|12-31-2016, 02:42 PM||#1|
Join Date: Nov 2011
Blog Entries: 37
With a Little Assistance
Here's a short story/fantasy/whatever of mine.
Monkey frowned at the row of urinals perched uniformly beneath a wide, dramatic mirror. He didn't want to get pee on his new slacks, and this wasn't the kind of restaurant where he could reasonably let a little spray on his crotch go unnoticed. The awkward stares and little whispers would be nigh unbearable, he was sure, so he marched out of the men's room for the second time that afternoon to approach the table where his Duchess was seated, legs comfortably crossed and hands cradling a glass of wine. She was leafing through a book she'd almost finished, a psychology novel recommended to her by her professor. With her black cocktail dress that teased a glimpse of her lacy white panties and her hair pulled back with a black satin ribbon, his date almost looked too distinguished for him to gather the nerve to approach her with his question.
"Is everything alright, sir?" A waitress' voice came from behind and nearly startled Monkey out of his skin. The petite blonde had checked up on their table quite a few times throughout the duration of their lunch, and Monkey had been obedient when Duchess made the suggestion to tip her extra.
"Yes, thank you," he said firmly enough to assure the server, though his mind wavered. He maneuvered past her, as well as some chairs that were seating other dining patrons, before carefully lowering himself into his seat across from Duchess. She acknowledged his return with a quick glance from her book.
"That was fast," she said, finally lowering her novel to take a sip of moscato. She looked him up and down. "Too fast, considering that your pants aren't all wet."
The first time monkey had returned from the bathroom without relieving himself, it was to ask his Duchess for permission to use the urinals, as the lack of empty stalls in the men's room didn't cooperate with their agreement to have him use the toilet for the evacuation of all bodily waste. She was lenient and allowed him to use the urinal, perhaps all too knowing of the fact that he'd forgotten about the hypnotic trigger she'd inflicted to prevent him from touching his penis.
"Could you...release the trigger?" He whispered, leaning into the table, in part to suppress his aching bladder.
"No." Not a beat had been skipped between her answer and the returning of her nose to the last few pages of her book.
When her voice was that resolute, Monkey knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. Yet, the motivation to try was inching its way down his urethra, which he tried his best to pinch between his clenched thighs.
"Duchess, I--" he lowered his voice as some patrons within earshot were alerted by the urgency in his tone, "I-I have to potty..."
Though she took her time doing so, Duchess finally obliged, closing her book and taking one last sip of wine before un-crossing her legs and standing up. "Okay, let's go."
Monkey knew better than to ask the girl where they were going as he followed her out of the restaurant and curiously in the opposite direction of his car. He watched her look up and down the street, as if searching for something, then start off in the direction of an alleyway across the street. Safely nestled behind a dumpster, Duchess' voice echoed quietly down the empty alley as she commanded him to open his fly. With no room to protest, and his stomach knotting up from the desperate fight to keep his pants dry, Monkey unfastened his pants to expose himself to the chilly fall air.
"Good Monkey." Duchess patted his back before crouching until his cock was at eye-level with her. With just a few fingers gently positioning him, she ordered him to pee.
"Seriously, babe...?" Monkey tried to reason with her in a last-ditch effort to salvage his pride.
"Do you not need to go anymore?"
No sooner than the words had left his mouth, a steady stream of urine began to leave the tip of his penis and splash down on the asphalt.
"That's a good boy," she cooed, leaving monkey unsure of whether she was addressing him or his stiffening cock. With his hands helpless to aim his junk, he shoved them bashfully in his pockets and waited for his bladder to empty itself while his girlfriend held his cock for him.
No, I do not want to be your Mistress.
No, I do not want to be your slave.
So don't PM me about it!
Likes, Limits, and Fantasies (click)
A Domme with a Monkey.
The Monkey, the Potato, and the Book of Truth (AMA)
My PM Dares are Offline.
I don't participate in unsolicited PM dares, so don't ask.
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