My fantasy part 2

December 16, 2023

Continued - part 2

After several leaks and many denied orgasms, I at some point wet my jeans while being caned. The final stroke is too heavy and too hard and jars my bladder with such *** that it sends leak after leak rushing down my jeans, forming in a puddle on the carpet. I’m sobbing very loudly, wailing.

The man stops. He balances the cane on my welted bottom and says not to let it drop. He comes to face me and bends down to my eye level and looks straight at me. He tells me to stop ***ing. Stop. Now.

He returns to the other side and watches my bum twitch and wriggle. It’s agony to stop the release. The *** of the cane and only having partiality released my bladder and being made to stop is a new level of agony. My jeans are still wet from the accident and the *** dripping down my legs makes this almost impossible. Satisfied with the struggle, he decides to play with my broken down and *** state. He tells me softly, feigning sympathy, that I can ***. I have permission. I thank him graciously. I’m so relieved that when I finally relax and the stream starts releasing I’m caught off guard when he suddenly commands me to stop. He follows this with a very hard cane stroke. Real *** surges through me and I manage to stop ***ing. This process continues… starting. Stopping. Caning. Agony and *** consume me. The last time, I’m unable to stop quick enough.

Laughing at my misery, he unties me. He strips me from the waist up, commenting on the smallness of my breasts as he does so. I’m trembling, my bottom is blistered, welted and raised, and the *** of the wet soaked jeans is overwhelming. I’m covered in ***. He tells me to take a seat on his wooden chair.

I comply with no resistance, gingerly sitting down, wincing as I do so, my body trembling and tears streaming down my face. I wish I had been obedient and held on in the first place. I regret not following commands and I find myself cursing my poor bladder control. The *** of sittinbwas very intense, and the sting of urine on my skin only served to heighten my sense of vulnerability. At the same time, the man’s enjoyment of my *** was exciting and my pussy was aching from desire having been denied so many times.

Leaving me briefly to think about my behaviour he returns holding a bundle of nettles in one hand. In the other a large 1.5 litre bottle of sparkling water. He approaches me, a commanding presence radiating from his every move, and tosses the nettles onto a nearby table with a ***ful gesture.

I sweated as I anticipated more ***. I didn’t know how much more I could take. I met the disciplinarian's gaze, my eyes filled with a mix of trepidation and newfound submission. My *** was grave in soaked jeans. At least if I had to drink more…more leaks would go unnoticed. Or so I thought.

As if reading my mind the man then produces the key to the padlock. As he undoes the padlock and the chain- the tightness on my bladder when being released from the jeans actually makes me leak more ***. He notices this, stopping what he’s doing to remind me in a stern tone that I have already disobeyed him by emptying my bladder and that I’m never to go against his wishes again. He says this is a warning. He tells me the training of my bladder and my attitude adjustment needs to start now. I continue to sob as he berates me, but a harsh and unexpected face slap makes me cry silently. A cold shot of *** goes through me at that moment. This man very much has the power.

He undresses me roughly. He cleans me, something that may seem caring but is done so in a way as to micromanage and to take all control from me. After applying ginger oil to my bottom for maximum sting and ignoring my ***ed cries, he instructs me to squeeze into a tiny pair of white jeans. They make me squirm in the tightness.

I’m then instructed to start drinking. I start sipping the water. He looks impatient so I gulp a third down as quickly as I can. The man adds that he added furosemide to the water so I can expect to be very desperate very soon. His sadistic laugh makes me wet, but ***ful.

While I drink, he grabs two cable ties and a bike chain affixing these all in the jean loops round my waist. He tells me to suck my stomach in as tight as I can and he tightens the cable ties and bike chain so tight that when I breathe out my bladder already hurts. This time, there’s no key to the lock. It’s set on a timer. I’m told that he expects the 1.5 litres to be finished and gone in 10 minutes and then we can begin.

I’m led back to the chair and sat down, where all I can focus on is not to yelp out in ***. The ginger oil was causing a burning sensation on the caned welts and my bladder was already hurting. I found it hard to sit still. I was struggling. The jeans were so tight. It hurt to sit, to drink. To breathe hurt.

I looked at the 10 minute sand timer that he had put in front of me and almost leaked looking at the sand falling like ***. I noticed only 2 minutes had gone …and I then looked at the man enjoying my ***. He was watching my every twitch with amusement and satisfaction.

Trying to keep on his good side and forgetting that a diuretic had been added; I finished the bottle as quickly as I could. I thought it might be a way to finally be granted a trip to the toilet and the release of sexual frustration that was welling in my pussy.

The man left briefly. I doubled over, holding my crotch, and thought about using breathing exercises. I might make it. I consoled myself that it wasn’t a public place. No one to see a leak. I could try and hold it. No more ***. I dried my eyes.

I heard the man relieving myself, immediately losing this hope as it increased the pressure tenfold. On his return he simply handed me another bottle and said I must be thirsty. There was no sympathy. At the ten minute mark, watching this sand trickle like urine, I was beyond bursting. I was constantly moving. He grabbed the end of the chain, jarring my bladder and I stood up.

I momentarily thought he’d let me visit the toilet. But he said that he had to make a quick supermarket stop and he needed to pick up some more padlocks and clamps. On the walk, I would wear a collar and leash. The end of the bike chain would be connected to the leash, so that when he pulled me along, it would shock my bladder. At the end, he tells me he will be inspecting the grey panties he gave me for the slightest leak. If I hadn’t leaked then the trial was successful, and he would consider the training started and would like to see me regularly to make me a good masochist subservient. If I leak, today is far from over. The thoughts excite me and I worry and I worry about the wetness of my pussy giving me away.

He teases me again for my small boobs, commenting on how big they are on real women that can hold their ***. He spanks each boob. He then takes a small switch and firmly strikes my nipple. I scream. This is a new ***… I lose myself and forget to thank him. He waits for me to thank him for the stroke. I’m too busy howling.

Silently, throwing a tiny crop top at me and telling me that’s all I get for having small tits, grabbing the padlock on my belt and using it to take me with him he begins to march me to the supermarket.

He sees the potential for my very real embarrassment in a local park just outside the shop and sits me on a bench next to a large group of men. The park is full of people. He chose this bench, noticing that one of the men was ***ing in the bush. The public *** was paramount here. People could clearly see my tied up situation and some laughed and stared. It was all I could do to hold on. I sat. I crossed legs. Opened wide. Stood. Sat. Jittered knees together. I tried to hide my belt from the men but they watched me, almost urging me to wet as they now all took turns ***ing in the bush.

But it was all over for me when one guy ‘accidentally’ got a bit of *** on my ankle. I just couldn’t stop it. My bladder completely gives way. I try every way to cover it. But it was very clear. A huge puddle on the ground and wet stains falling down my jeans. No jacket or coat as cover. My socks. Shoes. Sodden.

As I lost all my dignity the guys started laughing and announcing loudly what had happened. Others stared with disgust. Some even called other people to have a look. I was red faced. Mortified. *** was real. My bum burned and now so did my face. When I saw the disciplinarian approaching I ran to him for comfort. But he’s laughing. Joining in. Relishing the situation.

A very embarrassing walk back to his home, me trying to cover my self with my hands and hide my utter shame, is followed by being walked over to a nearby wall where a set of wooden stocks were mounted. He motioned for me to approach, and with a mixture of *** and resignation, I complied and he positioned the stocks around my head, securing it in place. My neck and wrists were trapped, rendering me completely immobile. The weight of the stocks pressed down on me, adding to my sense of ***ness. I feel humiliated.

From this position, I couldn't see anything except for the ground in front of me. I felt ***, exposed, and at the mercy of the disciplinarian. He circled around me, his footsteps echoing in the silence, as he contemplated the next steps of my punishment.

Having timed the timer lock just right he undoes the padlock. Pulling down my jeans and panties. Leaving them round my ankles.

He picked up a bunch of nettles, the prickling leaves standing at attention. Without warning, he pressed the nettles against my exposed cane marks, dragging it along my sore behind with deliberate strokes. The stinging *** was immediate and intense, causing me to gasp and writhe.

He reveled in my reactions, cries and shouts. Whipping my back. My butt. My tits. My bladder is still feeling full from the diuretic every hit and the bent position is causing me to have to clench my knees together.

He walked away momentarily, returning with a small piece of ginger and a bundle of birch branches in his hands.

It’s in the second that he returns and begins to scold me again for my earlier attitude, as he applies the ginger to my burning bottom that I begin to know my place. The ginger is then roughly inserted into my most sensitive hole. The man tells me that the ginger means I can’t clench my bottom. After reminding me of the expectations and rules set out in our cafe meeting I’m then told that this is a judicial style birching. He tells me he will stop when I am broken enough. That this is a very severe punishment, and I need to have the attitude beaten out of me. I begin to whimper in ***. I’m so aroused yet very scared.

I’m trying to adjust to the feeling of the ginger when the *** of the stack of birches that he’s tied together hits me. Its like the *** of many canes all tied together and I gasp and shout with the ***. It had hit a cane welt. I needed a second to compose myself. But I don’t get one. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but accept my punishment. Stroke two has me scream. By three I’m crying and by the time it’s at 10 I’m uncontrollably sobbing my heart out. By 15 I’m covered in tears. At 20 my throat hurts from screaming. As the *** continues I shake and convulse. I lose count at about stroke 80.

Having had enough, the man stares at me. He smiles at my black bottom and my broken self. He decides it’s time I thank him. He tells me he’s now going to train my mouth.

(Part 3 being written)