kk

he’s been edging you for the better part of an hour, hands all over your thighs, lips dragging along your neck like he’s trying to suck the patience out of you. your panties are long gone, soaked somewhere on the floor, and your clit’s so swollen it hurts — but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your belly.

“please,” you whimper, again, wriggling in his lap. “eddie, i really—i really have to go—”

he hums like he’s thinking about it. spreads his legs a little wider, dragging you closer until the curve of your ass is snug to his cock, rock hard and twitching under his jeans. “how bad?” he murmurs. “show me.”

you shift a little — try to lean forward, try to hold the pressure in — and he presses down. his palm, warm and steady, right into the taut swell of your lower stomach, and the second his hand touches your bladder you let out the tiniest cry, eyes flying wide.

eddie laughs. actually laughs, low and breathy in your ear. “fuck, baby. you’re so full. you can barely take it, huh?” his voice is all fake concern, thick with arousal. “hurts, doesn’t it? holding it for me?”

your bottom lip wobbles. you nod. your legs are shaking, cunt fluttering, and you don’t know if you’re going to come or piss first. he kisses your temple, sweet and soft and mocking. “good girl. you can hold it a little longer.”

and then he moves his hand lower — not to help, no, never to help — but to slide his fingers between your legs. slow at first, just tracing through your wetness, humming as your hips jerk. you whimper when he circles your clit, tight little flicks that make your back arch.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “fuckin’ dripping. poor baby’s about to piss herself, and she’s still this wet for me. such a dirty little thing.”

you try to pull away, thighs clenching, but he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you there, fingers still working your clit in tight, fast circles. his palm comes back to your stomach, pressing, and you wail — it’s too much, it’s too much, and you cry out, “eddie, i can’t—i can’t hold it—”

“shhh.” he kisses you. full and hot and filthy. “you can. you just don’t want to.”

your body betrays you seconds later. it happens fast — a hard twitch in your thighs, a broken sob in your chest — and then your bladder gives up. a burst of hot liquid between your legs, soaking his lap, your thighs, the couch beneath you.

eddie freezes.

then exhales, slow. deliberate. “you didn’t.”

“i—i’m sorry,” you whisper, horrified, half in tears, your whole body shaking.

“such a pitiful thing” he murmurs, voice dangerous now. his fingers are still on your cunt. still slick with your wetness and the mess of your accident. “i gave you one job. one.”

he grabs your jaw. makes you look at him.

“guess now i gotta teach you what happens when you make a mess on me, huh?”

and then he slaps your pussy — once, sharp — and you cry out, even as your body clenches around nothing, cunt still pulsing, still leaking. and he laughs again, denim covered cock grinding up into your soaked ass.

“aw, fuck. you liked that, didn’t you?”

you don’t respond. all you do is squirm, a sad whimper leaving your lips— piss soaked cunt grinding down against him.

“yeah,” he grits, voice dark, hand still between your legs, fingers slippery with your slick and piss. “you’re such a dirty girl.”

his tone should scare you. instead, your hips rock into his hand, chasing friction. your whole body aches. your clit feels like it’s glowing. you’re dripping everywhere, thighs slick, couch ruined, and he’s still holding you down in his lap like you haven’t just humiliated yourself.

“dirty fuckin’ girl,” he echos again, meaner this time, voice wrecked with need. “you piss all over my lap, and you’re still this wet?” he presses two thick fingers into you, hard and deep, and you cry out— body jolting, back arching, overstimulated and way past the point of shame.

he yanks his fingers out and pulls your hips up, shoving his thigh between your legs. the denim is soaked and warm and sticky, and he grabs your ass, dragging your cunt down right on top of it.

“go on,” he growls. “ride it.”

you hesitate — just for a second — and he slaps your pussy again, this time so hard your vision goes white. “i said, ride it.”

and you do. god, you do.

you grind yourself into him, whimpering, gasping, your whole body trembling from how sensitive you are. his thigh is flexed, firm and solid under you, and he’s hissing under his breath every time you drag your slick little cunt over the soaked fabric.

“look at you,” he groans, one hand on your hip, guiding you into a rhythm. “cumming all over your mess. you fucking love it, don’t you?”

you sob out something like a yes, and he leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “that’s it, bunny. go on. show me how filthy you are.”

you’re close. your whole body’s locking up, breath hitching, that terrifying edge building fast and wild. and when he grabs your jaw again and snarls “cum for me. make it messy.” — you shatter.

your cunt pulses hard, gushing over his thigh, your whole body jerking with the force of it. you cry out, loud and ruined, twitching in his lap while he holds you down, grinding your hips through it, drawing every last drop from your soaked, overstimulated body.