I just, want to hold him close on a lazy Saturday. Talk about nothing in particular, just the normal ramblings to fill the gaps between the film we’ve put on as background noise.
Have him start on about something that he is clearly passionate about, occasionally slipping the straw to his drink past his lips so he doesn’t get parched. Not letting him realize he’s completely drunken his cup and is now onto mine.
Eventually he starts to shift, perhaps absentmindedly, perhaps knowingly. The fluids now steadily filling his bladder, what started as a small nuance slowly growing to be something he cannot brush off as easily.
He glances to the side, the slightly ajar door to the washroom being so tantalizingly close but, my arms are wrapped around his waist, holding him close on my lap. My head resting on his shoulder, asking yet another question to futher his story.
As he continues on, his voice trailing slightly as he shifts, his hips twitching when his bladder buzzes like static. He chews on his bottom lip, not wanting to get up quite yet, but, knowing that soon he would have to.
Time passes slower than it had before, his bladder now filled to its brim, all thanks to the extra drink that had been handed to him. He jumps a bit when my hands slowly move from the beginning of his waist, slipping closer down to his hips. His shoulders lock up for a moment. A coy smile rest on my lips as I place the palm of my hand over the taught lower abdomen, despite the layers of clothing, it feels rock hard.
My eyes shifting up when he makes a low whining noise. He quietly says he has to go.
“You can hold it, for me, baby?”
The apples of his cheeks redden, the events leading up to this finally dawning on him. He nods slowly, letting himself lean closer onto my body.
He let’s himself squrim more openly. My hand slowly lifting his hoodie up to gain better access. My thumb traces the outline of his bladder, occasionally giving light presses just to watch his reaction, his attempts at holding it all in.
His adam’s apple bobbing as he dryly swallows, the desperation surging through him like the flood that’s inside him. He begs to be able to go.
My thumb swirls around his happy trail nonchalantly, “Sure thing,” my other hand curling more tightly around him.
He gets the hint rather quickly and whines, saying how he doesnt want to make a mess, dirty up the couch and the one beneath him.
“These things can be cleaned, baby. It’s alright,” my hand slipping lower, patting at his thighs, “I know how bad you must need to go, you poor thing, holding it in for such a long time, like the good boy you are,” fake sympathy coating my voice thickly, he attempts to hide his buring face as my hands part his trembling thighs.
He tries to squish them back together but, my hand keeps them apart. He bounces slightly, trying feebly to hold it in.
But, it’s all in vain. A small dark patch grows rapidly on his acid washed jeans, urine spilling out with an audible hiss, soaking himself and everything surrounding him.
He lets out a soft cry of relief, a panting breath as the last of his bladder releases into the soaked fabric. Sluggishly he turns his head to hide in the nape of my neck, his face is burning hot as he hands cup his jaw.
“My, you really needed to go huh?Such a good boy, so good,” my hands helping him away from his hiding spot, “Are you my good boy?”
His eyes are glazed over from the euphoric relief that rushes through his body as he nods, a content purr coming from his throat.
“Yes, yes you are, now,” I say, lifting eachother up from our seated position, “I believe a nice bath is in order, whatcha think?”
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