Begging For Big Moons

Daddy kept his word that he’d let Sonny out of the basement, at least. At first, it was a lot to take in- he had no sense of time in that dark, soundless place, no clue how long he had been deprived of his senses. And now he was bathed in light and noise; at first he could hardly understand the words his Daddy said to him, distracted by the television on in another room, and Daddy had to pull Sonny into the living room and turn it off before repeating himself.

There were three rules for when Sonny was not in the basement, he said. Number one; Sonny was not allowed on the furniture without permission. Number two; Sonny was not allowed to open any blinds, curtains, or doors. And number three; Sonny was absolutely not, under any circumstances, allowed to leave Daddy’s sight. Failure to follow these rules would result in Sonny being returned to the basement and left there without dinner. 

In the moment, Sonny had all too eagerly accepted these conditions, any restriction on his limited freedom feeling infinitely preferable to the torment of solitary confinement. But now, the near-gallon of water he’d been forced to chug coming back to haunt him, he’s starting to regret blindly accepting the rules. 

Since Sonny wasn’t allowed outside, he’d asked instead if they could watch the news, in hopes he might find out if anyone was looking for him. Daddy said no, but that they could watch a movie. Sonny settled on The Little Mermaid. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to pick a movie with water as such a prominent theme, he thinks to himself bitterly as he lays curled against his captor’s side. Daddy was gracious enough to let him on the couch, and all too happy to let Sonny press up to his side, bare skin against the fabric of Daddy’s stained wifebeater. 

With the proximity, Sonny’s pretty much positive Daddy can feel every minute twitch of his body, the way his legs press tightly together. The older man doesn’t say anything, though, doesn’t even hint that he might know about Sonny’s struggle against his own bladder. He whimpers and squirms some more, trying to draw attention to it- just a bit too shy to speak up quite yet. It doesn’t work, doesn’t succeed in pulling any comment from Daddy. Sonny curls up and hugs his knees, gaze focusing back on the screen. Maybe he can just tough out the rest of the movie. 

That resolve breaks by the end of Kiss the Girl. Only growing more needy and desperate, Sonny gives in, decides he’d rather risk one of Daddy’s violent episodes by bothering him, and taps his arm. The large, muscled man turns to face Sonny, raising one eyebrow. When no words come out of his mouth, Sonny finds himself having to break the silence, awkwardly shoving his hands between his thighs as another wave of desperation rolls over him.

“Daddy, I-” Sonny squirms, eyes unable to meet his captor’s. “I need to… use the bathroom…”

Daddy hums, like he’s thinking about it, and runs a hand through Sonny’s hair. His touch is so casual, almost gentle despite what Sonny knows this man is capable of.

“You can make it through the rest of the movie, baby.”

Sonny pouts a little at that. As Daddy turns to look back at the screen, Sonny tugs at his arm again.

“No, no, I- I really need to, I can’t hold it that long…”

“You can,” Daddy assures.

He offers his half-empty bag of popcorn to Sonny. It’s probably cold by this point in the movie, but as if accepting some mockery of a consolation prize, Sonny takes a handful and eats it. It’s nice and buttery and salty, and it makes him feel just slightly better about his situation even though it’s no longer warm. He settles back down at Daddy’s side, crossing his legs.

Sonny struggles to make it through another couple scenes before he raises the issue again, desperate. 

“Daddy-” He mumbles, a little more persistent this time as he tugs at the man’s arm. “Daddy, can I please go to the bathroom?”

“You can hold it,” Daddy sighs again, a little more annoyed this time, and it feels a bit like he just hit Sonny in the heart with a frying pan as the reality of the situation sinks in. 

“But…” Sonny whines. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby.” Daddy reaches an arm around Sonny, pulls him closer to his side. The sudden movement knocks Sonny out of the position he had been holding himself in, and he feels himself leak just a little bit in response, wetness dripping from the tip of his cock and beading between his bare thighs- he manages to hold back from leaking any further, but it’s still embarrassing. 

As he tries to make it through the next scene of the movie, he feels tears begin to form in his eyes. His stomach feels impossibly stretched from his over-full bladder, every movement threatening to break the dam. He doesn’t make it to the next musical number before he tugs at Daddy again.

“Daddy, please let me…”

“No,” he growls, gruff and agitated. Sonny flinches at his tone- he’s not far from getting mean. “Quit askin’.” 

Sonny whines, but he doesn’t argue. Once Daddy says something, he knows to obey it. But still, he knows he can’t hold it much longer. Every passing second, it feels like he needs to pee more and more, the pressure building and building, until eventually, he breaks.

He leaks again, a quick gush of piss escaping him- this time, it’s more than before, and he’s mortified when he looks down to find a wet spot on the couch. He looks over to Daddy, wondering if he should tell him about it, but- he sounded so mad. Sonny presses his legs tighter together and leans against Daddy. Even trying to stay putl and ignore it, though, he’s awfully fidgety. He keeps shifting, reaching down to hold himself- anything to keep from losing the unwinnable fight against his bladder.

But eventually, he loses, despite himself. He leaks again, and this time, he can’t hold it back, can’t close the floodgates. He squeezes his eyes shut, face burning with shame as he feels the wetness spreading between his legs, soaking into the couch underneath. 

Daddy notices then, a growl escaping him. He gets off the couch and grabs Sonny by his wrist, pulling him off the couch by it. The boy is frail and weak, it doesn’t take much to pick him up- his head stays bowed in shame, even as the piss continues to fall, trailing in rivulets down his thighs and wetting the carpet beneath him. 

“I-I’m sorry-” Sonny squeaks out, shame coursing through his body. 

“Oh, you ain’t nearly sorry yet, mutt.”