Today’s smut is very self-indulgent, because after hours of trying to write something filthy or clever, I ended up writing the scene I’d be using to get off today if I had the privacy for a wank. I’m nervous about this one, because while I’ve begun exploring my pee-holding kink in play, I haven’t done so in my writing before. If piss play isn’t your thing you might want to skip this one, but to me the hot thing in this smut is the control… It also includes degradation.
The way my play partner fucks with me is intoxicating. She pushes my boundaries with a sweet smile, taking the kinks I’ve told her I wanted to explore and twisting them into something deliciously hot that makes me blush with shame because how can I like something so filthy?
We spend a lot of time talking about our kinks and limits: she enjoys teasing me by text when she’s not with me by describing filthy ways she wants to use me, which leaves me wondering if she’ll really do whatever depraved scene she described to me when I next see her. Part of our agreement is that she is allowed to mind-fuck me whenever we see each other – any in-person interaction, even when we’re not specifically meeting up to fuck, has the potential to turn into a scene.
However, I’m pretty sure I’m safe when I run into her on a wet Sunday afternoon. I’m in search of a quiet corner to read my book, but coffee shop is more crowded than I expected, and I’m grateful when I spot her beckoning towards me. Part of me is disappointed that she seems engrossed in something on her – if she’s busy it reduces the chances of me ending up giving her head in the toilets.
I was wrong, because apparently whatever she’s working on isn’t as interesting as teasing me. She has the ability to make it seem as though she’s totally uninterested in me, so the first pinch comes as a complete surprise. I yelp, but she’s already focussed on her laptop with that air of nonchalance that frustrates me in how hot I find it. She looks up in concern and asks if I’m ok, and I try to keep my voice even as I tell her that yes, I’m fine.
For a few minutes I’m on edge, but my book is really interesting and soon I’m absorbed in it again. Which is, of course, when she pinches me again, on my inner thigh this time. I bite my lip and glare at her, but she looks back calm. She’s so calm and in control, and I love the way she plays with me.
After another few chapters (and many more hard pinches) I begin to get to my feet, intending to head to the bathroom, but she jumps up before I can.
“You want another coffee? Let me get that for you.”
“Oh, but I wasn’t…”
She kisses me to shut me up – and I scold myself for how I melt into her kiss – and heads to the counter. She returns several minutes later, with another coffee for me, two salted caramel cupcakes, and a bottle of water. To any onlookers, it probably looks like the a thoughtful gesture, but I know what it means. It’s a subtle sign that she’s taking control. We’ve played with my pee holding kink before – she watches me squirm and beg with sadistic glee – but never in a public place. I know that she loves putting me in a position where I have to try and hide my suffering, and her smirk tells me that this is exactly what she’s going to do just now.
Except she doesn’t explicitly tell me, just lets me sit there and try to focus on my book as I begin to get wet. I ignore her ‘gifts’ for a little while, but she soon orders me in her most dominant voice to drink my coffee before it gets cold, and to eat one of the cupcakes. She even tells me to drink the water, “helping” by tipping the bottle to force more down my throat. It’s not long until I’m squirming and deeply uncomfortable.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell her, trying not to make it sound like a question. Her hand is suddenly on my thigh again, pushing and gripping and preventing me from getting up.
“No you’re not.”
I turn to her, trying to keep my voice low as I plead.
“Please? I need to go.”
“Fine. You can go – if you can tell me that you’re not wet right now.”
She smirks: “Are you sure it’s a good idea to swear at the person who is in control of when you next get to pee?”
I shake my head; she smirks.
“Keep reading, you filthy girl. I’ll let you know when you have permission to get up.”
It’s harder than you’d think to focus on your book when your bladder is full and your play partner has her hand on your thigh. When I ask I nervously ask if I can go ten minutes later, she calls me a pathetic slut and tells me that she’s adding another ten minutes on to how long she wants me to hold if for. She doesn’t tell me how long that is, of course. I hate it and love it and sit there squirming.
When I think I’ve held all that liquid inside me for as long as I can, she moves her hand from my thigh to my abdomen, where she pushes down until I hiss. It hurts, and it’s even harder to hold like this. Her voice low as she tells me that she will give me permission to pee – if I go into the bathroom and get myself off by rubbing my clit through my knickers, and comes back with them (smelling like my cunt) in my hand after I’ve peed.
I squirm, silently, and then obey.
Masturbation Monday is run by the fabulous Kayla Lords. Click on the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week.
If you like the power dynamics in this filthy story, you’ll probably like this one too, which you can hear read aloud as audio porn. Support me on Ko-fi to help me keep creating aural erotica.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.