Omorashi Kink - One Direction One Shots

Wet at the Movies!

Harry Styles wonders when he'd become so depraved, he thinks with a wry grin, slowly drinking a large bottle of orange juice, the acidic sweetness being relished albeit the slow pressure in his bladder. He knows, however, that it all started with the time he saw Louis in the tour bus, squirming a little, clutching his stomach and moaning slightly. Harry had pretended to ignore it then, just kissing his boyfriend naturally, but slyly watching as Louis ran (when they finally got to their house) to the bathroom, and the relief etched on his face when he finally took himself out to pee a long, relived stream into the bowl. Harry wondered, as Louis fücked him that night, how it would feel to be that desperate. So began a series of him drinking liters of water and juice, and holding it till he squirmed, and finally píssing it out into the toilet when he couldn't hold it any longer, the relief running down the bowl noisily, as his cøck twitched from anticipation of arousal.

Today, Harry drank his fifth large glass of orange juice (juice was always a better diuretic - since he didn't like black coffee), and pressed his swollen bladder experimentally, the television on a music program. His cøck ached slightly from the desire to píss and he squirmed on the sofa, wondering how much longer he could hold it. He leaned back on the sofa, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and white, loose shorts that exposed hairy calves. He thrust his hand down his pants (no underwear as usual, of course), and gripped his cøck loosely, feeling the need ache in him again, his bladder pulsing slightly. He finished off the sixth glass of juice in one go, and moaned slightly as he feels himself beginning to tap his feet, just a bit longer and he'd be peeing and jacking off his hørny cøck.

He jerks upright, however, and takes his hand out of his boxers as Louis walked in the room, resplendent as ever in a tight white shirt and even tighter black jeans. H looked at Harry, obviously lazing around, and grinned.

"Come on Haz," Louis said, pulling the uncomfortable boy off the sofa. Harry tried not to be too conspicuous in his need, pressing his legs together lightly. "We're going out."

"Oh. Um." Harry said. "When? And where?"

"Right now. You don't even have to get changed." Louis grabbed Harry's hand, and pulled him out of the door, the horrified lover following, almost unable to walk because of the abrupt desire to just let his bladder go. "We're going to watch Mama, Harry. I've gotten us those couple tickets at the back. It's going to be fab, pop."

"Louis, I don't want to watch Mama!" Harry exclaimed, as Louis started the car, buckling his seatbelt. "It's fùcking scary, you know I hate that kind of stuff."

"Don't worry, Haz." Louis said lazily, not noticing Harry's need as the other boy squirmed slightly, trying to physically force the píss back from his cøck by sheer willpower. "It's not even that scary, it's the dãmn twin sister trope again. It wont be that shocking, and hey, I'll hold your hand."

Harry smiled back, but it looked more like a grimace, as he crossed his legs, his cøck clamped between his thighs. A drop of urine escaped and touched his thighs, and Harry crossed his legs even tighter, his bladder distended and painful, his cøck twitching. He ground slightly against the rough car seat, maybe arousing himself would make the need go away, but he was squirming, tensing and un-tensing his thighs and åss cheeks, trying hard not to cry. There'll be toilets in the cinema, Harry thinks, taking a deep breath as they arrived. But Harry was wrong. Therewere, of course, toilets in the cinema, but there was a queue about a kilometer long, winding along the concession stands and the ticket booth. Harry bent over in dismay, his bladder pulsing angrily inside him, another drop of pee leaking out, and this time dripping out of the leg of his loose shorts into the carpet. He gave a dry sob and straightened up as Louis gave the tickets a perfunctory glance.

"We're in theatre three." The well groomed boy said, smiling as he pulled Harry behind him, excited to see the film. Harry reluctantly followed, trying to inconspicuously press his legs together, as they got into the dark theatre, which was filling quite fast. Luckily, there was nobody else in the row they were sitting in, the second to last row at the back, and Louis edged along the seats till they got to theirs, a matching sofa sort of arrangement, with no armrests in between, so couples could cuddle. Even if Louis had been expecting cuddles, however, Harry sat stiffly upright as the credits or something started playing, and the words MAMA flashed on the screen. Louis was already engrossed in the film, and Harry grimaced as his bladder throbbed harder, he started grinding his cøck with the ball of his palm.

Harry tried hard to focus on the first part of the horror film, something about this bony looking man who was running away with two little children. But his cøck begged him to whip it out, and for God's sake to please empty himself in a toilet, and Harry pressed his legs closer together, rubbing his hand between them, and feeling his cøck through the fabric of his trousers, gripping it tightly. He gives a muffled, sobbing whimper, as Louis looks at him in concern, but he grins and bears it, waving Louis on to watch the film. Harry himself tried to focus on it, the pretty man was crying and holding a gun, but he found that he really didn't care, till oh my God! Something black flashed across the house, and Harry let out a sob as the shock caused him to release a spurt of píss into his trousers. He tried to stop it by pressing his white shorts against his cøck, but it let out another spurt of urine, shorter, and wetting the fabric. He managed to stop it then, but the need to go was now exacerbated by at least a thousand times, and he felt tears snaking down his cheeks as he sobbed softly.

Louis looked at him alarmed, and Harry quickly tugs his hand and practically ran out of the theatre. Once out, Harry left Louis's hand and walked to an area where it was quite empty, and faced the wall, his shoulders heaving slightly, shaking with silent sobbing. Louis came up gently behind him, and touched his shoulder.

"Hey, Haz, what is it?" he asked quietly, and Harry turned, exposing the small wet patch on the front of his shorts.

"I wet myself." He whispered, and his face crumpled as he bent over, clutching his stomach. "I still really, really have to go, Lou. Really, really have to go."

He started crying again in shame, but Louis hugged him, no matter if his trousers had a wet spot. He hugged him tightly, and even though it put pressure on his burning bladder, Harry felt comforted. He crossed his legs tightly together again, feeling that he would start to pee right in this corridor if they didn't have a choice. He didn't, anyway, and he let out another sob. He pressed his hand to his cøck, and bit his lip, afraid of actually, truly wetting himself.

"Hey, I have an idea." Louis said cheerfully. "This way, you can pee, you won't get your shorts wet, and we can still watch the film."

"Ohhh..." Harry gritted his teeth and followed his boyfriend back into the theatre. He gingerly lowered himself into his seat, the theatre dark enough that nobody except Lou would notice that his hand was desperately grabbing onto his penis. "Lou, I have to wee right now. Now, Lou, right now. Fück!"

"Shh." Louis whispered. "Now, take off your shorts."

Harry wondered whether his boyfriend was insane, and he took off his shorts obediently, folding them up beside him. He was now naked from the waist down, still grabbing onto his cøck and trying not to cry again from embarrassment. At least nobody could see, he thought, as he hissed and bounced his leg eagerly. A spasm shot through him, and he let out a tiny moan.

"Pee here. Right on the floor." Louis instructed him in a whisper. "Nobody's going to see you, it's dark. Just go. I asked you to take your shorts off so you could go inconspicuously."

"Lous..." Harry whispered, in agony, but it was the only choice he had. He aimed his cøck to the floor, but when he had the chance to pee, the urine didn't come out, only stayed inside, making Harry's bladder boil and throb. He shivered his naked legs, and turned to Lou, a hysterical expression on his face. Louis, however, knew exactly what to do. He put his hand on Harry's limp cøck and started stroking it softly. His arousal rose, coupled with the pain of his bladder after a few long, squeezing stroked, and Harry layback, panting softly. His cøck was now stiff and slightly sticky with precome, his bladder still aching painfully, but now somehow secondary to the way Lou's hand moved across his díck, tickling the tip in the way he knew would make Harry squirm. His cøck twitched, once, twice, and he came, the come dripping down onto the plush of the seat, staining it.

Almost as if by a signal, the moment Louis took his hand off Harry's cøck, the other boy started peeing, a forceful yellow stream that hit the floor with a slight hiss (the other patrons were busy watching the ghost woman on screen). The urine gushed from Harry's cøck as he sighed, watching the liquid hit the floor almost unendingly. But after what seemed like minutes, the stream slowed, and Harry let out a few more long squirts, panting slightly.

"Done?" Louis whispered to him.

"Almost." Harry pointed his dìck down at the floor as let out a last small stream to empty himself completely before shaking himself off of the pìss, and re-wearing his shorts. He was breathing heavily, as if he had ran a race.

"Then let's get out of here," Louis grinned mischievously. "Before they notice your little offering.