble. It's not that bad, though. It's just a short walk to your house and surely you can make it, right?
By the time you make it to the front door, you're absolutely bursting. All the alcohol from before suddenly hitting your bladder all at once as you dance around and grab at your crotch, desperately trying not to lose it when you're so close to a toilet.
Once the door finally opens, you make a mad dash to the toilet, stumbling and swaying as you do. Just before you make it, though, you trip over a shoe, falling straight onto your aching bladder.
Your muscles finally give out as you hit the floor, a loud hiss being heard throughout the room as you moan with relief. Soon, a huge puddle pools around you, and you're so drunk that you just kinda sit it in for a while, feeling the warmth.
Bonus points if your lover walks in and finds you like that, sniffling and drunk as you just sit in a puddle of your own piss, taking care of you and telling you that it's okay.. secretly hiding being extremely horny...
I love knowing that a man has to pee SO BAD and he's trying not to show it. But I notice his subtle jigs and furtive dick-squeezes, and I know that if he keeps delaying a pee he will piss hi pants.
ughhhh complicated outfit omo is so cute. like wearing a ton of layers that you can’t take off without pulling your hand out from between your thighs or uncrossing your legs… it’s soooo crazy lol
“You know I could kill you, but I won’t. You wanna know why?”
Whumpee shook their head. They were laying in a puddle of their own blood and tears, hands twitching as they breathed shallow breaths.
“Well I’m going to tell you anyway.” Whumper kicked them in the stomach, leaving them curled up and gasping. Whumper kneeled down. “It’s because you don’t deserve to die. Hell is too good for you.” They stood up and smiled down at Whumpee’s pathetic, writhing form. “So I’ll keep you here.”
At first, he thought he could wait. He always could. He was good at it—too good, maybe. Quiet. Controlled. The kind of person who’d bite their tongue until it bled before admitting they needed something.
Even when his bladder began to ache, he stayed silent. Even when the ache turned sharp—gnawing at his insides with each passing minute—he kept his legs still and jaw tight, bouncing one foot rhythmically to distract himself from the pressure building behind his belt.
It wasn’t until he started sweating that he realized he might have made a mistake. He sat curled on the floor, pretending to scroll through his phone, body drawn in tight. The long sleeves of his shirt were damp under his arms. His belt pressed cruelly into the hard swell of his abdomen. His thighs were clenched so tightly his muscles had begun to tremble.
He couldn’t sit still anymore.
He stood too fast and immediately doubled over with a gasp, one hand flying to his lower stomach. The jolt of movement had sent a hot surge of pressure down to his groin. He cursed under his breath, breath ragged.
Someone noticed.
“Hey… you okay?”
He stiffened. Didn’t look at them. Couldn’t.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. His voice was thin. Brittle.
The other person raised a brow. “You don’t look fine.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned away, pacing in tight circles. Every step was agony. His bladder was screaming. Full to the brim, maybe past it.
“Do you need to—”
“Don’t say it,” he snapped, voice shaking. “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
And five minutes later, he was hunched behind a pile of storage boxes, shaking hands fumbling with a half-empty water bottle he’d found on the floor. His belt had finally been ripped open, jeans tugged just low enough to expose the tip of his cock, but his bladder didn’t wait.
The second he angled himself toward the mouth of the bottle, he let go.
The relief was explosive.
Urine gushed out of him in a violent, endless stream, crashing into the plastic with a sharp hiss. His body sagged from the force of it. His knees buckled. He gasped—high, desperate, half-moan.
The stream didn’t stop. It kept going, surging with each pulse of his bladder, the heat of it stinging his thighs and fogging the inside of the bottle. It filled fast. The bottle wasn’t even meant for this—it was barely 500ml, and he’d been holding more.
Panic twisted in his chest.
“No, no, fuck—” he whispered, voice trembling.
The steaming liquid surged toward the top. His hands were slick with sweat. His fingers trembled. He tried to stop—squeezed his muscles hard, tried to cut the stream—but his body refused.
It overflowed.
Hot piss spilled over the rim of the bottle, pouring down his hand, spraying onto the floor with wet splashes. He gasped again, shame burning through his face. He couldn’t stop it. The stream just kept coming—splattering across the floor, wetting his jeans, pooling beneath him.
He was crying now. Softly, lips trembling, shoulders shaking as he pissed himself into an overflowing bottle like some desperate animal.
“F-fuck,” he gasped, breath catching. “Fucking—shit—why can’t I—”
Behind him, a quiet voice.
“...You should’ve said something.”
He didn’t turn around.
He jolted, nearly dropped the bottle. The stream finally slowed, tapering off into weak, exhausted dribbles. He was soaked—his hand, his thighs, the floor. The bottle was full, his bladder finally empty, his heart hammering.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said hoarsely.
A pause. Then:
“I already did.”
He clenched his eyes shut. His ears burned.
The voice was closer now. Soft. Measured. A little awkward.
“...You really couldn’t hold it anymore, huh?”
He let out a hollow laugh, eyes downcast. “Obviously.”
“Still… if it makes you feel better,” they added, “I think you actually looked kinda—impressive.”
He gave them a look—blushing, bitter, still crying.
internet show me people wearing suits. show me people wearing suits on the verge of wetting themselves and trying very hard to hide it. show me them doing anything in their power to prevent their subordinates from seeing them like this. show me them breathing heavy and sweating and stiffly shifting around and choking on their words and making excuses to leave this conversation with as straight of a face as they can manage so they can awkwardly half speed-walk half hobble to the nearest unoccupied bathroom. show me them frantically undoing their pants as soon as they’re out sight. show me the look of bliss breaching the embarrassment when they can finally go. show me the wet patch in their underwear that they pretend to themself is sweat but the audience knows is not. show me them washing their hands and splashing water on their flushed face and fixing their hair and fixing their suit and leaving the bathroom looking visibly more put together than how they entered.
ahhh… ahhh… those who are happy and outgoing and fairly confident and usually end up shouldering other people’s burdens because they like to help. and they’re used to being seen as cheery and some sort of reliable figure. and when they need to pee it’s not a big deal. they’re not particularly shy about it. but if they’re in a situation where they can’t suddenly it’s a bit different.
they don’t hide it exactly, but they play it off. they don’t want to worry anyone because that in itself is embarrassing, but for something like this makes it more-so. they respond to concerns with “it’s not that bad, i’ll be fine” or “i’ll make it, don’t worry” and smile about it as some sort of comforting gesture.
and they’ll get a little quieter and stare off into space while their leg jiggles restlessly. and they’re grabbing their knee with a bit too much force. but as soon as someone asks if they’ll be okay they smile back and reassure them.
and when it gets really bad and they get worried. and scared. and embarrassed. but they don’t let that show. they continue to say it’s okay even when it’s clearly not. and when they need to resort to grabbing themself they refuse eye-contact and whoever’s there is smart enough to not try and talk to them*
and when they lose it they will run and hide if they can. and if they can’t they’ll do anything in their power to make their accident as quiet and unassuming as possible. and they don’t mention it or talk about it ever and will remove themself from the situation as soon as they can.
aaand when they’re alone and washing up they almost cry about it but don’t. and the next time you see them it’s like it never happened. the end.
*but also if someone did talk to them and reassure them that it’s okay to Need Things that would be awesome too
when desperation to piss and cum gets mixed up… like when they don’t know what’s gonna happen first, but they know it’s about to happen. that’s so hot 🥵
when they’re frantically working towards an orgasm and are so close but they need to go so bad they’re afraid they’ll lose control first. or when they’re just trying to hold back piss but either the need itself or the things they need to do to hold it is turning them on bad, and now they fear they might come before they get a chance to relieve themselves.
when they’re getting off to holding and think they’re about to come, they’re sure that’s what’s about to happen, but then they don’t, instead they pulse and leak and it feels almost like coming. or when they’re getting off to holding and are super turned on, but are sure the urge to piss is more urgent than the urge to come, and right when they’re certain they’re about to leak, they orgasm instead.
when they start leaking pretty bad and they’re basically about to lose control and fully wet themselves, and their last ditch attempt at holding back the flood, hands clamped at this crotch, is what causes them to come, right before they do fully lose control.
when they were frantically rubbing themselves to hold it, but they well and truly lost the battle so they relent and slow their motions before taking their hand away, only for the relaxation in their body to finally allow it to come, while they’re pissing.
when pissing feels so fucking good they can’t help but masturbate through it until their muscles lock up before they’re done because they’re about to come, and then resume relieving themselves involuntarily right after the peak passes.
when they orgasm before they meant to and suddenly they can’t hold it anymore, they start wetting themselves despite scrambling to keep it together, overstimulating themselves in the process and forcing another orgasm moments later.
when coming is what makes them lose it, the spasming of their muscles too strong, and it accidentally starts to squirt while they’re coming.
• falling asleep fully clothed, possibly with jacket and shoes still on, legs/feet hanging off the foot of the bed or sprawled half-on half-off a couch
• the “oh shit, i’m gonna faint/nevermind i’m good” face (and aborted grab for nearest solid object or person)
• a character losing their footing for a moment on rough terrain. someone reaching out to grab them so they don’t fall and they both hold on for a hot second
• closing their eyes and leaning into a gentle touch
• shaky hands, shaky voice
• falling asleep at their desk at work/tucked away in an odd place
• doing things that are out of character & having others start to notice: losing their cool, being extra chipper or extra quiet, jumpy
• zoning out
• someone getting between them and whoever they’re having a heated exchange with, gently pushing them back with a hand against their chest or shoulder
• slipping out of sight from the others to lean against a wall, tip their head back and close their eyes
The puddle spread quickly, steaming, until it lapped at the soles of his shoes.
He was already bursting.
Every muscle in his lower body was tense, thighs squeezed together, breath shallow. His belt dug cruelly into his abdomen, pressing into the rock-hard swell of his overfull bladder. He sat hunched on the edge of a low bench, jaw tight, hands gripping his knees. His hair clung to the sides of his flushed face.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t alone.
“You’re squirming,” the voice behind him said, amused. Playful. Dangerous.
“Shut up.” His voice cracked. His legs shifted restlessly, one heel tapping the floor. "Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” The other leaned closer, breath brushing his ear. “Don’t mention how you're shaking? Or how red your face is? Or…”
A hand slid around his waist. He flinched.
“Don’t touch—” he snapped, but the hand was already there, fingers pressing gently against his lower stomach.
It was like being punched. The pressure sent an electric jolt through his body, and a hot, shameful spurt escaped before he could stop it—just enough to dampen his underwear. His legs snapped shut, hands flying to his crotch. He let out a low, desperate whimper.
“Ohhh… you really are full,” the other said, mockingly tender. “It must hurt.”
He bit his lip hard. His eyes shimmered. He couldn’t speak.
Then the hand pushed harder.
He doubled forward with a cry. Another jet of urine forced its way out of him, soaking into the front of his pants. His muscles trembled. The teasing voice didn’t stop.
“You should just let it go,” they whispered. “You know you’re not gonna make it.”
He shook his head furiously, tears slipping down his cheeks. “N-no. I can still—”
But his body had reached its limit.
It started slow—a few more hot spurts, unstoppable now, soaking through his jeans. Then, with a long, broken sob, the floodgates opened.
A gush tore through him. His whole body jerked as piss burst out with a loud hiss, pouring into his jeans with force. The heat spread instantly, soaking down his thighs and pooling beneath him. The sound was obscene—splattering, gushing, the wet hiss echoing off the walls.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. The relief was dizzying, overwhelming. He let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry, slumping forward as the piss thundered out of him, drenching everything. His belt pressed cruelly against the stream, splitting it so it poured in all directions—down his legs, across the seat, onto the floor.
He sat there, soaked, panting, face flushed and streaked with tears, pants heavy with shameful warmth.
The one who teased him didn’t speak now—only watched, lips parted in awe, as the boy shook and whimpered through it. A full minute passed before the hiss finally faded into dripping. Even then, his body gave a few exhausted spurts before it stopped.
“See?” the other finally whispered. “Didn’t that feel good?”
Like, think of a tough, stoic guy trying to be subtle about his bulging, aching bladder, secretly grabbing himself whenever he can.
Eventually, he breaks, and suddenly, you have this big tough guy crying and whining as he tries to do everything in his power to hold it, super embarrassed but past the point of caring.
Bonus points if he starts grinding on something to help him hold it but gets hard instead, so now he doesn't know what's gonna come out first, piss or cum?
omorashi with gothpunk boys..... dark eyes, shaky hands pressed into jeans like they’re trying to hold in the whole universe. blush crawling up their necks, jaw clenched, breath hitching. they’re always so proud until they break. that exact moment they lose control, not just of their body, but the whole facade they’ve been clinging to.
