Imagine being made to sit on the toilet, absolutely full and bursting, struggling not to let a single drop out. You're squirming, shifting, struggling, a sheen of sweat forming on your forehead from your efforts.
You're finally told you can let go. Except, the permission is conditional.
You can pee, as long as it's inaudible.
The full force of your stream would surely splatter in the toilet bowl, the water splashing as it becomes clouded with yellow. But you're only allowed to let out the bare minimum, a mere sliver of connected droplets that tinkle against the porcelain if you listen close enough. A slow, agonizing relief, if you can even call it that.
It takes immense concentration to pull off. To let out a continuous trickle at a snail's pace. Getting fully empty could take an eternity.
If the flow stutters for more than five seconds or you cut it off entirely, your pissing privileges are revoked for the next two hours.
If the floodgates widen, a loud hiss announcing your body's betrayal, your failure to comply, to control yourself, well. Your eagerness just cost you your next bathroom break. Let's just hope you can handle drinking much more than usual to compensate for your disobedience. A speedy release deserves a speedy refill, no?
Your fingers dig into your quaking thighs as you contemplate your options. Are you up for the challenge? Or can you keep holding it?
