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Returning to regular pre-season training was proving a problem for Shane Hollander.
Ilya had detoured to their local coffee shop on their way to practice, ordering Shane a black coffee (with a sugar) and a caramel frappe for himself. Getting back into routine had been hard. Although Shane loved routine, craved it, he was missing how relaxed and dreamy everything had felt for the last month. In between running summer camps, attending galas for the Irina Foundation and fucking on every surface in the cottage and their house in Ottawa, Shane had been feeling fully satiated and ridiculously sensitive. And Ilya, seemingly enjoying Shane’s renewed horniess, had been taking advantage of every opportunity. Shane could think of at least five things Ilya had been doing in the past week that couldn’t be accidents. They simply happened too often.
Purposely walking in on Shane when he was using the bathroom.
Encouraging him to drink an obscene amount of water throughout the day.
‘Cleaning’ the bathroom near their garage right when Shane came home from errands, whiny and desperate.
Filling their fridge with fruit juices known to be diuretics.
Offering to clean Shane’s piss-stained panties and compression shorts.
The last one made Shane flush as he watched Ilya walk out of the coffee shop, holding both of their reusable Ottawa Centaurs cups (Harris’ new sustainability marketing strategy), smiling at a couple of kids who were staring at him with wide-eyed recognition. Shane slid down in his seat. Ilya had insisted on packing the stupid incontinence pads in their practice bag after Shane had a little accident on their practice rink at home. They had been placing one on one, and Shane, scoring a goal, had barely made it near the boards when he had fallen onto his knees, piss sliding down the inside of his thighs and around his compression shorts, pooling into a small puddle on their fake ice. Ilya had fingered him in their fake penalty box, skates and shin guards still on. Shane was starting to wonder if all of their little antics had spoiled his bladder. He could barely get through an hour of work before squirming (Ilya would come past every few minutes to refill his drink bottle), and he had gotten so used to squatting over his potty, wetting himself on Anya’s puppy pads and pissing through his panties that he had gotten very bad at actually holding it in. Ilya had implemented a reward and punishment system as they neared their first team practice, trying to wean Shane back into using a normal toilet. Shane would drink a normal amount of water or electrolytes over an hour and a little bit, going to the toilet only a couple of times.
Their first practice would probably drag on for a little bit, catching up after a month-long vacation and talking over strategies, assessing injury recovery and discussing the starting lineup and their first NHL season game against Montreal (which Shane was not looking forward to). Knowing how sociable the Centaurs tended to be, Ilya had estimated today’s practice to be just over two hours. Bood was keen on a post-game drinks and barbecue, and Harris wanted footage for some pre-season practice compilations. Luca Haas, inspired by Shane and Ilya (mostly Ilya), had just adopted a puppy and was keen to introduce him to Anya. So, Ilya had packed three incontinence pads, baby wipes and two pairs of grey cotton boxer-style boyshorts, in case Shane didn’t make it through practice. Shane stared grumpily into his coffee as Ilya took an obnoxiously loud slurp of his frappe, backing out of the parking space with one hand braced on the back of Shane’s headrest. It was rare for Ilya to drive, but Shane understood why he had insisted. Ilya liked taking care of Shane. Perhaps to a fault. Shane’s breath hitched as he caught a glimpse of Ilya’s armpit from underneath his black Ottawa Centaurs hoodie that he’d chopped the sleeves off of. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and the tuft of blonde-brown hair had slicked into dark whorls, still wet from their post-morning sex shower. Drool pooled under Shane’s tongue as he hastily swallowed down a mouthful of coffee, banishing thoughts of smothering his nose in the coarse hairs of his husband's pits at fucking nine am in the morning.
They had just fucked.
Shane’s pussy was still tingling from the stretch.
Shane looked out the window and suppressed a whimper as Ilya squeezed the nape of his neck.
Today was going to be a long day.
.
“Hollzy!” Dykstra bellowed, wrapping a beefy arm around Shane’s shoulders, “How was your summer?”
Shane smiled, looking over to where Ilya was cooing over Luca’s Labrador puppy, affectionately rubbing its floppy ears. Troy was staring dreamily over at Harris, who was fixing the lighting in the corner of the locker room where the social media team had set up a designated area for filming pre-season interviews. Tanner Dillion was flexing the muscles in his back, asking a nonresponsive Troy if they were ‘bigger than Dallas Kent’s’. Shane rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar warmth of strange happiness bubble up inside him at the sight of their team. As he got changed, he bore down on his bladder, shifting on his feet as he felt coffee slosh around uncomfortably. He looked over at his shirtless husband, who had only one skate on, cuddling Luca’s puppy. Shane pushed down the whine that was building in his throat. He desperately wanted Ilya’s attention.
Ilya’s constant ministrations had turned him into a piss slut.
“You okay, Holly?” Wyatt asked, blonde hair flopping onto his forehead, “Your cheeks look kinda red. Lisa says the pre-winter flu is going around so-”
Ilya smoothly interjected, rubbing a large hand over Shane’s biceps,
“Shane is just fine. He is just blushing because his handsome husband is shirtless, yes?”
Shane blushed harder, slapping Ilya’s chest,
“I am not.”
Ilya chuckled and whooped, pressing a messy, wet kiss to Shane’s open mouth. Shane made an indignant noise and pushed Ilya away, fuming adorably as their teammates chirped in their direction, Luca’s puppy barking excitedly at all the noise.
.
Shane slid to a stop on the ice, panting a little bit as he rubbed a gloved hand over his lower stomach. His eyelids shuttered behind his visor as he pulled his helmet off, putting his head between his knees. Ilya, under the guidance of Coach Weibe, had decided to torture them with Russian hockey drills, setting up lines and lines of traffic cones, zig-zagging with the puck, going for the goal until they managed to get past Wyatt.
Which wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Even Shane was struggling.
Ilya had given up (on his own drill) and was playing with the puppy.
Coach Weibe was watching them with a fond frown, hands wrapped around their brand-new Ottawa Centaurs travel mugs. Funding for merch had gone up in the past year, following their third Stanley Cup win. Ilya skated over to Shane,
“Hollander,” he murmured, getting close enough that his hot breath was ghosting over Shane’s ear, “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
Shane let out a low whine,
“N-no.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow,
“You are rubbing your thighs together, Hollander, and you are panting.”
Shane squeezed his eyes shut,
“Jus’ need a little drink break.”
“A drink break?”
“Mhm.”
Ilya smirked and slapped Shane lightly on the ass, digging his fingers into the material of Shane’s practice shorts,
“As fun as this game is, Hollander, you will use the bathroom, yes?”
Shane nodded.
He knew he was being inappropriate.
But the burn of his bladder and the clench of his pussy was getting way too good to release. Shane sighed as he skated toward the boards to join his teammates. He knew he was being unreasonable. He would take off his skates, go to the bathroom, pee, wipe, pull his pants up and flush. Shane took a deep breath as he approached the group, feeling a flush creep up his neck at the thought of telling his teammates that he needed the bathroom. He knew, theoretically, that he could tell them and it wouldn’t be a big deal. That most of them would just nod and carry on. As he approached them, his skate caught on Ilya’s, and he went down, flipping backward for a heartstopping moment until Ilya effortlessly caught him with his hand, frowning at his husband,
“Are you okay, Hollander?” Ilya asked, “Summer break is bad for your balance, hm?”
Shane flushed angrily and planted himself firmly on the ground, staring stubbornly at the ice in front of him.
He’d already embarrassed himself once.
The bathroom would have to wait.
.
By the time they had made it halfway through practice, Shane had to stop every few skates to subtly squirm on the spot. They weren’t wearing their helmets for the rest of the drills, and Coach Wiebe, horribly oblivious to Shane’s situation, had been implementing frequent drink breaks, giving everyone time to adjust to getting back into the routine of practice. Shane leaned against Ilya, half-heartedly sucking on the tip of his water bottle. He was dangerously close to slipping into that headspace where only Ilya could reach him, and was starting to regret having shower sex that morning. Clearly, some part of his brain had stayed there. He let out a pain groan as his pussy spasmed, thighs clenching together as he rubbed them together. Shane whimpered around the rubber tip of the water bottle,
He really, really needed to pee.
He was pretty sure the crotch of his panties had a piss stain where he had squirted a little after a particular sharp turn to avoid being checked by Dykstra. Ilya looked down at Shane, hypersensitive to his husband’s sounds. He took in Shane’s clenched thighs and squirmy hips, glancing up to the flushed apples of Shane’s cheeks. His mouth flattened into a line of suppressed arousal, eyes flicking over to the entrance of the locker rooms and the toilets. Ilya smoothed his thumb over the nape of Shane’s neck, murmuring in Russian,
“Moy lyubimyy, do you need to pee?”
Shane groaned softly, nodding wetly as he hastily put his waterbottle down on the board,
“Gotta pee”, he replied softly, the last word coming out as a sob.
Ilya looked up at Coach Wiebe and cleared his throat loudly,
“Shane is not feeling well. I will take him to the bathroom,” he declared, taking Shane by the wrist. Coach Wiebe nodded easily, gesturing toward the locker rooms,
“Take your time, we’ll run some team building drills while you’re at it.”
.
Shane stumbled into the single stall men’s bathrooms in the entrance of the locker room, desperately trying to tug down his compression shorts while keeping one hand clasped over his twitching cunt. Ilya was standing behind him, rubbing slow circles on his back as he helped Shane out of his panties, gritting his teeth in suppressed arousal as a splurt of piss dampened his hand. Shane sat down heavily on the toilet seat, blinking tears out of his eyes as he whimpered, parting his thighs and looking down at his dripping cunt. Ilya, holding a bundle of Shane’s clothes, could see the distinctive piss stain on Shane’s jockstrap and panties, warm and fresh with sweat from practice. Ilya knocked his head back against the toilet door, willing away his boner. They still had at least fifteen minutes of practice to go. Then social media with Harris (which they could probably evade) and dinner at Boods.
Ilya frowned.
He waited for the desperate hiss and splatter of Shane’s pee hitting the toilet bowl, but it never came. Shane, panicked, reached out to grasp Ilya’s hand, fingers trembling,
“I-Ilya,” he rasped, “It- It won’t come out.”
Ilya looked down.
Shane was crouched over the toilet seat, tears wetting his cheeks as his thighs trembled, willing himself to let go. There was drool sliding out of the corner of his mouth, and his bottom lip was twitching as he held back a desperate sob. Sweat was sliding down the side of his face, and all Ilya could think about was getting Shane some more water, because at this rate, he was going to be horribly dehydrated. Ilya dropped to his knees, not caring about the grimy tiles, bullying Shane’s thick thighs apart until he was almost eye-level with Shane’s glistening pussy. His pubic mound and labia were entirely covered in curling black hairs, thick pulsing clit poking out from under its hood. Shane hiccuped as Ilya reached down to gently part his labia with shaking fingers,
“S’ not coming out,” he whined, sniffly and teary as he moved his hips toward Ilya’s face, “I wanna pee so bad-”
“Shhh, moy lyubimyy, I know, I know”, Ilya murmured, “Let me see, yes?”
Shane sniffled and lay back against the seat, thighs obediently falling open as Ilya rested a palm on Shane’s right inner thigh, raising it to expose Shane’s soft brown pussy. His cunt winked at Ilya, glistening with slick, wet from anticipation. Ilya cooed as Shane let out a nasally sound of defeat, a small spurt of piss jerking out from between his swollen lips. He looked up at Shane, brows crumpled together with confused arousal,
“I-Ilya,” Shane begged, “Wanna pee, please- havetogosobad”
Ilya nodded and spat onto two of his fingers, using one palm to gently press on Shane’s bladder, gently rubbing his fingers over the swollen nub of Shane’s clit with the other. The stimulation makes Shane clench, shuddering as he tries to relax his lower body,
“Hnggg-”
“Mrrphhh-”
Ilya’s finger travels down until it’s resting over Shane’s sloppy hole, looking up at Shane for permission. Shane nodded furiously, and Ilya slid two fingers in, clamping down like a vice as Ilya started to fuck them in and out, watching Shane’s face contort into pleasure as he clasped a hand over his mouth, moaning softly. His raised thigh widened as he slid down on the toilet seat, gasping around his fingers as he reached down to jerk his clit, pinching and flicking and moaning as his bladder roiled, pushing against his distended tummy with renewed desperation. Shane felt himself hurtle toward his orgasm embarrassingly quickly, cunt fluttering around Ilya’s fingers, desperate to cum, desperate to squirt, desperate to pee. Shane chewed on the inside of his hand as he kicked Ilya lightly with his left skate, warning him as his body tensed on the cold plastic toilet seat, gushing all over Ilya’s fingers. Shane whined as his body relaxed just long enough for a stream of hot piss to shoot out from his urethra, splattering all over the inside of the toilet seat as he let out a groan of relief, the acrid scent of piss filling the stall as Ilya fell back on his knees, watching as Shane relieved himself, holding his labia apart with trembling fingers,
“I- I think it’s all out,” Shane said tearily, reaching for a wad of toilet paper as his pussy let out strings of translucent slick, “I think-”
Ilya groaned,
“Fuck, Hollander. You kill me.”
Shane looked up disbelievingly at Ilya’s boner, straining against the cup on his jockstrap,
“M’ sorry Ilya, I just- I really needed to go and-”
Ilya smiled as Shane fumbled with his underwear,
“We will have to get you a rink potty.”
“Shut up.”
“Rink puppy pads.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
Ilya stood up, dusting off his back,
“I will go and get you an uhh- how you say? Panty puppy pad from my bag. You will wear it.”
Shane frowned,
“I just peed. I don’t need-”
Ilya rolled his eyes,
“Hollander. Your bladder is the size of a very small dog. Like Haas’ new puppy. Very small.”
“Ilya. I don’t-”
But Ilya was already closing the door behind him, making Shane bob off the toilet seat to clasp the lock. Minutes later, he returned with something that looked like an overnight period pad, handing it to Shane,
“This one will stick to your panties.”
Shane groaned, feeling hot embarrassment rise up his neck as he obediently stuck the pad onto the soiled crotch of his panties,
“Happy?” he grumbled, pulling the somewhat bulky cotton boyshorts back over his ass.
Ilya grinned,
“Very happy.”
.
When they returned to the locker room, most of the team was already dressed. Shane, embarrassed and exhausted, slumped in his cubby as he watched Ilya get changed. Bood was talking loudly to Wyatt about bringing his favorite potato salad to the barbecue,
“Hazey, you gotta bring Lisa’s famous potato salad, man, it’s so good.”
Wyatt pointed a goalie glove in Bood's direction, a cunning grin settling into his features,
“Actually, it’s my famous potato salad. Lisa’s an ER doctor; she doesn’t have time to cook. I do the cooking in our house.”
“Hollzy!”
Shane looked up blearily,
“Yeah?”
“Bet you don’t let Roz near the kitchen.”
Ilya cut in, pointing an accusing finger at Bood,
“I am an excellent cook.”
Bood booming laughter filled the room,
“Yeah, right, Cap, bring somethin’ other than ginger ale to dinner tonight.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and looked over at Shane, who had quietly changed into a set of grey sweats that were probably Ilya’s. He was stuck to his cubby, hands clasped tightly over his lap, and he wasn’t looking up. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was squirming a little, and his thighs were clenched. Ilya felt his face spread into a smug grin. He had been right. He would let Shane have it for now. They were going home once before Bood’s anyway. As the last of the team left the locker room, Ilya leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Shane’s lips, sliding his tongue past and into Shane’s mouth, licking lovingly along Shane’s gums. Shane whimpered as he spread his thighs, hands coming up to cup Ilya’s face.
And Ilya heard it.
The quiet hiss of Shane pissing into the pad.
Ilya leaned down and cupped his hand against Shane’s crotch, feeling the warm spread of liquid against his palm. Shane whimpered,
“M’ sorry,” he whispered, “Couldn’t hold it till we got home.”
Ilya smirked,
“I think my desperate bunny has gotten a little too used to peeing in his panties.”
Shane sighed softly as his stream tapered off,
“I still have to go a little,” he confessed, “but I’m scared it’ll be too much for the pad-”
Ilya hummed,
“You will hold it until we get home, you will make it five minutes in the car, yes?”
.
Shane barely made it five minutes in the car.
By the time Ilya had pulled up to the garage, Shane was toeing off his shoes and stumbling through the door, kicking his sweats off as he dashed into their basement gym, vibrating with need as he squatted over the puppy pads that Ilya had left for this exact reason. Well, technically, it was for when Shane got desperate in the gym, but Shane tended to not make it up the stairs to their guest bathroom after a long day of running errands, so Ilya had taken the liberty of putting a regular pile of pee pads in the gym after one too many accidents on the stairs. Ilya hauled their practice bags out of the trunk and leaned against the door frame of the gym, watching as Shane let out a stream of hot piss, missing the main pile of mats as he tried to kick his panties off his left ankle. It was proving difficult with the piss-soaked pad attached to the crotch. Ilya dug through his bag for the baby wipes, tossing the pack to Shane as he hobbled to his feet,
“You will wipe down, and we will get changed for Boods.”
“But I wanna shower-”
“Hollander. Next time, you will pee when I tell you to. Not when you are so desperate you are pee shy, yes?”
Shane flushed,
“But-”
“You will wear a pee pad to Boods.”
Shane gawked, looking ridiculous with his bare pussy out and his hoodie rucked up to his nipples, pink and freckly and fuming in the dim gym lights,
“Ilya-”
“Do you want to wet yourself in front of the whole team?”
Shane sniffled as he watched Ilya pick the baby wipes off the ground, parting Shane’s thighs as he stood up. He gently wiped Shane’s labia, nudging his clit. The wipe came away faintly yellow and glistening with slick,
“If you cannot use the rink toilets that you have been training at for three years now, how are you going to use the bathroom at Bood’s?”
Shane whimpered but nodded,
“Okay, fine.”
.
By the time Shane parked the Jeep outside Bood’s house, he could already see Wyatt’s and Lisa’s car, the Pike’s family van and Evan Dykstra’s SUV. Ilya was holding a plate of hand-wrapped gyozas and was grumbling to himself as Shane hauled a six-pack of ginger ale out of the trunk,
“Why is Pike here?” Ilya muttered, “Is nice to see Jacki and the kids- however, Pike-”
Shane shot him a pointed look as they climbed the steps up to the front door,
“Be nice to Hayden. It’s not strictly a team event. And he’s up here for the summer camp anyway. It would be silly not to invite him.”
Ilya rolled his eyes,
“Pike is only coming because he has fat crush on you.”
“Ilya. Hayden is straight.”
“Is not true.”
Shane let out an exasperated huff as he took off his Reeboks, neatly placing them, heels together, at the door. Ilya followed in suit, kicking off his shoes as he fumbled with the dark vinegar, soy sauce and chilli oil. Bood greeted them at the door, nodding teasingly down the hall,
“Bathrooms down there, Hollzy,” he said, “If you need it.”
Shane glowered,
“I’m feeling much better now, thank you.”
.
They spent the majority of the evening on the loveseat on the deck, tucked away from the main party. Luca Haas sits with them for a bit, sipping apple cider out of a recycled bottle from Harris’ farm and asking Ilya about recommendations for vets and dog food. Troy comes over a while, asking Shane and Ilya about the possibility of a double date before the season starts. At one point, Shane disappears with Jacki and Ilya is stuck in the loveseat with Hayden, so they do the perfectly appropriate thing of ignoring each other until Dykstra comes past with a speaker playing obnoxiously loud country music. Shane finally comes back to the love seat with a bottle of apple cider, flushed and a little tipsy. Shane never drinks, but Ilya can see from the gleeful glint in his eyes that the old habits of his strict lifestyle are slowly starting to fall away in pleasant layers. He’s no longer shrinking into himself, terrified that he can’t love who he wants to love, can’t be with who he wants to be with. Ilya watches him giggle at something Jacki said and is faintly reminded of how he had been, high on pain meds after being checked by Marlow back in 2017. Ilya’s heart clenches, looking at the people around them. Bood’s wife, Cassie, is standing by the barbecue, shaking her head at her husband as she tries to wrangle their son, Milo, into a hoodie. When Shane finally reaches the love seat, he flops down on Ilya’s lap, eyes twinkling with mischief as he sighs into Ilya’s touch,
“Ilyaaa,” he said with an exaggerated slur. Ilya chuckled and wrapped his arm around his husband,
“Are you a little tipsy, moy zaychik?”
Shane nodded giddily, pressing his face into Ilya’s neck.
“Mhmmm- M’ not drunk though,” he reassured, “Jus’ need you.”
Hayden looked over at them in disbelief. Ilya smirked. He doubted Hayden ever got to see Shane like this, and something about that made him feel incredibly smug. Ilya grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around them both, resting his palm over the small of Shane’s back. It was starting to get a little cold, and Shane had tucked himself into the crook of Ilya’s neck, breathing against the shell of his husband’s ear,
“Ilya,” he whispered, sounding alarmingly sober, “I think- I think I need to pee.”
Ilya looked down to where Shane was straddling one of his thighs, grinding down onto the dark denim. A soft whimper fell from Shane’s lips, his fingers trembling around the apple cider bottle. His forehead furrowed as he ground a little harder, suppressing a whine as the seam of his own jeans caught on his rapidly swelling clit. Ilya smiled and caught his hips,
“Shane,” he said pointedly, “You are drunk.”
Hayden’s lip twitched as he watched Shane fall into Ilya’s touch, stopping his insistent grinding. Ilya let his mouth curl into a smirk,
“He is very obedient, yes?”
Hayden glared,
“Gross.”
Ilya was about to retort with something smart when he felt warmth spread over the fabric of his thigh. Shane was shaking in his arms, thick thighs clenching around Ilya’s hips. His lips were parted against Ilya’s neck. His freckles were flaring on his pink cheeks. His breath was coming out in small puffs,
“Ilya,” he whispered, “Mhm- jus’ peed.”
Ilya looked down at the label on the bottle,
100% Alcohol-Free Apple Cider
Ilya jostled Shane to his feet, grabbing him by the wrist and snatching the empty plate of gyoza off the dining table,
“Thank you, Boodram and Cassie,” he flashed a winning smile in Cassie’s direction, “For the lovely dinner, but you see, Hollander is feeling unwell. So we will be leaving. Now.Thank you.”
Shane looked apologetically in the general direction of the guests, ducking his head as Ilya took him by the hand down the hall. He tried to contain his smile. He had been eager to leave. Ilya had left him wet and wanting at home, and he wanted nothing more than to rile Ilya up until he couldn’t take it. He knew it was risky, wetting himself on Ilya’s lap. He was worried that the pad wouldn’t be able to take it. And now it was soaked and squelching between his legs, he was regretting it a little bit. Ilya crowded him into the back seat of their Jeep, easing Shane onto his back as he wrestled open the fly of his jeans. Shane whimpered as Ilya inched the jeans down his husband’s thighs, sliding his hand into Shane’s pants to palm the front of his panties. The pad, swollen and pissy, was wetting the inside of Shane’s thighs. Shane whimpered, grinding hips down into Ilya’s touch,
“Ilya- gonna pee again-”
Ilya poked at the padding.
It was definitely full.
Ilya groaned as he kissed the column of Shane’s neck,
“You did that on purpose, yes?”
“I’m sorry,” Shane murmured, mouth falling in a gasp, “Needed to go so bad-”
Ilya grunted,
“You’re not sorry. Now I am making a mess of you in the backseat of your boring car. You got what you wanted.”
Shane whimpered at the suggestion in Ilya’s voice, but he couldn’t help the hopeful tone as he asked,
“Are you gonna spank me again?”
Ilya smirked,
“You enjoyed that too much, yes? I will think of something else.”
Shane whined,
“You will not pee when we get home. You will get naked and wait for me in the bathroom. Then I will decide what to do with you.”
.
Shane shivered as he carefully lowered himself onto the tiled floor of their shower, sitting with his hands clasped neatly on top of his knees. Despite the cold on his knees, his body felt feverishly hot, and he felt hypersensitive to every sound. He heard Ilya’s leather belt clank onto the ground and saw the soft crumple of his T-shirt outside the shower. He felt nerves slide down his back as he squeezed his eyes shut, cunt slobbering and clenching as he slowly rocked back and forward, exhaling softly as he arched his back. Ilya walked into the shower stall in a pair of black boxer briefs, crouching until he was eye level with Shane. Shane trained his eyes on the dark marbling of the tiles, enjoying the suffocating gaze of Ilya’s eyes on the vulnerable nape of his neck.
He loved how Ilya made him feel.
Like prey.
Served up on a silver platter, perfectly garnished.
Shane looked up, blinking as Ilya tucked a finger under his chin, guiding Shane’s gaze until their eyes met. Ilya smiled and poked cruelly at Shane’s distended bladder with his finger,
“Very desperate now, yes?”
Shane nodded, opening his mouth to beg. Ilya took his opportunity to slide two fingers past Shane’s lips, enjoying the garbled moan that formed around the wet digits. Shane whimpered,
“Hnggg-”
“Shane.”
“Mhm?”
“Stand up, legs apart,” Ilya instructed, “Hold open your pussy, yes? I want to see your clit.”
Shane scrambled to obey, flinching a little at the squelch of his labia parting as his clit twitched in the cold air. Snot was sliding down his nose and touching his top lip, chest heaving in dry sobs, tears threatening to fall. Shane felt eighteen and desperate again, eager to please under Rozanov’s bruising gaze. When Rozanov had still been Rozanov. It would be years before Shane would call him Ilya. Shane groaned as a tidal wave of desperation roiled in his bladder, and he fought the urge to slam his thighs together, paw at his sloppy cunt, squat over the shower drain- anything, anything if it meant pissing messily all over the tiles, wetting himself under Ilya’s gaze, jerking his clit, riding his fingers, riding Ilya’s thigh- his cock- until he was squirting and pissing and cumming all over again-
“Shane.”
Shane looked up, blinking through tears as he watched Ilya turn the showerhead on and adjust the temperature until it was lukewarm. Ilya toyed with the settings for a while until the water was spurting almost aggressively out of four jets, concentrated in the middle of the shower head. Ilya smiled, pursing his lips a little,
“Is the punishment for tonight-,” he explained, raising his eyebrows as Shane momentarily lost control, a sharp torrent of piss squirting out of his urethra, wetting the tiles in a pale yellow, dribbling down the inside of his thighs. Shane whined, but kept his fingers on his labia, thighs trembling. Ilya hummed,
“I will point this at your pussy. You will come three times before we stop. You will not pee until you cum. You understand, yes?”
Shane opened his mouth to reply, but broke off into a nasally moan when Ilya jerked his wrist, pointing the strong stream of warm water right over Shane’s clit. Shane sobbed as he felt Ilya change the water pressure to a slightly weaker setting, aiming it over the mound of Shane’s bladder. Pleasure-pain zapped up Shane’s spine, sending him hurtling toward his orgasm alarmingly quickly. Shane’s eyelids shuttered as he threw his head back, hips canting forward as Ilya returned the shower head to his clit,
“Hnggg- cummingcummingcumming!”
Shane groaned loudly as his orgasm tore through him, almost sending him to his knees as he flinched away from the jet of water, whimpering at the overstimulation. Ilya abruptly turned off the water, stepping out of the shower and leaving Shane completely naked, pussy spread and deliciously humiliated,
“Ilya-”
Ilya returned quickly, holding a curved dildo in his hand. It was one of their bigger ones, a solid 7.5 inches of pink silicone. Shane was salivating at the sight, pussy clenching, uncomfortably empty. Ilya smiled with faux sympathy,
“You will cum on your fingers while you open yourself up. Then you will cum with the dildo inside. You’re not getting my cock tonight.”
Shane moaned,
“You will get to work, yes?” Ilya murmured, “You can sit on the ledge.”
Shane hissed as he sat back on the cold marble ledge, shakily parting his thighs under Ilya’s gaze. He slid a finger into his eager hole, hiccuping wetly as he slid another one in, scissoring them. Ilya turned on the water again, lowering the water pressure until it was a warm dribble. He aimed it at Shane’s clit, chuckling at the way Shane flinched, toes curling at the contact,
“Does it feel like being pissed on?” Ilya asked, “Is what a piss slut like Shane Hollander deserves?”
Shane groaned,
“Mrphhh- M’ not a piss slut.”
Ilya gave a condescending smile,
“Is what you are.”
“M’ not.”
“Pissing all over your husband’s lap in front of poor Hayden just so you could go home and get fucked. Is very slutty.”
Shane glowered,
“You don’t even care about Hayden.”
“You do not care about peeing,” Ilya muttered, turning up the water pressure, “If you do cum, you will not pee, yes?”
Shane whined and started to fuck down on his fingers, gritting his teeth as the thrusting motion jostled his swollen bladder. The warm trickle of water over his clit really felt like being pissed on. Alarmingly so. Shane shuddered as he imagined Ilya shoving him to the ground on one of their runs around the perimeter of the cottage, pissing all over his chest, over his clit, getting piss all through the hairs on his pussy. Ilya smirked and turned the water pressure back up, spraying it directly over Shane’s clit. Shane groaned and convulsed,
“Hngg-hng! C-cumming” he whined, arching his back, “Wan’ the dildo now, please.”
Ilya shrugged delicately and brought the dildo up to his lips, spitting on it obescnely, before bullying Shane’s legs apart, tapping the head of the dildo against his entrance,
“I will put it right in here, yes?”
Shane nodded desperately,
“Please- please Ilya, wanna cum- wanna cum so bad. Gotta pee, please- fuckgonnapeegonnapee-”
Ilya slid the dildo home and yanked Shane to his feet, slapping his ass as Shane fell forward, scrambling for purchase on Ilya’s hips. Ilya tutted and manhandled Shane until he was standing up, pussy drooling around the dildo as he canted his hips up, presenting his twitching, erect clit to his husband. Ilya fiddled with the shower head, turning the water pressure on the highest setting, aiming it directly onto Shane’s clit. He watched as Shane moaned, hips jackhammering toward the stimulation, stopping every few thrusts to moan at the delicious overstimulation. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and his lips, wet and pink, were constantly parted in a wet, gaspy moan. Shane gritted his teeth as he felt his orgasm start to build. The three bottles of apple cider that he had drunk at Bood’s were catching up to him as his bladder, swollen and bloated, was seconds away from giving out. He felt like he was seventeen again, curled up on the floor of his ensuite bathroom in his parent’s cottage, a rapidly growing puddle of piss underneath his ass, body still tingling and boneless from his orgasm. Shane whimpered as he adjusted the dildo, angling so it slammed against his g-spot, gasping at the pressure on his clit as he felt himself tip over the edge,
“M’ squirting-hngggg-”
Clear liquid sprayed from his urethra as Shane felt his knees give out, collapsing heavily on the marbled floor. Ilya watched with barely contained arousal as Shane parted his thighs, stumbling into a squat as he slid the dildo out of his hole, whimpering miserably at the loss. He was hanging on by a thread,
“Please, Ilya, can I pee?” Shane begged, squirming as he shoved both hands between his thighs, cupping his desperate cunt with wrung out limbs, “Can’t hold it- gonna leak, please. Wanna pee so bad- squirted so hard. Please lemme go, gonnapeegonnagonnapee-”
Ilya roughly tugged his boxers down and pulled his cock out, jerking it over Shane’s face as he watched the pearly shimmer of tears over Shane’s eyes fall onto his flushed cheeks,
“You can let go, Hollander.”
Shane arched his back in catharsis as a torrent of hot pee burst through his clasped fingers, gushing all over the tiled floor. Shane felt forward, still peeing, until he was on his hands and knees, head between Ilya’s parted legs. Ilya gritted his teeth as he jerked his cock faster, watching piss pool underneath Shane’s arched back as Shane rocked back and forth, breath shuddering,
“Hngggg-”
His pussy felt tacky with piss and slick.
And then suddenly, Ilya was cumming in thick, warm ropes all over his back and Shane felt so fucking owned, he never wanted to walk on two feet again. He would stay on his hands and knees for Ilya, being his pet, his puppy, his little bunny, making a mess of himself over and over, begging and crying and slobbering over his husband’s cock. Ilya crouched down to pull Shane into a messy kiss, licking the snot and sweat that had gathered on his upper lip. Shane laughed shakily into the kiss, nodding toward the bottle of body wash on the counter,
“Shower?”
Ilya laughed.
.
Ilya watched Shane put his foot up on the bathtub to apply lotion on his leg, momentarily distracted by his task of laying out Shane’s plastic potty and puppy pads for the night. Shane had been getting better lately as they lapsed into the routine of practice, managing to get through meetings without squirming, letting himself walk around naked from waist down on weekends, squatting over puppy pads and potties and fucking pot plants to pee whenever he wanted to. But he still got desperate in the morning, often leaving piss-stained panties in the laundry sink for Ilya to wash. Ilya watched as Shane pulled his bathrobe up to sit on the toilet, moaning shakily as his piss hit the toilet bowl. Ilya straightened up and walked into the ensuite, kissing Shane’s forehead as he washed his hands,
“Did you wipe?”
“Mhm.”
“Did you drink the water I set out for you?”
“Yes, Ilya, I did.”
Ilya smiled,
“I put the waterproof mattress protector down, so you can pee the bed if you don’t make it, yes?”
Shane whined and smacked Ilya lightly in the chest,
“I always make it.”
Ilya put his hands up in surrender, watching Shane clamber in bed, the distinct shift of his hips and clench of his thighs giving away everything that Ilya wanted to know. Ilya chuckled to himself as he followed his husband, making sure to refill Shane’s waterbottle next to the tall glass of water that he had left for him on the bedside table.
He almost, almost didn’t want the season to start.