Going Behind the Wall

When I was a student I spent some time on an exchange scheme in Germany and part of this time was spent in Berlin. One day our group was taken on a coach tour of East Berlin. We set off at 8.00, right after breakfast in the hostel canteen. I was pleased to find that I was sitting next to Daniella, a pleasantly rounded Dutch girl who I had noticed before. She filled her skin–tight jeans to perfection, and the outline of her low–cut 1” knickers was clearly visible. Her T–shirt showed she was not wearing a bra. We chatted away freely as we passed through the checkpoint and into the Eastern Zone. We started talking in German, as we were supposed to, but Daniella soon asked me to use English as she was much more fluent than in German. It must have been just after 8,30 when I noticed Daniella moving about in the seat and then crossing her legs. Previously she had been sitting with her legs apart, giving me a fine view of her jeans stretched tight across her crotch. A bit later she asked me if I knew our schedule, and where we were going to stop. I had no more idea than she did, but I said I was sure we would stop at various places of interest for general sightseeing. This seemed to be the logical way of going about the morning’s tour. About 9:15 we were approaching a well–known area, and I said that we would probably stop there for a look round. “I think we must stop here,” said Daniella. “I am simply dying to go to the loos. I have been waiting for ages, and I need to go very badly.” I made a soothing remark, but I really did not know how to react to this. There was not much I could do to help her, but I had to admit that I found it simulating to look at the tight jeans stretched across her crotch and know that she was bursting inside. I noticed that as well as having her legs crossed she kept feeling her bladder, so I guessed she was starting to hurt there. We did not stop then, which obviously caused Daniella some distress. She asked if I could think when we were going to stop. I said I really didn’t know, but I was beginning to remember hearing that these tourist coaches to the East were not allowed to stop anywhere. If that was true, then Daniella was in for a hard time. The only thing I knew for certain was that the complete tour was going to take about 4 hours. I wondered how Daniella would react to knowing she had to wait another two and a half hours. She would, I thought, probably be very desperate by the end of the tour. Another 15 minutes passed, and there seemed no chance of a stop coming up. Daniella was squirming about a bit, and had crossed her legs really tightly. “I really want to go very badly,” she said. “My bladder is not very big, and I cannot wait as long as many girls. If we do not stop at some loos soon, I do not know what I will do.” She spoke English with a slight accent, and had a precise way of speaking that I found very appealing. I told her to hang on, as we were sure to stop soon. Secretly, I hoped that we would not stop for a very long time, because, selfish and sadistic as it was, I wanted to see Daniella absolutely desperate, literally peeing in her knickers. Daniella groaned, and pulled at the front of her jeans. “It really is getting very bad, I just have to go very soon.” I smiled and repeated that we would stop soon. Of course, I thought, ‘soon’ is a relative idea, and could mean 12:30, when the tour finished. I did not think that Daniella would appreciate that. I began to wonder just what she would do if we did not stop. From experience, girls sometimes complained about needing a loo, but normally only when they could see one anyway. Daniella did seem to want to go pretty badly, the question was how long could she hold on if we did not stop anywhere?
For the next half hour there was a lot to see, and I did not pay too much attention to her. I had got into a discussion with the people sitting behind me, and had almost forgotten about Daniella’s plight. I just happened to look her way suddenly, and was surprised to see that she was holding herself between her legs. She didn’t see me looking at her, so she didn’t move her hand. After this, I kept taking furtive glances at her. She was holding her crotch at least half the time. If she thought someone was looking at her, she would take her hand away, but it would not be long before she was holding again. She seemed to be letting go less and less, and when she held it again she was pulling up really hard between her legs, which were still very tightly crossed. Obviously she was in a pretty bad way, and wanted to go really badly. I could not recall ever seeing a girl of her age having to hold herself back like that. Normally it was only little girls that had to do that.
About 10:30 I turned back and started talking to Daniella again. Initially she stopped holding her crotch and tried to sit just with her legs knotted. In a few minutes she was shuddering, and then she grabbed between her legs with her left hand, which was farthest from me. Presumable she hoped that I would not see what she was doing. However it was difficult to ignore, as she was squirming about in the seat and really pulling up between her legs. It was some time before she appeared to get control and was able to sit still. She was still holding her crotch, but I pretended not to notice this. After some trivial conversation, I saw that Daniella was moving her hand about and was pressing her fingers hard against her crotch. Either she was rubbing herself off, or she was really desperate and having to push hard to control her bladder. The latter was most likely. Daniella confirmed this by asking again when we were going to stop. “I simply cannot wait much longer,” she said. “I am getting so desperate that I will have to go soon. We must stop, I am sure that I am not the only one who wants a loo.” I told her again that I was sure we would stop soon, though I was not at all sure this was true. To try and comfort her more, I also said that I wanted to pee rather badly, which was not really true. Daniella latched onto this at once. “Let’s ask the driver to stop,” she said. “He must stop if someone asks him to.” I had not bargained for this, but suggested we wait until 11 o’clock and then ask if they had not stopped then. Daniella reluctantly agreed to this, but her expression showed that this was going to be a tremendous effort for her. Long before eleven o’clock Daniella was openly holding her crotch all the time, using her right hand, which presumably was stronger and allowed her to put more pressure against her pussy. “Please ask the driver now,” she pleaded. “He may not be able to find somewhere straight away, and I need to go so urgently I cannot wait much longer.” I told Daniella that I thought he would take more notice of a girl asking for a stop, and that she should ask. Daniella tried to avoid this, but I was adamant, and she obviously wanted to stop as soon as possible, so off she went. She seemed to be having an animated discussion with the driver, and I saw that she still had to hold her crotch most of the time she was talking. Eventually she came back and sat down again. “He said he will not stop, but he talked so fast in German that I could not understand all he was saying. I tried to tell him that I had to stop, as I want the loos very badly, but he still kept saying he would not. Please,” she said, “You go and talk to him, your German is so much better than mine. Tell him that we simply have to go to the loo, and that he must stop.” Now I regretted telling Daniella that I wanted a pee, as she clearly thought, or hoped, that I was a desperate as she seemed to be. From the way she was squirming about on the seat and massaging her crotch, she was looking like a little girl about to wet her pants. The driver was no more co–operative with me, but at least I could find out why he was behaving like that. The East German authorities did not allow him to stop, and even if he broke down, he would be heavily fined and no one would be allowed out of the coach. He was anything but sympathetic with Daniella ‘s plight, and brusquely said that a girl of her age should be able to contain herself for a few hours. I was not sure what to tell Daniella. She was really getting into a state now, and I began to think that she might soon wet herself if she could not get off. Trying to be kind, I told her that he had said he would keep a lookout for a public loo, and stop if he saw one, but that we could not leave our set route to find one. I also said that the tour would not last that much longer, and then we could go back to our hostel. “Please, please let him find one soon,” she said. “I cannot possibly manage to wait much longer, and if I do not get to a loo I am afraid I will have to wet myself.” I could not imagine that anyone would be so desperate as to do that, and told Daniella that I was sure she would be OK, and that we would soon find her a loo.
Within 5 minutes Daniella was holding her crotch with both hands, and was making no pretense about what she was doing. “Don’t you understand,” she cried, “I am reaching the point when I simply cannot hold out any longer. I am trying to stop myself, but I cannot press any harder, and I am going to let go soon. Please can you try again and get the driver to stop now. I will go by the side of the road rather than wet my jeans.” I hesitated, knowing that it was pointless asking the driver again. Daniella showed how badly she wanted to go by pleading with me. “If you can get him to stop at any sort of loo quickly, I will sleep with you tonight. I will do anything you want me to if only you can get me a loo.” I could not refuse such an offer, and went and talked to the driver again. He said we would be back at the hostel within an hour or so, and that ‘the silly bitch would have to wait until then,’ and that I was not to bother him again or he would go as slow as he could. Now I felt that I had no option but to tell Daniella that the coach was not going to stop. She looked absolutely shattered by the news.
“We must stop,” she said, “I have to go to the loo. Did you explain to him that I would not be able to wait much longer?” I told Daniella that I had tried to get the driver to stop, but that he was refusing to do so. Daniella was almost in tears at this, and said that she knew that she was not going to be able to hold out much longer, and that she would have to wet her jeans on the coach. I put my arm round Daniella, and told her that I was sure she could hold out if she had to. I told her that no one else could see that she was holding her crotch, and that as long as she did that she would be OK. “You don’t understand how badly I want to go,” she said. “My stomach is hurting so much, and I cannot stand the pressure any longer; if I cannot get off the coach and pee, then I will have to do it in my jeans where I am sitting.” I told Daniella that she could not do this, so she asked how I was going to stop her. I considered offering to help her hold her pussy, but I did not think she would appreciate that. “Daniella,” I said, “You can always wait longer that you think, and I am sure you can manage to hold out this morning. It will not be much longer, only about 30 minutes, so you must wait.” Daniella replied that she had been on the brink of wetting herself for nearly an hour, and that she really was at the point where she could not wait any longer. “Daniella, you must hold on,” I told her. “I know you can wait if you really try. Unzip your jeans, so there is less pressure on your bladder, that will help.” Daniella pulled her zip right down, and then put one hand inside her jeans to hold directly on her crotch. She almost smiled, and then said that it was a bit better. I suggested she pulled her tight little black knickers down, so the elastic was not across her bladder. She did this, and now had one hand inside her knickers, holding right against her pussy. I took the map of Berlin and spread it out between us, so her crotch holding was partly covered, but not so much that I could not see what she was doing. The sight of her hand pressed inside her sexy knickers was exciting enough, and the possibility of her actually wetting herself even more so. I kept encouraging her to hold on, telling her to wait just another five minutes. Somehow she did manage to wait, though she was groaning with desperation, shuddering as she tried to press her fingers harder against her pussy, and she kept telling me she could not last any longer. Thankfully we came back through the border quickly, as Daniella was in tears of agony by then. She was pleading with me to let her get off at the border post, even if she had to piss behind the coach. I said that she was sure to be arrested if she tried that, and that she would not even have time to get to the back of the coach before she was stopped.
By the time the coach finally stopped, poor Daniella was almost doubled up with agony, and was holding her crutch with both hands inside her knickers. I could see that she had formed the fingers of her right hand into a tight bunch, and was using her left hand to push them hard against the front of her pussy. I knew that girls actually pissed from somewhere in front of their real pussy, and it was obvious that Daniella was having to use all her strength to keep this little hole shut. I had never seen any girl wanting a loo so badly, and despite the encouragement I was giving her, I wondered how much longer she would be able to wait.
After we were through the border, I knew we did not have far to go, and told Daniella that she was nearly there. She begged me not to say anything until we were actually at a loo, as even thinking about getting to a loo was making her worse. “It’s just about to leak out now, and if I start thinking about being able to go, then I will not be able to stop it any more.” The last few minutes, she kept groaning, and then twice let out a gasp of “Oh NO!” At one time she was half standing up with the effort she was making to push even harder against her crutch. When we finally stopped, it was not outside the hostel, as I had expected, but in a side street about 200 yd away. I wondered if the driver was taking revenge on Daniella for her daring to ask him to stop. When Daniella realized where we were, she told me that she simply could not walk to the hostel without wetting her jeans. “Even doing my zip up will be too much for me. I will wet myself as soon as I stand up and do that.” I could not believe that Daniella had managed to wait so long, only to breakdown at the last leg. I looked around at where the coach had stopped. There were cars parked all along the other side of the road, with only a narrow pavement between them and a wall. As the driver opened the door, Daniella started to pull her zip up and head for the door. I pulled her back down on the seat. “Stay here, and keep holding yourself,” I told her. “If you cannot manage to walk to the hostel, then you will have to go nearer the coach. Stay sitting down until everybody has got off, and then make a dash for those parked cars across the road. You can squat between two cars and the wall, I will stand guard on the road side, and no one will be able to see what you are doing.” Daniella hesitated, the realized that she really didn’t have much choice. We were last off the coach, and poor Daniella had not been able to do up her zip. She was shuffling half sideways, with both hands holding her crotch and also keeping her jeans up. She did not change her attitude when she was off the coach, because she literally could not walk any other way. I led her, in fact almost carried her, across the road, and then she pushed past me and into the gap between two cars. She seemed to pull down her jeans and knickers with one hand, while still holding her crotch with the other, but obviously she had to let go as her jeans came down. Her jeans had not reached her knees before she was starting to crouch down, and a blast of piss came from between her legs. She kept pulling her jeans down, and was squatting right down. I could hear the force her piss was hitting the road with. Her bladder must have been stretched to its limit for anyone to pee like that. Her pee just kept blasting out for about half a minute, showing just how desperate she had been. At last she finished and pulled up her jeans. “Oh, the relief!” she cried. “ I never thought I was going to be able to do that.” She was feeling between her legs from behind, which made me suspect that she had lost control at the last moment, probably walking across the road, and wanted to know if her jeans were wet. As we walked back to our hostel I was trying to let her go ahead so I could look for a wet patch between her legs, but Daniella waited for me, then hung onto my arm. “Can you help me?” she pleaded, “My stomach is still hurting me so much it is difficult to walk. I have been wanting to go so badly I am afraid I have damaged myself inside.” We had not walked very far before she stopped again, leaning against me and holding her stomach with both hands. “Every step is hurting my stomach,” she said, “please can we walk more slowly?” I agreed, then had a better idea, and offered to carry her back to her room, which she accepted after only a moment’s hesitation. She was no featherweight, but after seeing her so desperate it was wonderful to be holding her soft, warm, body close to mine. By this time the rest of our group were back in the hostel, and I had seen that some of the first off had been desperate as well. Some boys were running, two or three with their hands in their pockets. A group of girls were walking as fast as they could without actually running, and one of those kept making grabs at her crotch as she walked.
As soon as we were back at the hostel, Daniella hurried off to her room, saying she wanted to lie down to recover from her ordeal. All the time I had been carrying her she had kept her legs together, so I still could not see if she had leaked any. I said I would wait for her to recover and then buy her a coffee, and when she came back she was wearing a long skirt, so maybe her jeans were wet. As we sat drinking coffee, she kept rubbing her bladder. I asked her if she was all right, and she replied that her bladder was still aching from the strain she had put on it. “I will have to go to the loos again soon, as I am wanting to go again already. Maybe then it will not hurt so much.” Only partly joking, I asked her if she wanted me to massage it, as she might have pulled a muscle down there. She said that she did not want anyone touching her bladder until she felt a lot better. Then, deciding I had nothing much to lose, I said that as I had found her a loo before we got back, I was due the reward she promised me. She looked a bit taken back, then smiled and said that without my encouragement she would never had managed to wait, but would have gone in her jeans in the coach about an hour ago. “You deserve something for doing that,” she said, “and I have not had it since I have been here.” She was going shopping with some other Dutch girls that afternoon, but said she would meet me for a drink in the evening. I told her that she was not to drink too much, or she would be straining her bladder again.
She was true to her promise, and I had the most glorious night with her. We even re–enacted the coach trip, but with me holding her crotch for her to help her wait. In fact, we enjoyed ourselves so much that we spent the rest of the visit together, and then I went back to Holland and stayed with her for another week. True to her original statement, she did have a small bladder, needing to pee delightfully often, particularly after drinking beer, but unfortunately she made it clear that she took no pleasure in being desperate or waiting any longer than she had to.
Paul Tester