A Desperate Day Working From Home

He'd been working alone at home, and had ended up drinking an entire pot of tea by himself. Now, at his standing desk in the kitchen, he realized he was instinctively squeezing his thighs together, and that whenever he walked to a counter and back, his full bladder pressed in sensitivity against the waist of his jeans.

He smiled. This was something fun he could play with on an otherwise quiet day.

He held it as long as he could. Holding it made his cock hard, helped along by him occasionally gripping his groin tightly and rubbing himself. It felt so good, touching himself when he needed to piss and thus had a super-sensitive cockhead. He moaned a little each time, in desperation as well as desire.

Finally he just couldn't take it anymore. He absolutely had to release some pee. Just a little, to take off some of the pressure, as it were. He could still enjoy this a long time.

So. Where to release this small-ish amount of piss? Obviously not the toilet. Too boring.

In fact, he set himself the challenge: he would only pee here in the kitchen. All that he let out would be in this room. And without opening his fly. His cock throbbed at the naughty thought.

But, God, he HAD to piss. Right this minute. Hopping in desperation, holding his crotch with a vise grip, he rushed to the hall cabinet and grabbed one of the plain white washcloths stacked in it. Then he rushed back to the kitchen and stuffed the washcloth down inside his underwear, wrapping the top of his cock with it.

Immediately his bladder gave out, and he whimpered in delicious relief. Hot piss poured into the cloth; within three seconds it was soaking wet and piss was running down his balls and beginning to wet his underwear. He squirmed, squeezing, until he managed to stop peeing. "Ohhh," he whispered, aching to keep pissing, but joyous at having let out those few seconds' worth. His bladder could hang on a little longer now.

He drew out the dripping washcloth and carried it to the sink, where he rinsed it and draped it over the edge of the sink. That one was too wet to use again. Meanwhile his underwear was wet in patches too, but his jeans had stayed dry except for one spot he found between his thighs. No matter; they were dark. Wouldn't show.

He drank a glass of water, then rubbed his hard dick again through his jeans, smiling dreamily. He got back to work.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dying to pee again. He shifted from foot to foot, his thighs tensing and relaxing over and over, his bladder crying out. Oh God, he couldn't hold it. Having wet underwear made it too easy to let a little out against his will, and soon his treacherous body did just that: a leak squirted out and splashed a new wet patch inside his pants. He twisted his hips and grabbed himself tight, and rushed to grab another washcloth—no, three this time.

He stuffed them all inside his underwear and, trembling with excitement, went and stood back at his desk, fingers on keyboard. As if nothing was wrong. Staring at the screen, he peed...very...slowly into the diaper-like padding inside his underwear. He felt the first few spurts soak up neatly. Nothing dribbled down his legs. He reached in to feel the outside of the washcloth layer: still dry. Mmm, that meant he got to piss more.

He did. So very very slowly, leak by leak, whimpering audibly at how good it felt and how badly he wanted to just let go and pour it all out into his jeans.

But when he tested the washcloths again and found them heavy and sopping wet this time, he reluctantly wrenched his bladder shut, and went and rinsed out those cloths too.

More drinking of water. More work. More teasing of his aroused cock, which was now leaking pre-cum as well as the occasional trickle of pee into his increasingly wet underwear.

He swallowed, his heart thumping as he pondered getting braver still. He was already due for some laundry, what with those cloths. A little more wouldn't hurt. And jeans were very absorbent...

He took off his shoes and socks. Standing at his desk with his legs apart and his cock stiff and his bladder dying for release, he urinated a steady stream. Right inside his underwear and jeans. No cloth to catch it this time.

He had meant to stop. Really he had. But...

"Ohhhh," he groaned aloud, his fingers going limp on the keyboard as he pissed his pants, his bladder simply unable to reverse course this time. It just felt too good.

And the absorbency idea was working: he was holding back just enough that it wasn't an overwhelming flood; he was pacing himself even if he wasn't stopping the flow. The hot pee was steadily soaking his jeans, starting around the zipper and spreading down the crotch and then on down each leg. The denim was absorbing it nicely. Ahhh, yes, he could just go on pissing himself. So he did. He even dared touch the head of his cock through his jeans with one finger, to feel that hot, fresh liquid flowing out of his excited body.

Trouble was, he REALLY had to go. His bladder had been very, very full. His jeans couldn't hold it all, any more than his body could.

Soon pee was trickling onto his bare feet. Somehow that only made him hornier, and he groaned in helplessness and just completely let go. Giving up, he let the rest of his piss pour out of him in a torrent down both legs. He stuffed his hand down his pants at the very end of the flood, so worked up that he couldn't resist, and jerked his wet cock up and down, hard and fast.

He came instantly, spurting stickiness into the mess in his pants, gasping.

He slumped against the edge of the counter, catching his breath. He still had to pee a little more, he found, so he went ahead and did, feeling one last long gush of warmth in his underwear.

The puddle, when he looked down, wasn't as big as he'd feared, though he left drips when he staggered across to get more washcloths. Six more of them did the trick, mopping up the floor and squeezing out the excess from his jeans.

Not so bad, really. A successful work day all around.

Soaked and satisfied, he gathered up the washcloths and finally left the kitchen for the bathroom. Time for a shower, a change, and a little early laundry. Working at home had its benefits.