Smashwords

“Hold it,” he commands.

I like to call him my daddy, given our thirty year age difference, and he likes to call me his son. It adds a taboo edge to our kinky play that heightens the heat of the moment.

“Yes, daddy,” I say.

If my frat brothers could see me know, they’d kill themselves laughing. Or they might beat me up for being a fag, then laugh when I’ve got a broken nose. But they have their kinks and I have mine — even though mine are, well, a little weirder.

Daddy walks in a circle around me again. He’s wearing a suit and tie that fit him snugly, accentuating his bulging muscles and gargantuan basket. After circling me, he walks over to the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room and grabs another bottle of water, bringing it over to me.

“Drink” he says, handing me the bottle.

I take it from him, put it to my lips, and tilt my head back, guzzling down the whole bottle in ten seconds flat. I let out a little burp, then hand him the empty bottle. That’s the sixth one I’ve downed in the last ten minutes. He has six more sitting on the counter.

He takes the bottle and puts it next to the other empties, but before grabbing the next full one, he comes over to me. He places his hand on my bare stomach, rubbing smooth circles over my abs.

“How are you doing, son?” he asks, his voice a mix of tenderness and domination.

“I’m okay, daddy, but I’m gonna have to piss soon.”

“Mmm,” he says, and moves his hand lower down, massaging my bulge through the adult diaper I’m wearing. The rest of me is naked and my skin is chilled. Daddy likes to keep the temperature low when I’m in my diaper, so that my nipples turn hard and the heat of a soon-to-be-wet diaper contrasts so much more. “Hold it until I say. Understood, boy?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Over the next ten minutes, daddy makes me drink the last six bottles of water. My stomach is so full it’s bulging, making sloshing noises with every movement I make. I can feel the water as it snakes through my gut and settles in my bladder. Like a water balloon, my bladder expands and expands, soon reaching the point where I start to worry it’s going to burst.

“Daddy?” I ask.

“Yes, son?”

“I really need to pee.”

“Hold it, boy. I told you to hold it.” Daddy sits down on the couch, the fabric of his pants stretching taut over his leg muscles and his thick bulge. I watch him as he gropes himself, wishing he would open his fly and let his cock hang out. I wish daddy would make me suck it and eat all the cum that he shoots out.

Fuck, my overwhelming need to piss interrupts my train of thought and overtakes me. I really need to go, to just let it all flood out. My bladder is so full it hurts. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, feeling extra cold in this cool room, and I start shifting from foot to foot, simply unable to stand still.

I’m holding it for the mere fact that daddy told me to. If it weren’t for him, or if I was a bad boy, I would’ve pissed in my diaper by now.

“Please, daddy,” I beg. “Please, let me pee.”

Smashwords

Smashwords

I hurry out of the building and toward a thick stand of trees just a little ways off. Halfway there, I open my pants and let my cock hang out, but I hold off on pissing until I get behind the trees.

Right as I’m about to let loose and empty my bladder, I hear the shuffle of footsteps on gravel and dried leaves. I jerk my head toward the sound and spot a young man walking my way, wearing overalls. A plumber, I realize, the person who’s here to fix the washroom. But he’s walking toward me. I catch his gaze and he’s watching me with intensity.

I quickly pack my cock back into my boxers and zip up my jeans. I’m about to apologize to him, but then he stops several feet in front of me and falls to his knees. What’s this about? He opens his mouth, like he’s a baby bird, begging to be fed.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Sweat — from the urgency of my need to piss — pours down from my forehead, rolling down my face. If I don’t let loose any second now, my pants will be soaking and stinky.

He doesn’t answer — he just sits there, on his knees, with his mouth open.

“Are you some kind of fag?” I ask. I inwardly chastise myself for using such a word, as I think of my wife slapping my arm for it.

I look him up and down — he’s young, no older than twenty, skinny, and with dark hair. For all the gay men to hit on me, especially for something as disgusting as what I suspect he wants, at least he’s attractive. That thought freezes me for a moment — do I think he’s attractive? If so, what does that mean about me?

Before I can ponder that question further, I feel another drop of piss snake its way down my urethra and dribble into my boxers, growing the small wet spot. I have no time to think on this — I need to piss or I feel like I’m going to die.

Carefully and slowly, like I’m expecting him to call me perverted and pull out a cop badge or something, I unzip my jeans and nudge them down to the tops of my thighs, then do the same with my boxers. I lean back a few degrees, grab my cock, and angle so my piss stream should arc toward the young man’s face.

Almost reluctantly, I relax myself and let my piss stream out of me. It arcs through the air, looking both golden and magical as it catches the light as it dapples through the trees. With perfect aim, my piss strikes the guy in the face, square in his mouth. I watch as my piss puddles there. I’m entranced as he swallows it down, my piss splattering all over his face, and then he opens his mouth again for another drink.

Smashwords