Harvey just finished with his last patient for the day, and not a moment too soon. He had more coffee than usual today to keep his energy up, and he was feeing every bit of it stretching his bladder to its absolute limit. There just hadn’t been time to take a break, between the nonstop flow of patients and the mountain of paperwork he had let pile up. He twisted his legs together behind the desk as he finished filling Evelyn’s prescription and scheduling her next appointment, struggling to keep a friendly smile on his face as he furiously bounced his legs.
The minute the woman was out the door, he squeezed his hands between his legs with a groan. Oh Yoba, he was so full! The single bathroom in the clinic was at the back of the building, but even that short walk felt much too far. Maybe he could just grab a bedpan and…
No, he could certainly make it! He was a grown adult and a doctor. He just had to gather his composure, wait for that—oh!—that latest bladder spasm to pass, and then he could carefully walk to the bathroom without jostling his overfull bladder too much, and finally—
The front door flew open with a bang. Harvey yelped in surprise. To his horror, a sharp, hot spurt of urine jetted out, soaking into his briefs. He clenched down hard with both hands, thankfully stopping his bladder from releasing any further, but the brief taste of relief just made his desperation spike higher. He needed to go! He had to get to the bathroom NOW, or he’d…
“Doctor Harvey?”
Finally Harvey took stock of the person who had opened the door in the first place. It was the farmer. His face was red, and both hands were squeezed between his thighs. His legs were moving in what could only be described as a potty dance.
“Doctor, can I…can I please use your bathroom? I-it’s an emergency!”
Harvey’s heart plummeted. The farmer kept nervously rambling, about how he had been out at the mines when he realized he needed to pee, and he can’t just pee in the mines! What if he offended the shadow people? So he rushed back to town, but Gus’ bathroom is closed with plumbing issues, and Jojas only lets paying customers use their bathroom, and Pierre’s is closed today, and…
And Harvey couldn’t ignore a member of his community in need. It was his duty as a doctor.
“O-of course!” he said with as much cheer as he could manage. “It right…right in the back.”
The farmer bobbed his head thankfully, and began to shuffle his way there, slow moving with his hands between his legs and his thighs pressed together.
It…it was still okay. Harvey could wait a little longer.
He felt a trickle of sweat drop down his neck, and his bladder shuddered, letting out another little dribble into his soaked briefs. He bit down on his lip, his face burning.
Hold it…hold it…just a little longer! He was so close! Just wait for the farmer to go, and it would be his turn next. Maybe the wetness in his underwear hadn’t soaked through to his pants yet, so the farmer wouldn’t have to know how he almost—
The farmer suddenly let out a pained groan.
Harvey looked up, horrified to realize the farmer had hardly made any progress in his slow shuffle to the bathroom. He was hunched over, visibly shaking, and then…
PSSSSSSHHHHHH
A dark stain spread fast down the farmer’s pants, and the loud hiss was soon joined by the trickling and splashing against the linoleum floor.
And all at once, Harvey couldn’t stand it another moment either. His bladder gave one more sharp, painful spasm, and then let go entirely. No amount of his desperate clenching and squeezing did anything to slow the sudden, powerful flow. Instead, it seemed to grow even stronger, utterly soaking his pants in an instant. His knees shook with the force of the stream leaving him, the intense relief, and the dizzying shame.
He was wetting himself. In his own clinic. In front of one of his own patients! …who was, admittedly, doing the same thing.
Harvey peeked timidly at the farmer, who seemed to have given in to the relief and had tipped his head back, letting out little sighs and huffs as the puddle kept spreading around his feet.
This was maybe the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, but the shame was softened a little with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in it.
Harvey closed his eyes and let himself just feel the relief as well. Oh Yoba, he had needed to go so badly! He almost felt weak with how good it felt to finally let it all out…
The flow seemed to last for ages before it finally trickled to a stop and left Harvey breathless and at a loss of what to say.
“I, um. I…have a washing machine upstairs,” he finally said meekly, unable to look at the farmer. “I can…wash your clothes, if you don’t mind staying here a little longer.”
There was a short pause. “Have you got a mop, Doctor?”
“Y-yes?” Harvey said, finally getting the nerve to look at the farmer.
The other man’s face was flushed, but he managed an awkward smile. “How about this: you can take care of our clothes, and I’ll mop the floor. Just loan me a hospital gown while I work, alright?”
Another wave of relief washed over Harvey, but this time it had nothing to do with the state of his bladder. “It’s a deal.”
NABSHSIWIW9EOEKWNWNW OMGGKMGMGMGMMSJSJ OMG🥺🥺 HOLY SHIT,,,,nonny I owe u my life or at least a prismatic shard because OMG?????
It's on one of the days Maru is off. Which in one way is a blessing (she isn't there to witness Harvey under such bladder distress) and a curse (Harvey's bladder getting to this point because he's on his own today)~♡
Omgg Harvey's body seeing/hearing the farmer's relief that it has that pavlovian response for the poor doctor for his bladder to let go!
He's just leaning against the small counter, knees knocking together as his puddle starts to mingle with the farmer's (if he wasn't so blissed out on his own relief, Harvey would probably praise farmer for having such pale/clear output, certainly some proper hydration! The doctor mind never rest, even if the body is currently having an accident xD)
Harvey is in his small apartment, bare from the waist down as he's piling his and farmer's clothes into the washer- he feels the dull ache of his emptied bladder, the muscles sore from holding back such a flood. His cheeks are permanently tinted red as he presses the on button before sheepishly heading back down to the clinic.
Farmer is diligently mopping up the last of the shared puddle, wringing it out before standing back up, one hand on his hip with a look of accomplishment, a tired one but, accomplishment nonetheless. His eyes flick up when he hears the creaking of old stairs.
Harvey stands there, holding out some of his old sweatpants (from his university days) saying that farmer could use his shower and put the sweats on until their clothes were done- adding that the sweatpants will probably be a bit more comfortable than the paper thin clinic gown.
Farmer looks to the sweatpants then to Harvey, who is probably avoiding eye contact as he blushes. Farmer smiles, patting Harvey's wrist as he takes the folded sweats and heads upstairs, thanking him.
Harvey stands in the now empty (and clean) clinic- although he had an accident, the blow was lessened by the fact he hadn't been alone in it
(Cut to like, a couple years later when Harvey and Farmer are married and it becomes a silly story they recollect when one of them are obviously holding it 😌💖)
Something good: wetness indicators. Especially if someone is trying to insist they’re dry while the color is actively changing…
HELL YES HELL YES,,,
Like, they're insistent they're dry!! They are perfectly fine! They huff, a slight proturding of their lower lip when the other character is like "Oh? So you wouldn't mind if I check?"
And of course, the moment they tug their pants down, the cute lil stars or line is rapidly fading away, the ink smudging as urine is very obviously soaking into to padding~
The character averts their gaze, face burning as they try to act like they're aloof but the other character just smirks and cups the wet diaper, "Dry huh? Buddy, I didn't even NEED those pretty stars to fade to know that was going to happen."
Interviewing for a job that seems really normal, if at a higher salary than you would normally expect for your skills and education. They seem really happy with you, and you get the happy phone call that you've got the job!
long story, so, readmore:
You show up in your best business casual fit. You spent FAR too long picking it in front of the mirror. Getting a job is hard, right now. You'd been searching for several months, and it had gotten really urgent when the entire corporation that owned the store you worked at went under. You lucked out hard with this one, and you don't want to waste your opportunity. You adjust your hair, nervously, before taking a deep breath and walking into the lobby, a crisp and corporate space tiled in marble white and accented in deep, rich green. The lobby features square columns with water running down their sides and into barely-visible grates on the floor, creating a pleasant background trickling noise throughout the room.
The woman at the reception desk in the center of the room sees you and grins, and greets you by name. "Hi, sweetheart," She says, which is a little overly familiar, but you're having trouble minding, because she's of the exact sort of demeanor you suppose would call ANYONE "sweetheart." She's an older woman, and has a smiling, soft face, wreathed with brushed out curls, and she smells nice as she leads you onto a large elevator with an upholstered bench, up three floors, around a few corners, and back to an office. She introduces herself as Sharon on the way, and questions you politely about your weekend.
"Now, sweetheart, everything's just about finalized, we just need you to sign the final papers," she instructs, walking over to a filing cabinet. She pulls out a manilla envelope from one of the drawers, and hands you several sheets of paper to sign.
Most of it is pretty normal, the standard tax forms and benefits elections. The benefits here are really nice. But then you get to the page marked, "Finalized Offer Letter and Salary Confirmation."
There is an extra zero added to the yearly pay amount. You stare up at Sharon. "Is... is this correct?" You ask, blinking and looking back down at the paper. "This is, it's..."
The receptionist looks down at it. She doesn't seem startled or surprised. "Yes, dear, that's correct. Is that not what we put on the listing? Oh, Robbie in the hiring department must have made a little goof. Yes, that's all correct."
You sign the offer letter then and there, not bothering to read the rest of it. This is... honestly more money than you ever thought you'd make. This is a dream come true! Your heart is racing.
Sharon seems amused by your giddiness, which you thought you were doing a good job of keeping off your face. Evidently not good enough. "Come along, then," she says, standing and beckoning for you to follow.
She leads you to a... locker room. Not exactly where you thought you'd be heading? She hands you a tie dye rainbow t-shirt with a daisy on the pocket. "Since you'll be in the Daisy Room," she explains, like that explains anything. "The tie dye is the theme for today."
Apparently this workplace is big on themes. Huh. It seems a little odd to exchange your nice top for the t-shirt, but... you don't want to stand out on the first day. So you change your shirt (shouldn't it be illegal for Sharon to be in the room while you do that? you expected her to leave the room, but she just kept standing there expectantly) and follow her out of the locker room.
You re-enter the elevator. Instead of going upstairs, where you had your initial round of interviews, she enters a code into a keypad, and the elevator descends downwards.
The hallway it opens up into is... different. The shade of green here is brighter and paler, with a cheerful yellow to accent it instead of the stark corporate white upstairs. The wall on your left facing has a series of glass walls and doors looking into a variety of bright and colorful rooms, while the wall on your right has what look to be a series of gender neutral bathrooms.
Maybe it's a daycare for the employees' kids? You don't remember that being in the benefits package. And then, Sharon leads you past one of the rooms, one with a dandelion on the door, and you peer in, curious, before recoiling, face red.
There are a lot of adults in diapers and onesies in there.
From the brief glimpse you got, it looked just like a daycare, but with everything absurdly sized up. The adults toddle around, one woman playing with blocks, a grown man chewing absentmindedly on the tail of a stuffed cat as another man, this one in an apron with that same dandelion logo, shows him flashcards with animal pictures. Sharon leads you on, and stunned and speechless as you are, you follow.
"You'll be in here, sweetheart," she says, gesturing to another door. "See your shirt? That designates you as a Daisy!"
Your jaw goes slack with astonishment. In the room, which has a daisy on the door, people are wearing similar tie-dye t shirts to yours, and... well, they're mostly not in diapers, but they're doing toddler activities. The room is littered with toys, sippy cups, books, and even what look like training potties, all in adult sizes. One person holds the hand of a person in a daisy apron as they wals her to one of the potties, and you look away, covering your eyes as she pulls her pants down and sits on the potty in plain view.
Sharon scans an ID at the door, and opens it for you to enter, quickly filling out a sheet at the small front desk near the door. "Here you are. I'll introduce you to the caregivers for the room, and then-"
You finally find your voice. "I... I think there's been some mistake." You say. "I didn't sign up for this. This was supposed to be an office job?"
You can't stop your voice from going up at the end of the sentence as you see a short, wide woman with a daisy apron get up and make eye contact with you, grinning at you like you're a cute, shy little kid. She heads towards you.
"Yes you did, silly." Sharon says. "You even asked me about it, remember?"
You do remember... You had been so caught up in the salary that you didn't even read the rest of the paper. Surely, something like this would have been noticeable, though, even if you were being unobservant.
"I don't want to go in there." You say.
"Well, going in there is your job, sweetheart." Sharon says. "I'm not going to make you do it, but if you don't even go in on the first day, you're not likely to keep the position." She's gentle, but firm about it, in a way that makes it seem like you're overreacting, and this is all completely normal.
And, well, okay, it's weird, but... you're making a lot of money for it. You can't go another week without a job, you'll lose your apartment.
And it's not like you're in the baby room next door. Some of the people in the room are doing things that look tolerable; reading books, playing cards.
Fuck it, you can always quit if you need to, right?
You step into the room.
"Good choice," Sharon says, her smile returning. "Now, enjoy yourself! I have to get back to my desk.
She leaves, shutting the door behind her with a click and a beep.
You shift focus to the woman heading towards you.
"Hi, baby!" She says, enthusiastically. Her big, colorful earrings sway as she talks expressively. Even though she's looking up at you, she projects a tall authoratative presence. "You can call me Miss Claire. We are so glad to have you here today! It's always so fun to have a brand new Daisy to take care of. Are you potty trained?" She asks.
The question flabbergasts you enough that you don't respond right away.
"It's okay if you're not sure. We can put a pulllup on you for now, and-"
"No, no, I'm potty trained," you answer, quickly. "I am."
"Aw, good job!" Claire says. "Let's go add your name to the potty chart, then."
She leads you to the wall on the left side of the room, which is mostly covered by a giant whiteboard. Attached to it with magnets are a hodgepodge of pictures, posters, and childish drawings, and a big list of rules. The top one reads "I will not leave the Daisy Room without express permission," and is followed by several others. She heads to a big yellow sign, with a column for names and then seven columns for the days of the week, cheerfully labeled "Potty Time!" in bright letters, and adds your name in big bubble letters.
You don't want to judge, but... there are a lot of rain clouds on the chart.
You get a good look around the room while she finishes writing. It's huge, extending far further in than it initially appeared when you saw it from the hallway. Your eyes scan over everything: a craft area, two Daisies laying out a very intricate train track, a TV with pillows and chairs around it, a snack area, a quiet area with cots and mats folded neatly, where one Daisy with headphones on reclines on a beanbag and colors in a notebook, a colorful jungle gym with things to climb and slides and swings, and the very public potty corner with a row of potties and a changing table, which you try and fail to look away from as you notice someone shuck off his pants without a care in the world, revealing a soaked diaper, and then clamber up. He lifts his legs up and waits, and someone in an apron heads over.
You are starting to need to pee. You push the thought to the back of your mind. You've never been able to use the restroom in front of strangers, and you really don't want to. There are the bathrooms outside of the room, right? You'll just go sneak off to use one of those later. They can't watch everyone all the time.
"It's free play right now," Claire says. "Do you know where you'd like to go? Or should I find you a friend?"
"Um," You say, tearing your eyes from where the man is currently being wiped down. Maybe you should get out of here after all.
"Aw, you're a shy little Daisy, aren't you?" She coos. "It's okay, we'll find you a friend."
Before you can protest, she steps over to the front desk and rings a little bell hanging from a post. The chatter in the room ceases and everyone looks at you.
You barely resist the urge to hide behind the desk.
"I have a friend here who needs a friend!" She calls out, loud and clear, and then tells everyone your name and that you're new.
A few heads perk up, but the woman who approaches you is a head taller than Claire. She's dressed up in a fluffy, poofy skirt that seems to you the platonic ideal of something someone would wear to a tea party, and she's wearing colorful beads in her hair that match. She also has little bells on the laces of her colorful sneakers. The result is a sensory experience of a person; as she skips over her beads clack and her skirt flounces and her shoes jingle. It makes her seem like a fairy.
She grabs your hand, and pulls you over to the stuffed animal shelf with a practiced lack of fanfare.
"My name is Hannah. We're going to play veterinary hospital. You're going to be the nurse," she informs you, tapping a finger against her lips decisively as she examines the plush on display, then selects a soft tabby cat plush, which she stuffs into your arms. Hannah then goes to another shelf and returns with a play doctor kit.
"What's the patient's name?" Doctor Hannah asks, putting on her white lab coat.
Stevie the cat, who you name, has a stuck hairball. He is prescribed hairball medicine. Then, Amy the hedgehog puppet needs a nail trim, and Nona the dog gets a prenatal exam where it's revealed she was actually just full of beans.
You get surprisingly involved. Another Daisy named Ken joins in as a lizard owner, and his lizard named Pebble has turned purple, and it turns out that this is because Pebble is a chameleon.
"I'm getting a snack!" Ken says. "Do you want to come?"
You're starting to have to pee more now, you realize, as you leave the world of the veterinary hospital. Your bladder sends an aching complaint. You normally wouldn't wait this long to go. But, you're also hungry and thirsty. You haven't eaten yet today and you haven't had anything to drink since this morning. Hannah cements your decision by also going with Ken, and you really don't want to be left by yourself.
The snacks are really good! The fridge is full of things like little premade sandwiches on rolls, boxes of premade sandwiches, dried fruit, nuts, and sweets. You eat three of the little sandwiches and drink a carton of chocolate milk. You haven't had chocolate milk in ages. You drink the whole thing, even though your bladder protests at the idea of more liquid.
Hannah stands up. She stands with her legs apart, and concentrates. There's a hissing sound, and your face goes red as you realize; she's peeing. You clench your legs together tightly at the sound as your bladder tries to release in tandem with the noise. You need to sneak off to the bathroom very, very soon.
"Oh, that's a good idea, Hannah," Ken says, nonchalantly finishing up the cracker he's eating. "I have to go potty too. But I'm trying to be sunny for a week so I can go in the pool without a diaper when it's our class's turn next Friday, so I'm not wearing a pullup today."
"I don't like to have to stop what I'm doing to go pee," Hannah says "So I'm wearing mine. And I don't mind the swim diapers. They're kinda fun." She's just casually talking as she finishes peeing. "I'll get changed later. I'm going back to the doctor's office. I'll see you there if you come back."
She skips off, although her gait is a little wider.
"Want to come to the potty with me?" Ken asks, pointing at the potty corner. "You seem like you might really have to go. You won't get punished for having an accident, but you'll get a raincloud on your chart. Two rainclouds in a week, and you're gonna have to wear pullups. You can always have them if you want, though."
You shake your head. "I'm ok. I'm going to go check out..." You look for what's close to the door. "The books." I'm going to go check out the books."
"That's fine," Ken shrugs, and walks off towards the potty corner, unbuttoning his pants.
You walk over to the door, pretending to be really interested in the books, and when none of the staff in aprons are looking, you reach for the door handle.
It doesn't open.
Not only does it not open, but a sharp little "Beep-BEEEEEEEP" noise plays. Everyone hears it, and everyone looks up. Hannah looks at you with startled eyes, and Ken shakes his head from where he's currently sitting on the potty.
"I'll take this, it's our new Daisy," Claire says, heading towards you. "Not quite used to the rules yet."
Everyone more or less goes back to what they were doing.
"Do you want to sever your contract?" Claire asks.
It's the first time anyone has truly talked to you like an adult since you got here. It's kind of like a glass of cold water to the face. You freeze.
"If you leave, which you can do," Claire says, "You'll be severing your work contract, and forfeiting this week's pay."
You shake your head. You can't. You'll lose your apartment.
"Then I'm going to assign you a consequence." She says "Some Daisies don't know about the rules when they start out, and I wouldn't ever punish them for that. But the way you were sneaking over here makes me think you were deliberately breaking the rules. Am I right?" She asks.
You nod. You squeeze your legs together. You don't know if you can hold it for however long this "consequence" is.
"Thank you for being honest. We'll go for a light consequence. You're going to have timeout on the potty for ten minutes, because, sweetie, I can tell you need to go. You can bring a stuffed animal to cover your lap, if you're shy of anyone seeing you."
She leads you over to the potty.
Everyone can see you, as you sit there, covering your lap with a big plush giraffe. You bury your face in its fur.
You need to go potty. It's so, so full! It's trying really hard to come out, but you can't let yourself go in front of everyone like this.
Seven minutes in, it aches so bad you actually try to go, but you can't relax even though your bladder cramps and aches. You squeeze the giraffe tighter, a few tears dripping from your eyes to its mane. You need to pee!
You can tell Claire is disappointed when the timer goes off and you haven't gone. "Well, honey," she says. "You can get up now, but I don't know what you think is going to happen. You poor little bladder can't keep all that peepee inside forever."
You see what's going to happen as soon as you stand, dropping the giraffe, and bend over to pull up your pants.
Your bladder spasms and the floodgates shatter. You're pissing, full force, right in front of the potty, helpless to stop it. You grab yourself with a whine, but the pee just streams between your fingers. It splatters down onto the potty and into your pants. You let out a choked cry. You can't stop!
"There, there, it's alright," Claire says, and pulls you back down to sit on the potty, helping adjust you so you're going into the bowl. The stream sprays against the plastic loudly, and the noise startles you into stopping for a moment, but then the flood of involuntary release is back and you're going in the potty. Everyone is looking again, and you can't help it. You begin to cry in earnest, with a hiccuping sob. You reach for the giraffe.
"Honey, you're gonna get peepee all over your friend Giraffe if you hug him now," Claire says, rubbing your shoulder with one hand. "Just take a deep breath and finish going potty. Then we'll get you cleaned up and you can have your giraffe."
You cry and pee and pee and cry. There's a lot of it, it takes a while. When the splashing then trickling into the bowl finally stops, Claire removes your shoes and pants. She walks you over to the sink, even though you're still completely naked from the waist down, and washes your hands for you, then takes you over to the changing table.
"Lie down, sweetie, and I'll get Giraffe," she instructs, and you numbly do what she says. You're still crying now, but quietly. Everyone in the room seems to have moved on. "There's a love. Here you are."
She hands you the giraffe, and you hug it to your chest.
She uses a little built in sprayer, "For big accidents," she explains, to spray down your legs, then dries you off. "Do you want undies or a pullup?"
You choose underwear, obviously, and she slides a pair decorated in cute, colorful cartoon dogs up and onto you. She then offers you a choice of bottoms, gives you a tight, comforting hug, and lets you go.
You shuffle, embarrassed, back towards Ken and Hannah.
"That was silly," Hannah says. "But I know new Daisies can be silly sometimes, so it's okay." She gives you a hug, and then Ken also gives you a hug. You're a little shocked at the open display of affection. You think you've been hugged more today than in the last 6 months.
They're playing restaurant now, with plastic food and plates, and you allow yourself to be comfortably distracted by filling your role as waiter and bringing the dishes to the waiting customers, who are varyingly Daisies, aproned caregivers, and different toys.
At the end of the day, a bell rings. You'd almost forgotten your work hours. Home at 6.
"Alright, everyone!" Someone in an apron who you haven't met yet calls. "Have a good night. Overnighters, please form a line over here so I can take roll. The changing rooms on the third floor are now open so you can change back into your home clothes."
You're stopped on the way out by Claire, who hands you a bag with your pants and shoes inside, fresh and clean. "I think you'll have a better day tomorrow," she says, with an encouraging smile.
Back at home, you lie on your bed in your studio apartment and stare at the ceiling.
Imagine having a perverted ghost obsessed with exposing you. They gradually turn you into the town whore.
It starts with your clothes disappearing. You go to your closet and all you have for bottoms are skirts. Your panties and bras disappear one by one until you just stop wearing them.
Whenever you walk by a man in public, your skirt blows up whether there's wind or not. Every man in town has seen your pussy by now. Many of them see it daily.
If you're wearing white, you can guarantee you'll have water spilled on you at some point during the day. People like to joke about your free wet tshirt contests.
Your shirt unbuttons itself while you talk to people. Most people don't mention it anymore. They just stare at your bare tits until you realize.
People in town trade the best stories of seeing you naked. That time your bikini fell off at the beach and you couldn't find it and the day the wind blew your sundress fully off at the town fair are top favorites.
Eventually, people get bolder. They start taking photos of your clothing mishaps. The ghost is always sure to hold your skirt up long enough for them to get a good shot. Pictures of your ass, tits, and pussy are everywhere.
Not only do they not tell you when your shirt falls open, people start to grope you. It's not even worth fighting it. You let them feel you up until they've had their fill. Eventually, people don't even pretend they need to talk to you. They come to see you just to play with your tits.
The ghost doesn't even need to lift your skirt anymore. People in town will lift it up just to squeeze or slap your ass.
You get used to being fingered out in public. On the bus, in line at the store, even at work. Everyone has seen your pussy anyway.
People start licking your pussy every time you ride the bus. You sit with your legs open so people can taste you on their morning commute. You don't remember what it was like to ride the bus without a tongue inside you.
Every man in town as fucked you at some point. Most of the women too. Instead of paying at the store, you bend over and let anyone present abuse your pussy. You lose count of how many men shove their dick inside you daily.
Your porn becomes the town's main export. Videos of you being fucked in every possible location are all over the internet. People travel to town just to fuck you. Instead of shaking hands, you introduce yourself by spreading your legs.
It started out as a joke. Just you and some friends drunk on a Friday night, lounging on the floor in one of their apartments. One of them dared you to try it. Through drunk giggles, you spelled out F U C K M E on the board. You didn’t expect an answer. But you got one.
It was the alcohol, you told yourself. You drank a bit too much. That was why you felt cold hands on your skin immediately after. Icy fingers sliding under your clothes, groping at your breasts, squeezing your ass, and pushing inside you. You didn’t realize how your hardened nipples peeked through your shirt after the cold of those hands against them. You didn’t see your friends' eyes lock on them. But the ghost did. And it tugged your collar just a bit lower, watching their eyes follow.
You jumped to your feet to leave. You had no idea, but that was the moment that started it. That you gave your friends sitting on the floor a great view up your skirt. The ghost watched them stare, saw them nudge one another to see what a pretty mess you were while you bent over to put on your shoes and drunkenly exposed yourself to the room.
The ghost saw the way they looked at you. It decided there and then that not only would it fuck you, it would make sure every single one of your friends did too.
It was your friends that you flashed first. But from that moment on, the ghost could not get enough. It was those same friends who fucked you first. Who posted the first pictures online. Who ran the website dedicated to your degradation.
It started out as a joke. At least...that's what you remember while you lay your naked body on a restaurant table for tourists to devour. Wasn't it a Friday night with friends? You wonder while you ride on the bus driver's lap, paying for your commute by letting him cum inside you at a red light. You had been pretty drunk. Was it the Ouija board that led to you on the steps of city hall, bare tits in the air and the mayor's tongue buried inside you?
You suppose it doesn't matter how you made it happen. All that matters now is the moment another stranger makes you cum in front of the cheering crowd.
It notices the way your body responds when you read *that* story. You know the one. It knows exactly the way that you're going to do because it's watched you read it over and over.
It loves to stare at your body when you can't help but slide your clothes off. It loves the way you touch yourself. The way your breath catches. Getting up close as you start to drip.
You don't realize that you've become their personal little porn star. That's how it thinks of you. Entertainment that it owns. Sometimes, when you put on a good enough show, it invites friends to come watch. You're their plaything. They get to examine every inch of your exposed body, and you have no idea that you've been put on display for an audience.
They love watching you come the most. Especially the nights when you come over and over again. You don't know why you feel like your hands are being tugged to play with yourself more. To read that story again and come just one more time even though you're already exhausted. You have know idea that you're being egged on by an invisible presence.
So go ahead. Read that story one more time. Your fans are waiting.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately idfk.. long txt post for y'all.
Waking up in the middle of the night. I'm holding my boy against me, my chest against his back, my arms loosely wrapped around him. He's sound asleep and breathing softly, so fucking adorable. I can't really hold myself back.
One of my hands moves to grope him anywhere I can reach, pulling him impossibly closer, while the other teases just under the waistband of his boxers. I can already feel him squirming. He's such a needy boy even in his sleep. My hand slips under his waistband. His thighs push together as my thumb rubs at his inner thigh. His breathing is faster too.
I finally give in, my fingers shifting to feel how wet he is. I plant gentle kisses on his neck as my fingers rub at him in slow circles. I swear I feel myself throbbing as I hear him make a little noise. I start grinding against his ass, I can't hold it when he sounds so sweet. I slip a couple of fingers into him, trying to match the pace of the messy thrusts of my hips.
His moans turn more urgent, I assume he's starting to wake up, but it's not like I care. I just coo at him to stay still. I need this. Besides, it feels good, no? My thumb rubs at his swollen cock while I curl my fingers deep inside his cunt. I bet he wants me to fuck him properly. I remove my hands from him, shuddering as I hear him whine at the loss. I move to rummage through the night drawer, getting myself ready hastily.
I move him onto his back, a little rougher than necessary. I pull his boxers down and out of the way before firmly spreading his thighs apart. At this point I can see him stare up at me, dazed and confused. Poor puppy. Oh well. I practically slam into him, starting out with already urgent thrusts. He tries to grab at me, so I grip his wrists. I move his hands to literally choke himself, my hands staying firmly on top of his. His moans slowly get quieter as his eyes get unfocused, yet his cunt clenches around me like he's starving for it.
Imagine the first time the ghost fucks you in public
You've only just started getting used to the idea that most of the town has seen you naked. And unfortunately for you, people aren't so shocked to see simple wardrobe malfunctions anymore. Your invisible puppetmaster begins to get bored.
So, the ghost decides to show them all just how much of a whore you are.
You're at the bar on a Friday night. Just playing a few rounds of pool, occasionally offering glimpses of your tits or pussy as bend over to take your shot.
The next thing you know, cold hands haul you onto the pool table. Your startled cry draws everyones attention just in time to see you forced onto your knees and bent over with your bare ass in the air. Your dress is yanked up over your head so your naked body is on full display under the bar lights.
Imagine how people gather around to watch as your asscheeks are spread wide to show off your holes. A few people pull out their phones to snap pictures while you're helplessly exposed.
Then a cold, hard, cock parts your lips and plunges into your pussy. You can't help but moan as it pumps into you, streaching you open and filling you completely. Meanwhile, the whole bar watches as your pussy gapes open, your asscheek shaking with each pounding of the invisible body using yours.
Imagine being shown the videos later. Seeing yourself being used in front of a crowd of your neighbors. Watching an unseen entity make a spectacle of your degradation. Knowing that anyone can watch you putting on an unexpected show with your body.
Imagine being made to cum so hard that you squirt all over the pool table. Being unable to stop moaning and whining while you're being used. Becoming complicit in your own exploitation.
Imagine the ghost holding you in that position after it's done with you. Allowing people to step forward and touch you. The hands all over your body.
Imagine staying in that position even after the ghost has let you go. Obediently letting bar patrons take their turns fucking you.
Imagine the moment you accept the whore you've become.
Imagine being the slutty mascot for a college fraternity or sorority.
You live in the house with them, completely under the control of your attractive owners. They dress you in their school colors and paint their names on your body. You go where they want you to go and do what they want you to do.
All of your needs are provided for. In fact, they often argue over who gets to care for you next. Whoever feeds you gets to have you on their lap or at their feet during the meal. Whoever grooms you gets to have you join them in the shower. Whoever makes you cum the most times during the day gets to have you in their bed that night.
The real fun begins during the parties. Throughout each party, you stay in the position they place you in. One night, you spend on your back on a table with your legs spread wide. The next night, you're on your knees, tits out, glistening with flavored lube. Another night, you're bent over with your bare ass in the air.
Party guests add money to the beer fund to be allowed to fuck you. People compete for who can make you cum the most times. But the real honor is if someone is able to get their photo on the "I made The Slut squirt" wall.
You're often kidnapped by rival teams. You laugh as they throw you over their shoulders and sprint off with you, knowing you'll be fucked by a whole new group of people. You're never worried, your owners always race to get you back before the other team can dress you in rival colors.
You're a widely accepted to be a good luck charm. You stand in the locker room for players to fondle you before running out to the field. People are always sure to finger you before taking a big test.
You're accessible to your owners at all times, and you love it. Being their cute little pet is all the fulfillment you need. You are the perfect communal fucktoy.
going to sleep ungroped my waist ungrabbed and my pussy unrubbed through my panties what a sick and twisted world we live in what is society planning to do about this
thinking about being made to hold and needing to go really bad absolutely bursting n can't keep still at all and im begging them to "just please let me go to the bathroom" and they tell me okay so i rush in and just as im in front of the toilet about to pull my pants down they stop me and im real confused cause they just told me i could go and they say "i said you could go to the bathroom, never said anything about you using it" and then maybe my bladder just gives out right then and there😖
softly encouraging you to drink water all day. “here, baby, have some more.” passing you your water bottle throughout the day, being so sweet about it. “you need to stay hydrated, sweetheart.” making sure you’re drinking constantly. bringing you glass after glass. “finish that one for me.” cooing at you gently every time you obey. hours passing. you drinking so much because i keep asking so nicely, keep encouraging so softly. “good girl/boy. one more glass.” you not thinking anything of it at first. just doing what i say because you always do. but then feeling it. your bladder getting full. starting to feel uncomfortable. shifting slightly, squirming just a bit. “what’s wrong, baby?” me asking innocently. “need something?” you nodding, embarrassed. “i need to use the bathroom.” me shaking my head. “not yet, sweetheart. hold it a little longer for me.” you whimpering but obeying. because you always obey. more time passing. me still bringing you water. “drink this for me, baby.” you desperately. “but i really need to go—” “i know, sweetheart. just hold it. you can do it for me.” you squirming more now, genuinely desperate. pressing your thighs together, shifting constantly, unable to stay still. “please, i really need to—” “shh, baby. patience.” watching you get more and more desperate. bouncing slightly, whimpering, begging. “please, i can’t hold it much longer—” finally standing up. “okay, come with me.” you so relieved, thinking you’re finally getting permission. following me quickly to the bathroom. but once we’re inside, me sitting down on the toilet. you standing there confused, desperate. “what are you—” me starting to pee while you watch. your eyes going wide. standing there squirming desperately, listening to the sound, watching, needing it so badly. “please, can i go now?” your voice desperate. me looking up at you while i finish. “aw, did you think i’d let you use it too?” your face falling. realizing i brought you in here just to watch. just to make it worse. “no, baby. you’re going to keep holding it.” standing up, washing my hands while you stand there absolutely desperate. “but i can’t—” “yes you can, sweetheart. for me.” leading you back out of the bathroom. you whimpering, begging, squirming. “please, please let me—” “not yet.” pulling you close finally, my hand sliding between your legs. “let me check how desperate you really are, baby.” pushing my fingers inside you slowly. you immediately whining, the fullness too much combined with your already full bladder. “please, i can’t—” whimpering as my fingers push deeper. the pressure making everything worse, making you need to go even more desperately. “shh, sweetheart. you’re doing so well.” curling my fingers inside you while you squirm and whine. “now you have two options, baby.” stroking your face with my free hand while keeping my fingers buried inside you. “option one: you let me edge you right now. let me work you up until you’re so desperate you leak on my fingers. and you don’t get to cum until you do. until you lose control a little bit and make a mess.” you whimpering at the thought. “option two: you hold it for another full hour. and during that hour, you’re going to drink more water for me. and you’re going to have a vibrator on your clit the entire time. keeping you right on edge but not letting you finish.” watching your face as you process both options. both of them cruel. both of them impossible. “so what’s it going to be, pretty/handsome? leak on my fingers now while i edge you? or hold it another hour with the vibrator?” you whimpering desperately, unable to decide. both options torture. “i need an answer, honey.” moving my fingers slightly inside you, making you gasp. “which one?”
oh... to be passed around like a toy at a party, letting a bunch of bigger men grab and touch and grope me while I whimper and beg for their cocks... my generous owner watching from his seat at the VIP booth, knowing that I'm going to be the club's communal puppy cumdump for the night.
getting fed all sorts of delightful little canapes and fizzy drinks while the men around me play with my sopping boycunt as they please, because of course I'm not wearing anything ("dogs don't wear clothes silly!")! placed on one man's lap to take his hard cock up my dripping puppycunt while another pulls my hair to direct my greedy whore mouth to his cock... feeling load after load empty into me as I am picked up and passed around all these different men, cum and slick dripping from my puppy parts and running down my shaking legs, or smeared across my ass and tits...
and at the end of the night I'm returned to my owner, who's receiving pats on the back and handshakes for raising such an obedient and fuckable little puppy. he runs his hand through my hair and praises me, telling me what an amazing little toy I was tonight, letting all his friends use me... and he asks if I can take one last load in me and who am I to say no?
I don’t masturbate much, but this guy I’m seeing does every day, usually more than once. He tells me it’s a cis guy thing, about how a hard-on is way harder to ignore than “just getting wet”, which—well, that’s not why. I’m the first trans man he’s slept with so I can understand why he might be wrong, but I’ve known enough truly perverted tboys to know it’s not an anatomical thing. I just don’t need it as much as he does.
Anyway—No Nut November rolls around, and while we’re not quite at the stage where I’d be able to control his orgasms when we’re not together, I make a joke in passing that NNN for me would be having to masturbate every single day. That sense of frustration and obligation, of having to spend time I wanted to use differently doing something that’s just not what I want—I’m just making an observation, watching my cigarette smoke waft off into the night air—but when I turn to look at him, his pupils have swallowed his irises and he’s pitched toward me, eyes trained on my throat.
“What if we traded?” he rasps. I snort and pass him the cig. “I’m busier than you, boy. I don’t have time to sit around with my dick in my hand.”
He tries again. “I mean—if you, uh—if I told you when I wanted to get off. And I didn’t, but you did.”
That’s more interesting. I consider him lengthwise. “It’s like, three times a day, right? I have a job.”
He shakes his head. “Well, yeah, but—if we’re just talking about need? Once in the morning, maybe again to fall asleep. I think—I think you could do it.”
“Oh, I could,” I sigh. “And I won’t lie, I’m tempted. Would you show me?”
“What do you mean?”
I snag the cigarette back from him. “When you need it. Would you send me a picture of your cock?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Uh, I mean, yeah?”
I picture it for a moment. This boy, this young man I’m just starting to know, spending a month doing nothing with his boners but sending pictures of them to me. I normally would not at all appreciate being forced to cum on a daily basis, but the idea of him—lying back in the early morning, dick pink and weeping onto his stomach, hands twitching with the urge to touch while he imagines my fingers tucked inside my cunt—has a real ring to it.
He texts me for the first time on the second day of the month. I’d been tempted to ask if he already failed or forgot, less than a day in, but it’s so early in the morning he didn’t really make it 24 hours anyway. I’m actually not at all bothered by the idea of him spending that first day conflicted—pent up, but still too anxious to text me, to see if I was serious.
Hey
If you meant it, I’m stupid hard rn
I smile at my phone despite myself. If I meant it. He’ll learn I always do, soon enough.
I think you’re missing an important part of this deal I send back.
He doesn’t reply for a minute. I wonder if that’s the rub. He has nothing to be shy about, both because I’ve seen his dick and because it’s absolutely nothing to scoff at, but some people are real prudes about photographic evidence. Guys with porn-rotted brains like him see it as a real loss of power, for someone else to have them in the objectifying form of an image. I suddenly feel my clit, in the way that it politely makes itself known when something’s starting to get me hot under the collar. Right as I’m starting to debate getting off regardless of what my boy does, my phone buzzes.
Attachment: 1 image
Sure enough, it’s a picture of his cock. Hard and insistent, pitched against the jut of his hip and the soft curve of his belly. I make a note of his desk and overflowing closet in the background, of the blue jersey sheets he’s laying on. Seems he slept in the nude. God, what a boy.
This good enough?
I’d read it as cocky if I didn’t know better. In all of the nasty things he’s done to me, I’ve noticed the current running underneath—his desperate need for approval, the way his eyes go dark and glossy when I call him good.
More than. Did you wake up like this?
I push my sleep shorts down to my ankles and run my hand flat over my pubic mound, thumb catching on the insistent jut of my swollen clit between my lips. It doesn’t feel as good as it would if he was doing it. God, I don’t fucking like masturbating. That’s what he’s for.
Yeah
Had a dream about you
That gets my attention. What about me?
Your mouth. His response is immediate. For a second after I woke up I could have sworn you were blowing me
I lick my lips. Not this time, sweetheart I send, thinking that’s the end of it. I’ll get off faster with both hands, and I wasn’t kidding that I really do not jerk off. It’s with more than a little annoyed resignation that I start to stroke myself, settling into my mattress for what hopefully won’t be more than a cursory 15 minutes. My phone, irritatingly, vibrates after another few minutes. I pick it up.
Are you doing it?
I roll my eyes for an audience of zero, but figures that he’s still worried. His need for validation vastly supercedes the tops I normally deal with. It’s kind of sweet. Under other circumstances, he might be what you call a good communicator.
Of course I am, baby. I throw him the pet name as a bit of a bone. A deal’s a deal.
His response is immediate. Can I see?
I’m inclined to say no, but there’s a part of me that’s turned on by the fact it’ll only make his situation worse. I’ve never sent him a picture of my cunt that wasn’t answered with a shot of his hand, belly, or pillow smeared with his own cum. I open my camera, pitch the lens down to center my pussy, fingers tucked just underneath my clit, and send a picture off into our text chain.
I don’t look at my phone as it vibrates two, three, four times. I know it’s a textual record of his desperation—no doubt telling me how good I look, how badly he wants to touch—but I know I’ll want that to tip me over the edge, which seems to be coming pretty quickly after all.
I shut my eyes and imagine where he is now. Laying in bed still, probably. Completely naked in the still air of his small bedroom. Hands maybe splayed on his thighs, maybe playing with his nipples, breath coming quick and labored as he tries to think about anything but the throbbing need between his legs. Alternating between staring at the ceiling, checking his phone to see if I’ve replied, and squeezing his eyes closed against the all-encompassing arousal he’s grown accustomed to taking care of as soon as he feels it.
It’s fucking hot, and my hips pitch downward as I realize I’m close. I pick up my phone to see what he sent.
Fuck you look so fucking good
I can’t believe you’re getting off for me right now
My dick is fucking throbbing
God it kind of hurts
The last text is all I need to send me over, an orgasm swelling low and tight in my belly before cresting and spreading through my body. My hole clenches around nothing as I shake through it, biting back any noises that might wake up my roommates. Fuck, the idea of him in physical fucking pain because he can’t cum is so goddamn hot. It’s the first day we’re even doing this, and it hurts? He’ll never make it.
Settling, I stare at our text chain as a lazy warmth starts to suffuse my body. Huh. Maybe this morning orgasm stuff has some merit.
I finally decide to answer him.
Just came all over my fingers I send.
His bubble pops up and disappears a few times before a message loads. If I woke up this hard I’d normally cum twice he says. I scoff. No chance. Still hard?
His next message isn’t quite a picture of his dick, but it’s insanely erotic anyway: a thick, near puddle-sized smear of precum in the wiry hair of his belly. What do you think
It’s not a question. I type out a smiley face, decide it’s probably not enough of a conclusion for him, and add Have a good day.
He responds just as I’m pulling my shorts back up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
You see an ad that pays really nicely to help with a farms breeding program. No skills were nesscary, you just had to turn up, lend a hand and you'd be be paid for each load that takes.
Easy money you think. Help a couple of horses or sheep copulate with some other horses and sheep and you would be paid enough to pay rent for the next year.
So imagine your surprise when you arrive at the farm only to be told to strip down and cleaned throughly, which you assumed maybe they just really needed santized hands working in the enviroment.
You only knew something was wrong when you were asked to take a pill and you did so without question, only to start feeling a little dizzy. Your pussy starting to feel a little hot as you could feel yourself starting to drip.
You were heaved on to some kind of mount, your arms and legs spread and tied, for your 'safety.'
It was only when the large bull like minotaur with large horns and the biggest cock you've ever seen, already slightly erect and twitching was brought out, that you realized YOU were the breeding program.
The pill they gave you was a relaxant of some kind, that made you all nice and slick to take this beasts length. Your pussy already twitching in excitment as you watched his large cock swing as he walked towards you.
You felt his hands on your ass, squeezing you before he leaned over, his back pressing to yours, weighing you down slightly before he slowly starts to push his cock into your tight hole.
You let out a moan and squeeze around him, causing him to huff and nuzzle the back of your neck.
"That's it, good girl..." Oh hearing that makes your walls practically flutter around his dick as he starts to thrust in and out slowly at first.
His pace eventually quickens though, slamming into you hard enough you could feel the mount moving under you, creaking under the pressure as he ruthlessly used you like his fleshlight.
And then you'd feel your womb get full as his hot load spills out inside of you.
He stays in you for a while, making sure his load is nice and snug in you before he pulls out, your pussy twitching as you feel his load leak out and down your legs.
Your mind was hazed, you were groaning and felt amazing. And you couldn't wait to get paid.
You asked to get untied and the minotaur looks confused for a moment before shaking his head.
"Oh didn't they tell you? They gotta make sure you're defiently going to have a calf."
As he says that you see the door swing open, another minotaur standing at the door, his dick already fully erect and twitching with eagerness. He had been riled up from hearing your moans and he needed you now.
Just behind him you could see a line of them, all waiting there turn with your pussy as they fondled themselves.
me and my little dick humping against your larger one, riding it and grinding against it like it's your thigh, just seeking my pleasure and paying no mind to how you're squirming and whimpering underneath me when???
puppy who can't tell the difference between being horny and needing to piddle. it's just a dumb puppy, how is it supposed to tell the difference between sensations in its puppy parts! especially when both of the feelings make it want to hump something. so whenever it feels that tingling down there, it finds something to rub its needy puppy parts against, whether that's a pillow, the arm of the couch, or its owner's leg. if it's lucky its owner will be able to figure out when it needs to piddle and take it outside in time, but sometimes the owner's not around or thinks puppy is just horny. and so puppy just keeps humping and humping as the tingling feelings get stronger and stronger and finally they peak and, oh no, puppy needed to piddle after all, and now it just made a mess all over the couch or its owner! hopefully next time the owner can figure it out in time, because puppy certainly can't...
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