© 2023 Bostonleatherman

…You have a bit of a pissgasm and let yourself enjoy the afterglow.

Thoughts of nothingness fill your mind, and this is the most relaxed you’ve been since you arrived at Garrett’s. You sag and let the padlocks that are holding you against the wall give you support. There’s some tension in a few places — Adam’s apple, armpits, gut, and crotch, it’s a nice feeling. Well, not exactly nice. Different. And that’s a nice feeling.

The light comes on and the door opens. You squint again at the light but not nearly as long as the last time. How long were you drifting? You ‘stand up’ again and look at Garrett holding a full glass of what you know can only be piss.

“I thought you might be thirsty. Gotta enforce the contract, right? And after you empty this, I’m gonna let you fill it so I can feed it back to you. How you doing?”

And that’s when you see the smile fall from Garrett’s face. He’s looking at your jeans and sees the piss stains all the way down one leg, and much of the other. He does not look happy. He does not look, well, anything.

“Well…” you mumble around your cigar.

“I warned you about that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re gonna regret that.”

Garrett steps into the closet, raises the glass full of his piss and slowly pours it over your head. You instinctively close your eyes and feel him circle it around the top of your head, making sure all your hair is drenched. It runs down the front of your face, the sides and back of your head, where much of it slips under the collar. You feel it run down your back and now your ass is getting wet. The seat of your jeans acts like a big sponge. Some of what runs down your face and side of your head also make it under the collar and into the straightjacket only to get soaked up by the sweaty tee shirt you have on underneath. The rest runs down the straightjacket following the creases in your armpits, pooling in the space that your crossed arms have created at your stomach, all before running down the rest of the straightjacket and dripping audibly onto the floor. What remains of your cigar sizzles as Garrett’s piss wicks down to its end and extinguishes it. The ash you had been building falls to the floor.

Garrett says nothing after he’s finished his pour. He just backs out of the closet, shuts the doors and turns off the light.

You feel stunned by what just happened. And humiliated. That was not something you and Garrett ever discussed and not something you ever expected. The contract explicitly states:

• captive understands that CAPTOR will substitute him for HIS urinal exclusively and at all times for the term of the Contract.

There is nothing in the contract about having piss poured over you. Clearly, Garrett is going off script. But then, you did, too, as you think about it:

•  captive will not be permitted to urinate in any toilet at any time. captive will only urinate with express permission of CAPTOR, and
• except when bound and put down for the night
• into a vessel to be recycled either immediately, or at a time to be determined by CAPTOR; or
• into a diaper, if provided.
• captive understands that diaper use is not automatic and that he may still be required to recycle urine when wearing a diaper.

Actions have consequences.

The piss that was running down your head slows to a drip that gets caught in your brow, funnels to the bridge of your nose, and then slowly travels to the end of it where it hangs for an indeterminate amount of time before falling to the floor, or the front of your straightjacket. You’ve no idea where it lands. You are reminded of the Chinese water torture that your older brother would subject you to as a kid — he’d sit on your chest, your arms trapped under his legs, and slowly squeeze a water-soaked sponge or rag of some kind over your forehead just slowly… enough to drive you crazy. Intended or not, Garrett has found yet another way to add to your torment.

In addition to being humiliated, you are exhausted. You wish there was some way out of your predicament. But the lack of any affect from Garrett when he discovered your transgression and how he reacted to it tells you to give up any hope of this ordeal being over soon. You have to piss again and just let it go. There are no more consequences to be suffered tonight, you’re pretty sure of that. And now that you’re soaked in piss, the act of pissing does not have the same feeling. Sure, there’s some added warmth in your crotch for a moment, but that exquisite feeling of release when you first pissed your jeans earlier is not there. You are sooooo hungry and tired. But mostly tired. You start to doze and sag against the padlocks again. But the pressure this puts on your throat from the thick collar of the straightjacket causes you to cough and it rouses you. You stand up straight for as long as you can. Your legs are so tired and your arms ache. Every part of you aches. You feel yourself starting to slip again only to be roused again by a fit of coughing. But you are so worn out that you really don’t care — you can still mostly breathe — and just give in and let the straightjacket support you.

The light comes on and Garrett is there, quickly untying the leather straps holding your neck against the wall. You feel him unlock the padlocks holding your ankle restraints to the wall and then start working his way up on the ones securing the straightjacket to the wall. You let your head fall forward into his shoulder as he finishes releasing you. He turns you around and holds you against the wall with one arm while he undoes the buckle keeping your arms crossed in front of you. Once that is complete, you feel him loosen, not undo, but loosen, the belts across your back that were making the straightjacket so tight. He turns you back around and slowly lowers you to the floor, propping you in a corner of the closet. You wince a bit as you try to pull your arms forward onto your lap. You can’t get your right arm free and Garrett helps you. He tugs on it and you feel the strap trapped under your butt. You lift your ass off the floor a tiny bit and Garrett pulls your arm free.

“You OK, buddy?”

“Mmmmmm… I’m tired. And hungry.”

“I’ll bet. Stay right there.”

Even in your semi-stupor you think to yourself, “Like I’m going somewhere?” As you doze, you try to remember what has happened to you, but things are foggy. Sleep is what you need. Garrett returns.

“Here.”

He cracks open a protein shake and offers it to your lips. You try to gulp it down, but he holds it back and tells you to go slowly. You do. Then he holds a piece of bread up to your mouth which you take and chew too quickly before you swallow. It feels like it’s stuck in your throat and you gag on it. You force it down and Garrett asks if you are OK. You nod yes and he offers you more of the protein shake which you drink a little more slowly this time. Another piece of bread, well chewed, some protein shake, bread, protein shake…

“Ok. That should do you till the morning. There’s enough room in here for you to stretch out for the night. I’d say call me if you need anything, but don’t. Unless it’s an emergency. Get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Garrett stands up and steps out of the closet, shuts the door, and turns off the light. You’ve no idea what time it is. Nor do you really care. All you want is to sleep, even if he’s left you in the straightjacket. At least it’s looser and your arms are free. Well, not free, exactly. But free enough so that you can pull them up and use them as a ‘pillow’ under your head when you slide down the wall and manage to curl up on the piss-soaked floor for the night. The air is definitely cooler on the floor and there is a draft coming in from under the doors that adds to whatever relief Garrett is allowing you tonight when he released you from the wall and unbuckled the arms of your straightjacket.

To be continued …