Reluctant Prisoner

By Francine


My name is Marie - Marie Evans. I have arrived at the age where I like to travel a bit and can afford it more than in my youth. A while ago I organized a group of women to take a cultural tour in Eastern Europe. They were of assorted ages and nationalities, and as the organizer of the program, I became the unofficial leader of the group. We did have tour conductors and guides for portions of the trip. My story begins in the last country we were to visit before going home.
We were booked into a hotel at a group rate, and tours had been arranged for us. We were to have a city tour, and a day of shopping and attending some cultural events. The last day was to involve a tour into the countryside, where the hotel would provide a tour escort and some musical entertainers who would introduce us to some of the customs of the rural community and provide a program for us. A coach was to be provided through the hotel to take us on this last trip.
Unfortunately, the evening of our arrival, there was a bit of malicious mischief by an unknown group, which resulted in the destruction of some of the hotel property and minor injuries to several people. One of those injured was the person who was to be our tour escort for the day into the country, and part of the property damage was to the equipment of our musical group.
The morning after, I was contacted by the hotel manager. “I am most sorry, Mrs.Evans; but after the incident of last night we are unable to provide you the escort and entertainers you were to have for your last day. We can still do the city tour for today and the events for tomorrow, but the program for the last day must be cancelled, unless you want to just use the coach and driver to take you around. Of course, they can do this, but there will be no professional escort or special program for you. We deeply regret this, but you understand it was brought about by the act of vandalism last evening.”
“Yes, I understand”, I replied, not quite sure what we should do. “Have they caught those responsible?”
He went on. “The hotel called in the police, who gave chase to several persons seen fleeing the scene. Three persons have been apprehended, two of them local persons and one a foreigner who appears to have been just visiting the country. They have been charged with several offenses.”
“You said one was a foreigner?”
“Yes. British, I believe. I cannot imagine why he would have been with such a group, but he was found running away after the event. Several people think he was part of the group that engaged in the mischief. Strange, though; he was scheduled to leave the country in a few days and he is making quite an uproar about his arrest.”
“And of our program? We can still use the coach, but we will have no escort, and no musical program? Is that right?”
“Unfortunately, it is. Part of the trip was to go into the national park, where you would have had a picnic while the musical program was presented. If you wish, we can still load a picnic lunch for you, but you will have no organized program. It is, however, a rather nice outing, and I suggest you think about it. Let me know this evening.”
I took it under advisement, and went on the city tour with my group, 26 women. As we rode on the bus, I took advantage of the situation to advise the group what had occurred and what our options were.
To my relief and amazement, they were not distressed.
One spoke out at once. “I have had just about all the culture I can soak up. I think a day of just fun would be great. Maybe we can organize our own party!”
“Why not?” another asked. “Let’s see if we can find something completely non-cultural!”
“Maybe we can find some guys who will put on a dance routine for us!” one added.
“Or a strip show!” another commented. Others laughed at this suggestion.
Anyway, it was apparent that there would be no great disappointment at the change in our last day’s program.
When we returned to the hotel, I went to see the manager. I told him we would take the coach as suggested, and the picnic lunch, and organize our own entertainment.
“I am so pleased. We will arrange it as you wish. Of course, we will offer a suitable financial adjustment because this unfortunate change in program.”
I asked about the apprehension of the miscreants and their status.
“Three are in custody. The two locals seem to be clearly guilty, and will probably not contest the charge. They may even lead the police to others who were involved. The big difficulty is the Englishman, who insists he is innocent, although he was identified by several witnesses. He has an attorney, who is trying to negotiate a solution for him. In fact, the attorney has asked me if he might be able to offer some service to the hotel in exchange for a withdrawal of the charges.”
“And,” I asked, “Is there a possibility of that?”
“There is little we could use him for. He lacks the financial resources to pay any meaningful compensation, and, frankly, we have no place to use him. He may not have been the ringleader, but it looks as though he was involved, and both the police and ourselves feel he must be punished, though it need not be severe or lengthy. It is simply not right to overlook such an offence. There must be suitable punishment for him, and we are not in the business of punishment - we are a hotel!”
I learned the foreigner was Paul Anger, a visitor in the country. He had come as a tourist, and now was anxious to go home.
That evening, I discussed our plans with several of the women in my group.
One young lady, the same one who had laughingly suggested arranging a strip show for our last day, again jokingly made a proposal. “Why don’t we offer to punish him? Let him come on our tour Thursday and he can be the strip show?”
Other women laughed at the joke.
Then an older lady took me aside and quietly suggested, “I know she was making a joke; but why not? We could offer to punish him in some relatively harmless way, and we could make him be our entertainment! I wouldn’t really mind seeing a male strip show!” Then she added, thoughtfully, “As long as no one back home ever hears about it!”
A group of us began to think more seriously about what we might do. After all, if we helped this man get past the charge he was facing, he would really be in our debt. We would be helping him, though, we agreed, whatever we did had to be sufficiently unpleasant for him as to qualify as punishment.
Someone recalled the concert we had attended several days earlier, where the most memorable feature of the concert hall had been the small number of women’s toilets, resulting in long lines. One woman recalled “I didn’t even get to go at the intermission! I had to hold myself until the end of the show or I would have missed half the performance! My bladder was aching the last hour! A man should have to do that!”
“No man would - they have plenty of toilets and lots of urinal space” chimed in another.
Another voice broke in. “If we want to see a man punished, make him do without a toilet, and see how he likes it!”
“He can still strip for us!” came a cry.
They were getting more rowdy, now. There were calls for punishing the victim in varying ways, all along the line of the themes that had been suggested. At length, the women voted that I should take charge of the punishment, and insure it included as much as possible of the ideas that had been voiced.
Again, I went to the hotel manager. He contacted Paul’s attorney.
A deal was struck. The hotel offered to drop its complaint against Paul if he agreed to go with the women for one day, accompanied by a bus driver and a security guard, and submit himself to any punishment the women wanted to impose (which would replace the entertainment that had been planned); subject only to the requirement that he would be done no lasting physical harm and the punishment would be administered away from public view. The judge warned Paul that he must submit willingly to whatever is required, and failure to comply would invalidate the deal leaving him subject to penalties the court could impose. If he submitted willingly and the group was satisfied, he would be freed on the day following and would be required to leave the country to go to home.
Paul and his attorney agreed, reluctantly. I was chosen to conduct the proceedings on behalf of the group. The hotel, as its part of the agreement, provided Paul a room for the night with a security guard to insure he did not leave.
A committee of the women then came together to plan what would be done with him.
I went with Paul to his room and left him there. Before departing, I advised him, “Paul, I will see you at 9:00 in the morning. Breakfast will be sent to your room. Do not try to leave!”
In the morning, Paul received breakfast in his room. At nine, I knocked on his door, accompanied by the male guard. “Good morning, Paul”, I greeted him. “Are you ready?”
He said that he was.
“No, you are not. There is a dress code. This is your uniform for the day - put it on!” I instructed him, and handed him one of the hotel’s large towels.
I stepped in the room. “Paul, this is all you will need for the day. Take off everything else and wrap this around you. I’m waiting!”
Embarrassed, but compliant, Paul started removing his clothes as I stood there watching. I was dressed in a casual blouse and a gray skirt, and made no move to avert my eyes as he removed his clothes. Finally, his back to me, he was naked, and wrapped the towel around him. He appeared ready to leave.
“Not yet! I said everything off!” I pointed to his feet, still in shoes. He removed them. Then, barefooted and wrapped in a towel, he proceeded with me.
He was taken to a bus, where a group of twenty six women, of assorted ages and several nationalities, waited aboard. There was also the male security guard and a male driver. Paul was introduced to the group and told to take a seat. Paul try to keep himself covered with the towel, no easy task at the time.
The bus went on a long drive, out through a wooded section of a national park, some distance from the city. It took an hour and a half. Finally it arrived at an area which had some picnic tables, but was in the midst of a forest. It was very isolated, with no one else around.
We began to unload. I requested that Paul get off first. He was told to stand with me at the bus door and greet each of the women as they stepped off. As they started to come out, I gave his towel a pull and told him, “We’re no longer in public. You won’t need this any more!” A bit red faced, he stood beside me naked and greeted each woman as she stepped down. The women ranged in ages from twenty to seventy, and as they greeted Paul many of them stared openly at his penis, which I noted was becoming erect. Most of the women shook hands with him, but one middle-aged lady instead of taking his hand, reached down and gently shook his penis, saying, “I think I prefer this!” He seemed a bit shocked, but took it in stride.
As we left the bus, the women gathered in the open area. One lady loudly asked, “Where are the toilets? Several of us need one!”
I replied to her, “There are no real toilets here. But the whole forest is ours. I am declaring the whole forest area is the official ladies toilet for the day. We will designate our driver and guard as honorary ladies, so they can use a piece of the forest if they need to. So, find yourself a bush or a tree if you want privacy!”
“How about me?” Paul asked, obviously feeling some need.
“You don’t!” I informed him. “You have no toilet privileges. That’s part of your punishment. But there will be much more!”
Many of the women disappeared temporarily into the woods and returned. Others began unloading picnic supplies from the bus. One began to talk about searching for wildlife in the area.
Paul was taken to a place in front of a large tree. The guard tied a rope to each of his wrists, with the other end tied to a branch over his head. This gave him some freedom of movement but did not allow him to bring his hands together or reach below his waist. The guard loosely tied Paul in a standing position in front of the tree. “You will stay here for now”, I instructed him, “but I think you must be thirsty!”
I called several of the women together. “Now is time for the toast”, I informed them. “Each lady will bring a cup of water for our guest, here, and will stand with him while he drinks it! I am sure he must be thirsty!” Then, aside to Paul, I added, “But you won’t be after you drink 26 cups of water!”
Paul began to contemplate the effect of all that water going in him. The women began to queue up with their water in generous sized paper cups. His hands were free enough that he could hold a cup to drink by turning his face to one side.
Paul was exposed, naked and barefoot. It was cool, but not cold. The women were generally friendly and obviously enjoying the spectacle.
I addressed the group again. “We must be careful of our guest. One of our rules is that no one is to touch him, other than to hand him his water, except certain ones I will designate. You can look at him all you want - but - no touching as yet!”
I kept an eye on his penis. I noted it was somewhat flaccid, as he occupied himself with consuming water. I appointed one of the younger women to kneel in front of him, and gently squeeze it a few times. Another woman came up and asked if she could be next.
“Ladies”, I told them, “It appears from the state of his sexual organ that we are not sufficiently interesting to him. I am going to let several of you, one at a time, touch it a bit. You must not massage it or rub it, just gently touch it - I want to see if you can keep it out stiff, but we don’t want him to experience any, well, excessive stimulation. We just want you to touch him enough to keep it erect!”
Paul responded to the stimulation, and kept drinking cups of water. After about fifteen cups he insisted his stomach was full. I gave him a half hour recess for his body to work on the water. During the half hour, his penis was never allowed to relax; whenever his erection subsided, a woman gently touched it until it was stiff again; then she removed her hand.
Before resuming drinking the water, Paul told me he badly needed to pee. I put my hand on his belly, pressing it in various spots. I could feel his stomach, filled with water, and his bladder, hard and swollen as I pressed it just a bit above his erect penis. I told him that he must wait, as the holding is part of his punishment. Nonetheless I continued to press on his bladder, and occasionally invited other women to do so, too.
Finally Paul finished all 26 cups. It was now about one o’clock, and he had drunk about four liters of water. It had been at least four hours since he had urinated. He was sweating, making awful grimaces, fidgeting, squeezing his legs, and really putting on quite a show of physical anguish. The women watching were mostly smiling, obviously enjoying the performance. Some got out cameras and took pictures.
Paul pleaded to be allowed to pee, protesting that his bladder was painfully full, and he couldn’t hold it any longer.
I teased him a bit. “What do you need to do?”
“I need to pee!”
“Why?” I asked.
Paul tried to explain, then told me he’s going to leak, because he can’t hold it any longer.
I asked the women if someone would like to help him hold his pee. A younger woman volunteered, and I had her grasp his penis firmly, squeezing it tightly. Paul moaned a bit.
“Let me see,” I offered, “if I understand what you need to do!”
I positioned myself about ten feet in front of him, facing him. I reached up under my skirt, and dropped my underpants to my feet, then stepped out of them. I stooped slightly as I looked directly at him and hiked my skirt up, but only to my thighs. Then I let out a forceful urine stream. He couldn’t see my genitals, but he could see the stream pouring onto the ground. “Is this what you want to do?” I asked, a bit sarcastically. Then I added, “Now, I haven’t peed since the last time you did, and it sure does feel good! Would you like to, too?”
Paul’s eyes watched me relieve myself, as he felt the agony in his own bladder.
Finally, I finished, and put my underpants on again. I turned to the women around, saying “Ladies, I think our guest wants to pee. Let’s give him just a little relief, if he puts on a good show!”
I turned to Paul. “OK, you’ve got ten seconds after you get things going. Then you have to stop, or Alice, here, will stop you with a squeeze like you’ve never had before. Now, let’s see how far you can send it out.”
The girl kneeling beside Paul pointed his penis upward. All eyes were on him. He tried to release a stream. It came - forcefully. He sent a stream arching up and several feet in front of him. Women stood and stared. I counted out the seconds. At ten, he tried to stop. At the same time, Alice gave his penis a hard squeeze. The stream ended.
Paul was not relieved. His bladder still hurt. His stomach was still full of water. Alice teased his penis into an erection again.
I told him, “For the rest of the afternoon, I will let you release some of your pee after every half hour your penis is erect. Any time it is not erect doesn’t count. We will give you some stimulation but not enough to allow you any sexual relief. And you get another liter of water to drink, every hour.”
The women scattered a bit, some enjoying their food, some doing other things. But there were always some watching Paul. I allowed the ropes to be loosened a bit, to allow him to sit on a small chair, but someone was always watching his erection.
One woman said she thought she didn’t need to touch Paul’s penis to keep it erect. She stood in front of him, after she observed his organ softening a bit, and opened her blouse. She unsnapped her bra, baring her breasts to him. “Let’s see how this works”, she said. His body provided a fairly prompt answer. The woman smiled, held the pose for a few minutes, then moved away.
An older woman, with gray hair, and probably over sixty, announced she wanted to try, too. She stripped off her shirt and bra before walking in front of Paul. Her breasts, small and drooping, displayed erect nipples, possibly the effect Paul was having on her. She shook her breasts in front of him, trying to make them bounce and move. As a finale, she seized her nipples in her hands, and pulled her breasts far apart, spreading them far beyond the sides of her body. Then she retired, saying to us, “I could never do that kind of thing at home!”
We allowed him to pee again, for ten seconds, after gathering the group to watch. Afterwards, I felt his bladder, still swollen and rock hard. I decided to let him pee for twenty seconds fifteen minutes later. He was still agitated, sweating, and in pain. I told him that he must drink extra water to make up for the privilege.
I felt his scrotum. His testicles were hot and sensitive from the sexual stimulation and prolonged erections. His bladder hasn’t been empty since early morning, and he has had to hold his erection, with few breaks, for many hours. His whole pelvic area is tormented. He is getting his punishment.
Some time later, after prolonged erections, supported by continual teasing, had earned him several opportunities to release small amounts of urine, I told him that he was about to have his last opportunity for partial relief. He will be allowed a twenty second pee, after he drinks as much water as his stomach can hold. His next urination, I informed him, will allow him to completely empty his bladder. But he will have to earn the privilege, by allowing his bladder to fill to what we feel is its absolute capacity. He shuddered at the statement, but took courage in the knowledge that the end was in sight. His stomach already had a lot of water in it, but he started drinking as we handed him the water. He took in something over another liter.
Then I allowed him a twenty second pee. Two women took turns holding his penis to guide the stream. He did put on quite a show, and he was able to stop when we told him.
I had the guard untie Paul’s arms from the tree limbs, and instead tie them behind his back. He tied Paul’s legs with a long rope, so that he was able to walk, in short steps. I led him away from the tree. Again I felt his still swollen bladder, and invited other women to press on it, too. It was not as hard as it had been, as a result of his partial relief. He did wince as each hand was applied.
I noted his erection had softened. A young woman came forward and teased his penis lightly with her fingers.
More time passed. I did not order more water for Paul, but continued to check the hardness of his bladder. He complained that it hurt terribly. I told him it is going to get much worse. We walked him around a bit. We took him where he could lean back against a tree. He complained that the pain was intense and he could not hold himself. I appointed two women to hold his penis in a tight grip, their hands not moving. He was in pain, tears in his eyes, biting his lip, moaning softly, pleading for relief from his torment. The women did not loosen their grip. The guard stood by, insuring he did not move away. I felt his bladder, now rock-hard and more swollen than it had ever been. We changed the women holding his penis, and two fresh ones with strong grips took over. A drop appeared at the end of his penis, and I told the women to hold tighter. He was squirming, begging for relief.
I decided to allow every woman an opportunity to push on his bladder and feel its hardness. Paul screamed when he heard this, and winced visibly as each female hand pushed on his belly. Some were gentle, some were not. The process took twenty minutes or so.
Finally I asked Paul if he was ready for his final relief. He could hardly talk, but nodded his head.
The hands were removed. For this I held his penis in a gentle grip. His stream starts to flow. I directed it high, and moved it in several directions as the women watched. The stream was clear, as his urine is very diluted. We walked him around a bit while he was urinating, spraying his stream in all directions. It went on for a long time. Finally he was through; his bladder empty. I released my grip.
“Good”, I told him. “You have taken your punishment well. We will not make you pee in front of these women again; in fact we will not let you.”
Paul seemed relieved and delighted. He was still naked among twenty six women, but he felt the ordeal was over, but I knew otherwise. It was late afternoon and shortly we would be boarding the bus for the return to the hotel.
We loaded up on the bus. I sat next to Paul, still naked. The bus drove toward the hotel.
It had been an hour since Paul had emptied his bladder, and we were riding on the return trip. He was fidgeting nervously. I knew why. There was a lot of water in his stomach and elsewhere that hadn’t made its way to his bladder when he last emptied it; but now it had. I reached over and felt his bladder. It was hard again; not as hard as it had been, but enough to be causing him considerable discomfort.
“Not yet,” I told him. “ You must wait perhaps another hour.”
Another hour is torture to Paul. His bladder has been badly stretched and it was sore. I occasionally pressed on it, so I knew he was getting worse.
We arrived at the hotel. I gave Paul his towel so he could cover himself as he said his farewell to the group as we left the bus. When all have left, I went with Paul to his room. When we entered, I closed the door behind us. Then I held out my hand for the towel. “I must return it”, I said.
I added, “You were a good sport about everything. I hope it didn’t hurt you too much. And I know you need to pee right now, but would you allow a lady to use your toilet first?”
Paul looked at me, puzzled. I went into the bathroom, with him following. pulled down my underpants and hiked up my skirt, seated myself on the toilet, and with Paul standing in front of me, reached out with my hand and seize his penis, now erect. He waited to hear my urination, but there was no sound. “How much longer could you hold it? This may take me a while!” I teased him.
Paul’s bladder distress has the better of him. “Please, go ahead! I really can’t wait!” I had had my fun. Holding Paul’s penis, I released my stream. He could hear its noisy splashing. It did go on for a while - I was quite full, too. Then I got up, still holding his penis, and announced “Your turn!” Paul was surprised that I kept my grip, but allowed me to direct his stream downward. Eventually he finished. I released my grip, moved away, and departed, closing the door behind.
Quite an experience for me. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it might have been for Paul.