Release Yourself

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.

That is the final straw. You’re going to urinate. No way out of it. You’re not going to wet the bed.

You nearly do. You tug on the wrist and the Velcro crackles but doesn’t break. You strain a hand and fingertips loosen it, but not enough. You tug again, fuelled by the pain in your bladder. It’s not coming. It’s not coming. Your right wrist rips free. The muscles in your arm scream in atrophy as you bring your arm down. You need to flex that arm several times to bring back blood. The pressure in your bladder drives you on. Releasing the left wrist is simple with one hand free.

There’s almost an accident when you sit up. The change in pressure on your bladder is almost enough. You fumble with the ankle cuffs while closing your eyes and willing yourself not to release. The last one goes. You fling your legs over the side of the bed. Try to stand and almost collapse. Your legs are still asleep. You don’t have time for them to wake. Somehow you get to the bathroom. Pointless to try urinating while standing up, the pressure is too great.

You sit down on the toilet. And the flood is released. A release that is almost orgasmic in its pleasure. You groan as if its semen you’re shooting rather than piss. Your toes curl as pain is washed away. You sit for another eternity, the first flood soon followed by a second, soon followed by a third.

How long you sit on the toilet you don’t know. What you do know is the lightheaded feeling as you stumble back to bed, the noise of the flushing toilet almost sounding angelic. You collapse back on the bed.

Could you rechain yourself to the bed? Escape Blair’s punishment, by reconfining yourself?

No. Three bonds would be easy. But you need two hands to finish the deed, so they’ll always be one hand free. And you know that Blair will know exactly what you’ve done.

So you curl up in the bed and seek a blissful sleep. One filled with dreams of Blair’s body, breasts unconfined and heaving, face awash with pleasure, pussy flooded with juices and welcoming.