Semi-Concealed Release

The back entrance to the apartment is through a quiet back alley. As quiet as it is, the scents are unforgettable. Garbage, excrement, dead rodents, rotting and torn mattresses, rigs and paraphernalia. All sure signs that there is life back there, pushed into the alcoves and corners, away from the clean and tidy appearances of the surrounding neighbourhood street.

It's here, just two paces past the double bolted door I had my keys out to unlock, that your hand playfully winds its way around my neck. Turning to face you, I expect a quick peck. The soft instinct of opening my front to you is interrupted by your force pushing me back onto the rough cement wall. The silky skirt around my hips catches delicately on the wall, leaving me struggling a bit to maintain some distance from the prickly surface that risks nicking the fragile fabric.

But you chuckle, and the glint in your eyes makes me smile back. A calm moment of feeling small and held, anticipating an imminent release to continue on our trajectory into the apartment. The hand on my neck, the positioning of our bodies against the wall, it's a frequent gesture of simple submission that I adore.

Open your legs.

I shuffle my feet apart, sensing a bit of worry now of who might be passing by the not-so-near entrance to the alley. My smile remains but firms up, I widen my eyes as if the wider they are the more I'll be able to pre-emptively understand what's unfolding. There is still hope for that quick peck.

Piss yourself, sweet girl.

Ah, there it is. A horrifying directive. You watch my eyes dart. We both know you will not say it again. You're locked on me as if the world beyond my still dry legs and quickly reddening cheeks doesn't exist. I'm distracted by your calmness, your insistence, your expectant and set jaw. I'm seeking distraction from the sudden increase in my temperature, I'm seeking ways out of this, I'm seeking anything else to look at, I'm seeking a way to transport myself five minutes into the past to find a way I could have avoided this moment. But thoughts are the necessary power here: I accepted this place under his hand long ago, I accepted to surrender and cede myself to such a moment as this. The reminder needs to cool my symptoms. I notice myself in my flustered and visceral fears flare with desire and I must both suppress the squirming terror rising in my blood and surrender to the edict that's backed by pleasure and delight.

What is more humiliating: the fact that I'm struggling so visibly and profoundly with his orders, or that I'm going to piss myself in this filthy alley in the middle of the day? Or worse yet, some part of me loves this. I love this powerlessness, I love that I'm here like this right now, I love that I'm being torn apart by such a simple command. This moment is explosive in its precision, shame piercing my sensibilities from all directions. Cutting through the swamp of pleasure and disgrace, I return to the rational reflexivity: I'm here for his pleasure, this is my place, and god damnit I'm not going to be so overwhelmed that I can't perform my duty.

Deep breaths. Slowed gaze. Forcibly calming my unnoticeably trembling limbs. I relax layer by layer, ignore the pedestrian I see out of the corner of my eye at the other end of this fucking alley, I tune into my buried bladder I had no intention of thinking about today. I find the necessary layer of musculature to release, but other conditioning clenches this automatically. Obedience must override the mechanics. You're still waiting, no grin, no encouragement, nothing but severe patience.

I leak down my legs and down my cheeks simultaneously. The release of one inspires the release of the other. Both are now uncontrollable. Chest heaving, eyes wrinkled shut, mouth downturn and gasping within increasing intensity, warm panties dispersing any precision of flow, urine streaming down the backs and sides of my knees into my shoes, a small shiny puddle forming around each foot, wet spots growing on the front of this beautiful skirt.

I've pissed all I could piss, but your hand keeps me pinned by my neck to the wall of the alley I've forgotten all about. You let me weep for a beat longer, you wait for me to open my eyes.

Such a good little disgusting whore you are.