Desperation

Cal Kestis

Cal woke up suddenly.

Dimly, he realised he was secured down to a bench, and he could barely move an inch.

Everything hurt. He was covered in bruises and cuts – some still bleeding – and he was pretty sure that his right wrist was broken.

He looked around; as much as he could while he was chained down. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see six stormtroopers guarding the entrance of the cell, which was ray-shielded. He couldn't see his lightsaber, or BD, anywhere.

And to make matters worse, he really, really needed to use the 'fresher.

He sighed and laid his head back, trying not to think about the screaming pressure on his bladder, but it was impossible. He couldn't think of anything else, except how badly he needed to kriffing pee.

Well. It probably wouldn't work, but he had to try; at least then it wouldn't be completely his fault if he ended up wetting his pants.

"Hello? Guards?" he called out.

They turned around, staffs and blasters ready.

"I need to use the 'fresher. Can you let me down?"

"No," one said, in a bored tone. "We're under orders not to let you out under any circumstances. So be quiet."

"I'm not going to escape," he protested, wriggling slightly, trying to lighten the pressure on his bladder. "I just need the refresher."

"I don't believe it. Now shut up."

That's a no, then, Cal thought. He began wriggling harder as it suddenly jumped up in pain and urgency. He gasped, tears pricking his eyes; he tightened his thighs together and pulled even harder on his bladder in the fight to hold it in. His penis was aching, his bladder was aching – it all screamed for release, but not yet, Cal thought, grinding his teeth.

He was determined to hold on as long as he could. The mere thought of having an accident in front of his enemies... the humiliation would be the worst he'd ever experienced.

Thirty minutes later he was still holding on, although by that point, tears were squeezing out of his eyes as he gritted his teeth and kept his thighs and bladder pulled so tightly the muscles were sore.

He knew he was minutes away from losing it. He'd never, ever had to go so badly in his entire life. No matter what the answer had been before, he had to try again.

"Guards! PLEASE!" he yelled out suddenly, making them jump slightly. "I need to use the 'fresher!"

Before, he managed to keep his writhing somewhat under wraps, but now he was thrashing in place, tears now beginning to stream down his face. The chains keeping him there clinked loudly, clanging non-stop against the bench.

"I think he's telling the truth, Captain," one might have murmured to another, but he couldn't be sure; all he knew was the pain and the sheer desperation of his bladder, the pressure that was threatening to burst and which was only building with every second –

" – He's been chained down for fifteen hours now – "

" – Even if we just let him go in the corner, we don't have to let down the ray shield – "

" – I don't want to be stuck cleaning up the mess if he goes in his pants – "

"NO," someone else bellowed – the Captain in charge. "We have orders not to release him under any circumstances until the Inquisitors arrive, do you understand? I don't care if he needs the refresher. We are not letting him go. That is final."

Cal moaned softly. I won't last much longer, he thought in despair. It didn't matter that he was a Jedi – true, trained Force-sensitives could hold on for longer than others, but in the end they were all living beings, and their bodies all worked the same. If his hands were free, he would have grabbed himself to hold on like a young child, but he couldn't even do that.

He could feel it slowly coming through his penis, and no matter how hard he pulled back on his bladder – it came anyway. It was no use. He was seconds away from losing control completely.

He could feel drops on his underwear now. He managed to regain control for a tiny microsecond – but –

More came. The drops were coming faster now, then, in tiny squirts –

He yelled out, unable to contain the sound any longer. His legs were pressing together as firmly as pushing two stones to each other, but it made no difference; the urine was coming whether he wanted it to or not. His bladder was about to burst; explode inside of his body; but instead he started to feel it coming. The proper flood this time, not just drops –

The pee shot out of his penis in a flood, instantly soaking through his underwear and then his pants. The sound was the worst part; the noise of a rushing stream of liquid rapidly hitting clothing, it seemed so loud and he knew the stormtroopers outside could hear it too.

He was bound so tightly that he couldn't at least roll on his side to get it on the side of the bench. Instead, he had to do it where he lay, in the middle of the bench. The dark, wet patch on his pants grew larger and larger every second, puddles beginning to show through in the little creases in his pants. Then, after only seconds, it began to pool on the bench, spreading quickly.

There was so much that Cal peed for a full minute. Then, and only then, did the stream die down, until only the last trickles were left, and he could examine the full extent of the damage.

The warm wetness clung to his skin, and even as he finished, he felt it beginning to cool. His pants were completely soaked, and the bottom part of his jacket and shirt were wet too. The pool of urine on the bench had grown large enough to drip over the sides and onto the floor, and he hadn't even noticed the quiet splashing sounds until that moment.

He didn't know whether to cry in relief or humiliation. The pungent smell of urine wafted into his nostrils; he wrinkled his nose and breathed through his mouth.

Then he lay there, eyes wide open, feeling the disgusting sensation of lying in his own urine even after he'd finished.