Dancefloor Bathroom (Patreon)

Tempest wears the wrong outfit to the club. Wetting and intoxication <3 2.8k words.

I can't stop writing!!! When I have time, I want to make sketches for these too....

Music thrummed in her chest, the pumping bass drowning out even her own pounding heart. The club was dark and ever-changing. Flashing colors, lights, smoke, all paired with the snapshots of moving bodies meant Tempest’s eyes never adjusted to more than vague silhouettes. She was a little more than drunk. In the alley between one humming building and another, a 6’3 fox guy with full tattoo sleeves offered her several generous pulls of the blunt he had. It left her fingertips smelling of smoke, which turned out to be far more grounding than annoying when the comfortable haze made everything go fuzzy and strange at the edges. 

The vibe was electric. Each bar they hit was busier than the last, the drinks were strong, and people were friiiiendly. Some sport was holding an important match in town, so there were plenty of drunk college guys to milk for free shots. 

Tempest was leaned against a railing, overlooking a pulsing, thumping dancefloor. Each flash of blue and pink light froze strangers in beautiful instants of joy. She watched slideshows of people kissing, touching, dancing, grinding, bouncing along to the music that blurred even to her sensitive rabbit ears after so many drinks. 

A slim arm slid around her waist and she tipped her head drunkenly and sweetly against Strife’s shoulder. Instantly, the sugary scent of her hair mist filled Tempest’s twitching nose and she laughed. “Bitch… you smell so good,” Tempest yelled to be heard above the music.

“I’m very drunk,” Strife responded and Tempest giggled and almost fell against her. Strife’s body was warm against hers, but the glittery black fabric of her friend’s dress scratched her arms and she wondered if poor Strife was rubbed raw by now.

“I love this, by the way. Super hot,” Strife slurred in her ear, sliding her hand into Tempest’s jumpsuit. 

Tempest basically went out because of the jumpsuit, which she’d gotten earlier in the day. It was a halter-top jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, backless. That essentially meant… she put on a thong, then slid into the pants-half of the jumpsuit as normal, and then pulled an attached strip of fabric over and behind her head. She then positioned it to slide over her ample bosom, carefully spreading and smoothing the fabric to ensure it covered her nipples and boldly made no use of any tape to hold it in place. 

The amount of trust she had in her outfit was the sort of thin trust developed on reality TV shows for single-episode alliances. It would make things interesting, and perhaps that was the intent. It had already paid off. That fox guy, after all, had a great deal of trouble maintaining eye contact with her. After she’d walked away from the encounter, Strife laughed and nudged her. When she’d glanced down, one entire breast was exposed, the pink nipple almost blushing bashfully at her to be caught enjoying the evening breeze. Tempest had laughed it off, but she’d been well aware. Her pussy was slick in the airy jumpsuit, cooling wetly from the occasional draft, and it had throbbed each time that fox couldn’t resist dropping his gaze. 

Strife’s hand was slipping across her lower back, which made her bladder twinge and tingle around its contents of shots, cocktails, and cups of chugged water. Tempest’s cottontail twitched, and Strife’s warm hand cupped it, charmed. Then, her wolfdog friend slid her hand beneath the fabric around her hip, indulgently rubbing her fingertips and pointed nails across the velveteen coat.

Tempest liked when Strife got handsy and affectionate. As a friend, she wasn’t often the cuddly type in day to day… but that changed when they were out partying together. With inhibitions gone, Strife became glued to her. A little streak of girl-love that made dancefloor kissing harmless and sweet. The lines between friend and lover were fuzzy between them, and they danced over and across those lines with each night of partying.

So she indulged in their shared affection, looking out over the crowd of dancers like they were surveying their kingdom. 

The moments passed syruplike, and Tempest found herself focusing very hard on descending steps without busting her ass. Her bladder was throbbing, and she glanced up to see where Strife was leading her. They were holding hands, linked so that they couldn’t be separated by a surge of bodies in the crowd, and heading… deep into the jungle of bodies that was the dance floor. The music was everything as they drew closer, filling Tempest’s heart, her stomach, tingling through her limbs and legs and blotting out all other thoughts in her ears. There were people on all sides of her, different perfumes and colognes.

“I thought we were going to the bathroom,” Tempest yelled to Strife as they found a niche in the heart of the crowd. They stole the space for themselves and the beat had them both already moving. They danced close together, bodies churning and grinding– pressed belly to belly and breast to breast, insulated in their own world. 

“You didn’t go in the alley???” Strife called back, her eyes wide when pink light glittered off them as several flashes followed a beat drop. She was beading, glistening, smelling like perfume and sugar and sweat. 

Ah. The alley. Tempest had not gone in the alley. 

“Bitch, I would be fully nude if I went in the alley! Look at what I’m wearing!” Tempest squealed, pulling back from Strife. She showed off her outfit and her body, hips popping with the beat, breasts bouncing. Tempest turned, braced her hands on her knees, and shook her ass for her friend. Even where the music was deafening, Strife’s squeal of delight still found her pricked ears and hands grabbed at her ass. 

The fabric of her jumpsuit was thin, making it feel as if Strife was touching her bare skin. Laughing, Tempest pushed back and ground on her friend to the beat while Strife spread her ass through her jumpsuit and let it fall and bounce. Tempest felt prying eyes and rose up to her full height, arms in the air, showing off how her heavy tits moved as she danced and enjoyed herself. A coyote guy was staring at her from over his girlfriend’s head. Enjoying the attention, especially at the forbidden expense of another girl, Tempest smiled so sweetly and shook her breasts for him. One fell loose from it’s fabric sash of containment, and she pretended not to notice for a few seconds.

He was slack-jawed, just slightly, eyes glazed over with lust. The dance floor already smelled of sweat, smoke, alcohol, and musk. It was always common to taste arousal in the air in a club like this. She tasted her own, just slightly, and was sure Strife could sense it too. They were still animals, after all. 

“We can go to the bathroom then,” Strife offered, none-the-wiser to the moment Tempest shared with the coyote. She hooked her muzzle over Tempest’s shoulder, swaying with her. 

“No, no, we just got back to the dancefloor!” Tempest said. “Don’t even worry. I can hold it.” 

The dark line of Strife’s mouth curled up in a smile, somewhat teasing. She drew her hot tongue against Tempest’s neck and arousal ripped through her like a heavy storm. “If you’re so sure.”

Tempest let it roll off her. She focused instead on raw sensation. Her bladder ached, which became an uncomfortable and distracting forefront to it all, but she also savored the feeling of being close with her friend. Tempest loved the heat and movement of it all. She absorbed the music into herself, let it ring in her head, opened her eyes to watch snapshots of the party pass her by. Drunk and high, filled with pleasure, heat, and music. 

Some time passed like that, song after song. Sweat dripped off her and she tasted salt. Strife had caught the attention of another hot alt girl, college-aged like them, and Tempest danced nearby with her focus entirely on the duo. They touched and felt on each other. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, filled with foamy want. Tempest clung to technicolor moments of breasts squished and pressed together, of deep tongue kissing, and exploded with envy when the alt caracal girl slipped her knee under Strife’s skirt. A true friend, Tempest gave Strife her space…

Of course, she took a few videos first. 

Tempest would just go relieve herself, then maybe find a friend of her own to toy with. Making her way through the crowd alone turned out to be quite the feat. She struggled against dancing bodies, getting caught up in impulsive moments of lingering around hot guys and pretty girls. The crowd moved like water, and she found herself separated from Strife (who was probably getting finger fucked on the dancefloor, that lucky bitch) and deeper in the mass of partiers than she was before.

…she hadn’t tried all that hard to get to the bathrooms, though. It was more fun to dance with strangers, bouncing from islands of women across the dance floor and seeing where she ended up. 

Now it was a bit urgent. She nudged her way through people, trying to get against where she saw a neon sign glowed. Eventually, she ran into a row of people in the churning crowd bouncing and nodding to the beat but otherwise… just sort of standing there. “Excuse me,” she called, trying to nudge past them. “Trying to get to the bathroom.” 

An adorable parrot girl gave her a sympathetic look, squirming. “Oh, sorry, this is the line. It’s like, huge. I think they only have one bathroom here? And maybe someone’s like, taking it up? I’m literally about to pee myself too.”

“Oh my god, you’re kidding! No fucking way this is the bathroom line!” Tempest said, trying to crane above the crowd and failing. Dread was collecting in her heart in thick beads.

“I know. I’m about to start getting reckless,” said the parrot girl. “Like, really reckless.” 

Tempest really looked at the girl, who was pressing her hand between her thighs, creasing her short jade dress. She looked pretty fucking desperate. When she said reckless, Tempest believed her, and realized too that it had the echoes of a plan forming. In the hand she wasn’t using to hold herself, there was an empty plastic cup that once held a cocktail. 

They met eyes over that cup. 

Tempest looked around and shifted position slightly, standing wider even though her muscles seized uncomfortably in protest. “If you make it like, really quick, I’ll block you,” Tempest offered. She wondered if she meant to torture herself. 

“Oh my god, really? Thank you, just hold like that,” the parrot squeaked, but there was no hesitation. She squatted slightly, letting her dress ride up her thighs, and quickly reached between her legs to pull her panties aside. Tempest saw they too were jade-colored, which she thought was cute, before getting a look at the downy soft pussy beneath. Tempest couldn’t help but smile slightly, aglow with heat, knowing just how jealous Strife would be of this exact scenario. 

She pretended to be on her phone, texting casually while standing unusually widely next to a friend. Instead, she flipped to her camera and pressed the big red button that told it to start filming. She subtly aligned the angle down towards the parrot girl’s now-exposed pussy. Tempest watched on the phone as the empty cup was lowered into frame and pressed against the parrot girl’s own lips. Instantly, a dribble of yellow urine fell into the cup and mixed with melted ice. The heat of it caused the sides of the cup to instantly fog, and Tempest heard the parrot girl let out a little moan of delight and relief (lost to the bumping music) as she began to spray a hard, foaming stream into the cup. Tempest watched through the camera and blocked her, looking forward to showing off the clip to Strife. She afforded herself a glance at the girl's face and found drunken, glossy pleasure across it. Super obvious… but it was so packed in here those sorts of things were hard to notice unless you were scouring for it. Tempest could not stop watching. She was insanely jealous.

The girl watched carefully as she filled the cup with pee. Before she even filled it up to the top, her stream began to wane and dribble. She wiped her pussy off on the edge of the cup and straightened her clothes out. 

As she held the steaming, warm cup, the parrot girl gave Tempest a smile. “You’re literally my savior. I’d do the same for you if I could… maybe I can dump it?” the drunk girl shouted, and Tempest laughed and shook her head. 

“I’m fine!” she lied, waving her off. “Have a fun night, angel!” 

Tempest turned back into the crowd then. 

She was throbbing with the need to pee and unsure of what to do. She couldn’t do like that girl had, given her pussy couldn’t be easily revealed. Curse this stupid fucking jumpsuit. This had backfired. She was far too proud to get dead nude in the middle of a club just to pee. A little nip slip was one thing, but that was sure to be a criminal record. 

Thoughtless, she began to dance as a song she loved came on. It was one she hadn’t heard in forever. She had no plan. She was alone now, her friend was being a little slut somewhere else in this building, and Tempest was full of piss. 

She earnestly tried to hold it. Denial got her far, simply pretending she really didn’t have to pee that bad at all. 

Movement insisted otherwise. She pressed her thighs together, doubled over, trying to make it look all normal and very graceful instead of the true potty dance it was. Keeping herself moving from foot to foot helped her hold back the tidal wave, but it was approaching. Each movement compressed and tortured her bladder differently. It was so heavy in her belly she felt like she could feel it sloshing with each sway of her hips, not to mention how twisting just a little too far made her bladder scream for relief. 

Tempest let out a soft noise of agony, but she didn’t stop dancing.

Her legs churned together, her bladder was tight and sharp like a full balloon. She doubled over, knees and calves beginning to burn and shake. Her pelvic muscles, against her will, began to shift. They trembled and hot droplets of urine seared out of her. Once that first dribble was had, she felt a terrible opening sensation.

Heat filled her crotch and spread instantly down her closed thighs, wetting the fabric from pussy to ankle. Tempest’s eyelashes fluttered in the instant surge of relief, and she looked at the flashing lights on the ceiling as she wet herself. She only let herself have that one moment of visible pleasure, though. 

She danced through it, casual, pissing a thick stream into her jumpsuit and all over the floor with her arms stretched to the roof. As her hips rolled forward and back, her stream strengthened and waned but never stopped, thinned and thickened by her flexing muscles. Tempest put her hands on her knees and shook her ass. Urine sprayed all over the ass of her pants and down her thighs. When she bent her knees and lowered her ass to the floor in time with the song lyrics, she laughed at how ridiculous, naughty, and fucking fun it was to just blast full force into her slick and hot bottoms. Squatting down made her bear down, forcing out her bounty with maximum pressure and leaving her deliciously tight. It reminded her of bouncing on dick for an instant, muscle memory for this position, and she ached. 

It was so dark that no one would see her puddle glittering in the lights nor hear her going. Tempest felt absolutely no fear of being caught or seen or discovered. Really, it didn’t even feel wrong. She was coming around to the idea of making the dancefloor her bathroom whenever she went out, and wondered naughtily if Strife had already done the same before. This was just… so easy. The jumpsuit was black, so there wasn’t really even visible staining with the wild lighting of the club. 

She just pissed openly, bumping into strangers as she danced. The scent of bunny urine began to rise around her though, so Tempest made it a priority to flee the scene. She danced through the crowd, dribbling urine as she did so, making a mess that had to stretch across half the fucking dancefloor. 

By the time she found Strife again, she’d fully emptied her bladder into her glistening jumpsuit. It was only just really suspiciously shiny, lost easily in the haze of the dim lighting especially as it dried back to matte.

“Better?” Strife called, breaking away from her new lover to beam at Tempest. Her nose twitched slightly, and her eyebrows raised just a hair in surprise.

Tempest smiled, nodded, and danced.

The scent of stale piss filled the uber, making for a quiet ride home and a hilarious debriefing when the apartment door closed.