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At your average sports bar, if there was a major baseball game, you'd find yourself waiting in a terribly long line to get to a urinal between commercials and innings.

That problem was made worse when the establishment only had one male designated bathroom, meaning that nearly 150 customers were all jockeying for a mere two urinals.

"Make sure he isn't going anywhere. Get those cuffs fastened tight to the wall!"

If you knew that your sports bar was one of the only ones in town that was going to be broadcasting a World Series game, you might try to make extra accommodations for your customers. Most places would have tried including a port-o-let for the patrons that were sitting outside, but after upsetting his manager, Rivard was quick to discover that there was a different plan in place.

"Is...is this really the best way to take care of all the extra customers?" Rivard asked, his desire to serve others ringing true even in the most defiling situation. "Couldn't we spring for an extra pipe to be fitted temporarily?"

"This is a lot cheaper," his boss explained, "And it's better than you deserve for rooting for Washington!"

"But they've always been my team, and-

"I don't really give a flying fuck what your logic is!" his boss would have none of the explanation. He gave a quick tug on each of the cuffs that held Rivard's wrists, finding they were so tight that he couldn't possibly move them for his own assistance. "You brought down morale for everyone in the bar when you said you were rooting for the wrong team, damn it! How else am I supposed to make the rest of your co-workers happy?"

Though Rivard could have thought of a number of different ways that didn't involve stripping his pants away and leaving him handcuffed to the insides of an improvised urinal stall, it was no secret how much he was enjoying the idea.

Precum was _pouring_from the end of a chastity cage, wrapped tight around his cock and keeping it throbbing in a painfully small space.

"Do you really think no one is gonna say anything?"

"Not only is no one gonna rat me out...they're gonna pay me for this."

Though he was a cruel man, Rivard's boss was a marketing genius. Only one garment was left on the otter: A Washington jersey, clean as it could be after a fresh wash and a coat of bleach.

"Two urinals for the regular customers, and for those who want to pay a little extra to get in and out faster, an express line with a fan for the opposite team on his knees, taking a spray in the face...I'll probably make more money on the beer coming out than the beer going in!" he cheered, sure that his plan was going to work to perfection. Only his bouncers heard the idea, and given their eagerness to help with strapping Rivard to the walls, they weren't going to tell anyone else about it, either.

The sound of their belts being unbuckled told not of apathy to his situation, but darker intent; the contribution to it.

"I hope you don't mind the three of us breaking you in before we open the doors for the regulars. We gotta make sure that you're not gonna wiggle around too much...most people would get a little upset if they got piss all over their clothes," his boss explained. "Good thing I hired a slut like you to take over as the bar back..."

Some would have taken greater offense to the words being thrown at them, but Rivard took every insult in stride and squirmed as he watched a pair of cocks slip through the front of different pairs of jeans. He couldn't taste, touch or even tease them from his compromised position, but he could just catch the faintest hint of a domineering scent, tickling his nostrils and taunting him to beg for what he already knew was coming.

The warmth in his cheeks as he flushed with desire couldn't hold a stick to the heat of the first stream of urine. It splashed right against the top of his chest, tickling his neck and soaking the front of his jersey within a matter of seconds, the stream carrying just enough color to taint the precious, freshly washed fabric.

"Make sure he's soaked from head to toe, if you could. I want people coming in to really get the picture."

As his manager fished out his own cock from the front of his khakis, the second bouncer let loose with a stream, the golden fluid splashing over Rivard's neatly combed hair. The green locks began coming apart as the salty treat heated the styling product and rendered it useless, dropping his bangs down in front of his eyes and making it that much harder to see what was going on.

Whether or not his manager meant to deprive him of his sight, Rivard wasn't complaining.

"We didn't even bother putting a drain in underneath him, boss. This is gonna get messy really fast if there's a whole line of people waiting to piss on him."

Though tiles were easy to mop and scrub clean, the first two streams were already drizzling down to the floor as their paths coursed down Rivard's torso. The warm, taunting blessing passed over the tender flesh of his cock as it leaked into his chastity cage, leaving the poor otter to writhe against his cuffs, though they gave him no quarter.

He was completely trapped in place, barely able to see the tiny puddle that was forming between his thighs.

"You could be right. I don't really care if he gets it all over the walls or the floor, but if it starts splashing on the other customers, that could start some problems."

To his manager and coworkers, Rivard was little more than an object to fulfill a business need. They even talked about him as if he wasn't right there, able to hear every disparaging word.

As the twin streams slowed down to a trickle, Rivard wished he could move his paws to muffle his groan of disappointment. "Seems like he was expecting a little bit more from us, boss. I hope you're not trigger shy."

"Not even a little bit...but you guys are right. We're gonna have to make a couple modifications to this set up if we're gonna keep other customers from getting splashed."

As his manager fished the length of his canine member from his khakis, Rivard tried to contemplate what they could possibly do to avoid the mess. The wall of the stall next to him didn't quite reach the ground, but it was far enough out that he didn't think customers getting splashed was a real issue.

If his manager could hear that inner dialogue, Rivard knew he'd be chastised for a perceived lack of commitment to the customers. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it would likely push his manager to advance on him just a little bit faster.

Snickering, he started to open his muzzle, but before his tongue could bend to form the words, something warm and just a little bitter splashed upon it and silenced him.

"Daaamn..._there's just something relieving as all hell about letting it go when you've been holding it in all day. Guess that's the payoff for working so hard that you skip your bathroom breaks...you could learn a lesson or two from me, Rivard," his manager wasn't content to literally piss on his employee: a verbal storm had to follow, as if the sound of his waste splashing on Rivard's lips wasn't as satisfying as his own voice. "But I will give you credit for that _genius idea. If you just keep your mouth open, that'll take care of most of the mess!"

Just feeling the forbidden warmth on his tongue was making Rivard's chastity cage uncomfortably tight.

The mildly painful sensation of the bouncers grabbing the soft, velvety flesh of his ears and tugging his head back only made things worse ; being forced to swallow the stream as it drizzled upon his warm, wet muscle left him under such pressure that he worried the cage might break around his throbbing length.

Wincing his eyes shut, he drank down the literal cocktail of water and salt, while his mind happily drowned in the mix of discomfort and pleasure.

"Huh. I never would have guessed that I hired such a depraved little bitch," his manager wasn't afraid to step over every boundary, confident that Rivard would never speak of this to the regional manager, or even the other employees. "Even if you guys let go of his ears, I bet he'd keep his head back and chug it like a good little booze hound..."

Part of Rivard truly didn't want to prove his manager right.

Another part of him was just glad that the bouncers were still holding his ears in their grasp and tugging them tight to keep his mouth open and his neck stretched.

"I think we should just be glad that he's willing to cooperate, boss. If you're right about your idea, this could be a new gameday attraction."

His manager smirked as the last few drops of his yield splashed down between Rivard's tightly closed eyes. Without hesitation, he slapped the end of his soft, heavy length on the otter's tongue a few times in quick succession, acting as though he was the star of his own pornographic film.

"You guys are right. If this test run goes well, I should really consider expanding operations...and you'll finally get those extra hours you were looking for, kid!"

For Rivard, there were worse reasons to pick up extra shifts.

**

"And a simply nasty cutter rings up Rodriguez! Polson strikes out the side!"

The bathroom was fitted with a speaker, so that fans who had to get up and leave their tables wouldn't miss out on too much of the action.

On the call of a strikeout, hearing those speakers was almost impossible, as all the men in the bathroom cheered at the top of their lungs. The looser fixtures in the bathroom actually shook with the force of their cries as the room neared capacity, and a fresh rush of customers was running in with another inning coming to a close.

So many things could have gone wrong for Rivard's manager: his plan was nothing short of sadistic, cruel to the point that it was impossible to overlook, and it would only take one report to have the restaurant under a full investigation.

Cheap, tall beers were just enough motivation to keep fans quiet about what was going on, and for the discounted price they were being served at, the bar was still making a killing. Each dollar that was placed in the slot was another full bladder for Rivard to negotiate, and as the game neared the seventh inning stretch, the flesh beneath his fur was getting ready to prune.

"Oh...oh shit."

For those who had an issue with bladder shyness, a few pints of beer were a great suggestion to fix the problem.

For those who happened to have a fetish for watersports, there was a different reason that they couldn't manage.

"Look, you need to keep quiet about this, okay? I don't need those other guys making fun of me when I get back out there."

Still licking his lips and collecting the mess from the previous males who strolled through, Rivard cocked a brow at the squirming feline before him. "You're gonna piss on me the same as everyone else...what's to judge?"

Rivard couldn't move an inch, even when someone leaned uncomfortably close to him in the stall.

It gave him nowhere to go when the spiny tip of a pulsing, feline cock brushed against his soaking cheek and forced his eyes to widen with delight.

"When I heard what was going on in here, I didn't believe it, so I paid the dollar to get in, and now I've been standing in line watching, and...f-fuck, I need to piss like crazy, but I can't! You've gotta help me!"

The line behind the fidgeting kitty would grow impatient fast, and he'd be getting a lot more for his dollar than everyone else, but Rivard couldn't help himself as the length jumped against the side of his muzzle.

He opened right up, taking the cry for help as a call to arms.

"H-Holy...holy shit. You're serious?" Green eyes went wide in a sea of orange fur as Rivard took the whole of the feline's cock in his mouth with ease, wrapping his tongue around the tip before he welcomed each and every inch of the tasty shaft to the back of his throat. "Dude, you could get fired for this, couldn't you?"

Just before closing his eyes in content, Rivard shot the cat another half glare, and only after saying it out loud did he realize how foolish a thought it was.

With each quick, delicate bob of Rivard's neck, it was getting hard for the orange tabby to say anything at all.

"People are staring...snickering...f-fuck..." despite Rivard taking his breath away with every skillful twirl of his tongue around the precum-soaked tip of a feline member, the cat was still trying to voice his inner monologue, as if that helped him deal with the judgment of the other customers. He could hear groans coming from the back of the line as people grew frustrated with waiting, but now that the otter was started, nothing was going to stop him from finishing. "I d-don't care...fuck 'em! This feels too fucking good to stop!"

Seeing how they'd never met before, Rivard had no idea what kind of endurance his new feline companion was capable of.

He would have lasted a bit longer, if he wasn't literally standing in a cesspool of his most prominent fetish.

"Damn, it's...it's like my crotch is in a vice!" the poor feline strained as he felt the pressure of his bladder growing, but before it could release, his climax took control and forced him to slam a paw against the stall. "You'd better f-fucking swallow, otter..."

The sudden change in demeanor was far more of a turn-on for Rivard than it was a concern, and a delicate paw going heavy on the back of his head was just the icing on the cake as he felt a flood of cum spray to the back of his throat.

Claws pressed against his scalp, simply daring him to try and pull away; he didn't budge as his throat bulged with each pass of warm, sticky seed.

The throb of the feline's tip against the roof of his muzzle forced Rivard to spill just a little bit over his own cheek, but he was confident that he'd drained his new favorite customer. "Feels like you've stopped swallowing...big mistake, little guy."

Caught between his curiosity of the feline's changing mood and his own mistake, Rivard fluttered his eyes open and tried not to panic as the tiniest stream of urine splashed into the mess that still sat on his tongue.

Once the flood gates were open, the stream went full force, leaving him hopeless to gulp it all down fast enough.

"You've s-sprung a leak...talk about fault equipment."

From a timid feline who could hardly imagine having an erection in front of a crowd to a domineering beast who wouldn't let Rivard come up for air, the mental transformation was complete, but it was Rivard who was getting the best of it. The mingled flavors of sweet, sticky cum and acrid waste blended marvelously at the edge of his gullet, even as tiny streams seeped down over his chin and soaked into the already ruined jersey.

When he was off his knees and off the clock, he'd have to get the feline's name, but in the heat of the moment, he was more than happy to get his yield, instead.