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My fantasy


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I nervously sat at a table in the café, my heart pounding with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. I had received a rather unusual instruction from the disciplinarian I was meeting for the first time – to drink three very large cokes. I glanced at the huge drinks in front of me and couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this request. Having had one of the drinks, I felt a dull ache in my bladder.

Suddenly, a figure entered the café, catching my attention. I quickly gulped down the second drink. The speed at which I drank the diuretic liquid made my bladder swell. It was the disciplinarian I had been corresponding with. He exuded an air of authority and confidence as he approached the table. My pulse quickened, wondering how this meeting would unfold with the added element of his specific instruction.

He greeted me with a smile, his eyes immediately noticing the three large cokes in front of me. He acknowledged my compliance with a nod of approval, but sharply reminded me to drink them quickly, handing me a fourth drink. I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Only two drinks in, but the tight light blue jeans I’d been told to wear were beginning to strain on my bladder. I was a bit worried about having two more. I was also very wet and had been instructed to wear no underwear. The fact that you could see a tiny damp patch from my pussy meant that the jeans would hide no stains.

Throughout our conversation, whilst I began to squirm and fidget, his authoritative nature became more apparent. I found myself surrendering to the discomfort as he watched me struggle.

With a solid understanding of the expectations and boundaries, he outlined his approach to discipline. During this, I nervously looked at the large cokes in front of me, my bladder now really feeling the effects of the liquid I had consumed.

As he watches me squirm and cross and uncross my legs, his eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and authority. He calmly reminds me of the instruction, emphasizing the importance of following through on their agreed-upon tasks.

***ing the discipline just described, despite now feeling desperate, I continue to drink With each sip, the cold liquid coursed through my body, filling my bladder further. I was now nearly 2 litres in. Bursting. I couldn’t sit still. I had enjoyed this alone, but this desperation felt more severe.

I was also very aroused by the man and felt a drip of moisture escape from my pussy. I ***ed this was pee and went bright red. This feeling of wet, which the man seemed to relish in as he noticed the damp on my trousers, alongside with a drink being spilt and my thigh being grazed by the man made me nearly wet myself then and there.

The man’s hand, as it grazed my thigh, seemed to apply just enough pressure to my bladder to make me *** losing it all. I had to double over to not leak.

As the last drops of the cokes disappeared, my bladder felt ***fully full.I shifted in my seat, trying to find some relief, but the discomfort only intensified. The man seemed to love the ***, now repeating the thigh touching.

His awareness of my struggle Carried no sympathy but sadism and arousal. Just as I was about to beg for use of the bathroom, he gives me an instruction to stand up and walk towards him. He pulls out a chain and threads it through my jeans. This is bound as tightly as possible around My waist, making my jeans impossible to remove. He then attaches a very large metal padlock through the two ends of the chain, clicks it shut, and tells me to sit back down.

I felt a surge of panic as I realized the implications of the chain. Sitting down, I felt the tight chain digging into my sore bladder, and I had to fight back the tears. The thought of being unable to relieve myself until this man decides sent *** coursing through my veins. My jeans were light blue and I couldn’t hide any leaks.

He then leads me to the toilet of the cafe and tells me to wait outside. I hear him pee, a long stream that makes me have to grab my crotch.

We then walk to a busy tube station en route his house. My breath is heavy and every step I take I have to tread carefully as so not to leak. Arriving at the tube station, it is packed, busy, and I’m not able to sit down. In a panic, I tell the disciplinarian that I’m very desperate and he calmly reminds me that he is charge. I beg for release from the chain…but I’m told the key to the padlock is frozen in a large ice block at his home.

With that, he grabs the chain wrapped around my waist and tugs it. Leak … I leak, I stop. I pray he hadn’t noticed but while the tiny leak gives me no release on my ***fully full bladder it adds to his amusement, sadism and he notices the drops running down my thighs.

To make sure the *** hits home he announces loudly that I
have leaked without permission, making everyone aware on the tube. The sniggers and stares from the tube people add to this ***.

The rest of the journey is a blur of *** as I hold on to the rest. The embarrassment and *** and the trepidation of my punishment added to the *** of my sore bladder made the journey feel like ages.

Getting to his place, I beg for toilet relief. He laughs, and tells me to bend over a piece of furniture with my arms in restraints and my legs bound. I’m fastened in. Tightly.
The man blindfolds me. The bent position adds pleasure to my bladder.

The man tells me this is a cold caning starting with 6 of the best for each infraction. The first infraction was asking to go to the toilet. The second was my leak. Any more leaks, more punishment.

I protest that my bladder is full, for which he says I’ve earned another stroke.

The first stroke is searing. The wet thin jeans do nothing to protect my bottom and I yelp in ***. The *** of the cane and the overwhelming *** in my bladder is almost too much. The man waits for the ‘thank you, Sir’ and gives each stroke time to sink in. I manage not to empty my bladder on the first stroke. I regret not holding my bladder better.
The second catches my sit spot and my voice is now shaky. The man cuts a hole in my jeans. This time, it’s on bare skin. The third stroke is harder. The man wants me to cry. He uses the full swing of his body and I’m reduced to a crying mess.

A drop of pee escapes and the man returns with a glass dildo and a hitachi. I’m told if I dare cum or squirt whilst being edged the strokes will start again. I’m drenched and aroused and the second the man puts the large glass dildo inside me I’m begging to cum. He stops. He returns to the cane.

After several leaks and many denied orgasms, I at some point completely piss my jeans. But the man doesn’t stop here. He strips me. Unties me. I’m quivering, crying, with a blistered bottom and covered in piss. He tells me to take a seat on his wooden chair.

….part 2 coming!
I'm my PM. I meant strength of Urine, do you prefer stronger or more dilute?
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