30 - Denial, desperation, domming kinky sluts 18+

Guys who beg and say "m-no, no, no" when you stop.

Guys who start touching themselves because they just can't wait any longer.

Guys who whimper when you slap their hands and tell them to behave.

Guys who…

like imagine someone stuck in traffic with a full bladder, desperately trying not to think about how badly they want to let it all out. they're hot and flushed and squirming, and their hips keep bucking up against the tight denim of their jeans. every movement sends a thrill down their spine, but they attribute it to the ache in their bladder and don't assume anything beyond that.

but finally, they can't stand it anymore and stick a hand between their legs. the pressure feels good, so good that they let out a choked whimper and grind against their hand. again, they chalk the bodily reaction up to how badly they need to relieve themselves, not even realizing how their cock/pussy throbs with every pang from their overfilled bladder. it's torture, yet they just gasp and moan and whine, brain too fuzzy to distinguish between all the different sensations.

when the dam finally breaks and piss gushes through their jeans, their eyes roll back and they shiver in ecstasy. the pee is wet and warm and somehow feels extra good, even though they can't figure out why. their accident creates a puddle in the seat, a reminder of their shame that simultaneously feels exhilarating. it takes a while for the person to calm down afterwards, breathing heavily and wondering why the hell they're missing the fullness of their bladder as the traffic clears up on the road ahead.

A and B are kinky friends/a couple going on a little road trip together. A gets to decide what B drinks and which rest stops they get to pee at 😌

Drunk and laughing, their girlfriend makes them laugh so hard some pee squirts out. They’re shocked and act like it didn’t happen but they’re realizing in horror that their bladder is FULL - rock hard and swollen. They’re about to ask where the bathroom is but get cut off in conversation, they desperately try one more time but everyone is drunk and laughing at once and then they feel more spurts start to flow out… this can’t be happening. No one can know. Now they can’t get up. They’re sitting in a little puddle, if they got up everyone would know they peed themselves… not only that but everyone would see they had to unbutton their shorts AND zip down the zipper….. to let their bladder out :/ it is huge and aching and it was pressing up against their waistband so bad. This sweet shy butch doesn’t know what to do…. They’re so cool and hot, and pissing themselves?? This can’t be happening! They’re doing mental calculations, how can they let some out, let enough out to then be able to sit here until it dries. They’re calculating how big their bladder is, how much they’ve drank, how much pee is still waiting to even get into the bladder when there’s more room……, how much they could let out right here on this bench and into the grass without anyone noticing. They’re bursting. They have to pee NOW. They slowly and secretly under the table pull their shorts to the side and try to angle their cunt down enough to shoot some pee into the grass… they barely make it, pee starting to come out almost immediately but they somehow get some out subtly enough but it’s so LOUD that they have to cut off their stream after a second. It sounds like someone spilled something. Luckily everyone is drunk enough not to notice except they had to hold their cunt with their hand and theyve now made a dripping puddle into their hand. At this point they really can’t get up, their bladder bulge is so visible and they’re so embarrassed by how big it is, people would definitely notice. No one wants to be asked “uhhh… is that your bladder?!?!?” And they couldn’t get up anyways because they’ve been pissing themself for the last 10 minutes and theyre trying to figure out how they can just sit there and keep peeing themself without anyone noticing.

They’re squirming trying to hold back another torrent. If anyone looked under the table they’d see them cupping their cunt, a little lake of pee pooled in their hand already, dripping off the bench and down their legs. They’d see them leaning forward trying to find any impossible relief for their aching stretched full bladder.

Then I shift. First a subtle twist of my hips, then a more urgent shimmy that sends tremors through me. Every nerve fires to life. You barely glance at me, eyes fixed on the flickering screen. “What?” you murmur, voice low and calm.

“I need to go,” I whisper, voice tight, as I try to lift away. My arm slithers around your tors o, pulling you flush against my chest before you can slip free. It’s not violent just firm, insistently claiming you. “Sit still,” you say, the single syllable carrying an unspoken command.

I press back once, softer this time, but my will already fraying. Your hand drifts down my side, fingertips brushing over my hip, tracing the hollow at the top of my thigh before settling there. The warmth of your touch blooms inside me. You draw in a breath. “I’m serious,” I whisper, voice quivering, but my body goes slack against your grip. You lean closer, your lips grazing my ear. “I know you are baby,” you murmur. A heartbeat passes. “But you’re going to wait.”

The words settle over me like a tether pulling me home. I still, not because you’re forcing me, but because you’re giving me the choice to stay. Your hold tightens just enough to remind me of your strength and your thumb begins a slow, feather-light drag across my skin, watching the tiny shiver that ripples down my spine. “How bad?” you tease, tone playful yet utterly commanding.

My breath hitches, and you press a soft kiss to my neck, tasting my quickening pulse beneath your lips. “Use your words,” you murmur, breath warm and intimate against my skin. The television’s chatter fades into nothing. All that remains is the slick brush of your fingers on my bare thigh, the quick drum of my heartbeat in my ears.

When you slip two fingers inside me, my back arches like a bow bent to its limit. A soft gasp escapes sweet, vulnerable the very sound that makes you deepen your rhythm. My eyes flutter open at the small leall. “Sorry—” I begin, voice trembling, trying to wriggle free, but your other hand closes around my wrist, gentle yet unyielding. You know me too well: how far I’ll let you go, and exactly when to hold me still.

“Shh,” you murmur, sliding your fingers deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.” Heat floods my cheeks. I can feel the wetness pooling in your palm, warm and slick, but it only makes you harder. I fight each moan, nails marking your forearms as your fingers curl expertly inside me, coaxing every tremor.

Your free hand slides up to my lower belly, pressing flat to add pressure and anchor me as my hips roll helplessly against your palm. My thighs gleam with arousal in the dim light. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes when you find my swollen bundle of nerves, your thumb drawing languid circles that send lightning down through my spine.

I whimper, lips parting. “Baby, please—” My sobs come unbidden, raw and urgent, punctuated by your name. My body quakes around your fingers, every sensation magnified, every nerve alight. You lean forward, capturing my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, drinking in my desperate little gasps.

When my orgasm crashes through me in shuddering waves, my pussy clenches reflexively, milking your fingers as my breath stutters between us. You hold me through each quake, your arms anchoring me until my body finally unravels and goes limp against you.

You withdraw your fingers slowly, coated in my release. I blink up at you, lashes heavy with unshed tears, chest heaving in slow, trembling breaths. “I—Im sorry,” I murmur, voice distant, shy.