The girl cannot pee !

It had all started with a pint of water at home just before we went out. Then it was a short walk down the road to the local pub where she was made to sit and drink three pints of lager in two hours. Now we were both sat on the sofa having walked back. Sherri was of course now bursting to go to the loo but could not until I gave here permission. On the doorstep she had started shifting her weight from one foot to the other as her desperate urge grew. Inside she sat on the sofa while I made us both a mug of tea. I caught her with one hand pressed between her legs from beneath her short skirt when I returned and scolded her. She winced but withdrew her hand, hurriedly crossing her legs while I switched on the telly. A football match was on and we both started watching. Halftime approached and I sent her into the kitchen for more tea. Having had that I decided that one more pint of water was required to take her desperation up to the extreme level I was seeking. With five pints and two mugs of tea inside her it wasn’t long before she was begging me for permission to use the loo. I shook my head firmly and one hand starting rubbing and pushing downward against her skirt. I didn’t bother stopping her this time, enjoying the agonising look on her face. The football continued past the hour mark, at which time she begged to know when she’d be allowed to pee. “Not until at least the end of the match.” I said. She moaned and gasped outloud, “But I’m so full already, please! Just let me do a little bit?” Again I shook my head, “Do some ironing.” I said. She stood and brought in the ironing board and then a pile of washing. Moving around like that helped but soon I knew she’d have to stand still in order to iron and wouldn’t have a hand free to play with herself. This soon dawned on her as she began ironing her first garment and before long she was pacing on the spot and occasionally pressing one leg into the other and leaning forward. “I can’t wait any longer!” She suddenly announced. Putting the iron down and plunging both hands to her crotch, grimacing in pain. There was still more than twenty minutes of the match to go. I agreed to examine her to see how full she really was, to which she readily agreed, knowing full well her bladder was already bursting at the seams and totally confident that when I noticed this I’d let her pee. I asked her to remove her skirt, which she hurriedly unclipped and stepped out of. Her short top fell an inch short of her tummy button which was just about where the swelling of her bladder now reached. Perfect! I placed my right hand flat across her tummy, instantly feeling the rigid hardness of her very full bladder. With my forefinger I found the top of her swelling as she squirmed in front of me. Slowly I felt down an inch or two to where the waist band of her skimpy, tight white knickers began. Then slowly onwards towards her crotch. Everywhere just felt so incredibly tight and firm and I knew she was totally full and very nearly at bursting point. “Come sit again” I commanded. She did so. Lifting her knees sideways onto the sofa, while all the time pressing against herself between the legs with her right hand. I wanted this to last so much longer, but obviously she was so close now to wetting herself I knew I couldn’t make her wait too much longer. All she could think about was getting to the bathroom. The time of the match had ticked down to just under fifteen minutes to go. I indicated this to her and she nodded, tears now forming in the corner of both eyes as she struggled to contain herself further. Her legs crossed over again as she tried to follow the match. With five minutes left she had moved onto the edge of the sofa and was thrusting backwards and forwards with increasing ferocity. Her face was a picture of agony and the fingers of her right hand were know thrusting firmly against her pee–hole through her knickers. “Ohhhh I need to pee!!!” She moaned, “Please, please let me pee!” “A few more minutes.” I said trying to encourage her. She winced. The clock slowly ticked towards full time and the look on her face as four minutes of injury time to be added showed up had to be seen to be believed!. She only made those four minutes by standing up and pacing up and down the room. Her bladder was so full by now she could barely contain it. She was literally on the point of losing it as the final whistle sounded. “Now!” she said, “I need to pee now!!”. Instantly she rushed for the stairs and staggered up to the landing. I followed close behind and as she started to dive to her right to where the bathroom awaited I managed to steer her away from the loo and into the bedroom. There I sat on the bed, watching her frantically pacing on the spot and grasping herself even more tightly. “Take off your top” I said. She did so quickly, “Now your knickers.” I added. Again she did so quickly, flashing them down her smooth long legs and kicking them away from her bare feet. Naked now she was totally helpless. She just stood there, legs knotted, and hand pressed firmly between her legs and the other curving under her bum. She was by now totally desperate and literally begging and pleading for permission to use the loo. I could see her stretched bladder almost white and bulging significantly. I asked her to now put on her pair of dark blue sports shorts, “Oh please!” She moaned, “Don’t make me wait any longer!” “Do as I say.” I commanded. She fumbled in her draw for her shorts and stepped into them rather awkwardly. Having drunk five pints I knew she must be in absolute agony by now but I couldn’t resist, “Now your plain white t–shirt.” She put it on without complaint. “Okay, back downstairs.” She walked down in front of me, squeezing herself harder still at the bottom through her shorts. I made her put on her trainers while I did the same. “Okay, “I said, “We are going out for a short walk. If you can last without leaking I’ll let you pee when we get back.” She nodded, again twisting her thighs together in a desperate bid to close her tiring sphincter muscle. I opened the door and we stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. I took her for a ten minute stroll by the river. She was leaning forward more and more and pressing a hand to her groin when no one was looking. As we approached home she was virtually crying and whimpering in agony. We came to a garage about a hundreds metres from home and I decided I had to buy something. She wanted to stay outside so she could squeeze herself some more through the pockets of her shorts, but I made her come in with me so she had to try and stand up straight and not show any signs of her now frantic desperation. There was a queue of two people in front of us and I could feel her legs shivering and her feet tapping nervously on the floor. She had her legs tightly crossed but her hands were simply down by her sides, her fists clenched as she battled to keep every ounce of pee in her tortured bladder. We reached the front of the queue and while I fussed around choosing some sweets she suddenly let out a squeal and as I gazed down I could see a trickle of wee slipping down the inside of her thighs. It reached her knees and then fell with a soft patter onto the floor. She simply couldn’t contain it but fortunately the guy behind the counter hadn’t noticed a thing. I paid for my goods just as another person came into the shop. He stood right behind Sherri who was sure he would notice the small wet spot on her shorts or at least the small coin sized puddle on the floor. I finished paying and we left. Sherri knew she had been a naughty girl and wouldn’t now be allowed her relief when she got home. I warned her that she mustn’t let out a single drop more of I’d make her wait until morning. She’d barely let out any and her bladder was pressing down on her so firmly she knew another burst was imminent. With all her strength she held back until we were on the doorstep. I took an age opening the door and she rushed inside, now frantically pacing up and down and squeezing herself none stop. She was totally at the end of her tether, her bladder unable to take another ounce of wee and her muscles unable to contain herself a moment longer. I allowed her upstairs where I made her remove all her clothes once more until she was naked in front of me. I sat on the bed and made her stand close so I could feel her bursting bladder all over just one more time until I let her go. Her face grimaced as I pressed against it. She screamed as my hand traced beneath her legs, her bum and thighs now shivering uncontrollably. Finally I relented and allowed her to stagger towards the bathroom. By the loo was a container we often used when we were both so full we reckoned on holding a quantity approaching a new maximum. Obviously Sherri was convinced she must have been holding way in excess of her previous best of 1.35 litres and I didn’t doubt it. I positioned the container into the middle of the room and in a flash she had crouched over it and immediately let go a terrific blast of pee, “Oh my God I needed this!” She gasped, leaning forward and forcing out another huge burst. She filled the container to about halfway, very close to her record. Concentrating hard now she forced out every last drop that she could, staying crouched and naked over the container for at least five minutes. Eventually, tired and exhausted, she staggered up and I measured her output into a nearby measuring jug. One litre easily passed then nudging towards 1.3…1.35…1.4! Ending finally just short of 1.45 litres. Nigel