Kitty

You drag your thumb smoothly up the face of your smartphone and the waves of vibration get more intense. He lets out a surprised "ngh-!" and claps one hand over his mouth while the other hand flies to his lap. 

"Baby, please--"

"Shh."

You tick the vibration up a notch for just a moment before dragging it alllll the way back down to a low, steady thrum. He gasps as the tension melts away and he collapses into the table, exhausted, fucked-out, edged. He closes his eyes, forcing tears to gather on his eyelashes.

Your own dick twitches at the sight. 

"I'm seriously gonna have an accident," he warns, voice low and strained. It's practically a groan. "I can't hold it much longer."

You both know what he means by "accident." You reach out to hold his hand, which he takes with gratitude and blows out a long breath, trying desperately to ground himself.

"Hold it. You're doing so well, you only have a little longer to go."

"I'm still so fucking close."

Shit. You try not to squirm in your own seat as you nudge his mostly-full, still-hot latte toward him. He doesn't even look, just shakes his head.

"I can't, I gotta focus--"

He draws in more long, trembling gasps and blows them out slowly. You stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. The two of you sit like that for a minute, alone in your quiet corner of the cafe, until he seems to regain control of his body. He wipes his face with a sweater paw, sits up, and takes a sip of his drink.

"Gooood job." 

He gives you a teary, pleading look and speaks with a whine so tiny you can hardly hear what he's saying. "I can't take it anymore."

"You can do it. Just a little longer."

You can tell he disagrees, but what can he do? 

The two of you get to talking about your individual and mutual plans for the weekend; the chores that need doing, the books you're planning to read, the meals you want to share. You wait until you're both finished with your coffee and he's distracted talking about a project to open the app again and push the vibrator back to full power. You catch him mid-sentence. It's so cute, the way his breath hitches. He stammers through the rest of his thought as quickly as he can and clamps his mouth shut. 

You pulse the vibrator up and down, up and down, and his back arches, pressing his ass down into the vinyl cushion of the booth seat like he's hungry for more. He rides the sensation in silence for a minute before his expression changes. You know the look intimately; he's about to cum. You turn the vibrator off but you know you pushed it too far.

"Baby. Now. Now." He's panicked.

You move to stand, to take him to the bathroom, but it's too late.

"I'm g-- I'm--"

He's a good boy and white-knuckles the edge of the table with both hands as he cums untouched. He trembles, bites his lip, and gasps as he looks down helplessly at his lap, watching his hips grind into the seat and his legs twist harder in attempt to give him the friction he needs as his load releases into his boxer briefs, one agonizing spurt at a time. When it's finished, he stills, gaze fixed on his lap.

Oh, the poor thing. You almost give him your sympathy, almost apologize, but god, it's all too hot. You can't help yourself. You decide to push it just a step further.

"What happened, baby?"

His chest heaves and all at once he folds his arms on the table, lets his head in fall into them, and cries.

You move to his side, both so you can comfort him and so you can hide him from view in case anyone walks by. You check over your shoulder to confirm: the barista is busy washing dishes with her back turned to the whole cafe. There's no one else here. No one could possibly see either of you unless they walked all the way to the back of the room, and behind your frame no one would see him or what the two of you were doing until you moved out of the way. It's completely safe. There's no doubt in your mind.

You stroke your boy's back with your fingernails and assess the damage. The wet spot on his jeans is sizable, visible, undeniable. And his cock is still rock-hard and twitching. The ruin provided no relief. 

He's sweating. Heat radiates from him like a furnace.

"What happened, baby?" You whisper.

"I ha-had an accident..."

You coo and pull him to rest his head on your shoulder. "It's okay," you reassure. "You're doing so well. You're so perfect."

"How am I-- how am I-- how are--"

"Shh. Don't worry about that now. Just keep being good for me." It's all you can do to keep yourself from bending him over right here and now, but you manage to contain yourself. Instead, you gently stroke his cock through his pants, and he's immediately moaning a stream of barely-audible begging into your ear. 

"I need it. I need it. Baby please, please, please I need to cum, please--"

"Fuck," you groan, and take one of his hands to guide it to your own crotch. He gets the message and paws at it. 

"Oh god, baby, ohhh god--"

Fuck, he's so desperate. 

Fuck, it's making you desperate.

"Listen." You grit your teeth and speak in a murmur. "I'm gonna take my jacket off and you're-- fuck-- nnh you're gonna put it on, okay? It's long enough to cover your accident. You'll be quiet and wear it just-- hh-- long enough to get back to the car and then you can take it off and be as loud as you fucking want all the way home." 

You grab his thigh, hard, and pull away to look into his eyes. "And then I'm gonna pin you down and make you fucking cum, you hear me?"

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

"Let's go."

You both straighten yourselves up and in no time you're a perfectly innocent-looking couple with dirty dishes to drop into the bus bin on your way out of the cafe. The door rings as you open it.

"Thanks for coming in!" The barista calls over her shoulder.

"Later!" You hurry your boy out the door. 

He looks adorable swimming in your jacket. He walks ahead of you, giving you a moment to pull out your phone and tap around on the screen without him knowing. His knees buckle slightly as the vibrator switches back on and his legs cross as he turns to shoot you a look, but you're right there in an instant, turning his shoulder and marching him urgently forward, then opening the passenger door for him and guiding him to sit. His head is thrown back and his eyes are glazed over by the time you have the car started.

"Drive, fuck, get us home," he pants, broken moans finally loud enough to fill the car. 

"I don't care how close you get or how many times you cum, you sit on your hands until we're home. Now."

He obeys. "Drive. Dr-- oh fuck, drive! Aah--!"

and she’s used to this, really. being bladder shy has given her quite the control. she isn’t concerned, really. so she’s just. unbelievably full and having a normal conversation with her friends, sitting on a plastic chair in the back yard at some friend’s party.

you’re not in the conversation, but nearby. you notice her. you can tell she’s a bit awkward in her movements. notice her hand rubbing slowly up and down her thigh. how she doesn’t seem able to sit still, and her thighs are pressed together in a less than normal way.

there are some points of the conversation where she goes a bit quiet, but you can’t hear the conversation enough to know if it’s about that or maybe about what you’re starting to suspect is a full bladder.

her friends move eventually, going to go talk to someone else in the yard. she slowly gets up to go with them, very careful in her movements. but she seems fine once standing. there’s nothing on her dress. she’s not crossing her legs. maybe you were wrong.

as she walks away you notice the chair she was in has… moisture on it? not a puddle, but definitely like something wet had been there. a few moments later she returns, and… wipes the seat with a napkin. she looks around shyly and notices you watching. she blushes but shrugs. “spilled something,” she says, “didn’t want anyone to sit in it.”

you nod and smile, but you know better. you know exactly what she spilled.

she goes to stand with her friends across the yard, and you keep watching her. of course you do. you couldn’t take your eyes off of her if you tried. and she still looks normal, but she’s still constantly moving, swaying in a way that subtly shifts her weight from foot to foot. tapping her foot occasionally. you notice her hand move to her lower stomach a few times, touching gently before moving it away. it seems like a nervous habit. a friend holds out a drink to her. she takes it, and takes a sip, but no more. maybe she’s too polite to say no?

eventually she stills, and you watch carefully to see what is happening. her posture is stiff. in the fun party lighting of the yard you notice it- a drop of liquid dripping down the back of her thigh. just one drop, sliding down, down, down leaving a wet trail behind as it goes. two more follow in quick succession, and you wonder if she’s breaking. if she’ll wet herself right there in the middle of the party. you spare a glance to her face and see that somehow, even as she leaks, she’s still talking; fully involved in the conversation. she must have so much practice with this.

your eyes trail back to her legs and you watch as the other two wet tracks make their way down her leg. you’re not at the right angle to see if there are any more leaks than that, but you can’t risk getting closer. it’s a good thing you’re known for not liking parties. you just go because your friend insists. you’ll have to thank them for that later.

a few minutes later, your eyes catch as a stream of clear liquid drips down her leg - it definitely can’t be called a drop anymore. there’s too much. how are her friends not noticing this?

she’s at her limit, it seems. she excuses herself from her friends and… goes over to the edge of the yard. you know there’s a bike path behind the house, and it turns into forest. none of her friends are going with her, and it’s getting dark. she really shouldn’t go out there alone.

you head over, too. just to make sure she’s safe. but casually, of course. you don’t want to be creepy or make her uncomfortable. as you get closer, though, she hears your footsteps and turns around. her hand flies away from her crotch as she does- seems she was finally holding herself since she’d thought she was out of eyes view. she’s blushing with exertion, but she smiles at you again. “sorry,” she says, waving her hands a bit. she’s shifting from foot to foot. “did you need something? i just had to-“ and she gestures vaguely to the small gate that leads to the woods behind the property. she’s bouncing, a hand on her thigh in a way that tells you it would be jammed against her crotch if she weren’t talking to you.

“s’fine. just wanted to tell you not to go too far into the woods. it can be dangerous.”

she nods, and her smile looks less forced, more genuine. “thanks. i’ll be careful.”

she turns around again and as she opens the gate and goes through it you can see that she’s leaking more now, several more thin streams cascading down the backs of her legs. her flip flops are wet.

you figure you’ll wait nearby the gate until she gets back, just to make sure she’s fine. you’d gotten lost in those woods before, you know they can be tricky.

what you didnt think was that she wouldn’t go far at all. you can hear through the fence a loud, splashing torrent of liquid against dirt and a relieved sigh. it sounds like she’s right there on the path, like she didn’t even make it into the woods. maybe she hadn’t intended to. she pees for a long time. you wish you were wearing a watch so you could know just how long. she must have been holding for hours.

you try not to listen. really you do. you don’t want to be creepy. but it’s so loud, and then less loud, and then a trickle, and the nothing. you’re almost relieved when it’s over, because you’re so turned on and don’t know how much more of that you could take

and then the back gate is opening again and she turns to see you, smiling. her face is still pink, but yours is now, too. she looks far more relaxed. “see, i didn’t get lost or eaten”

you laugh. you didn’t expect her to want to talk to you after that interaction you’d had. you’d figured she would be embarrassed since it was clear you’d caught onto her predicament. “i’m glad.”

she looks you over, then holds up the cup that’s still in her hand. you notice now it’s empty. “want to come with me to get a refill?” she asks, surprising you. “you know, since i spilled mine before,” her smile is telling. she hadn’t seemed like it, but she knew you were watching. maybe that whole time she had known. and now she was smirking, teasing - but it’s not mean, it’s playful. intrigued.