Remain Tied Up

You lie on the bed, your arms stretched out, your legs stretched out, enough leeway that nothing hurts, too restricted to let you sleep. Itches crawl across your body, tantalising nerves you cannot reach. Shadows in the darkness dance at the edge of your vision, fuelled by your vulnerability, squashed by your critical mind. Every sound is an imagined burglar breaking in, or the start of a fire you won’t be able to deal with.

You could free yourself. The cuffs are held by Velcro, enough motion and they should loosen. Blair did loosen the chains slightly; you might even be able to strain and get one hand to touch the opposite wrist. But releasing yourself will bring down Blair’s punishment. You don’t want that. Or do you? {if Masochism > 0}Being punished by her wasn’t that bad, in fact you quite enjoyed it. {endif}

Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like eternity.

And over those minute-hours a new sensation creeps up on you. That ginger smoothy Blair made you drink is making its way to your bladder. A pressure that rises. First a hint of discomfort. Then a niggling call to be answered. Then an insistence. Then a pain, gathering in intensity the longer you wait. When it started you could dismiss it. You can’t dismiss it now. It becomes your whole existence. The pain of necessity. You need to piss. You need to piss now.

You have a mattress protector on. What type? You know in his latter years your father had problems with his bladder. You know some of the mattress protectors your mother bought were superabsorbent because of that. Is the one on now one of those? You try to think. You can’t think straight.

Maybe you should move. Maybe it’ll be OK.

Oh, it’s too late. And once the dams burst there’s no way of stopping the flood. Urine cascades down your legs. It soaks into the sheets, into the mattress protector, just hopefully not into the mattress. Just as well Blair didn’t cover you with the duvet. That’s over there, piled on the side of the mattress, free from the unhealthy flood saturating your groin, slickening your ass, creeping up your back.

Another reason not to sleep. The cooling urine soaking into your skin. Chilling you. Disgusting you. Adding to your discomfort. Adding to your humiliation.

It’s enough for you to hate Blair for leaving you in this way. Until you remember the sight of her tits bouncing, the feel of her tits, the taste of her flesh, the feel of her pussy on your cock, the pleasure in her eyes. God, you’re hard now, and it won’t go down. Another distraction. Another reason not to sleep.

Night lasts forever. You don’t sleep. You snooze. And wake after only a few minutes, with discomfort of your position, or with the dampness of your place, or with the insistence of your rock-solid cock.