I've been getting more into reading urination stories and thought I'd try my hand.
If you have thoughts about this story, you can email me: benjibright@gmail.com. Or check out some of my other recent stuff at undietales.tumblr.com.
This is a work of fiction, copyright Benji Bright 2018.
Please read this only if it's legal to do so where you are (and, of course, if you're of age).
Nifty is an awesome service, so please consider tossing in a couple bucks, if you can.
THE HYDRATION TABLET 1 Benji Bright
The alarm went off, so I slapped it off of my nightstand so hard that I could hear it smash into pieces on the other side of the room. It was more the thought of having destroyed yet another alarm clock that woke me up.
My name is Bryce Peterson, and I'm kind of a beast in the morning.
Eventually I got out of bed and headed into the shower while muttering a string of increasingly creative curses. The hot spray of the water helped, and I managed to wake up a little while lathering then rinsing off my body. I can say without bragging (too much) that it's pretty alright as far as bodies go: I work part-time at a friend's moving company, I play on a community water polo team, and I'm no stranger to the gym. And it's all of those commitments that make me get up at the ass crack of dawn.
I climbed out of the shower and toweled off quickly. I pulled a pair of gray trunks on and stepped into the cleanest pair of jeans I could find and a t-shirt that I'd managed to fold for once.
I expected to be the first one up, but Frankie was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by a stack of books and a set of beakers. In the corner of our dining room was a chrome machine half my height and about eight feet long.
"Do I even want to know?" I asked my brother.
Frankie looked up from his books. "Oh, hey. Morning, Bryce."
"Morning. So how many kidneys did you have to sell to afford...whatever this is," I asked while trying to grab some resembling breakfast from our mostly empty fridge.
"I made it from recycled parts. It was cheap," he replied.
Frankie was everything I wasn't: skinny where I was broad-shouldered, scholarly where I was smart enough to get by, a redhead to my brown, etc. He was also a mad scientist: not like "building his own computer" but like "why don't I manufacture a working hover board?"
"And what is it?"
"It makes pills."
"Right. Because why the fuck not?" I said, half to myself. I threw a waffle into the microwave. "What kind of pills?"
"I made a gradual release hydration tablet. I think it could help in areas without consistent access to fresh water. One pill keeps you hydrated all day," he answered.
"Sounds useful. Especially when your boss gets stingy with the breaks," I grumbled. My boss was known for cutting breaks short to get more hours out of his staff. Asshole.
"Absolutely!" Frankie said. His eyes lit up. "So do you want to try one?"
I gave Frankie a skeptical look. I'd tried his Super Efficient Hair Dryer that he'd built in the eighth grade. I ended up starting high school a few weeks later with a bald patch that didn't fully grow out until I was seventeen. I also tried his self-propelling rollerblades and walked for my graduation on crutches. But Frankie seemed so excited by the idea that I couldn't say no.
He told me to take the pill with a small amount of water, which I did. It was chalky but otherwise unremarkable. It didn't occur to me until afterward to ask what kind of side-effects I could expect, to which Frankie smiled, shrugged and said, "I guess we're about to find out."
"It's a little irresponsible to go directly to human trials, isn't it?"
Frankie's head was already back in his books. Only his mop of red hair was visible. He waved me off. "Progress, etc."
"I'll beat your ass if this fucks me up," I said while going through the door.
Frankie didn't respond, or if he did, I couldn't hear it over the sound of the door slamming behind me.
It's a bit of a hike to the bus stop. I usually drive, but Frankie had "borrowed" my car's engine a few weeks ago and returned it in a form that wasn't exactly useful to me. He'd promised to get it fixed right away, but time is relative to a super genius, apparently.
The bus stop wasn't crowded, which was typical for that time of the morning. It was me and one other guy: a dude in a cheap suit with an even cheaper briefcase. I nodded a greeting at him, and he nodded one back. We'd seen each other a few times on this route, but never really got to the talking phase. He leaned against a signpost, reading from his e-reader with one hand while I listened to music on my headphones and scanned my phone.
I'd been scrolling through social media when I first noticed it. One site and then the other, then back to the first. I felt a wave of...I'm not exactly sure what: I just relaxed a bit and felt a bit of a surge in energy. Moments later, I realized I was in trouble. You gotta' understand that I was never the kid was the small bladder. On road trips I'd sit there smug and a little annoyed that we had to take yet another detour while Frankie sat red-faced with his hands between his legs, begging our parents to turn off at the next rest stop. I briefly wondered if this was his idea of revenge.
"You alright, man?" the guy at the bus stop asked.
I couldn't reply. I put a hand out against the covered bus stop to stabilize myself and tried to wrap my brain around how quickly my bladder had filled to bursting. The guy took a step toward me, and I took a step back. One step. It was enough.
The dam, such that it was, burst--and humiliation-tinged relief flooded my system as my crotch darkened with the heavy flow of piss filling my jeans.
"Is that...are you pissing yourself?" the other guy asked.
"I gotta...go," I muttered.
"It looks like you already did," the guy said, straight-faced. His voice was concerned, which only made me blush harder. I jogged away from him, piss still shooting in spurts down the front of my jeans as I ran back to the house.
I had a lot on my mind as I raced up the street: I hoped that the neighbors wouldn't see me dashing up the sidewalk with dark stains all down the front of my light-colored jeans; I considered the kind of brutal punishment I would inflict on my brother once I got him in front of me; and I thought of the last time I had been in this situation:
It was years ago. I was stuck in a high school seminar with a hard-ass ex-marine teacher who wouldn't tolerate anything beyond strict obedience. I'd chugged a ton of iced tea at lunch that day, forgetting that Mr. Anderson (who we purposely called The Admiral behind his back) wouldn't let me piss, even if things got bad. I ended up squeezing my palms into my crotch for the last twenty minutes of the class, unable to hear one word that the teacher was saying. As I waited desperately for the bell to ring, I had to compromise: it was either piss myself completely as soon as I stood up, or try to release the pressure a little. I relaxed a bit, only a tiny bit, and let a little shot of piss leak out into my cotton briefs and prayed that it wouldn't show in my dark shorts. My bladder complained when I had to close the faucet, clearly preferring to drench my lower half.
The Admiral let us out a few minutes early, which was my saving grace. I managed to make it to the bathroom and whip my cock out just as it started spraying full force. A bit got on my hands, and some of it even bounced back against the porcelain to sprinkle my shirt and shorts, but I was so lost in the relief of finally emptying my tank that I didn't even mind.
That had been a close call, but in the present, I was far beyond that. I was relieved when I finally saw the house come into view, but that relief quickly turned back into anger. Frankie was going to see a side of me that I rarely showed anyone. I cracked my knuckles in anticipation then fished my keys out of one very wet pocket.
Once I was inside, I made my way to the kitchen where I had last seen my brother. He wasn't there, so I headed upstairs to check his room. He wasn't in the bedroom itself, which was covered with books and machine parts. But I heard the water running in the bathroom, and the door was open, so I headed in. I didn't give a fuck if he was in the shower. I was going to punch him in the face. Just once. But then I saw him, and my anger instantly dissolved into shock.
Frankie was lying in the tub with his insanely hard cock in one hand and the other gripping the edge of the tub hard. He was pissing all over himself. I realized that the sound I'd heard when I entered the room wasn't water running at all; it had been Frankie pissing. His stream, which had not once flagged since the moment I walked in, soaked his head and pasted down his red hair. His forceful, steady piss cascaded down his chest and flowed down into the tub where it joined the pale-yellow pool which was high enough to lap over Frankie's thighs.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I whispered.
Frankie looked over, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He didn't stop pissing.
"Hey big bro...sorry, I..." he grunted, and his stream doubled in force, giving my little brother an unexpected piss facial. "I upped the dose since this morning."
I intended to tell him how fucking reckless and stupid he'd been. I was going to reach into that piss pool and twist his nipples or something else that an older brother would do to his geeky younger brother if they'd made him piss himself at a bus stop. I had intended to do that, but then the hydration tablet kicked in again and for the second time that day, with another guy watching, my bladder gave out, and a hot stream of piss let loose in my pants.