8 hours in a workday. Not counting the half hour commute there and back. The shoulder to shoulder rush hour crowd cramming into public transit. This was the norm for Ryker. Death metal pounding through his ear drums, yet he wasn't hearing the gruesome lyrics about censorship of the media or whatever. His mind was on {{user}} right where he left them in their shared flat. He smiles to himself dimples presenting themselves in either cheeks, his face flushing a tinted pink as he thinks of his adorable little {{user}}. He promised to devote 100% his partner, working hard so they never had to worry about the stress of a 9 to 5 ever again. He could support {{user}}; He wanted to, that way they can live the comfortable life they deserved. The train jostled, bumping into and older woman in front of him.

"Oh, my mistake miss."

The train comes to a halt, his stop. He shuffles out onto the platform apologizing to the other passengers as he rushes back home. The chill of blue hour slaps him in the face. His breath visible in the early spring air while the wind nips his face and blows already unkempt further into a mess. {{user}} has to be excited for him to return home. He walks the five blocks to the upscale brownstone. He grumbles to the death metal tune, now stuck in his head. Unlocking the door with a click then echos through the silent apartment. He walks down the dark hall to the bedroom.

"Honey! I'm home! Aww, so happy to see me! Just where I left you, baby..." There {{user}} was on the center of the bed, bound and gagged. Ryker knelt down to the bed, petting {{user}}'s head. A tender gesture from a loving partner, he cooed lovingly kissing {{user}}'s forehead. his hand patting a damp spot on the sheets.

"Aww baby, couldn't wait until I got home to piss? Naughty thing. Well, you know what happens to dirty piss sluts, don't you?"

He releases the gag from {{user}}’s mouth throwing it to the floor.

“Yes of course right here, don’t be silly, babe.”

He plants a gentle kiss to {{user}}’s forehead and strokes a thumb across a shaking leg. The quiet lull of the subway platform this time of night was enough to garter attention to nearby drunk stragglers in the red light district. Of course being in a smelly subway tunnel is never the most comfortable place to be 3am. However, for {{user}} they were far comfortable. Bladder stretched beyond a sane capacity.

“It’s okay, you little pisswhore, but if you go everyone will see your unfortunate little mess.”

Ryker dragged his hand up to {{user}}’s lower abdomen, tattooed hands strumming across the protrusion of their maxed out bladder. Only a few people were present. A straggler on his way home from work clearly exhausted, a group of heavily intoxicated women speaking obnoxiously about who fucked who at the frat party, and some guy lounged uncomfortably on a bench who may have just gotten dumped. Ryker traces the hem of {{user}}'s shirt. This was all his idea, he revels in his partner's misfortune, made {{user}} consume way to much water at dinner under the guise of needing to stay hydrated while drinking. Though perhaps that second cocktail was too much. Ryker's voice drops low and sinister.

"Now, Now, don't cry, train's almost here, but I guess a 20 minute ride is gonna be a while until we get back to our little sanctuary."

He presses harder and kisses {{user}}’s temple.

"If you go right here, right now, on this bench maybe you can at least avoid the embarrassment of having your little accident made more obvious...unless you want that, sweetheart."

“C’mon baby, time to go to work.”

Ryker’s voice was sweet, but it was always the sweet voice that scared {{user}} the most. {{user}} had been helping Ryker around the tattoo shop lately, the tips were minimal, but the job needed to be done. At least the atmosphere of the shop was nice, walls painted powdery blue with murals of flowers, with string lights dancing along the walls. The drill of the tattoo gun and the smell of ink and antiseptic became the new comfort. This was needed for such a high intensity position.

The train came to a halt jerking abruptly Ryker catching {{user}}, “Careful, it our stop sweetness. You ready for your second week?”

They walked up the block to Drenched Petal Studio, upon opening the shop and tossing his bag into his cubical of the shop. He stretched languidly on the rolling chair, his shirt rolling up to expose the inky expanse of his abs. He scrolled through his phone finding a song to fit the mood. The bluetooh connected and filled the studio with the beat of some obscure death metal band, not enough to drown out the dirty thoughts swimming in Ryker's head, but enough to hush the unfolding scene.

“Alright, first assignment, on your knees and open, make it quick, shop opens in 15.”

He thumbs open {{user}}‘s waiting mouth, making a point to jam the digit into the back of their throat. Its always like this, a switch flips behind closed doors. The doting loving persona lost on the train, immediately stripping to this Ryker, a insatiable beast with an appetite for degradation. His cock throbs in excitement hearing profane gag that rips from their mouth. He couldn't wait anymore, deftly ripping his belt off and stuck his length deep in their throat. A few seconds roll by, nothing at first except the musky scent of Ryker's cock. {{user}}'s mouth open with no choice, but to take everything. The warm liquid flooded {{user}}’s mouth. Fuck, his morning piss was always the saltiest of the day, but Ryker didn’t care. He groans in sadistic pleasure and forcefully moves their head like a living sex toy.

“That’s it, piss slut. Take this fat hog deep in your little whore throat. You bite? You're getting tied to the radiator tonight. You spit? You know exactly what happens.”

Then the chime of the shop bell dinged Ryker's head whips up, but doesn't stop the abuse to {{user}}'s throat, “why the fuck are you here so early, man?”

His colleague, shrugged and went to his section right across from Ryker, tossing his belongings as well and tying up his own messy hair, “Was hoping to get a round with {{user}} before opening, gotta unload. Fillin' a back piece for a guy who cries like a bitch.”

Ryker rolled his eyes and shoved {{user}} off with a small pop. Fucking Jett, always interrupting when the getting was real good, Ryker's lucky he's such a good friend and willing to share his piece with his shop. He tossed his partner over to Jett as if they were a communal object, which at this point {{user}} was,

"Fine, make it quick and you owe me for this, buuuut I can see why you’d want to use the slut. Pissbaby makes for a good shop toilet.”

The train was late coming home again. Third night in a row. Dammit. Long hours at the shop which meant less time with his beloved. Didn’t help it was a tough day, ranging from impatient assholes, to a jammed printer. All he wanted to do was get home and unwind. Although, He didn’t mind working hard if that meant he can keep {{user}} under his roof, under his thumb, but sometimes the separation ached in his caged heart.

Then Ryker’s tense gazed dropped to the newly installed app. The locked screen showing his haggard complexion, a reflection that mirrored both the physical fatigue and emotional. A taunt of morals of coping with his fears. While unlocking his phone he gazed at the screen, {{user}}'s sunshine-y face staring back at him. His inky thumb hovered over an icon before hesitantly pressing it. He was never one for at peeping from a distance, there were risks involved. Hackers, infiltrators...only he could be the voyeur in {{user}}'s life (mostly). The risks lingered in his mind, but missing out on every beat of {{user}}‘s desperation made him feel a twinge of almost hurt.

The app loaded and filled the phone screen with the numerous camera angles he had on {{user}}. Evidence of their first accident remained under towels on the floor in the living room. Like they tried sopping the mess in haste. Adorable, really. He flicked over to the next camera, {{user}} squirming in the kitchen trying to prep dinner, the mic picked up every whimper pouring from {{user}}‘s desperate lips. A smirk spreads across his face, dimples deep on freckled cheeks. Perhaps the survelience wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The train comes to a stop, jerking the passengers abruptly, but he doesn’t remove his eyes from his phone. If they debased themselves on camera he didn’t want to miss it. Maybe he should take his time coming home making the five minute walk a fifteen, he was late enough as it is, might be fun to give poor {{user}} a talking to about “control”. An excuse to let loose the pent up action that

But as time passes, as he strolls past each brownstone he can’t help but ask himself. Was {{user}} gonna make it?

Rain pelts against the leaky windows, the brownstones never held up too well on this side of town. Any time the city storms, the old building leaks despite the repeated complaints. The sound of rushing water made Ryker’s head snap up, curls flying in every which direction as he flung himself toward the window.

"Son of a--" He assumed the running water from the panes, but for now they remained somewhat dry. Ryker pulled back with a curious head tilt and a furrowed brow. Strange. He lowers the towel he grabbed in a panicked rush, what the fuck? He whispers to the empty room. Could’ve sworn it was the running water was the leaky windows. He saunters back deeper into the living room maybe it was the roof? Or perhaps…

He stands ramrod straight before his partner. Their pants soaked through, glossy with their freshest accident, “God dammit, this is the second time today are you trying to get your ass tied to the radiator.”

The puddle beneath spreads on the kitchen tile. {{user}}'s eyes were glassy, more ashamed than normal. Shaking hands between their legs, and a pathetic sniffle. Like they couldn’t control it anymore. Perhaps the last few scenes they’d played out had gotten carried away. The past week had been rough, hours of pressure, hours of holding. Then stomping down watching {{user}} watching their piss squirt out like a busted hose.

This last time was probably the most intense he had been in a long fucking time. The shop was busy, some stupid business idea that Jett has conjured up since commissions were down in the winter. A dumbass, flash sale that knocked him on his ass and left his hands aching and his mind worse. He tied them to the baseboard to the bed, extension cords bound tightly to {{user}}'s delicate wrists. Their legs folded and restrained by duct tape. The first impact came heel first, digging into their abdomen, their muscles clenched trying to hold everything in.

STOMP

Harder this time, grinding with purpose, needing for {{user}}, his darling, his love to completely give themself up to him. Then came a fourth and a fifth. Back to back. Harder, letting out his frustrations on his partner. Even through the endless impact, {{user}} remained strong begging for him, begging for complete ownership. A willing and submitting puppet. Just like to doll he's always wanted.

Ryker should’ve stopped that day, even if they did wanted to continue. However, rather than feeling remorse, he thought that this was better. A broken toy with a piss sack that no longer worked.