Chapter 1: The Holding Contest

Remember, no fucking.” She stood with her hand on her hip next to the open door, daring me to protest.

“I remember. It was the last thing you said before we hung up.”

She pulled a strand of dirty blonde hair from face while her green eyes considered me carefully. After a moment, her mouth formed a broad smile. “Cool. You’re just here so I can watch you wet yourself,” she declared. “So come right on in.”

I felt as if I had just passed some kind of test. I understood my purpose here to drink and hold our pee to see who would wet themselves first. Had someone predicted this Thursday evening’s turn yesterday, they’d seem quite mad. She obviously thought her chances were good, and if I were betting? It would be on her.

I’ve been on this fetish forum, Altsyles, for about a year. I enjoyed checking out some of the BDSM and Omorashi posts and posted videos of myself peeing my shorts or of women peeing their pants and otherwise taking part in the community. While browsing a recent thread Sunday concerning our locations, I noticed a post from a woman I follow stating her hometown is Deer Park. That’s only 20 minutes away from me. She also follows me, so I posted I’m from Bayport.

I kept checking to see if she had logged in and stalked her profile (again). She was into holding, wetting, and male desperation; a very promising collection of interests. Last night, her status went green, and a short while later I heard a ding indicating a private message. We’d messaged before, though a couple of months had passed since our last exchange.

“Bayport, New York?” Came her quick question.

“Yep, as in 20 minutes from Deer Park.”

“Wild.”

“Indeed.”

Some time passed, then she messaged, “I’m not fucking you, but do you want to get together? Maybe we can do a holding contest.”

“No fucking. Got it. Yeah, I’d love to watch you wet yourself.”

“As if.”

I sent her my number so she could text me, and a moment later my phone rang. It was her. “Do you want me to call you Mr. Piss, or do you have another name I should use?” A woman’s melodious voice spoke.

I laughed. “Connor is my actual name.” I hoped I didn’t sound like a total dork.

“You can call me Zephyra. Same as my profile name,” she paused, “that’s really my name.”

“I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that.”

“My father was a meteorologist. Zephyr is the name of the west wind.” I could hear her shifting the phone. “Of the various names for the winds, I got the coolest one.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zephyra.”

“The pleasure is all yours,” she said with deadpan delivery, then a short laugh. “Likewise.” There was a momentary silence. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

“Um...” I didn’t know how to react. Tomorrow? “Yeah, I mean no, I’m not busy. Where would you like to meet?”

“You’re not a murderer, are you?” she shot off point-blank. “Some sort of psycho-rapist?”

“Convicted?”

She laughed, “Okay, fair enough. I’ll text you my address. Come over at 7 and wear something light-colored so I can see the wetness better.” She added, “Remember, no fucking.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, but she had disconnected the call. A few minutes later her address appeared in my text messages.

That leads us back to the third Thursday in May, and it was just slightly before 7 when I pulled up to her pale blue split-level with the attached two-car garage and walked into her modestly furnished Long Island home. She was more attractive than I had assumed. Loose waves of mostly blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and her green eyes were bright and quick, flanking a demure nose above a wide mouth with thin lips. Her smile was radiant and sincere, and I couldn’t help but relax a little. She was shorter than I, around 5 foot 4, with smaller breasts but wide hips and ample thighs and butt. She was wearing a long-sleeved mauve t-shirt and dark jeans.

“Do you need one last trip to the bathroom before we get started? I already went.” She swiveled her head and pointed to a bathroom off the kitchen. I caught the sweet scent of amber, mixed with something familiar. Gardenia?

“I went before I left home. I should be good.”

“Okie doke.” She half-shrugged and drew my eyes to the kitchen counter where two tall glasses of water stood. “Only one of them has iocaine powder in it.” I must have looked confused. “Princess Bride? No? Not a fan.”

“Sorry, um, so you’re trying to match wits with a Sicilian? I’ve built up an immunity to iocaine powder.”

Delight spilled from her smile. “You might be fun after all.” She picked up the glasses and handed me one. “Your pants won’t wet themselves. Cheers!” she announced as she clinked her glass to mine.

I lifted the glass to my lips, and she did the same and started drinking until we finished the first 16 ounces. We set our glasses down on the counter, and she reached into a lower cabinet and brought out two water bottles. She filled them from a Brita pitcher on the counter and then handed the pitcher to me. “Can you refill that for me?”

“As you wish,” was my only reply.

Afterwards, she handed me a bottle and led me out of the kitchen and into the attached garage as the overhead lighting flickered to life with a hum. “This is where we’ll end up.” It was an unremarkable garage with plastic totes on a shelf and some lawn equipment. It looked like she often parked her car in here, although it was empty now except for two folding chairs facing each other over a drain, and two small stacks of towels.

“Nice,” I assessed, “you can just hose it down when we’re done.”

She smiled and tapped her head. “Not my first rodeo.”

“Oh? Do you often have fuckless holding contests?”

“Hmmm?” she looked at me. “Oh, right? No, you are actually the first. All the other holding contests include fucking.” The look on my face must have been priceless. “No, you’re my first holding contest. I’ve not met anyone who’s into this like I am.”

“Same girl, same,” I nodded sagely.

“When I said it wasn’t my first rodeo, I meant I frequently hold out here so I can just pee my panties or go naked, standing or squatting or sitting, and I just hose everything down.” She gestured around, “Try not to hit the walls or be a hero and get the ceiling, and we should be fine.”

“I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, guiding me toward the garage’s side exit, then down a cement path beside the driveway. “Did you bring a change of clothes?”

“Of course, they’re still in the car.”

“Bring them in when we get back.” We started down the driveway and turned onto the sidewalk as she set a brisk pace, and off we went. It had been a warm enough day for May, and as the evening cooled, the brisk pace helped us to stay warm.

Zephyra was quite bright and witty, and we soon discovered we had enough in common to lose ourselves in conversation until she remarked we needed to head back. We had been walking for a full hour, and our water bottles were empty. The sun was hanging low in the sky when we got back, and I retrieved my clothes from the car, locking it even though the neighborhood seemed safe.

Zephyra had disappeared back into the garage, and I followed. She was adjusting something, and I saw it was a space heater. Probably a good idea since the garage would get chilly once the sun went down. She motioned for me to follow her, and we were back in the kitchen where she refilled our glasses and then handed me the Brita again. She hadn’t said a word, but I still responded with, “As you wish.”

“Good boy,” she said in that light, musical voice of hers. After refilling the water bottles and topping off the Brita, she turned to me. “How’s your bladder doing?”

“Great. Still nothing. Zero out of ten.” I fixed my gaze on her with mock seriousness. “You can just give up right now. I’ll understand.”

“Shut up and drink your water.”

Soon, 16 ounces followed the 20 ounces from the water bottles and the original 16 ounces, contributing to over a liter and a half, and we were off to a good start. Honestly, I had felt the first stirrings of needing to pee, but it was still early. The next hour would be interesting.

I did not have an iron bladder. Despite my 42 years, my bladder remained functional, though not exceptional by “omorashi Olympics” standards. I’d start squirming, then the leaking would begin and increase until I just started peeing. When I wanted it, I always had enough time to make it to the bathroom. That would not happen tonight.

“Grab your bottle and let’s go hang out until you wet yourself,” I said as whisked my full bottle off the counter and started towards the garage.

“Ladies first.”

“As you wish.” We both chuckled at the role reversal and took the 3 steps down from the kitchen to the garage. It was a little warmer in there now, and I sat down in one of the vinyl-padded folding chairs and took a sip of my water before setting the bottle down on the floor next to me.

I watched Zephyra adjust her clothing before settling in. It was hard to tell how old she was, and we hadn’t discussed it so far this evening. I was guessing early thirties, but she could have been older. Or younger. I really had no clue. She didn’t seem to be weirded out by my age, so I wasn’t even sure it was worth worrying about.

The only reason I thought about it was not because it mattered for our platonic little pee-holding contest, but because I was finding myself attracted to her and beginning to feel dismayed at her “no fucking” reminders. She was quite fuckable.

We sat across from each other, fidgeting in silence for a while. We had conversed glibly on our walk, but now silence hung awkwardly in the space between us. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Nervous, like a kid,” came her unexpected answer.

I laughed, “Yeah, me too. But I was asking about your bladder.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m good.” She sat silently for a moment, and then stood up. “Let’s play a game,” she said, proceeding toward the kitchen stairs.

“Wait, are you sneaking a trip to the toilet?” She turned and glared at me before spinning on her heel and disappearing. She returned a minute later with a small folding tray table and a deck of cards.

“Wait, are you sneaking a trip to the toilet?” She said mockingly to me. “Geez. I think you need to drink more water and reflect upon what you’ve done.” She tossed me the deck of cards, which I was not prepared for, and after almost catching it and then almost recovering it, it fell and skittered across the floor. She and I both looked at the box of cards and then at each other. “Wow, you fumbled those cards almost as much as me.”

“You?” I asked incredulously. “How ... When did I fumble you? I didn’t realize I was trying to catch you.”

“Are you sneaking a trip to the toilet?” She said mockingly again. Then she laughed. “You are way too much fun. I’m having fun, are you having fun?”

I looked at her as she bent over and picked up the cards. “Uh huh. Fun.”

She sat back down in her chair and slid her hips forward. “Do you think I could hit you in the face with my pee from here?” Her grin was infectious, and I smiled too. “I think you need to be nicer to me, or I might do it.”

“Are you threatening me with a good time?” This development in our conversation struck me as interesting. I imagined her doing it, and for the first time that evening I felt my cock perk up and take notice. I had been trying to keep my expectations low, but that ship had now sailed.

“You’re such a perv, you’d like that. Come to think of it, I’d like it too.” She laughed to herself some more. “Now, what card games do you know?”

“I haven’t played cards for years. I never played much growing up.”

“You’ve got to know something.”

“Well...?” I thought for a moment. “There’s Go Fish, War, Kings in the Corners, although I’m not sure I remember the rules. Um, Spades, Blackjack, and Poker.” She immediately perked up.

“What’s that you say?” She asked with a mischievous smile. “Strip poker?”

“I didn’t...” she cut me off.

“Getting me naked doesn’t let you fuck me. No fucking, remember?”

“OK, forget I mentioned it.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that now.” She looked positively gleeful as she pulled the cards from the box and shuffled them. “Five-card stud? Nothing wild?”

“Um, sure.” I shifted uncomfortably and noticed the garage was a lot warmer than the last time I’d thought about it.

After she dealt, I had a queen of spades, jack of diamonds, nine of diamonds, six of diamonds, and a four of hearts. I looked over at her. “We can trade in up to three cards?”

“Yessiree,” came her cheerful reply.

“It’s been a while.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky.” She grinned again. “But not that lucky.”

I debated what to do. Keep the two highest and hope for a pair, or keep the diamonds and hope for a flush, but lose my strongest card. She traded in two cards and waited for me with a huge smile on her face as I dropped the queen and the five, hoping for some luck. It was only the first hand and I could afford to lose my shoes.

Swiping the two cards off the table and into my hand, I saw the three of diamonds and got a little excited until I saw the black club. It was a six at least, so I ended up with a pair. She laid down her cards, revealing a pair of jacks. I did the same, and she clapped delightedly. “Lose the pants!”

“I was going to start with my shoes.” I remarked as I reached down to slip them off. My cock was nearly at full mast, and I had to shift a little in my chair as I straightened up.

“Hmmm,” she murmured exaggeratedly. “Maybe you don’t want to lose the pants,” which was followed by her musical laughter. “How’s your bladder?”

I paid attention to how I was feeling for a moment. I could feel the need to pee, but it wasn’t imminent yet. “It’s getting there. How about yours?”

“Same. I’ve got time.” She looked at her phone, and I looked at my watch. It was 8:30. The sun hadn’t even set yet; the evening was young. She gathered the cards and shuffled them again.

She won the next hand with another pair. I lost my socks. Next hand, she took her shoes off and then she lost her socks because I won the following hand. I lost the next one and removed my shirt. I caught her looking at me, and her face flushed red.

“Are you blushing?”

“No. You can’t prove anything.”

“It’s okay, I’m just surprised.”

“Why? A girl can’t have feelings and desires.” Her chin quivered, hinting at tears, and then she laughed again. “I like your body. I think you’re handsome.”