He’s told me probably a hundred times or more that someday I’ll be peeing outside. Not that I’ve never peed outside – I have. Many times, on drunken road trips where actually finding a bathroom was too much work, copping a squat while clinging to the car bumper so I didn’t totter over into my own puddle – yeah, I’ve done that a time or two. But even that was done because I wanted to, not because I HAD to. The idea of being inside my own house, with access to three bathrooms in perfect working order and to still be told to squat in the backyard like a dog? That’s a little difficult to wrap my head around.

It was easy for me to just nod and smile when He’d say those things. Where we lived before, we were surrounded by people. There was zero outdoor privacy and with all the city regulations on fences and stuff, there was zero chance of ever having outdoor privacy. So I dismissed His outdoor piddling threats. We were never going to *move*, for goodness sake! He owned the house, and He’d done work to it and He’d built the bedroom/dungeon/cunt cupboard. I was so safe from the outside!

*ahem*

I stand corrected.

I haven’t yet had to pee outside. But it’s coming. I’m resistant and I figured I could continue to be resistant because, seriously, I have pride and I have ego and I have been potty trained for years and years. One does not slide backward in mere seconds.

I should know better than to think I can “fight” Master on anything that He wants. But I rather think He enjoys this sort of battle. Oh it could be as simple as Him saying “do it NOW, cunt” and I’d drop and squirt like a frightened squid, but this is much more fun (for Him). I genuinely do not think pissing outside is hot or erotic or depraved or anything that would make me want it even on a darker, as-yet-unrealized level. So I’m digging in my heels and dodging and bargaining and avoiding and and and – so far, I’ve been on a toilet every time.

But yesterday – yesterday was close. Oh so close. I almost broke because He found a tool, a weapon, that is far more sadistic than anything I’ve experienced to date.

The ice-cold spray from the garden hose.

I’d asked to pee and He’d denied my request. (*More on that down below) So I held it, of course, because arguing or begging only seems to encourage Him with the outside stuff.

But then a bit later He took me outside anyway.

And tied me to the deck.

He said He was going to whip me until I pissed myself.

He did whip me. Started hard and heavy, no wimpy warm up, no how-do-you-do.

And it did hurt. I was dancing and gasping, and needing to pee, right from the very beginning.

Funny thing about trying to make yourself forget years and years of conditioning is that it’s easier said than done. I haven’t stood up and consciously dribbled urine down my leg for 35 years. Not even the whip, and the promise of the whip stopping, could force me to let it flow.

So He tried a different tactic.

I hate cold. I hate cold *anything*. Water, ice, snow, air, chains. This is not one of those tortures that I love to hate or secretly crave or fantasize about when I’m diddling my clit in the dark. Cold sucks.

Oh I tried to get the hell away from it. I couldn’t fucking breathe it was so shockingly cold. All I could do was gasp. And pray for death.

I couldn’t have peed right then if He’d held a gun to my head. My body was in shock. I couldn’t think or talk or do anything but focus on pulling air into my lungs.

But this hosing off wasn’t about getting me to piss myself right then. It was a tool. A threat. A threat only works if one is fully aware of what that threat is, and next time He tells me to piss myself “or else it gets the hose again”… there will be no hesitation, no stalling. I can promise that. Because another session with the garden hose is not appealing in any way whatsoever.

I do think, still, that He enjoyed the game, the dance of getting me to piss outside at His whim, but I also think He’s done with the game. He wins. He always does.

Just for the record, getting whipped when you’re wet and cold and your skin is shocked into painful half-numbness is so much worse. So. Much. Worse.

(You can watch the whole clip at our video store.)

~cunt

* About asking to pee and being denied.

Saturday we went back to the old house. We left at around 10am, and I had peed earlier that morning, around 7-ish. At noon, we stopped for lunch. I almost asked to pee then, but He seemed in a hurry to get moving and I didn’t have to go very badly so I didn’t ask. About 2pm, we were stopping to visit some folks who are building a new house and I mentioned that I had to pee but the house doesn’t even have plumbing yet so no chance of a potty break there. Master, however, stepped off the beaten path and christened a near-by tree. He gave me an evil smile when He emerged, zipping up His pants. I was doing the pee-pee dance by then. I also knew by the look on His face that I’d be doing it for awhile.

An hour or two later, we’d driven by countless gas stations. I realized that as me and my overfilled bladder bumped along, I was getting increasingly horny. Like, cross my legs and squeeze and shift in my seat kind of horny. I remarked to Him that needing to pee makes me horny, an observation I’ve had before but hadn’t given a lot of thought to.

“You mean me not letting you pee makes you horny, cunt?” He asked with a grin.

For a minute I said nothing. Cuz it was just having a full bladder that made me horny, the silly man. Of course, before I met Him I wasn’t dripping with the need to fuck every single time I needed a restroom. But still, how could it possibly be that His dominance over me performing such a basic human nee –

“Oh you sneaky bastard!”

He just laughed.

He did finally let me pee – about 5 hours after I first asked.