The Long Walk Home

By writerbytrade44.

How do I have to pee this bad? It’s been years since I’ve felt the level of desperation and pressure I do now. Years since I even had to think about the war between my bladder and time. But here I am, hoping to wait out the final mile walk home, the urgent pang of urine sloshing around my bladder.

The night had started so well. I met a long-time friend at a restaurant for dinner and a few drinks. We spent the night catching up, discussing our lives, hopes, and future. Throughout the evening, we shared stories that made each other laugh and shared advice on how to handle the light difficulties that life had presented us both as relatively affluent suburbanites living just outside the city.

My friend Kelsey spent much of the night complaining about her job, and I did the same. And while she wouldn’t be classified as terribly attractive, our personalities always seemed to gel perfectly, often making me wonder what a more physical interaction would be like. At about 5’5″, she was a little heavy, with short blonde hair, wire glasses, large breasts, and a big bottom. She tended to avoid the details of her romantic entanglements. Still, occasionally, she would share a detail that would add a piece to the puzzle of her sexuality.

We had three or so drinks with dinner, and instead of taking an Uber, we decided to walk home. Despite living in roughly the same neighborhood, we had agreed to check out this restaurant a few miles away. We both decided we didn’t want the evening to end, so we kept ordering drinks.

As we got ready to leave, I went to the bathroom again to be sure I could make it.

But that was then.

After a few drinks, everything seems closer than it is. So here we are, halfway home, and I have to pee like I haven’t in years.

At first, I thought about stopping to go behind some bushes. But Kelsey and I never had that kind of relationship. While good friends, we were never comfortable enough with each other even to divulge details of our sex lives, much less public urination tips. Besides, having her know I couldn’t control my bladder enough to get home would be embarrassing.

So we carried on, her not knowing I had to pee and me clenching my teeth in hopes of making it another mile.

We moved another couple of blocks before the need, and the urge returned in force. I flinched slightly, clenching not to let the coursing urine river free.

Kelsey happily talked about her perfect job and ideal circumstances to thrive in the city. I was present as I could be, but the gnawing yellow menace jumped on my bladder.

The first outward sign of distress came about a half-mile from her house, 3/4 mile from mine.

The pressure disappeared for a few minutes, making me feel in the clear. But, out of nowhere came the sudden force, like a tsunami, headed for my member’s tip.

I stopped suddenly.

“Are you okay?” Kelsey asked.

“Yeah,” I responded, “just a cramp.”

After a beat, the pressure subsided, and we proceeded toward her house. Knowing that time was pressing directly on my bladder, I picked up the pace, moving towards Kelsey’s house.

Yet, it wasn’t another two blocks before the pounding pressure returned, with a shot of adrenaline so stiff, I could feel it in my neck and taste it in my mouth, like a computer with a virus, freezing. I crossed my legs and stuck my hand in the waistband of my khaki shorts.

This time, it was obvious. Too obvious. Again, Kelsey tried to help me, “Everything okay?” She asked again, clear that she wouldn’t state the obvious.

“Yep, I just have to–”

“Pee?” She cut me off.

I nodded quickly in agreement.

“Well, go!” Kelsey encouraged, “Go ahead, I won’t look.”

“It’s okay,” I said, “I’ll make it.”

She looked at me, then down at my hand in my khakis, and said, “You sure?”

I never would admit it, but the fact of the matter was that I didn’t feel well-endowed. And Kelsey had a mixture of quiet and satisfaction without much of a real sex life, that it could be assumed that a 9″ dildo awaited her by the side of her bed. My 4″ grower, even from behind a tree, would look and sound small.

I put on a brave face, reassuring her, “It’s okay, really I’m good.”

And we were. The urgency subsided. I was going to make it. Until we got to Kelsey’s driveway, we said goodnight, chatting about the next time we would hang out when piss rushed in so harshly that I swear my molars were drowning.

“Can I please use your bathroom,” I cut her off mid-sentence. The urgency outweighed my manners. A spurt of hot piss shot into my boxer briefs. “Please?” I pleaded, losing all sense of dignity.

“Erm, sure,” Kelsey acquiesced.

Kelsey didn’t like people in her house, including friends and strangers. But this was an emergency, and she knew she had no choice. She unlocked the door and headed in. “Bathrooms on your right,” she shouted over her shoulder, putting her purse on the sofa.

Taking small, measured steps, I followed behind. I didn’t notice Kelsey’s decor or her landscape photo wall art or her cluttered bookshelf or her couch that looked like it’s never been sat on, or any of the details of her home because the moment I stepped through the threshold and into the kitchen, I knew I had a problem.

Three…two…the clock in my head was going off, the alarm was flashing red, sirens everywhere. I wanted to run to the bathroom. Rip off my pants if necessary. Hell, briefly, I had the feral thought of pissing in her sink.


No matter how badly I wanted to move, to run, my whole body spasmed, feeling like static ran from my neck through my arms, shooting lightning into my bladder. I was stuck.


“Oh god,” I whispered.

“What’s happening?” Kelsey shouted from the living room. “The kitchen isn’t that dirty.”

Then it started. Frozen as a warm jet of pee leaped from my dick straight into my pants, creating an unmistakable river pattern along my khakis, creating a stain of shame. The warmth, the relief. It was all temporary as Kelsey rounded the corner.

“What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing? Are you pissing your pants in my house?”

I couldn’t respond, frozen. I tried to regain control. Kelsey saw what was happening. Could read the shame and humiliation on my face. Worse, she could see the wet outline of my tiny penis through my khakis.

“Oh my god!” she shouted. “How old are you? Can’t you control yourself?”

“I couldn’t hold on any longer,” I muttered, shifting my eyes to the floor.

“You look like a little kid who was too embarrassed to tell Mommy he had to go to the bathroom at the supermarket.”

There was nothing I could say. Kelsey was right. But my dick had an unexpected reaction to the abuse. I was getting hard.

“Tell me you’re not pissing your pants and getting a hard-on!” she shouted.

Everything was laid out plain. I couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t blame the light or my bulge or anything else. I had a four-inch erection moments after pissing my pants.

“Can I please use your shower?” I asked.

“You’re hard, in my house, after pissing all over my floor, and you think I should let you get naked?”

“Please, I need to clean up.”

“You should’ve peed outside.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“And this was better?” Kelsey said, making sure she made eye contact with me, “Pissing your pants is better?”

“No,” I mumbled, “I thought I could make it.”

“Well, news for you, you didn’t.” She threw me a towel, “Go. Shower.”

I entered the bathroom, and as I went to close the door, I heard a firm, “Leave the door open. I want to ensure you don’t touch my stuff.”

“But I-I need to get rid of this,” I said, pointing to my hard-on.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Kelsey said sharply, “If you’re going to piss your pants in front of me, you’re going to cum in them too. Come here.”

I returned to the kitchen, where a puddle of my pee stood.

“Go ahead. Tug away. Give me a show with that little dicklette of yours.” I started to jerk off. “Good boy,” she encouraged me. “Tug that babydick harder. I don’t have all day.”

As I was told, I felt the rapidly cooling urine covering my balls and taint.

“Hey, look at me,” she commanded. “I’m going to enjoy this part. I used to think about us having sex as I railed myself with my big fat dildo, screaming your name. Now, you’re going to do the same,” she pulled out a medium-sized butt plug, lubed it with her mouth, and instructed me to bend over.

I did as I was told, “Good little submissive babydick beta boy,” she cooed.

I always wanted to try anal with a girl. I thought putting my dick in her tight little asshole was so humiliating for her, so deliciously degrading, so submissive to let someone violate you like that. I often heard Kelsey’s grunts and stifled cries in my fantasies as I slid my member in her butthole. Now the shoe was on the other foot.

She railed the butt plug in and out for two or three minutes before pushing it in and letting my sore asshole stretch around it. She patted my piss-soaked ass and said, “Good, babydick boy.”

Peeling off her shirt and jeans, she revealed her heavy-set figure in a thong and enormous bra. Seeing the tears streaming down my face, she commanded, “Bounce.”

I rocked on the butt plug in a puddle of my urine, pulling on my dick, hoping this would soon end.

“Shout my name,” she demanded.

“Kelsey,” I said back.

“No. Shout. It.”

“Kelsey!” I said louder.



She was playing with herself, getting off on the fact that she now owned me.

“Does my little dick boy need to cum?”

“Yes, please.”

“Beg. Me.” Her sadistic eyes turned toward me.

“Please, Kelsey, please, may I cum.”

“Not before me.”

After a few minutes of vigorously playing with herself, she walked toward me, forced my tongue onto her clit by roughly grabbing my hair, and forced me to get her off. She squealed in delight, her heavy legs squeezing my head until it felt like it would pop. Panting, screaming, her legs quivered before she shoved me back against the cabinets.

“Cum in three…”

I tugged furiously.


I was so close.

“Look at me!” she demanded one final time, pausing before saying, “One… Cum in your pants, little dick boy.”

She maintained eye contact with me as jet after jet of hot cum shot into my grey boxer briefs.

“Looks like little dick boy made another mess,” she laughed. “God, you’re pathetic.”

I went to clean myself up but was cut off. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well,” I blushed, “I thought–”

“No,” she cut me off. “You wear that with you until you shower. To think, I almost thought about letting you fuck me tonight. I wouldn’t have met you this evening if I had known you were such a submissive sissy boy with a tiny dick. Go. Shower. Now,” she commanded.

I got in the bathroom, peeled my wet underwear off, and turned on the shower. The door shut and locked behind me. Kelsey had taken my clothes.

In the next five minutes, I replayed the night’s weirdness and determined it was all a bad dream. Even so, I washed myself thoroughly and exited the shower feeling clean and refreshed. I did my best to ignore the humungous collection of suction cup dildos and waterproof vibrators on the bathtub ledge.

I dried myself thoroughly, approached the bathroom door, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was unlocked. Outside was a kitchen chair with a note that said, ‘For the walk home.’ Kelsey was nowhere to be found.

On the chair was a tight, clingy shirt from a bachelorette party that read, ‘My other ride is your cock.’ While not exactly brilliant, the shirt would do the job, but what wouldn’t was the pair of spandex bike shorts she left out. They were ‘short,’ not even long enough to cover my manhood. As I picked them up, something fell out onto the floor.

It was the thong Kelsey was wearing.

The back of the note read, ‘thong to help hide your little pee-pee on your way home. Try not to piss your pants like a little boy.’

I chuckled, but she was right. It was the only way to hide my manhood from leaking out past the leg of the bike shorts. Figuring it was only a few blocks, I wore this new outfit and speed walked home.


I woke up from this horrible, humiliating, completely emasculating dream, relieved to know nothing happened. I guess I never realized how active my sexual imagination was. Leaping out of bed refreshed but still deeply relieved that it hadn’t happened, I went to the bathroom. I enjoyed thoroughly peeing in the toilet like a real man. I realized it when I was planning my day, thinking of everything I would do.

A feeling in my ass.

I reached back with a complete sense of dread.

There, lodged in my rear iris, was a medium black dildo.

My phone pinged.

It was a text from Kelsey that read, ‘That wasn’t part of the gift, asshole. 😉😏 Bring it back, or I’m going to punish you. 🤏🦐🍆’


The End.


*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story has been previously published on other free sites and is now public domain, which is why we can publish it here.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Translate »

You cannot copy content of this page