Drink: a Circle of Denial Story

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Author’s Note

This story is based on my original erotic novella, Rhiana, from a series that I am now calling “Circle of Denial.” If you enjoy this story and want to know more about the Circle of Denial, please read Rhiana, available at my member page.

This story steps subtly outside of my comfort zone. I am not experienced in the field of desperation, but this is something I very much wanted to try. It is based on watersports with a heavy theme on enforced desperation. If you are not interested in this theme, this story may not interest you. There is no actual sex in this story.

Many thanks must go to Francine-frcxa for introducing me to this world of bladder desperation, and to the team at whp, for inspiring me to write another chapter to the Circle of Denial series.

If this story gets enough interest I may follow up with more bladder-stretching adventures featuring Ellen and the mysterious Lady Anira.

* * *

Ellen brushed a stray lock of red-blond hair out of her eyes as she stepped out of the sports car and knelt obediently before Lady Anira. Her fringe had a fly-away nature that had annoyed her intensely when she was younger, but her mistress seemed to have taken a profound liking to it, and never let her cut it shorter than a finger’s length, which meant that she was forever brushing it out of her eyes, or swaying her head to try to flick it away.

Doing just that had got her into trouble. A quick flick of her hair the previous day had turned to disaster when she accidentally unbalanced a bottle of Lady Anira’s expensive wine from the silver tray that she was carrying, and sent it crashing to the marble staircase. She had stared in horror and disbelief as it tumbled in what looked like slow motion, and felt her heart stop as she pleaded inside that it should not break. Her pleas went unheard, for it smashed open on the marble, ringing a sound that broke the peaceful silence in Anira’s home. Vivid yellow wine splashed outwards, landing on Ellen’s legs and staining her spotless white shoes and socks. It ran down the staircase and fell over its edge in a yellow cascade, and pat-pat-pattered onto the deep pile of Anira’s white carpet.

Lady Anira reached behind her and deftly fastened the leash around Ellen’s thin white collar. It looked unobtrusive, even sexy, in a chic way, and it was comfortable, but Ellen hated it. It was made of Flexilon, and it moulded to her pale creamy neck like rubber, just like her little white pants and bra moulded to her hips and breasts like a bikini. It was a smart-fabric — moulded perfectly to her skin, able to bend and move with it, but like her bra and pants, it was completely irremovable without the special digital key.

When Lady Anira had first taken her as her slave and given her the clothes that marked her servitude, Ellen had been most upset by the collar. She had picked at it for hours on her first night, trying to force her fingers underneath and prise it off, but she couldn’t outsmart the smart-fabric. It wasn’t long before she came to hate the irremovable pants and bra more than the collar, for not only would they not come off, but they would not transmit more than the faintest touch through to her skin underneath. Some parts of her body longed for attention, and their cries went unanswered, although not unheard.

“Keep up, Ellen.” Lady Anira barked, tugging on the leash. “Don’t daydream.” Ellen stumbled under Anira’s grip, glancing resentfully at her from under her bushy brow, jogged to fall into step. She looked up at her mistress — naturally she was the same height as Ellen, but in her high-heeled boots she was tall, and she was beautiful, her features sharp and elegant, her blue eyes vivid and deep under thin eyebrows. Her chin-length black hair hung by her neck, bouncing with her long strides. Ellen’s short legs had a hard job keeping up with Anira, and she reminded herself to jog from time to time, to prevent the leash from running tight and earning another tug.

“Don’t hold me up today, slave.” Anira said firmly. “You are being punished for staining the carpet.”

“Please Mistress, you caned me yesterday!” Ellen mewed, the sting in her buttocks still calling to her from under her white Flexilon panties where she could not rub them better.

“Don’t answer back!” Anira snapped. “Yesterday you were punished for breaking the bottle. Today you will be punished for staining the carpet. You will follow me and not say a word.”

Ellen turned her brown eyes to the withered ground. It was late summer, and the grass was all but burnt after months of relentless graylight. Even as autumn approached Gray was still strong in the sky, and Anira had insisted that Ellen drink a glass of water before they left for the park, so that she wouldn’t get dehydrated. The exact purpose of the trip to the park was unclear — Anira rarely took Ellen anywhere outside the house, preferring to travel alone and leave Ellen to complete her household chores in solitude.

Gray was harsh and bright canlı bahis şirketleri even though the hour was early, and Ellen shaded her eyes from the morning light. There were few other cars in the car park, but it was early — by midday it would likely be packed solid. Anira led Ellen away from the cars and under the flimsy wooden arch through the main entrance to the greens at the bottom of the park. Ellen squinted as she looked up at the bleached wood of the arch and the faded letters in cracked paint upon it — “Welcome to Minerva Park”, and underneath, in smaller letters, “The Finest Greens in the Blissian Northern Hemisphere.” It had probably looked rustic and beautiful when it was last painted, but nobody in a position of authority cared to have such signs painted any more. In Minerva, nobody in a position of authority cared much for anything other than themselves, and so the park, and the signs within and without, were left to the elements.

Some of the populace of Minerva lounged idly on the dry grass and the cracked ground, reading or lying in the light of Gray, as Ellen followed Anira down the main pathway. A young man jogged the other way, his sweats damp from his exertion. He nodded politely at Anira, but turned away from Ellen. Many people did, when they saw the leash and the collar and her plain white slacks and blouse. She preferred that to the stares that she got from other people — usually poorer people. A group of teenagers had been playing with a ball a stone’s throw away, but they stopped and stared as she and Anira walked past. Even when they were gone Ellen could feel their gazes boring into the back of her head. She wondered what the girls were thinking — if they pitied her, or were disgusted by her. She didn’t need to wonder what the boys were thinking, but she felt the heat of their stares on her slender legs and her round buttocks, all but visible under her thin cotton clothes. She wished she was back in the safety and comfort of Anira’s home, turning down the beds, washing the dishes, preparing the dinner, waiting for her mistress to return home in the hope that she might be in the mood for making love. As cruel as Lady Anira could be, she was a skilled and tender lover, when she was in the mood, and Ellen loved her for it.

Anira stopped at a small wooden kiosk selling refreshments and bought two small bottles of water. She handed one to Ellen. “Drink.” She commanded, before twisting the top from the other and putting it to her lips.

Ellen obeyed, feeling a little thirsty in the morning heat. The open topped car always dried her mouth, especially since late summer in Minerva was a dry and dusty affair. She drank half the bottle, then replaced the lid.

“No, drink it all.” Anira ordered.

“I’m not that thirsty, Mistress. I’ll carry it.” She replied, as they settled back into a slow walk towards the cover of the trees at the edge of the greens.

“I told you not to answer back. Now drink.”

Ellen obediently drank the rest of the water and deposited the bottle in a waste bin as they passed. Anira had thrown hers onto the floor, but Ellen knew that she would be beaten if she did same. Even so, she felt quietly relaxed as they walked away from the greens and into a narrow track that led between tall, dry trees. There were less people, and the trees shaded her from Gray. It was nice to be out in the open for a change, it was nice to see a horizon instead of the inside of a room. It was nice, despite Anira’s mood, to spend some time together. Ellen gingerly reached out and took her mistress’s hand, wriggling her small fingers into Anira’s palm, tangling with the end of the leash that she held.

“Oh, thank you, girl.” Anira said, treating Ellen to a wide smile for the first time since she had broken the bottle. Ellen beamed back. “You’re such a sweet girl.” Anira said. Ellen said nothing, but could not help a huge smile from creasing her eyes. She blushed. “And so shy.” Anira added. Ellen found herself hoping that Anira would bend down to plant a delicate kiss on her cheek, but she was disappointed. It had been some time since they had last kissed, and longer still since they had made love. There was a growing itch inside Ellen’s irremovable white panties that only Anira was allowed to scratch.

Nothing more was said as they followed the pathway, which took them higher and higher above the city of Minerva. From time to time they came to clearings among the trees, and Ellen risked quick glances behind to see how high they had come. She could see the brown haze in the sky above the city, the dust and smoke that the population created, and was glad to be clear of it.

They had been walking for over an hour when they finally reached a stout wooden tower at the top of the hill. The path continued down the other side to join the rest of the hills, and then up into the Blue Mountains, but Anira veered towards the tower and sat down on a bench at its base. Ellen made to sit, but Anira stopped her.

“You stand, canlı kaçak iddaa girl.” She said. Oh yes, Ellen remembered — slaves shouldn’t use public facilities like park benches. She stood, shifting from one leg to the other as they became tired, while Anira seemed to take in the view. After a while she felt the faintest tickle in her bladder — the large glass of water before leaving Anira’s home and the bottle on the greens had made their way through her despite the heat, but it was nothing that she could not bear — she could last a while. There were toilets on the green that they could use on their way back to the car.

A moment later a man carrying a small satchel emerged from another pathway and sat down next to Anira. He was silent for a while, gazing out across the city, before he finally spoke.

“If I look hard enough, I can see my house.” He said.

“You must look very hard, to see through the haze.” Anira replied.

“It’s easy to see through the haze when you remember what the city looked like before it was there.” Said the man.

Anira paused before she replied, pursed her lips, and sighed. “You’re a little late.”

“I know.”

It seemed to Ellen that Anira was waiting for him to say more, but he remained silent as he gazed out across the city.

“I have the documents.” Anira said bluntly. “Do you have what I asked for?”

“Yes.” The man replied, reaching into his satchel to pull out a large bottle of water. Anira pulled an envelope from inside her top and handed it to the man, taking the bottle from him. “Good day.” He said as he stood, and made off in the direction he had come from.

“Sit down, girl.” Anira said softly once the man had disappeared into the trees. “Drink this.”

Ellen obeyed, sitting on the bench and taking the bottle from her mistress. She wasn’t really thirsty, but the water was cool against her hot hands. She held it to her belly for a moment, feeling the light tickle inside her: water without, water within.

“Drink it.” Anira said again.

“I’m not thirsty, Mistress.” Ellen said, setting the bottle down onto the bench.

“I’m not asking you, girl.”

Ellen reluctantly picked up the bottle and unscrewed its top, placing it to her lips. It was a litre and a half, far too much to get through in one go, but she drank as much as she could, aware that Anira was not in the mood to be disobeyed.

“Come, girl.” Anira said after Ellen had emptied almost half the bottle, standing and making for the path back down to the greens. Ellen made to replace the lid, but Anira stilled her with a flick of her hand. “Keep drinking. You’re to finish that by the time we reach the bottom.”

Ellen frowned, her belly already full with only half the bottle’s contents. She took a few ginger sips as they paced slowly through the trees, the weight of her bladder beginning to press a little harder. She would have to use the facilities on the greens when they reached the bottom of the hill.

The journey down was easier than the journey up, but the descent left the backs of Ellen’s legs burning with effort. Anira rarely took her on such walks, and she was not fit for it. With each step she felt the weight of the water in her belly bouncing, as if it too was moving downwards, until her bladder began to roll in time with her swaying hips, the tickles of fullness turning into a slight urge.

“You haven’t finished the bottle, girl.” Anira said, a tone of annoyance in her voice, as they left the trees and stepped onto the hard ground of the greens.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Ellen sighed. “I need to use the toilet.”

“Drink the water.”

“Mistress, I need the toilet.”

“Defy me at your peril, girl.” Anira said firmly.

Ellen scowled at the floor, keeping half an eye on her mistress to make sure she didn’t see, but took another long sip from the bottle. She stopped for breath, then took another, finishing at last its contents. Her stomach felt heavy and cold, and sloshed inside her.

“Good girl. Let’s sit down for a while.”

Lady Anira led her to a bare patch of Gray-dried grass in the shade of a tall tree and together they sat in silence, staring out at the city and the park. Anira seemed content to gaze at the view, so Ellen occupied herself by watching the park’s other users, walking or jogging or playing. Some children chased a dog; an old woman leapt out of their way and chastised them in words that faded to indecipherable syllables over the distance. Some young men were playing with a football, and the dog invaded their game — soon there was a pantomime of dog, football, men, children and irate old woman. Ellen watched it unfold, all the time becoming steadily more aware that the big bottle of water was filtering through her little body and filling her already tickling bladder.

An hour or so passed. The family with the dog left, the men with their punctured ball sat and stared at the view; a group of cyclists conquered the steep incline and disappeared canlı kaçak bahis into the path between the trees that Ellen and Anira had climbed earlier. The tickles between Ellen’s legs became urges, which seemed to grow more and more urgent by the minute.

“Are you alright, girl? Your hand is sweaty.” Anira asked softly.

“I need the toilet, Mistress.” She replied.

“How badly?”

“I’m getting quite desperate, actually.”

“You’ll hold it until we get home.”

Ellen stifled a whimper — it was a half-hour drive back to Anira’s place. She could make it, she thought, but the urgency in her belly didn’t feel nice and she would be happier to relieve herself sooner. In the next few minutes would be preferable. But still, Lady Anira’s word was always final — she would just have to wait.

“Come girl.” Anira said, standing and stretching. “I need to use the bathroom, and then we’ll leave.”

Anira paced off quickly across the greens towards the white wooden building that was the citizen’s facility block. The wood was old, the paint faded and cracked, but the building was a palace compared to the tiny shack that stood several paces away from it, barely wide enough to accommodate a large man. Ellen’s eyes fixed longingly upon it: beyond its flaked paint, its rotten wood and its unhinged door it offered sanctuary and relief. It was the slave’s toilet.

Anira led Ellen into the ladies room and slipped into a cubicle, shutting the door but still holding Ellen’s leash so that she could not escape — not that she would, of course — she had nowhere to go, and for all her cruelty, her feelings for Anira were stronger than anything else. She stood, listening to the rustling of fabric as Anira made herself comfortable, and glanced into a nearby cubicle. An automated latrine gleamed on the clinical white tiles: it was just like the one in Anira’s home. Only a few paces away, Ellen thought — she could turn around, slip down her trousers, sit on its soft seat and relieve her filling bladder. If only Anira did not hold her leash, and if only slaves were allowed to use the citizen’s facilities. If only it were possible for her to remove her locked Flexilon panties.

The sound of trickling water echoed from the tiles, and Ellen clenched her legs together involuntarily as the urge in her belly increased. She wiggled her hips a little to relieve a sudden wave of desperation that rolled over her. It passed as quickly as it had come on, as the latrine flushed and Anira strolled out of the cubicle towards the sinks.

Ellen obediently soaped and cleaned Anira’s hands, rinsed them, dried them, dried her own, all the while trying to ignore the tormenting sound of the water from the taps. The pressure in her bladder was growing stronger by the heartbeat as the litre and a half of water in her belly filtered through her little body and collected with that which she already carried. She found her hips wiggling instinctively.

“Stop dancing about, girl, this is a restroom, not a disco.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I really have to go now. That water is coming through me quickly. Can I use a cubicle?” Ellen said, and with horrified embarrassment she detected the sound of pleading in her own voice.

“Of course not!” Anira snapped. “Slaves don’t use public facilities!”

“The slave’s cubicle, Mistress?”

“What do you say?”

Ellen winced, wriggled her hips frantically for a split second in annoyance as much as desperation, and said the words that Anira had taught her to say. “Please, Mistress, may I pee?”

Anira stood back, staring firmly into her eyes. “No.” She said.

“Mistress, please! I really have to go!”

“Be quiet.”


“Be quiet, girl! I won’t tell you again.” Anira turned and made for the door. “Don’t make a scene.”

Ellen felt an uninvited whimper collect in her throat, and she took off quickly after Anira, keeping her short legs pressed together. Her eyes were drawn to the decaying shack as she stepped into the graylight. A grimace was stuck about her face as she held on against the tickle in her belly. If only Anira would let her use the slave’s toilet! What had she done to deserve this? She had stained Anira’s beautiful white carpet, is what she had done. She realised in sudden horror that her punishment was no coincidence: Anira made sure that every punishment had some poetic relationship with the crime that it befitted. White carpet — white trousers; yellow wine…

Ellen felt a tug on her collar and she stumbled, snapping her head away from the receding slave’s toilet behind her in time to catch her balance. The jarring of her fall shook her bladder, and waves of warning sounded from her belly as she bent over, clamping her legs involuntarily.

“Whatever are you doing, girl?” Anira snapped, turning to look at her. Ellen opened her clenched eyes and looked into Anira’s.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m getting a bit desperate. Please?”

“Well, if you’d look where you were going…”

“Please, Mistress, can I go? I really need to!”

“No girl of mine is using that filthy thing.” Anira said bluntly, turning and tugging on the leash.

“I really need to…” Ellen began, but Anira cut her off with a hiss.

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