Ayabe grits his jaw, bouncing his leg under the desk like a spring is attached to the bottom of his shoe, and tries to think about anything but the unbearable pressure building up in his lower abdomen. He tightens his grip on his pen, hand slippery with sweat, and drags in the deepest breath he can manage.
He never thought his bladder could get this full, yet his own body proves that instantly. Every ounce of concentration and strength in his usually lazy body focuses on a single goal: not pissing himself. Yet his bladder just gets fuller and fuller, throbbing inside him like an overfull balloon, and Ayabe doesn’t know if he can hold it for much longer. But he has to hold it. The pain of a full bladder is nothing compared to the alternative.
He discovered too late how dangerous Kuroiwa can be, and was now stuck in his clutches like a bear trap around his ankle. In his few months in this clusterfuck of a ‘relationship’, Ayabe had lost count of how many cuts and bruises he acquired, not to mention the endless terror of random death threats. How many times had Kuroiwa sat astride him, fucking himself on Ayabe’s dick, only for Kuroiwa to suddenly lean down, wrap his hands around Ayabe’s throat and remind him how easily his life could be snuffed out? Ayabe suppressed a shudder at the thought.
“Ayabe-kun, you’re very distracted tonight,” Kuroiwa said. He was in a ‘soft’ mood, treating Ayabe with care with only the vaguest of threats to keep him in line, as evidenced by the lack of blood on Ayabe’s skin. Despite their sex being over, he refused to let Ayabe pull out, tugging him into an awkward embrace with Ayabe still inside him, and Ayabe just felt sticky and exhausted and gross (and pathetic, as, like always, the consensual nature of this relationship was dubious at best).
“Oh, sorry,” Ayabe said, being polite despite wanting to run, as kissing ass beat getting his eyes gouged out or losing fingers or getting drugged and waking later with no idea what had happened, or…
Kuroiwa stroked scruffy hairs from his forehead, and those fingers caressing him rather than beating or strangling or scratching felt totally alien. His partner was arguably scarier in this state; at least Ayabe knew where he was with violent Kuroiwa. But disturbingly kind Kuriowa… he was a ticking time bomb only leading to who knew what.
“Even in bed, you live up to your lazy nature,” Kuroiwa said, reaching down to caress Ayabe’s ass cheeks. “You just lie there and let me ride you. Almost as if you don’t really… appreciate our relationship.”
There it was. To the untrained ear, nothing changed. Yet to Ayabe, a man far-too-intimately involved with Kuroiwa, he felt the air change, Kuroiwa’s still soft words suddenly dripping with threats. The caressing hand froze, and then sharp fingernails dug into his skin. Ayabe’s breathing hitched, both from the pain and the sound of ‘that’ voice.
Kuroiwa never stayed soft for long. Just what was he in for now?
“You do… enjoy our time together, don’t you, Ayabe-kun?” Kuroiwa continued, and he shifted his hips, finally freeing Ayabe’s dick. Hands clamped onto Ayabe’s shoulders, rolling him onto his back again, and Kuroiwa moved so fast Ayabe could barely see him, blinking when his boss ended up sat straddling his chest. “You can tell me the truth.”
No he couldn’t. Ayabe could never be open with Kuroiwa. Every action, both at work and in their private lives, he had to plan in advance, each one calculated to end in the minimum pain possible. After all, he always remembered their ‘first time’, when pissing Kuroiwa off ended with him drugged and tied up and an ice pick hovering above his eye.
Ayabe chuckled awkwardly, trying to picture himself talking to Kaito-san or someone else at the casino, where he could be his lazy and truthful self. “Y-Yeah, course I enjoy this.” He held his breath, forcing himself not to cringe as he added, “I love you, after all.”
He still didn’t know if Kuroiwa really felt a warped type of love towards him, or if this was all just a way to play with his power. But they both knew Ayabe’s words were a load of bullshit. Still, Kuroiwa smiled when those five words passed Ayabe’s cracked lips, and he leaned in for a kiss—a kiss with too many teeth to be anywhere near romantic, but it was better than being hit or cut or threatened with murder.
“Wonderful,” Kuroiwa said. “But I would like you to show me how much you love me. Words are meaningless without actions to back them up, after all. Now, how will you show me your love?”
Ayabe blinked, stunned. This was a first. But he still didn’t like it.
Kuroiwa smiled, unmistakable hunger behind the expression. “No suggestions? Never mind; I have my own idea.”
“Tomorrow, you will last the whole day without urinating.”
Despite his attempts at not rocking the boat, Ayabe jumped at the sheer stupidity of what Kuroiwa just said. “What?!”
Kuroiwa’s smile never softened, but a hand flew towards him, slapping Ayabe hard across the face. He gasped, blinking when his eye started to water, and felt the prickling heat already forming on his cheek.
And, like he didn’t just slap Ayabe, Kuroiwa continued, “If you last until the evening, when we both meet at my apartment, I will be satisfied your care for me holds sincerity. However, if you cannot last, you will be punished. And if you decide to go and relieve yourself without permission, prepare to find a knife against your throt. Do you understand, Ayabe-kun?”
And despite how much he longed to run, Ayabe found himself nodding and grimacing as he said, “Y-Yeah. Okay. I… I’ll do that.”
“Wonderful,” Kuroiwa said, his smile ruined by the bloodlust in his eyes.
Ayabe hates all of this, hates Kuroiwa for putting him through this and hates himself for getting into such a ridiculous situation, but there is nothing he can do about it now. If he runs to the bathroom to piss, Kuroiwa would probably tear his eye out for breaking their promise (as if this bullshit is anything like a real scene). If he wets himself, he’ll definitely get the shit beaten out of him, and probably a new wound sure to leave an ugly scar. So, whilst it hurts and distracts him and makes him feel fucking pathetic, Ayabe has no choice. He has to go along with Kuroiwa’s bullshit. He has to hold it for five more hours, and it will all be over.
He skipped his normal morning coffee, drinking only the bare minimum, but in the five hours he has been awake, Ayabe’s bladder has become fuller than ever before in his life. How will he feel by the end of their shifts, both painfully dehydrated and risking severe bladder damage just to please his fucked-up ‘boyfriend’. This is hell.
But that hell is his life, and he isn’t strong, or brave, enough to break free. So he has to put up with it, humiliation and all.
By 4pm, the end of both his and Kuroiwa’s shifts, Ayabe slumps backwards in his seat at his desk, panting for breath. Pain unlike anything he has felt stabs and stabs at his bladder, needles of pain scratching the walls of his overwhelmingly full bladder at the slightest movement. Despite loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants, there is still too much pressure on his bladder, and if he dares to touch his lower abdomen, he can feel his engorged bladder through the skin, hard and incredibly painful to the touch.
He hasn’t been able to do any work in hours (not that he ever works hard to start with, but even for him), in far too much pain to think, let alone lean forwards in his seat to see his paperwork. Sweat runs down his back, plasters his hair to his forehead and makes his crotch damp, but there is no way to stop it; the sweating just comes from overworking his muscles, and the sweat, along with the now violent muscle tremors, won’t leave until he can relax. But he can’t relax until—
No! The mere thought of finally letting go sends discomfort up his back and down his legs, and urine presses against his urethra, urging him to let go. A small spurt escapes him, soaking into his underpants, and Ayabe yelps, sinking his teeth into his lip as he clenches every muscle in his body, forcing the trickle to stop. Thankfully, he manages to stop it before it became a waterfall, but the others in the room still stare at him for making weird noises and looking like shit, and Ayabe wonders if dying of embarrassment is a thing.
Thankfully, though, the alarm he set on his phone vibrates, and Ayabe sighs shakily; he can finally leave now. Kuroiwa told him they would travel to his place together, so all he has to do is make it to the front doors of the station and wait for Kuroiwa to escort him to the car.
At least, that was the plan.
“Good afternoon, Ayabe-kun,” Kuroiwa says, sauntering into Ayabe’s shared office (and making at least two of the guys jump at the sight of their superior’s sudden appearance).
Ayabe stares up at him. “A-Afternoon.”
Glancing at the witnesses, Kuroiwa smiles and offers a hand. “With us going the same way home, would you like a lift.”
He blinks, momentarily puzzled by Kuroiwa’s acting, but soon nods weakly. “Thanks, sir…”
And as the others marvel at how kind and helpful their boss is, Ayabe takes the offered hand and gets to his feet as fast as he can without pissing himself. As it turns out, his movements are pathetically slow, but with everything shaking and hurting, he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than hold in the urine and stagger after Kuroiwa.
Just what rumours will this cause to spread throughout the station? You know what; he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit anymore.
The moment Ayabe steps into the living room of Kuroiwa’s spacious apartment, his bladder gives up. As his legs crumple beneath him, Ayabe hits the wooden floor hard, and finally, finally… he lets go.
As humiliating as it is to admit, he moans. Loudly. And again. His breathing shudders with relief, his overworked bladder finally relaxing. The flow starts slow at first, soaking into his underpants and then causing a wet patch to spread across the front of his pants, but the piss just streams out of him faster and faster, audibly hissing as his bladder drains. His eyes water and tears spill down his face, and he doesn’t even flinch when he topples onto his side, shoulder and head banging into the floor. All he can think, all he can feel is the unbelievably amazing feeling of his bladder emptying.
“On your knees,” Kuroiwa says, but blood pounds in Ayabe’s ears, and he barely hears him.
Hands grasp his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright on his knees, feet under his ass and instantly getting wet as the flow continues. Ayabe gasps, sniffing as he drags in a long, shaky breath—only for the sound to become a yelp when Kuroiwa’s foot plants down onto his crotch, hard.
“F-Fuck!” Ayabe cries, the horrific pressure on his sore bladder forcing the remaining piss out faster, not to mention the sickening pain of Kuroiwa stepping on his dick.
“You did very well, Ayabe-kun,” Kuroiwa says, grinding his foot down harder. “Although I would have preferred you waited until I gave you permission to let go. Still, I’m impressed. It is truly amazing how long you held it in.”
When Ayabe doesn’t reply, Kuroiwa sighs, letting him stay quiet as he gets close to finishing, both of them listening to the piss soaking through his clothes and pooling on the wooden floor.
And then, finally, finally, the last drops of urine escape him, and Ayabe slumps forwards, almost smacking his face into Kuroiwa’s thigh. It’s over.
“Hmm…” Kuroiwa hums thoughtfully, but Ayabe ignores him.
Ayabe says nothing, the silence roaring in his ears. After being painfully full for so long, his bladder feels weird to be so empty, muscles still aching and throbbing despite their job finally being over. He imagines his bladder will ache for days, and he might even end up getting a UTI. At least that would be an excuse to skip work.
The foot stays pressed against his crotch, pushing two layers of soaking fabric against his dick with enough pressure to make pain shoot through him. He doesn’t look up at Kuroiwa, focusing on the perfectly-polished shoe stepping on his wet crotch instead of the surely sadistic face of the man who forced this on him.
Is Kuroiwa ever planning on letting him get up? Not that Ayabe would dare to ask; he lacks the energy to endure a beating after what he has been through today. So he just kneels there, cold and aching and disgusting, and waits for Kuroiwa to release him.
“Ayabe-kun, look at me,” Kuroiwa says, voice barely shielding an intimidating aura. Reluctantly, Ayabe raises his head, able to spot arousal behind Kuroiwa’s mask. “You followed my orders wonderfully. Maybe you really aren’t as useless as I thought.” Finally, he releases his foot, placing fingers under Ayabe’s chin to hold his head in place. “Take those disgusting clothes off and get in the shower.”
Despite wondering if he can even stand up, Ayabe nods. “Y-Yes, Kuroiwa-san.”
Slowly, with all the strength left in his weak body, Ayabe hauls himself onto violently shaking legs. As muscles go into spasm and weakness threatens to make him collapse, Ayabe does as told, stepping out of his soaked pants and underwear, leaving him stood there with his dick out and his wet shirt tails sticking disgustingly to his hips.
Somehow, Ayabe makes it into the bathroom, although he does collide with the wall in his attempt to turn the shower on. With the water running, he climbs into the shower and slides to the floor, slumping there as hot water sooths his aching, burning muscles. When was the last time he got this exhausted? Will Kuroiwa ever put him through this again?
The exhaustion overwhelms him, and Ayabe’s eyes drift shut—
Only to snap open when the shower door slides open, revealing a very naked Kuroiwa stood there, smiling one of his terrifying smiles. Wrapping a hand around his obvious erection, Kuroiwa steps inside the shower and kneels before him, making eye contact that burns into Ayabe’s soul.
“I think you deserve a reward for following your orders so well,” Kuroiwa says, and Ayabe even lacks the energy to flinch backwards, just wanting him to get this over with already…