Four Pints

Note: This story contains Male Desperation & Male Accident Wetting.
Martin tapped his foot impatiently. Three pints and no toilet break. His bladder was struggling to contain the liquid, but he took a gulp of his fourth pint regardless. He was seated in a booth at the back of the bar, away from the view of other punters. This he was thankful for. He couldn’t refrain from fidgeting; scissoring his legs and clamping his thighs together, but acting in this manner would have been embarrassing in front of others.
As he reached again for his glass, a strong surge of desperation struck him. He gasped audibly, straightening his back to give his bladder more room to expand. With his hands planted firmly on his knees, he squirmed in his seat, unwilling, at this moment, to allow himself to clutch his penis. This was to be a last resort, and he only planned to use the said method when he was at absolute bursting point, unable to keep his piss contained any longer, by any other means.
Pushing his bottom to the back of his chair, he realised he was not far off from such a level of need. He jiggled his legs and bounced his knees, clamping his tired muscles shut to avoid flooding his jeans. He was determined to finish the pint, and hurriedly downed a quarter of it, hoping the beer wouldn’t work its way through his system too quickly.
To challenge himself further, he decided to attempt to remain still, using only his muscles to keep his piss in, for one minute. Using the stopwatch on his mobile phone, he started the timer and began his test. The first ten seconds were just about bearable, but on reaching twenty he began to shake with the effort of holding. He pushed himself down in his seat, but nothing could have kept him from shuffling around when the next surge hit him at forty seconds. He wiggled his hips and crossed his legs, feeling he was about to lose control. At fifty seconds he sensed the first squirt working it’s way downwards, threatening to leak out of his penis, and he shot down his hand to intercept it. His minute long challenge had been unsuccessful, and he had made use of his final resort, but at least he was still dry– for now, anyway.
Once the wave had eased, Martin removed his hand from his crotch and tried to concentrate on drinking his beer. He took another two long gulps, emptying the glass to half. Shuffling from side–to–side, he watched as another customer entered the Men’s Room to his left. The thought of someone relieving themselves prompted another influx of desperation, causing Martin to bend forward, his muscles straining with the pressure. How good it would feel to stand in front of a urinal and let his pent–up pee escape! But he wouldn’t. Not yet.
More slowly now, he swigged another quarter of his pint, bouncing and writhing frantically. He touched his swollen bladder with tender fingertips, careful not to press down. The organ was solid, full to bursting with his urine. Despite himself, he nipped the base of his penis with his right hand as another rush consumed him. It was difficult to get a good hold on his cock while wearing his jeans, and he was forced to ram his left hand into his front pocket in order to get a better grip. Now holding himself with both hands, and still struggling to maintain composure, he realised he was reaching his limit, and an accident was becoming ever more imminent.
In a final gulp, he downed the remainder of his beer. Four pints were inside of him now, bloating his bladder. Martin loved the struggle involved when he attempted to hold his piss, and the feeling that he could lose control at any moment. That moment was nearing, he knew, as he squeezed himself harder, leant forward at the waist and began to rock. He should go to the toilet now, really, but he was reluctant. How much longer could he hold it? He wanted to find out.
After a split–second decision, he rose slowly to his feet and pulled on his coat. Gravity tugged at his bladder, but Martin defied it. He glanced at the Men’s Room longingly, then walked, very slightly bent, in the opposite direction, onto the street outside.
It was beginning to get dark and the last frequent bus of the evening was due in minutes. The bus stop was opposite the pub, and a queue of people had already formed there. Martin joined the line, shuffling his feet nervously, his hands still enclosed in his pockets, bearing down with force on his penis. Thankfully, the bus was on time, and he was able to board and sit alone at the back of the transport, his crotch hidden underneath his coat to make his cock holding less obvious.
His flat was five stops away. The journey would only take about ten minutes, but as the bus accelerated into motion, he began to panic. Martin had been interested in desperation for years, and had experimented both in private and in public, but he had not, as yet, ever wet himself. This bus ride was pushing the boundaries. He had never before drunk four pints in a bar, and then attempted to make it home without visiting the loo first. Today he had felt spontaneous, but he was now beginning to regret his decision.
After three stops, Martin’s urge soared, and he pressed his legs together, trapping his penis between his thighs. Would he make it? He was doubtful. He groaned quietly as a surge of pee leaked from his bladder and worked its way down the length of his penis. Gripping the tip with one hand, and the top of his jeans with the other, Martin wriggled madly, but his efforts were in vain. The first squirt found its way into his underwear, soaking into the cotton. He glanced down at his jeans, relieved to see that the dampness had not spread to them. Nevertheless, this was bad. His bladder was beginning to contract and spasm, and he had two more stops to endure.
Fighting back another dribble, Martin discreetly slid his right hand beneath the material of his jeans. The wet area on the front of his tight boxers was fairly large, but the release of this pee had not eased his desire at all. He cupped his penis, kneading and squeezing it as the bus pulled into the fourth stop. Just one more stop remained. He breathed deeply, attempting to calm himself, but the piss was coming, and he was powerless to avoid another spurt escaping into his pants. This time a pea–sized patch had formed on the front of his jeans. Hardly noticeable, but Martin despaired. He had never been so desperate that he’d wet his trousers before, even just a little bit.
Finally, the bus neared Martin’s stop. Now came a new problem. His urge to urinate was so intense he knew he couldn’t easily get up and walk without anyone becoming aware of his situation. With a grunt, he stood slowly, panting as the pee shifted in his bladder. He was going to lose control! Another trickle added to the dampness in his boxers, and to the wet spot on his jeans. Now coin sized, it would be clear to anyone who looked that he had begun to lose the fight with his bladder.
He made an effort to alight the bus as normally as possible, but still he walked with a stoop and his hands in his pockets. Martin’s flat was just across the road, and he hurried to the door as fast as his screaming bladder would allow. Fumbling with his keys, he squirmed on his doorstep, openly clutching his crotch now, in a final attempt to avoid wetting. He bent almost double, sticking his bottom out into the air as another great surge of pressure overwhelmed him. He pressed his knees together, and then jigged manically, all the while trying to find the right key to unlock his door.
But it was no use. Martin was simply too frantic. A long squirt blasted into his underwear and jeans, this time wetting his hand, which was still gripping his aching penis. Before he could recover from this new onslaught of piss, the rest of the stream began to flood into his clothes. Martin moaned, bowed forward and crossed his legs at the thighs, twisting them around each other in one last attempt at regaining control. It was hopeless. The urine gushed into his jeans, soaking the front and back. Martin exhaled, humiliated but overcome with relief. Now defeated, he slumped down onto the doorstep, surrounded by a growing puddle, and allowed his bladder to empty.
By: Aura