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Neither Kyland nor Relsyn planned anything special for their performance at the Madelyn Rock Bar & Grill the night they played there. It was their thirteenth show since their tour had started, and wasn't supposed to be anything different from their usual performances. The only problem was that the city they were in was in the middle of what Kyland deemed a "satanic panic". Boomers and Karens alike had banded together on FaceBook to bemoan the arrival of sinful influence that had begun to plague music, movies, television, and worst of all, video games. The city was in the heart of the Bible belt, a place very adverse to anything remotely outside of the very well-established way of thinking. If there was anything that fit the mold of being a threat to all of that, it was definitely Double Bump, Kyland and Relsyn's music duo.

The two of them had formed the miniature band after years of playing together. Their near flawless ability to meld their sounds together were too good to not profit off of. They released an album, performed for some venues, and earned something of a cult following along the way. They were raved about on social media. There was a fan page that sold merch. They went on their first major tour and released some more albums, each one ranging from moderate to impressive success. They had achieved a small but real celebrity status, becoming recognized by a significant portion of the masses. Their success was in part due to their recognizable style. There were only two of them, Kyland on the drums and Relsyn on the guitar and lead vocals. In spite of their limited roster, they achieved a powerful sound that managed to replicate something close to a whole band. Relsyn's skill on the guitar, Kyland's ferocity on the sticks, and their uncanny ability to intertwine their music into something both complete and enjoyable to listen to made sure their fanbase both grew and stuck around.

But mostly, it was because they liked to perform with their asses completely bare.

It was a joke at first, then a novelty, then a stunt, then a bonafide part of their act. The two of them would get on stage with nothing but jockstraps hiding their shames, exposing every other bit of their explosively muscular bodies, including their bubbly glutes. Both of them struck imposing figures on stage, even if they had been wearing clothes. Kyland was a crocodile covered in deep maroon scales. Across his back and stabbing into his billboard pecs were sharp black stripes accompanied by jagged spikes which ran a ridge from the back of his head down to his tail. His underbelly and bottom jaw were fiery red. Ferocious crests were formed on his brow, giving his glowing yellow eyes an even more intimidating presence. Lining his extensive jaws were snaggled crocodile teeth, each one razor sharp and ivory white. He was tall and stocky, almost too big for even the enormous drum set he sat behind and would thrash nearly to pieces. His drumsticks looked like chopsticks in his enormous clawed hands, though their size belied their swiftness and precision.

Relsyn was his equal in both stature and impression. He was a dragon fitted with muscle so thick that it seemed ready to burst through his tightly wound red scales. Enormous horns sprouted from the back of his head, forming a very impressive V. A line of even sharper horns ran down their center as a trio of spikes. The tail which hung from his back carried a line of scaly stalagmites, each one as tough as bone. His jowls were heavy and were grown with several bony protrusions near the back of his jaw. His dragon wings, the membranes of which were a similar orange as his underbelly scales, were tattered and worn. His instrument of choice was a double-neck guitar which, like Kyland's drums, looked too small when he was tearing at their strings. Many people noticed, among other things, how mesmerizing it was to watch his obsidian-tipped fingers pluck and tap away at his strings, mastering the instrument like some nude, reptilian Van Halen.

Then there were their outfits. The jockstraps they wore were always snow white, never used. It was a tradition of theirs to bust out a new pair from its packaging for every individual show and proceed to sell the pairs they wore at auction. Want a vintage piece of Double Bump jock sweat? You can own it, as long as you have the cash. Their genitals, both of which were sufficiently proportional to their physiques, were kept somewhat hidden by the sports cups they wore over them. Hey, they had to show some shred of decency. Otherwise every scale, every sinew, and every flex were visible to the crowd who, when not banging their heads to the music, ogled their bodies.

They garnered the appreciation of some, and the utter loathing of others. Mothers didn't appreciate their sons listening to the music. While their lyrics were never harsh, those that heard Relsyn's piercing shouts and screams could interpret nothing else but the foulest praises of the Lord of Darkness himself. Petitions were signed and hate comments were written. No such influence would ever show its face in their town, no siree. Much to their chagrin, there were many bars willing to have the duo perform for them. The most the boomers could do was seethe about it and forbid their children from going to see them. The performers read the comments and threats on FaceBook swearing that they would regret ever playing their filth in their city. Neither performer was any kind of man a normal person would want to fuck with, but they couldn't help but feel a bit nervous once their van passed into the city limits.

They were in the backroom at Madelynn's getting ready. The owner offered them free drinks as thanks for choosing to perform there. "Lots of people showin' up 'cause of you guys!" the owner had bragged, smiling from ear to ear. His greedy eyes traveled up and down their scaly bodies. "Can't wait to see you fellas on stage tonight." With a steady flow of alcohol coming in they drowned their nerves with several beers. Relsyn was on the couch, throwing back his fourth glass in three hours while Kylend was on the other end, tapping away at his phone. On the floor surrounding his feet were five used bottles. They were both down to their shorts, soon to just be their jockstraps which waited underneath.

Relsyn swallowed the last drop and came off the bottle with a sigh. "Ahh... Think we'll have any problems tonight?"

Kylend looked up from his phone and cocked an eyebrow. "With what? The music?"

"Nah, with any of the people here, like the ones who don't want us here."

Kyland shrugged and shook his head. "I don't think so. I think people just get pissy about this kind of thing. It's not like they're gonna do anything about it. The manager said the place is gonna be packed. They'll be a whole lot more fans than haters."

"Yeah, I know, but..." He reached over to the cooler and opened it. Poking out of a mound of crushed ice were several brown bottle necks. He slid one out and cracked the top open with his index claw. "All it takes is one crazy to do something stupid in the middle of one of our songs. I don't think they'll hurt anyone, but they could make a scene." He took a deep swig of beer.

Kyland thought about it for a moment. He wasn't going to admit it openly, but he was just as worried. Both of them had read the comments and emails. People with nothing better to do than hate on a couple of guys having fun made sure that they knew just how abominable they were in the eyes of God. Were that many people willing to do something about it? No, but like Relsyn said, it only takes one. "Try not to worry about it too much," he said. "Pass me another beer?"

Kylend was just done downing another gulp. "Yeah, I got you."

The rest of the hour passed with more waiting and more drinking. The table and floor around them accumulated a small platoon of empty bottles, each one representing several ounces of liquid either sloshing in their bellies or swelling their bladders. The last few minutes until showtime approached, and the two of them got up from the couch to get ready. Together they realized the same thing: they had to piss. They filed out of the backroom and into the hallway where the bathrooms were. The good news was that the bar was absolutely crammed with fans. Just from the hall they could hear the loud din of maybe a hundred voices chatting excitedly. Those who were in the hall saw the two of them and cheered. They smiled and waved back. The bad news was that such a big crowd meant that the line to the pisser was very, very long. It stretched from the bathroom door to out of the hallway, out into the bar floor. Relsyn peaked his head out and saw it continue to wind along the wall. More people cheered at him, but he did not respond amiably. He frowned deeply. He peeled back into the hallway to report the situation to Kylend.

"It isn't lookin' good. Line's almost out the door."

Relsyn's face plummeted. He rubbed his hand down the spikes on his head. "Shit," was all he had to say. They were on in less than 15, and the pressure on their bladders wasn't getting better. While the small crowd of guys around them hollered their excitement and wished them a good show, the two of them were pondering what to do next. "Think it'll thin out by the time we start?"

"I mean, a little, but not all the way." Kylend pointed his thumb behind him. "You can go look at it. It's long as hell."

Relsyn did, and saw just how bad it was. The last fellow in line was close to the entrance of the bar. The line to the women's room was mockingly short. At that moment he felt a twang of pain bite at his pelvis where his water bag continued to inflate. He clenched his urethra and marched back into the hallway. "I guess we just gotta try and see. Get in line and hope some guys will leave when the show starts."

Kylend raised an eyebrow. "When the show starts? Dude, the show doesn't start until we do. It's probably gonna be another 20 to 30 minutes."

Relsyn groaned. "I know that! But I gotta fuckin' pee dude!"

"Dude, so do I. I don't wanna go up there having to piss any more than I do right now, I swear."

Relsyn sighed. "We just gotta get in line and wait and see. Maybe some guys'll let us go ahead." The two of them exited the hallway and onto the dimly lit bar floor. More cheers awaited them, followed by laughter at the sight of them getting in line for the pisser.

One gentleman at a table close to them held up his beer and hooted at them. "What're you fellas doin' waitin' in line? Ain't you got some fancy backstage place to go?"

Relsyn just smiled politely. "I wish man."

"You guys better be ready in 15 minutes! We're all waitin' on ya!"

Relsyn nodded. "Yeah. We know."

The minutes ticked by and the two bandmates made their way up the line. Kylend checked his phone incessantly, watching as each minute clicked into the next. Soon they had less than five minutes left, and they weren't even halfway down the line from where they started. They tried chatting with the fans around them, idly leaning against the wall or pacing back and forth. What looked like casual banter was in fact them desperately trying to distract themselves from the pain intensifying down below. Most of their dialogue consisted of "yup," "mmhmm," "yeah," "alright," and "cool." It dawned on them that playing through such discomfort was going to be difficult, if impossible. Their whole set was over an hour, waaaaaay too long to hold onto such a burden.

Five minutes were up. It was showtime, yet the two performers remained in line. A few patrons clapped at them to get a move on, to which Relsyn bit back and said that he couldn't make people piss faster. They stopped talking to the people around them, opting instead to clench their jaws or lean against the brick wall and scrape their claws on it. The owner caught wind of the delay and stormed up to them. "Hey guys! What's the hold up?"

"We gotta pee," Kylend answered bluntly.

"Yeah! I see that! You guys are supposed to be on stage! Not waitin' on the bathroom!"

Waiting on the bathroom was about all they could be expected to do at that point. The pressure inside of them was ready to tear out of their dicks like Angel Falls. "We can't hold this shit," Relsyn grumbled.

"Then figure somethin' out!" the owner hissed. "Or else I'm cuttin' off 5% what I'm payin' you." He hustled off before either of them had a chance at rebuttal.

They stood at their spot in the line, grinding their teeth and pacing in circles. Deep scowls were engraved on their faces. Smoke started to rise from Relsyn's nostrils. Finally, Kylend peeled off from the line and stormed towards the backroom. Relsyn, surprised by his sudden departure, followed after him. He found Kylend in the backroom peeling his shorts off, revealing his signature jockstrap and bare buttocks. "Come on," he said flatly. "Let's go."

"Go?" Relsyn demanded. "You mean on the show?"

"Yeah, on the show. Can't make the people wait any longer." He turned around to see Relsyn still in his shorts. "Take it off."

"Hold on! You're just gonna hold it?"

Kylend shook his head. "Nope."

"So where the hell are you gonna go?"

"On stage," he said it so casually, like someone declaring where they had gone to eat lunch that day.

Relsyn's eyes went wide. "Dude! Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Chill. I'm not gonna do it in front of everybody. I'm just gonna leak some out every few minutes or so. Not enough so that people will see it or anything. I'm behind the drums, so mostly everything will be blocked off."

Relsyn envied his position. Standing up front in front of everyone, he had no such luxury. "Dude, you can't just piss yourself on stage."

"What other option do we have?"

"I don't know! Something other than pissing ourselves in front of everyone!?"

Kylend shook his head. "Nobody'll notice, I promise. If they do, let's just say it's sweat or something."

"I mean, I guess..."

"What are you gonna do?"

Relsyn thought about it. He didn't have many options, and he wasn't as confident as Kylend in his own stealth. He shrugged. "I guess I'll just hold it."

Kylend nodded. "You can do it. Just watch. I believe in you." He pointed to his junk. "Now take that shit off and get naked. We got a show."

The crowd on the floor was just beginning to lose their patience when the two performers waltzed onto the stage, clad only in their famous underwear. Roars of approval echoed through the bar. Waiting for them on the stage was Kylend's drum set, an enormous semi-circle of several canisters and cymbals. He sat himself down behind it, and immediately tried letting go of some urine. He tried relaxing his sphincter, only to find that his lifelong continence had come to betray him. No matter how hard he tried to relax, the muscle he had kept clenched for virtually his entire life was refusing to do so now that he had a layer of fabric on top of it and an entire crowd of eyes looking at him. He took deep breaths, repeatedly trying to let his dick release at least a few drops, but all that came out of him were a few vain grunts.

Relsyn was oblivious to his partner's struggles. He picked his double-neck guitar from its stand and slung it over his head. He smiled and spoke into the microphone. "How's everyone doing tonight?" A round of woo's erupted in front of him. "Alright! Glad to hear that!" He strummed at the upper neck of his guitar. A metallic cord rang out from the speakers around the stage. "Sorry about that wait. Kylend and I had some..." Comedic pause. "Business to take care of." Some laughter rang out. "But all of that's taken care of. We're ready to rock, and we hope you're ready to listen." The crowd gave an affirmative holler.

Their business wasn't even close to being done with, but Kylend was currently starting his. He had to hold back a heavy sigh as he finally let the muscles in his cock release the first few CC's of his wastewater. He felt it siphon past his dick hole and soak into the back of his cup and jockstrap. Blissful warmth flooded across his crotch, rendering it a musty swamp. The sensation was something like a minor orgasm, but he couldn't continue for long. The very moment he felt his moisture reach the outer limit of his jock strap, he wheezed and clenched his muscles as hard as he could. The flow came to a sudden stop, but not without some painful resistance. It continued pressing into the outer rim of his urethra like a besieging army trying to batter down the gates of a city. His face scrunched. He bit back a curse. Slowly, but surely, the pain began to subside as his piss retreated its way back into his bladder. He sighed heavily, but the discomfort wasn't done with. The pressure on his bladder had hardly subsided, and now his nostrils were twitching at the very noticeable presence of his scent. He fixed his posture on the chair and acted nonchalantly, hoping that nobody was close enough to smell him or notice the rogue strand of water seeking its way down his thigh.

Nobody in the audience could smell it yet, but Relsyn could. Like some kind of sick Pavlovian response his bladder throbbed in protest, demanding its painfully needed release. Relsyn just gritted his teeth and cleared his throat into the mic. This is gonna fucking suck. But there was no point in dwelling on it. Like many other rough times in his life, it was time to distract himself with some music. All he could do now was slash the fuck out of those strings and pray that the hoover dam wouldn't explode in his jock strap. He looked over his shoulder at his partner who gave him an affirmative wink and nod, belying his current struggles. Relsyn nodded back, and made the cue for their first song.

The first song was "Belt it out", the lead song on their latest album. Titled appropriately, the opening note was a solid chord that ripped through the speakers and blasted the audience, throwing them into a frenzy of cheers and hollers. That first note was followed by a thundering drumroll which buzzed across almost all of Kylend's kit. His sticks thrummed across each snare, ending on a hissing assault on his cymbals. It was climaxed by another explosive chord, and then the song began officially. They played through the song in its entirety without issue. It required several flashy riffs and a booming chorus. The energy they threw behind it went unwavered by their need to piss. Their pumping adrenaline helped dull the pain somewhat, and for a very brief moment they both forgot that they had to pee.

The song came to an end, and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Relsyn smiled proudly, although that faltered upon the resurgence of his need to go. He fidgeted with the microphone in front of him, even though it was already perfect. Kylend took the time to let loose another round of liquid. The microphone hovering towards his face, through the forest of drums, picked up the slight shudder of his voice as more water drizzled its way out of him and further soaked his jockstrap. To his dismay, the last round of piss hadn't dried at all, and what flowed out of him went straight out the sides of the jockstrap and onto his scales. He barely let it go for more than a second before he clenched. Once again the microphone picked up a soft wheeze. Everyone noticed it, but few thought anything of it.

Relsyn knew exactly what was going on but ignored it. "How'd ya like that?" he asked the crowd. The answer was a resounding holler. "Awesome! I think you're gonna like this next one." He cleared his throat. The swelling of his bladder was only getting worse. Nobody could see it thanks to his red scales, but his face was starting to grow hot. His face started twitching noticeably. With the heat of the spotlights on his face and the pain stabbing into his loins, a sweat broke out across his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist and absentmindedly grabbed at his cup to adjust it. "This next song is one that's pretty near and dear to our hearts. We worked real hard on it when we were putting together this album." He was cut off by a sharp resurgence of pressure at the base of his penis. His growing bladder felt like a pair of razors were stabbing outwards from his groin. He coughed into his fist and held it there for a few seconds, waiting for the pain to subside. It didn't, leaving him stuck there. The crowd sat there, confused and concerned. Kylend watched his friend from behind, worried that he might have ask if he was OK. Relsyn spoke, assuaging everyone's fears. "Here's a little song we're glad you guys like. It's called 'One and Done.'"

Everyone quickly forgot about their concerns and started to cheer. A crowd favorite, they played the song for a few minutes, without error. If they had messed up, it would've gone unnoticed by the crowd. It was a song where the listeners participated, clapping with the beat and singing some of the lyrics upon the singer's cue. Relsyn would cup his hand behind his ear, letting everyone know when it was their turn to shout.

"You're just a big ol'-!" Relsyn would sing, then cue the audience.

"Big ol'!" They would repeat.

"One and-!"

"One and!"

The last line they would say together. "Dooooooooooooooooooone!"

The song came to a close on a brief drum solo. The beats weren't even done echoing out the speaker before Kylend started pissing himself again. That song had taken its toll, not because of any serious activity, but because the drummer's part in it was very lackluster. The most he had to do was maintain a simple one-two beat, mostly letting the tempo be determined by the clapping audience. It still required focus, and that was faltering under the ever-present anvil of urine that was sitting on his crotch. No matter how much he let out, it seemed that just as much was returning. The clench to make it stop was becoming agonizing and more difficult. His eyes scrunched shut as more water flowed out of him, now at such a pace that it outright flowed down his leg like a punctured water bottle. The very front row was getting the first few hints of smell, but not strongly enough to determine what it was. Most of those folks were drinking some heavy alcohol and figured that's what it was.

On Kylend's left were some folk on the very far end of the stage. From there they could see the stool he was sitting on and the bare flank of his ass. One patron's eyes lit up as he saw the first few drops of water swirl around the edge of the cushion and plip onto the stage below. He nudged his buddy and pointed. "I think there's something wet on his seat."

"What?" his buddy asked.

"Look! Kylend's seat!" The two of them leaned into each other and stared at the stool. Only a second later and another drop fell from it, glimmering in the stagelight. "What the hell is it?"

The friend shrugged. "Maybe he pissed himself."

The man laughed. "Yeah. I bet he did."

Kylend clenched his dick muscle, cutting off the flow. His jagged teeth gritted into each other as he fought back an agonized moan. Tiny droplets managed to squeak out of his hole which at this point had become a spigot. His entire crotch was utterly drenched in piss. The smell of it burned in his nose and made his cheeks hot like fire. And still the pressure would not relent. It continued to blossom like a kidney stone, shredding at every fiber of the flesh around it. Relsyn wasn't faring much better. Normally he would be sipping at a bottle of water or Gatorade to keep himself hydrated, but the thought of doing anything like that was torture. Instead he continued to sweat. He did a little stretch, turning to the side and kicking his leg out into a half-lunge. He came upright a few feet away from the microphone, staring off into the distance like he had spotted someone trying to say something to him. Thunderous silence echoed through the bar. Relsyn was quiet, but his mind was screaming. Please God fucking kill me now. Fantasies of sticking a hypodermic needle into his pelvis to drain the liquids kept flashing in his mind. It was morbid, but it was relief. He realized what he was doing and stepped back in front of the microphone. He readjusted his jockstrap, accidentally pulling it off of him and flashing his dong at the front row.

A few of them gasped, others laughed. Relsyn didn't even realize what he had done. He blinked his eyes and looked down at them. "What?" he asked with an edge of indignance. The crowd laughed, thinking it was a part of the act. He suddenly realized what he had done, and forced himself to smile, although that was becoming more and more difficult by the second. Kylend's piss was lingering in his nose, begging him to do the same. He cleared his throat and moved on instead. "Alright. Umm... Hold on." He grabbed onto the upper neck of his guitar. What was the next song? Oh yeah. "This next song..." There was a whole diatribe that went along with it, one that always got a few laughs. He forgot every word of it. For a few moments he could do nothing but grit his jaw and contort his face. Finally he spoke. "This next song is 'My Cloud 9'." Everyone clapped, albeit with much more reserve. Everyone was beginning to notice that something was very, very wrong.

Relsyn forgot to cue Kylend in and ripped the opening notes of the song. Kylend hurriedly jumped in and caught up, although not quickly enough to escape detection by the audience. Relysn blasted through it as best he could. He went hard and fast, something the song didn't call for. It was soft and mellow, at least when compared to their other tracks. The fans thought they were listening to some remix or rewrite. Kylend kept up as best he could, although he was often guilty of going too fast too. His focus was torn apart when he started pissing again. For a five whole seconds the drum went silent as he fought to contain his bleeding bladder. He doubled over in his stool like someone battling an ulcer. Alongside the notes from Relsyn's guitar came a very strained and agonized groan. More piss drained down the edge of the stool. A puddle was forming around the legs, causing some splatter when the drops fell into it.

The man who had pointed out the drips to his friend was also the first person to realize what was happening. His eyes went wide. "Oh my fucking God. He is pissing himself."

"What?" his buddy demanded.

"I swear to God. Look." He pointed at the stool, directing his buddy's and several other people's attention. They all saw it and recognized it for what it was. Some of them laughed, others gasped, a few clapped their paws over their mouths. Most of them, however, immediately slid their phones out of their pockets and went straight to their camera apps, capturing the great waterfall of Kylend. One of the few who weren't recording was the man who had first seen it. His paw was over his chest, his jaw was dropped. He hadn't seen anything so fantastic in his entire life.

The song ended. The applause was scattered. Relsyn didn't even say anything. He stepped away from the microphone and turned around to perform a few back and forth paces. He kicked his legs up like he was marching in place. The people watching would've appreciated the view of his grinding buttocks if they weren't so worried about whatever the hell was going on. One person dared to ask. "You alright?"

Relsyn's hand was down in his cup, groping his penis. He needed every bit of strength to keep himself dry. A few people could see what he was doing and got even more confused. The people closest to the stage and who hadn't seen Kylend pissing realized that he had when they finally recognized the smell for what it was. It hung around the stage like a glass dome, making everyone within it crinkle their noses. A few people hid their snouts in their shirts. Others smothered their faces in their drinks. They hoped that this was all part of the show. Relsyn let go of his cock and turned back around to face everyone. He wore a smile, a very twisted, unconvincing smile. "Yeah! We're fine!"

"Dude!" someone called out. More people groaned and gasped.

Relsyn thought they were reacting to the smell of Kylend's piss, more of which was currently pouring off of the stool. That was until he saw a paw point at him from out of the darkness of the floor. Relsyn looked down. At first he didn't see anything but his guitar. Then he moved it, and his heart froze. The outer bulge of the jockstrap was darkened from moisture. His previous attempts at holding back his piss had done nothing but squeeze the first few drops out. His scent, unique from Kylend's, wafted into his nose. He tried to play it off by laughing and saying "Oops." It wasn't enough to persuade the few people who were getting up and leaving to sit back down. "Accidents happen. I guess." The pain and humiliation was clear in his voice. His smile crumpled into a defeated frown. He wanted nothing more than someone to toss him a shotgun so that he could stick it in his mouth and end it all.

Too bad he had a show to do. Without yet another cue for Kylend, he broke into the next song, "Son of Sam," which had nothing to do with the serial killer. Kylend didn't even attempt to keep up. He played a beat along with Relsyn's tempo that he prayed went along OK with it. It did, if barely, but that wasn't the most of the song's problems. Relsyn struggled throughout. His notes were sour, his voice was slurred, his timing was way off. What should've been one of their most powerful songs came off as weak and drunken. His face was contorting under the pain. It genuinely felt like his bladder was ready to explode, a sensation he would've embraced by that point. All of the sudden Relsyn started to dance, something the song did not call for. He bounced up and down and twirled in mid air. He kicked his legs out like some bizarre river dance. His feet thumped into the stage loudly. As jaunty as his jig was, it was ruined by the look of absolute agony on his face. His lips were peeled back into a snarl and his brows were twisted. It was the saddest display anyone there had seen.

Kylend was in much the same condition. Tears were welling in his eyes. He wasn't going to be able to make it much longer. He started thrashing at his drums with all of his might, blindly throwing out the most gnarly beat he had ever concocted. The tragedy was that he was in too much pain to experience it. At last, it was too much for the crocodile. The brilliant drumming came to a sudden halt as he shot up to his feet. Relsyn, knocked out of his dance, stopped playing and turned around to see what was wrong. Kylend stormed forward with a head of steam, kicking the bass drum out of the way and sending every other snare and cymbal around it toppling to the stage in a terrible calamity, making every soul in that building flinch. There was no hiding it now. Everything from his waist down was absolutely soaked in piss which glistened fantastically in the stage lights. It streaked down his legs in long strands. His bare feet left wet prints on the wooden stage as he stormed past his partner and leapt off onto the floor. He landed on his feet with a tremendous whoom, making every person around him duck away from him or jump out of their seats. He charged forward like a berserker, weaving through the tables, shoving and flipping them out of the way like they were lawn chairs. Drinks and silverware tumbled through the air and crashed loudly onto the floor, soaking several unfortunate patrons. In his wake was a path of destruction like the bar had never seen. There was a clear line of shattered glass, foaming beer, and discarded forks.

He was at the very end of the floor near the entrance of the hallway, gazing at the light of expiation, when he was forced into a sudden stop by the manager. "What the fuck are you doing???" he demanded of the crocodile. He shoved him by his belly, making the giant beast backpedal. "Get the fuck back on stage!" He forcibly turned Kylend around and shoved him back towards his partner, a horrified look on his face.

Relstyn was still on stage, completely unaware of what to do or say. He was forced into sudden action when the urge to piss intensified with one sudden push, becoming something more like an ardent demand. A brief shriek of agony sounded from his mouth, right into the microphone and echoing from the speakers. He doubled over, pain writhing his face. The piss was stabbing up his urethra and tearing at his clenched muscles like a needle. Bubbles of spittle squirted from between his clenched teeth. His thighs quaked violently. Another agonized moan blasted from the speakers. "Oh God!" whimpered the mighty dragon. He fought hard, clenching with every ounce of strength that he had, but it was too much. It started as a trickle, flowing out of his tip and expanding the wet spot on his strap. "Nooooooo!" It escalated into a leak. All of the jockstrap grew wet, and the first of many droplets began to dribble from his bulge. "Fuuuuuck!" Then it turned into a stream. The dripping turned into a steady flow, unbroken from the bottom of his strap the stage below. He whimpered, shook, and sobbed pitifully until finally all resistance finally broke. The dam went bust, and Relsyn started pissing himself in full. Clear water blew out of his jockstrap, splattering to the stage floor loudly. The manager stopped shoving Kylend to watch the waterfall in shocked silence. Kylend did the same, eyes round like saucers. Droves of water came down Relsyn's thighs like a window in the rain. The pressure wouldn't relent. It forced itself out of him like a punctured gas tank, blowing out the sides of his cup like angel wings, piddling near the very edge of the stage. Everyone's eyes were on him, firmly entranced with that majestic fountain of musty dragon water.

It felt so fucking good. A guttural sigh echoed out of him, reaching the mic and reverbing out of the speakers. He buckled at the knees. His eyes rolled up into his head. Pleasure on par with the sweetest of orgasms rocked the very tip of his penis where his badly strained muscles were finally relaxing and were massaged by the constant flow of urine blowing past it. The warmth was something euphoric, spreading across the entirety of his groin and spreading its love down the entire length of his leg. A dull part of his mind knew that he was being watched and that his guitar was getting soaked. He made a vain attempt to stop the catastrophe by grabbing at his crotch. Of course, that didn't do shit, and the urine ricocheted off of his palm, wetting it. As the pressure and pleasure finally began to dissipate, he did the only thing he came here to do, and that was play music.

His hands went to the bottom neck of his guitar. He had no song in mind, no jams at the ready, and nobody to back him up. It was just him, his guitar, and the seemingly endless stream of piss that was blowing out of him. His claws plucked the strings. Music glowed out of the speakers, replacing that dreaded silence. With the bliss burning hot around his penis, he closed his eyes. It started off slow and deep like a growl until it launched upwards like a rollercoaster coming out of a dip. His fingers escalated into a blur, tapping and pulling at the catgut faster than anyone's mind could register. The music blew out like a charging army, an uproar of valiant shouts and thumping boots, coming straight at the many people there to witness it. He went deaf to the sound of his dripping, hearing nothing but the glorious scream of steel echo around him. The notes rose to their zenith, floating through the clouds like on the wings of an angel, carrying with it the flaming Sword of Eden. It had the ferocity of Van Halen, the hippie twang of Hendrix, and the emotional fire of Satriani, all at once.

Alas, it had to end with one last strike of the strings, leaving that glorious solo off with one last resonant note. As it faded away, welcoming the silence once more, Relsyn opened his eyes. He was done pissing, leaving nothing left but a few vestigial drops from his utterly ruined jockstrap. He stared wide-eyed into the crowd, who returned the favor. Among them was Kylend, who had no idea his best friend had anything like that in him. He didn't know what to make of what he had just seen. Was it a miracle? Or was it a disaster? It seemed to ride the line perfectly with absolutely no distinction between either. Relsyn was just as unsure. He was ready at any moment for a chorus of boos and demands to vacate the stage, but nothing came. He just stood there, holding his instrument, dripping like a robin in the rain.

It was a mystery who the person was that acted first. Many people came forward, but none of them could validate it. Relsyn didn't see them, nor did Kylend; the floor was too dark. It was someone near the back, maybe a die hard fan, maybe a newcomer, who knows. Their voice pierced the silence almost as abruptly as Relsyn's solo had. They said it with every ounce of energy they had, entirely without shame or fear of what the reaction may be.

"Fuck yeah!"

And just like that, the crowd went wild. Screams and hollers tore through the bar louder than the solo had, turning into a cacophony of celebration unlike anything either performer had ever seen or been given before. Kylend was in the middle of it. He was so surprised by its onset that he wasn't sure if it was joy or rage. So when he was clapped on the back by several of his fans, he ducked away, thinking he was under attack. Fortunately he saw their drunken smiles and heard their congratulations. Before he had time to comprehend what was happening, they shoved him forward to the stage where he was forced to climb on, back with his very talented friend. They both watched in stunned silence as the crowd applauded them like crazy folk.

Relsyn chuckled. The stress and agony of the past however the fuck long it was faded away like a bad dream. He laughed and he laughed, holding his belly and throwing his head back. Soon Kylend was laughing too, both to join his friend and because of the sheer absurdity of it all. Then he remembered, he still had to piss. He pulled his soaked jockstrap down and stepped out of them. He flung it into the audience where it schlopped onto the unguarded face of a very gracious fan. Kylend held his cock, aimed it forward, and unleashed a fat hose of piss, right onto the front row. His sparkling stream fell on the faces and heads of several fans, some of which danced under the white gold shower while others fled. Kylend laughed his ass off, aiming his watery arc left and right across the faces of every fan who wanted it. Relsyn was appalled, but quickly read the room. With a shrug, he peeled his jockstrap off, threw it into the crowd, and joined his friend in pissing on the people who loved him. He only had a few drops left, so he had to flick his cock in order to get a few drops on them.

Kylend's piss stream slunked down and degraded into a few drips. He started to stroke himself to get some more out. He only ended up with an erection and inadvertently started masturbating. That got the crowd even more hyped up. They shouted at Relsyn to do the same, and he followed suit. The two friends looked at each other. You wanna do this? Relsyn asked with a raise of the eyebrow.

Kylend shrugged. I'm down if you are.

Relsyn smiled. He turned and aimed his erect cock at his friend. Let's do it then.

And so the two performers masturbated to each other, huffing and grunting as their hands tugged on their impressive fuck sticks. Bets were placed on who would cum first. Some cheered for Relsyn, others for Kylend. Alas, there would be no clear answer as both men ejaculated at virtually the same moment, flinging thick ropes of ivory several meters and landing it on the other's tummy. They moaned in harmony, and let go of their limpening dicks. The crowd roared, although there was some disappointment among the front row that they didn't receive more of their fluids.

Relsyn, panting, turned to face the crowd. He started to ask himself: What now? But that was answered fairly shortly. What else was there to do? With no more introductions to give. He readjusted his guitar and strummed a few notes. The crowd cheered. Kylend hurried to his drumset and put it back together as best as he could. He sat back down on his piss soaked stool and wielded his drumsticks. He was ready. The next song was "Flabbergasted", and they played it to absolute perfection. There were no hiccups, no missed beats, and no bad notes. It all flowed out of them as beautifully as their urine had done, splashing across the many loving fans who screamed and cheered their names. Relsyn, naked as the day he was born, sang his heart out and strummed his guitar. Kylend, reeking of ammonia and sex, tore the fuck out of his drums. They tore through the song and the rest of the set like absolutely nothing had happened. Everything was back to normal, and only one major thing had changed.

They had a new stunt to pull for the fans.

THE END