you storm into the house, robby on your heel. it was 10:26 PM. he just had to stay around PTMC to help with the night shift, fucking bullshit. “‘m sorry!” he whines. you pay no attention to him as you take off your shoes, strip your scrub top and bottoms before throwing on an old t-shirt of robby’s. he does the same, but putting on some shorts over his boxers before heading to the bathroom. you glare at his back and reach your hand up to the back of his neck.
“you don’t deserve to go to the bathroom.” you seethe, your nails digging into his neck. he lets out a pained whine but makes no advances to continue to the bathroom. he turns around, and heads into the living room. you watch as he walks out. you go to follow him but you’re mind catches on something in your bedside table. you open the bottom drawer, revealing handcuffs. you grab them and head to the living room.
robby has the tv on and is on his phone. you walk past him and into the kitchen, you open the fridge and grab out three water bottles—all for robby. you opt for a glass of red wine. you walk into the living room, not saying anything but just looking at him. he looks up from his phone and groans. “down,” you command and he sinks to the ground. you walk up to him, throwing the bottles on him. “drink them.” you tell him, sitting yourself behind him on the couch—careful not to spill your wine. he doesn’t say anything but cracks open the first bottle and starts drinking it.
you don’t tell him anything as you cuff your ankle to his hand, he looks up at you confused. “so you don’t run off to the bathroom without permission, you dummy.” he meekly nods and continues drinking the water.
thirty minutes later and all the bottles of water are gone, you’ve been nursing your glass of wine for the same amount of time. robby has abandoned his phone to focus on not peeing himself, the rapid influx of fluid making it hit him sooner than expected. his eyes have unshed tears in his eyes, he was in pain.
“please—i need to go,” he whines, his nonhandcuffed hand holding his cock to stop any leaks. “fuck- please!” he whimpers out, a few tears dropping and coating his cheeks. you jut out your lip in a faux pout with fake sympathy.
“aww, you can hold it a little longer baby. let mommy finish her wine.” you say, wiping some tears off his cheeks which only causes more to come out. he starts thinking about literally anything else to get his mind off of his full bladder, squeezing his cock to the point it hurts. you tsk at him and grab his other hand, making him hold your now empty wine glass.
he cries, as a dribble of pee comes out of his tip. he looks up at you, you’re all blurry from the amount of tears in his eyes, “bathroom? please, i need it!” he groans as he humps your leg to get some sort of pressure on his cock. you ignore him as you watch the tv, the newest episode of love island loading on the screen.
he whines again and again, leaking little by little while rutting against you. “i can’t hold it anymore!” he warns, full on sobbing at your feet.
you roll your eyes, “fine, you can go.” you tell him as you reach to undo the handcuffs before his shorts become instantly soaked with pee. he whimpers in embarrassment but the relief was too good. he kept humping your leg while relieving himself.
“ah! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he mumbles out as he starts spurting cum as well, he was in complete euphoria. and his shorts were so soiled that he’d have to throw them out.
you moan at the scene in front of you, it almost felt like you peed yourself as well with how wet you were. “‘m sorry!” he cries out, tears still coming out in embarrassment.
“cmon, baby. let’s go clean you up. and then i’ll punish you for cumming without asking.” you whisper in his ear and he lets out a pained groan.
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