Belle Bound & Bursting



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bellebound.com
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      Belle couldn't believe Michael had just left her here, tied up all evening with this damned ball in her mouth and her bladder really aching from being full for so long.

      When he'd suggested tying her up for the evening, she had been excited. This kind of foreplay had such a profound effect on Michael and invariably led to the most amazing sex. She had agreed readily, and without giving her time to reconsider, Michael had promptly dragged into the bedroom and started tying her up.

      "You're keen," she had remarked as he bound her wrists and pulled up a chair to secure one end of the rope to the overhead beam, preventing her from sitting down. He had looked down at her from his percarious perch and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

      "You have no idea," he send, flicking a look at his own crotch. Following his glance, she'd seen what he meant. He was enjoying a collosal hard-on. She literally trembling in anticipation; this was going to be a good one.

      Next, he secured a ball gag in her mouth. She was not wild about these things, preferring a cleave gag or even a tape gag, but she didn't want to spoil things. She thought of the sex to come and offered no objection.

      He proceded to tie rope around her ankles and thighs, just above her knees but below the hem of her skirt so that he could see it, before dropping to his own knees and running his hands over the legs. He stroked her calves and ankles, then the backs of her knees, slowly working his way up her squirming thighs until his probing fingers found her crotch.

      That was when the damn phone rang.

      As a member of the fire fighting auxiliary, Michael was often called away at short notice. He cursed, admitting that he had forgotten about being on call. Brushing her cheek with with a kiss, he asked in a whisper if he could leave her tied up since he didn't expect to be long, and the thought of her tied up at home and waiting for his return would, he explained, drive him wild. Just think of afterwards in bed.

      Belle had tried to protest. She wanted to tell him that she had a slightly uncomfortable bladder and would prefer to be freed to that she could use the toilet, and then perhaps spend the evening watching a movie instead of standing here. But she hadn't been able to say any of those things because her mouth was crammed with this damned ball. All she succeeded in doing was making a lot of hmmphing sounds which Michael seemed to interpret as her consent. As if afraid she might change her mind, or simply because he had to respond to the call quickly, he then ran from the room, calling back to her that he would try not to be long. The word try hadn't been there earlier, she'd noticed.

      But he had been a long time. Hours. The light seeping in through the drawn bedroom curtains had grown pale and faded away. In the meanwhile, her bladder had expanded almost as far as it could go; waiting for the loo would soon not be possible.

      She had done her best to loosen the ropes around her wrists, trying desperately to wriggle free, but it had all been to no avail. She even tried reaching for the knot, but Michael had made sure it lay beyond the stretch of her probing fingers.

     Alternately grunting in frustration and whining with the strain of controlling her tired muscles, Belle started doing little curtsies and performing a limited tap dance with her feet. The mitigating effect of the these rhythmic motions was negligible, however; the ropes binding her thighs and ankles restricted her movements so much that she couldn't dance around anywhere near as much as she needed to. How she longed to be able to cross her legs and really squeeze her thighs together - she would have done almost anything for the temporary relief it would have afforded her.

     Damn Michael, she cursed inwardly. Where the hell was he? Her feet ached from standing here all evening. And of course her bladder ached, especially where the waistband of her skirt prevented further expansion. Throwing back her head and staring resentfully up at rope anchoring her to the beam, forcing her to remain standing. She was just minutes away from having to wet herself, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. In frustration, she resumed pulling at the rope binding her wrists, but still didn't give, not even a little. All she had succeeded in doing was tightening the knot still further.

      God, she just had to pee.

      If she tried holding it much longer, she was convinced her bladder would actually burst. It was so tight that a prick from a pin with make it explode with all the force of an over-inflated balloon.

      She was on the verge of giving in to the near-overwhelming desire to relieve herself when headlights swung into the driveway and an engine stopped. He was back! Oh God, he was back just in time. The prospect of imminent freedom and relief for her bladder merely amplified her desire, and she was forced to start jiggling her body up and down in an frantic attempt to maintain control. She moaned through her gag, urging Michael to hurry up. What was taking so long? Shaking with the effort of keeping her sphincter closed, she listened intently for the sound of the front door opening. Oh God! He had to hurry! Didn't he realize that she was breaking her neck for a piss?

      Belle wiggled her knees as if she were trying to walk walk on the spot, bending and straightening her legs. She was running out of ways to suppress the powerful jet of pee that threatened to soak her panties and skirt, not to mention the bedroom carpet. Would the stain ever come out? That carpet had cost thousands, and she couldn't risk ruining it. Somehow, she told herself, she would have to go on waiting.

      Just a little longer, she kept repeating over and over inside her mind, her unspoken words a pounding tattoo keeping time with her cramped dancing. She yelped as her bladder gave a sudden, violent spasm, forcing her into another frantic session of bending and wiggling her legs. She couldn't keep this up any longer.

      Where the hell was Michael?

      Then he was there, standing in the bedroom doorway, watching her, a smug grin on his face. She grunted and moaned through her gag, trying to tell him that she needed help getting to the loo, NOW! He must surely have understood her predicament; she had been standing there for hours after all. But he didn't move. He merely watched her desperate squirming and listening to her muffled pleas.

      Frustrated beyond belief, Belle glared at him. He'd known this would happen. He had wanted it to happen. He'd wanted to come home and find her dancing around in frustration, struggling to cope with a bursting bladder. Through the tumble of thoughts dominated by her incredible desperation to pee, she even wondered if he had gone so far as to plan the whole thing, getting one of his pals to put through a supposedly urgent call at just the right moment.

      At last, without haste, he came over and stood in front of her, still admiring her rope-hampered pee dance. His smile broadened as he reached up and stroke her brow with his fingers, wiping away beads of sweat which were forming there. Belle grunted again, doing her best to convey annoyance, but he merely leaned in closer and kissed her cheek.

      She felt him reach behind her neck and begin fumbling with the strap keeping the ball in her mouth. After a few moments, the strap slacked and she spat the ball out onto the bed. "Untie me!" she rasped, her voice muted by a dry mouth and throat. "Untie me, you cruel bastard. I've been standing here in bloody agony all evening, while you -- " She paused to take a quick sniff of his breath -- "while you've been out drinking! Oh! You--? You...How could you?"

      Michael's smile broadened still further. "I went to the toilet for a piss a couple of times," he declared in a faintly inebriated voice, "and each time I thought of you standing here busting to do the same."

      "You complete and utter bastard."

      "I know, but I haven't been able to get rid of this steel rod in my pants all evening."

      "Mike, I have to go now," she said, switching from chastising him to pleading with him. "Please help me."

      "What, and miss this amazing performance.'

      "Oh, please let me go. I--I'm starting to wet myself. Untie me. Pleeeaaaassseee!"

      "Oh dear."

      "Micheal. Please. I--oh! I ca--an't do it on the carpet."

      Michael nodded sagely. "True. Okay, you'll have to hang on then."

      "Ooohhh! Is that meant to be funny? It's starting to run down my thighs. You have to let me go now. Don't you understand? I'm wetting myself!"

      "Okay, okay, keep your panties on," he said, and left the room. She heard him open the door to the cupboard under the stairs. A few seconds later he reappeared carrying a bucket. "You'll have to use this," he said.

      "How?" she demanded irritably. "I can't open my legs!"

      "Good point. I hadn't thought of that."

      "Michael. Stop it. I'm losing it. It's running down my-- oh no! No! Nooooo! Untie me, quick. Oh God!"

      "Looks like there isn't time," he said, watching the pee that she could feel trickling below the hem of her skirt and collecting along the rope binding her thighs. Then it broke through the barrier and streamed down her calves, pouring onto her shoes and the carpet around her feet.

      Belle couldn't stem the flow. The stream grew rapidly in strength until the hissing sound of pee squeezing out from between her bound legs was clearly audible. Her bladder spasmed violently as the flow surged, the hissing sound now a soft roar as she completely lost control. An entire evening's worth of pee poured down her legs, soaking into her skirt and drenching the bedroom carpet. The ache in her bladder was still there where she had been forced to strain her muscles so badly, but at least the pressure to pee was easing. Half a minute later, there was no pressure at all.

      When she had released every last drop into her clothes, Michael lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her for the longest time as his other hand probed the front of her wet skirt. "Bath, and then bed," he whispered when the kiss was over, and Belle nodded her assent. Hanging her head, she could see that his penis was still straining against the front of his jeans. Perhaps the evening would not end so badly after all.

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