The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled Chapter 172: A Cruel Game of Endurance

Julian’s aggrieved, choked cries filled the air, a sound of pure desperation. The maddening urge to urinate, combined with the blocked desire to release his seed, tortured him until he could barely breathe. His chest felt crushed under the weight of it all, trapping him in a cycle of exquisite, unbearable suffering.

"Let go... please, I can’t take this anymore..." Julian Sterling’s voice cracked, shattering into a million jagged pieces of pure desperation. Uncontrollable sobs racked his entire fra, convulsing his chest as he tried to articulate his shaful need through the haze of pleasure and pain that clouded his mind: "I... hic... I need to relieve myself... I really need to go to the bathroom... please, Ethan... I am begging you... have so rcy..."

"Hmm? Is that so?" Ethan Caldwell’s deep voice rumbled against Julian’s ear, dripping with a dark, predatory amusent that sent shivers down the younger man’s spine: "I thought my darling wanted to ejaculate? Don’t tell this naughty little thing is getting greedy now? You want to shoot your load and piss all over at the sa ti? My, aren’t we being ambitious today?"

Ethan paused, his tone shifting from mockery to a chillingly sweet warning: "That simply won’t do, sweetheart. Just think about where we are. Soone will be coming in to clean this room very shortly. I want you to close your eyes and imagine it. Picture the service staff pushing open that heavy door, walking in, and seeing this expensive, plush carpet soaked through with your filth. The stench of urine would be overpowering, filling the air."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Julian’s neck: "Do you really want them to see your white sen mixed together with a puddle of pale yellow urine, spreading out beneath you like a map of your sha? Think about what they would say. They would stare, and then they would whisper behind their hands. They would gossip about how the noble, high-and-mighty Mrs. Caldwell, the esteed young master of the Sterling family, is nothing more than a shaless slut. A wanton creature so depraved that he let his husband fuck him until he lost control of his bladder and pissed himself right here in the middle of a VVIP room."

Every single word that fell from Ethan’s lips felt like a sharp, cold chisel driving straight into Julian’s mind, carving out his dignity piece by piece. The words were humiliating, degrading, and utterly cruel, yet, to Julian’s horror, they acted as a perverse stimulant. His body stiffened, locking up in a mix of terrified tension and arousal. He trembled violently, not just from the physical strain, but from the overwhelming wave of sha that crashed over him. In direct response to the psychological assault, the small, hidden mouth behind him clamped down ferociously, squeezing the massive, invading mber as if trying to swallow it whole in a desperate attempt to find an anchor in the storm.

" Hic... N-no! I don’t want that! I don’t want anyone to see..." Julian wailed, shaking his head frantically against the pillows: "Ethan, please... let go... I really need to pee... Don’t... ah... Hubby... Hubby, please... d-don’t thrust anymore... spare ... I’m going to burst... it’s going to break..."

But the man looming over him had absolutely no intention of indulging his pleas. In fact, the resistance only seed to fuel the fire in Ethan’s blood. His breath, scorching hot and heavy with masculine aggression, ghosted around the shell of Julian’s sensitive ear. He extended his tongue, damp and rough, to slowly lick and tease the earlobe that had turned a vibrant, heated red. The sensation was electric. Julian jolted violently several tis as if a high-voltage current had just surged through his nervous system. His toes curled inward, digging frantically into the thick fur of the rug beneath them, seeking purchase against the tidal wave of intense pleasure that was inextricably mixed with terrible ntal torture.

Ethan seed to be thoroughly enjoying this weak, futile struggle. To him, Julian was like a trapped kitten, scratching harmlessly with soft paws. Seeing the young man cry so pitifully, his eyes swollen and rimd with red, did not evoke a shred of rcy. Instead of letting go, the large hand that was clamped over the tip of Julian’s manhood tightened its grip. Maliciously, Ethan began to move his thumb.

The calloused pad of his thumb rubbed in slow, agonizing circles over the sensitive urethral opening, which was already weeping clear pre-cum mixed with the pressure of the bladder. The motion was a masterpiece of cruelty, effectively blocking any path of escape while simultaneously stimulating the nerve endings to double, triple the pleasure. The hand that had been caressing Julian’s stomach slid lower, cupping the heavy weight of his testicles. The sack was swollen, packed full to the point of pity, and Ethan kneaded it gently, weighing the urgency in his palm.

"Mmm... uh-huh... Ethan... you are evil... you’re a bastard... let go... let go of ..." Julian sobbed brokenly, the sound of his weeping fracturing in his throat, choking him.

The urge to urinate was no longer just a signal, it was a screaming alarm. It felt like a raging flood that had risen to the very top of a dam, the water lapping over the edge, threatening to catastrophic structural failure at any second. His poor bladder was distended, caught in a vice grip between two imnse, opposing forces.

On the outside, there was Ethan’s hand, teasing, pressing, and occasionally digging into his lower belly to stir up the chaotic fluids within. On the inside, there was the thick, vein-covered length of the man’s erection. It pounded into him without a second of rest, withdrawing and slamming back in with ruthless efficiency. Every single thrust scraped violently against the soft, heated walls of his rectum, pressing directly against the prostate and indirectly compressing the water-filled sac just on the other side of the thin mbrane.

Julian felt like his sanity was snapping, fraying like an overstretched violin string. He was going mad. He wanted to release, he needed to release. His stomach felt so distended it was painful, a dull, throbbing ache that felt as though his skin might actually tear apart. But the crushing weight of his sha and his lingering shred of self-respect ford a barrier that he couldn’t break.

Julian’s chaotic thoughts raced. Even if Ethan removed his thumb right now, unblocking the exit, Julian didn’t dare to let go. He was terrified that the man’s prediction would co true, that if he ejaculated, the urine would co pouring out with it, creating a disgraceful cocktail of fluids right in front of everyone’s imaginary gaze. When that happened... Ah! No! Absolutely not! He would rather die right here and now than face that kind of earth-shattering humiliation.

The sha was a physical heat, boiling his blood. It turned his entire body a deep, flushing pink, like a cooked shrimp. The color spread rapidly from his neck, cascading down his chest, and even tinting his trembling fingertips. He was a man. He was soone with status in society. He was Ethan Caldwell’s lawful spouse. How could he... how could he possibly wet the bed like a toddler in the middle of sex? And not just anywhere, but here, on this exorbitantly expensive carpet in a VVIP suite, a place where strangers would soon enter to clean up the aftermath of their debauchery.

"Don’t... I’m begging you... let go to the bathroom... I can’t hold it anymore... I’m begging you..." Julian cried out, his voice hitching in high-pitched hiccups.