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It didn’t start out as a kinky thing. It was more a matter of convenience. Dean spent the majority of his time in the garage, and there were no bathrooms close by.
So, instead of risking wetting himself, he had to find an alternative.
Throwing his head back, Dean closed his eyes and let go. The sound of his piss hitting the sink wasn’t dissimilar to that of a urinal.
When he was done, he shook off and tucked himself back into his jeans.
Walking back to the Roadster, he slid back underneath and resumed working on the busted radiator.
Sam never noticed Dean's new habit, and Dean never mentioned it.
But then, one day, as the hunter was zipping back up after relieving himself, Dean caught sight of a few drops on the ground. Shit, he must’ve missed when he raised one foot to scratch the rash on his opposite leg.
It wasn’t a big deal, only a few drops, but it started him thinking… How nice would it be to watch his urine splash onto the concrete floor instead of the sink? How much time could he save not needing to walk across the garage for a bathroom break?
So, the next time Dean felt the urge to drain his bladder, he simply walked over to the nearest corner. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.
Though he was full, he was also a little nervous, so he couldn’t go right away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He pictured a running stream…during a light rain…while drinking an ice-cold beer…
“Oh, shiitt …” He groaned when the first few dribbles hit the floor. He widened his stance a bit more. He spurted once…twice… Finally, a weak stream began to puddle on the floor in front of him.
Fuck, it felt so good. Better than any piss he’d ever had before. Dean didn’t know if it was the location or the fact that his brother could walk in at any time, but when he was done peeing, he panted as if he’d just come.
After Dean experienced the bliss of that afternoon, he no longer used the sink. Whenever he felt a twinge in his bladder, he emptied himself in one of the garage’s corners or many nooks.
He got a thrill out of seeing the evidence of his naughtiness. The puddles he left here and there that Sam always chalked up to ‘leaky pipes’.
On this particular weekend, Sam was out of town attending a symposium with Kevin, so Dean had the bunker to himself.
He'd planned a few things he wanted to try out while his brother was gone, starting out in his favorite spot- the garage.
But this time, Dean wanted to push his boundaries a little. He drank several beers and a couple of glasses of water, then, instead of moseying off to one of his regular ‘urinals’, he climbed into one of the old cars and shut the door.
The bench seat of the old Mercedes cushioned his ass nicely as he situated himself. Dean had admired the classic car from afar many times, and now, sitting in it, he wondered why he didn’t allow himself to take some of 'em out for a spin.
This one was an absolute beauty. Dark navy exterior. Creamy beige interior accentuated by chrome detailing on the steering wheel and door handles.
Dean felt giddy just sitting in it. Sure, it wasn’t the Impala, but it was still a work of craftsmanship all on its own.
He ran his fingers over the wheel, admiring the hand-stitching even as he wiggled his ass in the seat. The drinks he had were really starting to strain his bladder. His jeans were tight across his belly, digging in enough to make him whimper softly.
His head shot up to verify he was still alone. He sighed when he saw he was still the only person in the garage.
Shit, that was close. What would Sammy say if he heard Dean whimper like that?
Dean removed one hand from the steering wheel to run it over the small mound of his full bladder. He moaned and spread his legs without thinking. A spurt of piss escaped before he squeezed his legs back together and clutched the crotch of his jeans. “Fuck!”
When he was sure he wouldn’t wet himself, Dean placed his hand back onto his abdomen and gently trailed his fingers along his stretched skin. He groaned low in his throat and reached between his legs to squeeze his dick with his other hand.
Biting his lip, he struggled to unbutton his jeans and ease the zipper down. Another twinge of his bladder made him gasp as another few drops soaked into his underwear. He couldn’t see it on his jeans yet, the piss still being completely contained by the cotton.
Suddenly, he wanted to watch the denim darken while his piss spread across his thighs and pooled under his ass.
Leaning his head back against the seat, Dean moved the hand on his bladder up to his nipples and played with them. He allowed himself to relax for a few seconds.
Warm piss flowed from the head of his dick and dampened the fabric.
It spread until Dean could feel it under the hand still teasing his cock through his jeans.
Glancing down, he saw the wet patch. He pressed his hand against it and pinched his nipple at the same time.
It felt warm and wet, bad in the best way possible.
But now, he wanted more. He wanted the release that came from the sweet relief of letting it all go.
Panting, he pulled his dick out and stroked it slowly. He felt hot piss immediately rush to his slit and start to trickle out. Dean groaned and spread his legs. He laid his dick on his thigh and pushed a little to make a nice wet spot. He pushed again, this time a little harder, and watched the urine drip down onto the seat.
“Oh, fuck-” he breathed, mesmerized by the image of his pee slowly pooling on the seat by his leg. Unable to resist, Dean moved his peeing dick to his other leg and watched it darken. The warm rivulets trailed down, down, down until they wet his socks.
Dean was really starting to get aroused now, the strain of his growing erection making it harder to maintain the gentle stream of urine.
He swallowed thickly and concentrated to push out a little more. It gushed. He groaned. Shifting his hips a little so he could shove his jeans down to his mid-thigh, he directed his dick straight up. Piss fountained from his cock and splashed back onto his lap.
Dean's breath caught in his throat.
There were no words to describe how awesome it felt to have his piss rain down on him. Fuck, the way it soaked through his boxers to wet his skin, the warmth as it ran down his legs and gathered in his boots, the sound of it splashing onto the vinyl seat around him…
Dean aimed his dick at the dashboard and wiggled his finger through the stream as he wet the steering wheel. With a grunt, he succeeded in washing the windshield with his piss as well.
He drifted his hand down to cup his balls when his erection temporarily cut off the flow. He rolled the heavy sack around in his hand while jacking his piss-slicked dick with his other.
Had anyone else been witness to it, Dean would have been embarrassed as hell by how quickly he felt his balls draw up. But as it was, he was completely alone, lost in bliss. So, when he dragged his thumbnail over the crown of his dick and heat washed over him, he shouted out his release with abandon. Streams of ejaculate painted the hunter's wet jeans and shirt, the seat, and the floorboard.
Still breathing hard from his orgasm, Dean relaxed against the Mercedes' seat. Now that he was no longer holding back, hot piss shot out of Dean's soft dick. He sighed as the pressure in his bladder slowly decreased. It felt so damn good to just let go.
In seconds, Dean’s jeans and boxers were completely saturated with piss. It ran down onto the seat, then dripped onto the floor.
But before he was totally empty, Dean clenched his muscles and got out.
His pants still hanging open and socks squelching in his boots, he shuffled back a few steps and aimed his dick at the Mercedes' royal blue side panel.
Satisfaction filled him as he watched his piss stream down the car's pristine paint job and dribble on the floor.
Too soon, the torrent slowed down to a trickle. Dean shook his dick to get the last few drops out, then pulled up his jeans and stood back to admire his masterpiece.
Fuck, the whole left side of the Mercedes was dripping with his piss.
Dean pulled the driver’s side door open and stared at the puddle of pee on the seat. Even with all the water he drank, his urine was still dark enough to show up on the cream-colored leather.
He crouched down on the balls of his feet to check out the dark spot on the carpeted floor. He pressed his hand down on it and chuckled. It was still warm.
Standing back up, he wiped his damp hand on his shirt and decided it would be wise to leave the doors open to let the car air out.
As he strolled across the garage floor, Dean felt completely empty and satisfied. He hadn’t come that hard in a long fucking time, and it felt amazing.
Climbing the steps that led to the bunker, he reached for the doorknob. But then he stopped to look out over the garage.
Sam may have created an impressive database for all of the books and artifacts in the bunker, but Dean had a register of his own. He'd made a list of every automobile contained in the Men of Letters' expansive garage.
There were twenty-six vehicles in total, including motorcycles.
Twenty-six pristine works of art that he had painstakingly takin' the time to wax and shampoo. And they were just sitting there…empty...
Dean's face split into a slow grin as he imagined drenching each and every one.
Smirking, the hunter shut off the light and walked into the bunker covered in fresh piss and cum.
He had some work to do.