All-Day Gay Trans Edging, Pussy Spanks & Squirting Piss

Dante showed up at Declan’s apartment just after ten, twenty-eight and already aching. His bladder had been full since he woke, a low hot pressure he wasn’t allowed to relieve, and his tdick had been half-hard in his jeans the whole subway ride over. Declan opened the door at thirty-one, bare-chested in gray sweatpants, cock already thick enough to tent the fabric. They’d been fuck buddies long enough that the kiss in the entryway didn’t need small talk. Declan’s tongue pushed in, one hand already under Dante’s shirt to roll a nipple while the other palmed the rigid little swell of his tdick through denim.

“Rules still the ones we texted?” Declan asked against his mouth.

“All day,” Dante said, voice already rough. “You edge my tdick, spank my pussy whenever you feel like it. Neither of us cums. Neither of us pisses. I hold it till you say I can let go.”

Declan smiled like he’d been waiting for that sentence. He walked Dante backward into the living room where an old sheet already covered the couch. Clothes came off fast. Dante’s small tdick stood stiff and flushed above his folds, the head shiny, the shaft thickened from years on T. His cunt was already slick. Declan pushed him down onto his back, spread his thighs wide, and settled between them on his knees. Two fingers circled the head of Dante’s tdick in slow, deliberate strokes that never quite gave enough pressure. The other hand landed light, open-palmed slaps across the plump outer lips of his pussy—sharp enough to sting, soft enough that Dante’s hips still jerked up into them.

“Don’t you dare cum,” Declan said, voice low. “And you hold that piss. I want you leaking by noon and still begging by dinner.”

Dante’s breath hitched. Precum beaded at the tip and smeared under Declan’s thumb. Every slap made his cunt clench and a fresh trickle of slick slide down toward the sheet. His bladder throbbed in time with the strokes. He kept his hands fisted in the cushion so he wouldn’t grab Declan’s wrist and force more friction. The first round lasted twenty minutes of that slow torture before Declan stopped completely, wiped his fingers on Dante’s thigh, and stood up to make coffee like nothing had happened. Dante lay there panting, tdick twitching in the air, pussy lips pink and shining, bladder screaming, and didn’t touch himself.

By early afternoon they’d done it three more times. Declan kept Dante naked on the couch or bent over the arm while he worked from his laptop at the kitchen counter, coming back every forty minutes to start again. Each session the strokes got a little meaner. He pinched the head of Dante’s tdick between thumb and forefinger and rolled it until Dante’s thighs shook, then spanked the wet center of his pussy hard enough that the sound cracked through the apartment. Precum leaked in steady strings. Once, when Declan landed three sharp slaps right over his hole, a thin spurt of piss escaped before Dante could clamp down. It soaked Declan’s fingers and dripped onto the sheet. Declan laughed, low and pleased, and immediately stopped everything.

“Not yet,” he said, licking the salty mix off his knuckles while Dante whimpered. “You hold the rest. We’re not even halfway.”

Dante’s tdick stayed swollen and angry-red between rounds, too sensitive to ignore, not sensitive enough to finish. His cunt stayed open and glossy. Every time he shifted, more slick and the occasional forbidden drop of piss smeared the sheet. Declan edged himself too—slow strokes of his own cock while he watched—but never let himself get close. By four o’clock Dante was dripping constantly, thighs sticky, bladder a hot stone low in his belly. Declan made him stand in the middle of the living room and spanked his pussy from behind while reaching around to jerk the tdick in short, cruel pulls that stopped the second Dante’s breath went high and broken. Another leak of piss ran down Dante’s leg. Declan caught it on his palm and rubbed it back over the swollen folds, then walked away again to answer an email.

They ate dinner naked at the counter, Dante perched on a stool with his legs spread so Declan could reach over and flick his tdick whenever he wanted. Each flick sent a jolt straight to his bladder. He leaked onto the stool and didn’t wipe it. Declan’s cock stayed hard the whole meal, drooling onto his own thigh. Neither of them came. The denial sat between them like a third body, thick and mean and exactly what they’d both asked for.

Just after eight Declan finally stood, cock heavy and flushed, and crooked a finger. “Couch. Bend over. Hands on the cushion. Don’t move them.”

Dante went. The sheet was already ruined, dark with hours of slick and the small leaks he hadn’t been able to stop. He bent at the waist, chest down, ass up, thighs spread so his soaked pussy and twitching tdick hung in the open air. Declan stepped in behind him and didn’t waste time. The first spank landed hard across both lips, the wet crack loud enough to sting Dante’s ears. He yelped and his tdick jumped. Declan didn’t pause. He set a fast, punishing rhythm—palm cracking down on the puffy, glistening cunt over and over while his other hand reached under and wrapped Dante’s tdick in a tight, furious stroke. Up and down, thumb grinding the underside of the head on every pass, never slowing.

“Look at this sloppy pussy,” Declan growled, spanking harder. “Been dripping piss and precum all day like a desperate little hole. You gonna cum for me now? You gonna piss while you do it?”

“Yes—fuck—please—” Dante’s voice cracked. His arms shook. Every slap jolted his bladder and sent another hot trickle down his inner thigh. Declan’s fist worked his tdick so fast the wet sounds mixed with the smacks. Pressure coiled vicious and bright behind Dante’s pelvis, the kind that had been building since morning and now had nowhere left to go. His cunt clenched around nothing, lips swollen and stinging, hole fluttering. Precum poured over Declan’s knuckles in thick strings.

Declan leaned in, breath hot against Dante’s spine, and spanked even faster—short, sharp blows right over the entrance that made Dante’s whole body jolt forward. “Hold it one more second. Feel how bad you need it. Then let it all go. Cum and piss for me. Soak my hand. Soak the fucking floor.”

The permission hit like a match. Dante’s orgasm tore out of him in a violent, full-body spasm. His tdick pulsed hard in Declan’s fist and shot thick spurts of cum that striped the sheet and Declan’s wrist. At the same instant his bladder gave up. A powerful, hot stream of piss erupted from him, spraying in a hard arc that splashed Declan’s hand, soaked his own thighs, and puddled on the floor beneath the couch. He couldn’t stop. Wave after wave shuddered through him—cum still jerking out in weaker pulses while the piss kept gushing, loud and endless, splattering everything. His cunt spasmed open around the force of it, squirting more clear fluid that mixed with the piss and ran down Declan’s forearm in rivers. Dante sobbed into the cushion, hips bucking helplessly, tdick twitching and dripping, pussy clenching and releasing in frantic aftershocks that forced out still more of the stream. It went on and on, soaking the sheet, pooling under his feet, dripping from Declan’s elbow onto the rug. Every spank Declan kept landing just prolonged it, sharp little shocks that made another spurt leap out.

Declan didn’t pull away. The second the heaviest gush started to ease he shoved his cock in, one long thrust that buried him to the hilt in Dante’s spasming, piss-slick cunt. The sudden stretch ripped a broken cry out of Dante. Declan fucked him hard and deep through the last shuddering waves, hips slamming, balls wet with the mess, one hand still loosely stroking the oversensitive tdick so every thrust dragged another weak pulse of cum and a fresh dribble of piss onto the ruined cushion. Dante’s hole gripped and fluttered around him, still trying to squirt, still leaking. Declan groaned, pace turning ragged, and buried himself as far as he could go. His own orgasm hit in thick, pulsing jets that flooded Dante’s cunt, hot cum mixing with the last of the piss still trickling out around his cock. He stayed buried, grinding through it, until both of them were shaking and the only sounds were harsh breathing and the soft drip of fluid hitting the floor.

They collapsed forward together, Declan’s chest stuck to Dante’s sweaty back, cock still half-hard inside the fluttering, leaking hole. Dante’s tdick twitched against the cushion, drooling the final drops of piss and cum in a slow, helpless trickle. The apartment smelled like sex and salt and spent arousal. Declan’s mouth brushed Dante’s ear, voice wrecked and fond.

“You think you can take another full day of this tomorrow, or did I finally break that desperate little cunt?”