Bladder Torture Part 1
For reasons I’ll get into in another post, I was finishing up a large line copying assignment. I had about 90 repetitions to go, and I was camped out in front of the computer. I was chatting off and on with my friend Nicole, who has a sadistic streak the Marquis de Sade would praise lavishly. She was especially playful this night, initiating a game I’d come to regret over the next few hours.
“Bet you can’t finish those by 6:45.”
I read the screen, looked at the clock, and smirked. “Piece of cake,” I typed back. “75 minutes? What are the stakes?”
Almost immediately, “If that’s so easy what about 35 minutes? I’m not setting stakes for something you call a piece of cake.”
“*ponders*” I knew that was MUCH lower, and MUCH harder…I toyed with the idea of timing a practice line, then decided it would be cheating. Bets are one of my hot buttons, rigged ones even more so…
Nicole had gone further while I thought. “And you drink two big glasses of water while doing it. If you finish, you can pee at will. If not, you have to wait till 8pm.” Which was 2.5 hours away.
“Lemme refill my cup, and you can start the clock. You’re on.”
Long story short…I managed to finish both cups of water (not pleasant in itself, thanks), but not the lines. I was 16 short of goal when time was up. As I took a break to let my arm and hand relax, my stimulated libido started releasing the gluttony thoughts.
“You know, it’s too bad we didn’t set penalty glasses of water for unfinished lines.”
Nicole, who rarely is so quick, came right back with, “Oh, but one glass for every 5 lines would have been fun.” I imagined a smirk on her face.
I let that sit and stew for a few minutes. It’d be a mistake to retroactively put in that in place. I’d regret it. It’d be painful, even. And I really, really wanted those extra three glasses.
So, my last ditch effort (which works more often than you’d think): “Tell me not to accept the penalty. Remind me I’ll regret it bigtime, please.”
And the helpful girl’s reply? “*zips lips*”
At this point, I’m equal parts, “Holy shit, this is so hot I’m almost out of my skull” and “Oh noes, I am totally doomed don’t do it.” So I do the only thing a subby masochist can do: I ask for clarification.
“All three glasses down before 8, right?”
“Yup. And the first two by 7:15. I can’t have you chugging them at 7:45…that’s no fun.”
It was 6:25, and I had a feeling it was gonna be a long hour and a half. I had NO idea how bad it was actually gonna be.