It was a glorious summer day. A r/HydroHomies Redditor was shuffling along to his car, to take out the stash of water bottles he left in his trunk from his stop at his local Cosco.

The Redditor was just so thirsty…

He needed a bottle now, and, low and behold, there the family pack of bottles were, in the back his trunk. The Redditor tears the plastic encasing holding them all together, pulls a bottle out full of the elixir of life, and takes a swig.

What happened…?

The Redditor stared at the bottle, filled to the brim with scorching hot water.

After shuffling around with it, burning his fingers and trying to find a comfortable position for the bottle, he found himself quite pleased when the cramps lessened considerably, soothed by the warmth.

Sure it’s not frozen like in the hydrohomie jar, but water is water, and I’m still into it… The Redditor thought to himself, entering his house with the boiling bottle.

With the pain receding into a soft dull throbbing, curled up on his pile-couch and his muscles slowly relaxing, The Redditor almost let himself doze off, snuggling into the pleasant heat.

The next day the pain had disappeared, but he’d found another use for the hot water bottle. The warmth settled on his belly and against his covered nook, making his nerves tingle in a way that felt good in a sort of detached way, a solid shape pressed against his lower body that was almost reassuring, unmovable.

Soon The Redditor started falling into the habit of preparing the hot bottle even when the weather outside was not chilly; it didn’t happen all that often, just whenever he started feeling a little stressed, or far too annoyed after an entire day of making sure things rolled fine on r/HydroHomies, but it was still a pleasant thing to do.

Preparing the bottle of water turned into a little ritual for The Redditor –void of any sort of religious trigger warning, though– and one that was just as enjoyable as the act of laying down with it.

He’d put a pot filled to the brim with water and then busied himself with browsing his favorite posts about water and his favorite comments from Demetri, though his mind was always on the water, impatiently waiting for it to boil.

He started to prefer the boiling water over the unwelcoming cold kind.

Feeling its heat against the palms of The Redditors hands was another small pleasure of his, and how it travelled down to his arms as he walked to his pile, shivering slightly at the thought that soon he would be curled there to relax.

The moment the bottle slid between his thighs was satisfying, too –a little bit too hot, almost burning, making him want to pull away but also to buck into it, and yet pleasant like nothing else was, heavy and present, almost like a body, but different enough that the comparison was null.

Relaxing was easy then, The Redditor’s thoughts scattered, no need to focus on anything in particular, simply enjoying the heat until it made his back tingle too much, until he felt the need to do something –shift slightly, move, wriggle a bit– and then there was just a little bit too much pressure.

His hips would jut up, pressing more into the bottle, his knees would shift slightly, trying to part but at the same time close onto the bottle, and he would wriggle some more, enjoying the smooth surface of the bottle as it slid against his nook from above his pants.

The water inside it sloshed softly, and the sound was pleasant too.

The Redditor knew how his body worked, and knew that the feeling of heat and weight against his lower body wasn’t properly something he should be doing –at least, not technically– but it was still within the scope of things that helped him relax, and it was pleasant, enough that when he let his thoughts wander too much, he’d find himself unable to stop the soft rocking.

There was a growing ache in his lower body, and completely unlike the stomach-ache that had first caused this routine to happen; it was pleasant, but almost too alluring, almost too much.

The soft rubbing between his legs was addicting, and that word was triggering, but even then The Redditor found it hard to stop; moving and shifting slowly, methodically, dragging out the pleasure and forcing himself to keep the same pace, he would continue for as long as he could.

He always took his time to enjoy the pressure, the heat, until it was gone.

The water cooled down quickly, leaving him tingly and unsatisfied almost every time, with an ache inside him that he could barely push down.

He could feel the silent, slow curling of his bulge inside him, awakened by the pressure outside, but he never let it slip out, steering all of his attention on holding it back, and when the warmth dissipated enough, he forced himself to stand up, relaxed but with a knot that he couldn’t satisfy still tight in his body.

Most of the time, he would cycle through this pleasure by denying himself, wound up and tight and refusing to let go.

Until he got to the point where he could not stop himself.

When the coils of stress inside him made him too tense, and the pressure against his nook was far too compelling for him to deny himself a bit of a relief.

The smooth side of the bottle turned to be far too pleasant, so hot and heavy against him, and he met the soft sloshing of the water inside with his hips, grinding up with a soft whine bubbling from the depths of his throat.

The Redditor didn’t even need to do much –the soft friction was maddeningly sweet, so much he got lost in the simple motion, no need to press down on the bottle with his hands, no need to do much except continue shifting, more with a purpose than just idly wanting to feel its length against him.

The heat felt good, so good, and it was hard to keep his bulge sheathed inside him, when the folds of his nooks rippled under his pants, almost seeking purpose, or more pressure, but The Redditor still had tight control over it, and it never did slip out.

Not even when his rocking motions turned needier, when his soft whining shifted into a deep purr, eyes fluttering close and throat bared into nothing, arching his back and holding onto the sides of his couch, fingers digging into the soft material to prevent them from venturing elsewhere.

He tilted his hips slightly, letting the bottle press fully against him, the heels of his feet digging into the couch, arching up slightly, just a bit, and enjoyed the rush of pleasure, mouth parted in a soundless gasp.

The heat from the bottle was still alluring, burning up between his legs, but now the rest of his body was burning up at the same time, a flustered blush reaching down from his cheeks to his neck, muscles tense, twitching and shivering as he continued his needy, soft grinding.

The Redditor gasped again, speechless for once, nails digging into the couch, so tight he almost felt the material rip under his hold, but continued pressing down softly, aching for more of the dizzying heat.

He threw his head back, body slumped down, and undulated his hips against the bottle.

It was building up slowly, like water filling up a vase, and he closed his eyes, biting down on his lower lip with a soft whine.

Pleasure moved languidly down from his aching nook to his feet, burning up to his hands, making him trembled even harder, and The Redditor felt the tip of his bulge slip out of control, pressing against the folds of his nook, rubbing against the front of his pants, meeting the bottle’s surface and rubbing the underside of the tip against it–

With a soundless moan, The Redditor felt the knot tighten and then snap, release washing over him, pulsating through his body as his nook contracted and relaxed quickly, genetic material running down his thighs, soaking the inside of his pants, then dripping into his pile-couch, staining it.

The Redditor gasped, boneless and feeling the aftershocks of pleasure making his skin tingle, and let his thoughts scatter further, fingers relaxing their grip on the couch, twitching a bit at the last sparkles finally dulled into a soft, pulsating afterglow.

With a shuddery gasp, The Redditor felt the first wave of embarrassment roll inside his chest, and determinedly pushed it down, not wanting to deal with it.

The Redditor knew at that moment why everyone in r/HydroHomies loved water so much. It was this. This is what they were doing. They all did this…

The bottle between his thighs was still warm, and he felt too lethargic to move, so he wriggled into his couch, trying to ignore the wet, cold feeling of genetic material inside his pants, and listened to the rhythmic sound of his bloodpusher slowing out.

In a bit, he would stand up, clean himself and then wipe his pile-couch clean, despite knowing he could just visualize a new one –the manual labour made him feel better, cleansing his own mishap on his own, erasing all proof– and then he would empty the bottle and clean it before captchaloguing it away.

He would feel marginally better, more relaxed, more at ease, and at the same time feel guilty for what he’d done.

And then the cycle would commence again. Because what can he say?

He was a HydroHomie.