Going Underground

I found this story on one of my first ‘net surfing’ sessions, in 1996, but the version I downloaded was incomplete, possibly due to my inexperience on the net, ending with the girls still on the train. I have ‘tidied’ the start and written an ending I consider most probable, and would have liked to have witnessed, and offer the completed story for others to enjoy. If the original author reads it, or anyone has the complete original version, I would like to have a copy, to see what really happened. The events remind me of the times when I used to drink in the West End of London at weekends, and it was possible to see at least one good desperation scene, though not up to this standard, almost every week.
She was in her mid–twenties, heavy rather than fat, but her ample buttocks filled her tight–fitting light blue jeans nicely. What fascinated me most was the fact that she was engaged in heavy drinking with her female friends, who couldn’t keep up with her speed. When she went to the bar to get another pint, she usually returned with one for herself only, because her friends were not yet ready for another round. The second time she did this, I made sure I was also at the bar, and, emboldened by alcohol, offered her a drink and then suggested she join my group for a bit. I wasn’t too unhappy that it was my turn to get another round, and I made sure that her pint was filled to the brim. Her name was Amy, they were tourists, and their hotel was near Earl’s Court station. She stayed with us for another half an hour or so, drinking two pints with us, before she went back to her friends to decide what to do after the pub closed in about 20 minutes time. I can’t remember if I ever saw her visit the ladies that evening, but she positively hadn’t been for over an hour at that point. What was amazing about her was the fact that she didn’t seem drunk at all. In this last hour (including the 30 minutes she spent with us), I saw her drinking at least three pints of lager. She had been at this place for a couple of hours, so she must have had quite a few before that. When last orders were called, I saw her return with her two hands full of lagers and half–pint glasses full of indefinable red stuff. She still hadn’t been to the loo, as she would have had to walk past me on her way there. In fact, I had her in full view as she stood at the bar; to my amazement she wasn’t fidgeting at all. Her companions took up the glasses that she handed out and started drinking. In good English fashion she had ordered more than one pint for herself at the bell and was finished with her first when the landlord (it was about 15 past) became slightly unpleasant, turning the lights on and the music off, which I didn’t mind at all since it gave me the opportunity to eavesdrop on their conversation. Apparently her mates were waiting for her to finish, because they wanted to move on to some club. At that, she said something like “Wait a minute, you have more than half of your drinks left.” But they didn’t want any more and pushed the drinks over to her side as a joke. “Well, you finish them.” “OK, I’ll show you… Bottoms up!” She took up her pint, which was filled 3/4 to the top and started gulping the beer down to the rhythmical and encouraging shouts of her mates. It was too good to be true. After that she drank up what was left of that indefinable red stuff in one swig (1/2 a pint) and another half pint from her friend. She bowed mockingly to their applause and they all left. This was getting very interesting. I followed the girls up Charing Cross road a little, before they turned left back into Soho again. They walked on for a couple of blocks, before they reached their club. A crowd was waiting outside, and our girls joined the queue. Another twenty minutes passed, until Amy walked up to the doorman and started arguing with him. She could take a hell of a lot of alcohol, but it was now visible that she was slightly tipsy (probably due to the fresh air), and so the man just shrugged his shoulders and probably told her to be patient. I could also note that she was beginning to get a little uneasy. Finally all that liquid was having some effect. At first it had been very unobtrusive; as she stood on the street, joking with her friends she shifted to and fro, at times casually bending forward and generally keeping in motion. Then she would stand still with her legs crossed for another minute, before taking a short step to her side. She was still doing very well, considered that she had had four pints, another one swallowed in one go and half a pint of that other stuff. As they were waiting I watched the scene with increasing attention. I knew from the way they were dressed; they’d never make it into this club. Amy wasn’t yet desperate, but it was obvious that she wanted to go. I was almost standing next to her, making sure that they didn’t notice me. Amy had her hands in her pockets now, with her legs close together, doing a kind of on–the–spot walk. Although she had been the one who had insisted, after negotiating with the doorman, that they wait and try to get in, she was now beginning to change her mind. It started dawning on the others too that they might never get admitted. She was moving back and forth and kept swinging her hips sideways. As the minutes went by I could see her walking in a small circle from time to time, as if walking around an imaginary object lying there. It was around midnight, when I saw them arguing and their gestures suggested that they were debating something. One of the girls pointed to her wristwatch. I tried to get closer again to listen to what they were saying, when all of a sudden I saw Amy cross and uncross her legs quickly, bobbing up and down twice and pointing to the left of her. I figured that she was saying something like “I have to go…” emphasizing the fact with her motions but her friend made a gesture with her hand, indicating “hurry up” and pointing to the right. After that, they all dashed off. I realized that they were trying to catch the last tube, and the tube station, was closing, well, like now. As I knew where they were headed it was easy for me to follow them. Surprisingly, Amy was the fastest of them. We made it just in time, as the station managers were beginning to close the iron gates of Leicester Square tube station. The running must have made the situation worse for Amy, as she was clearly desperate now. On the way down on the escalators (and in a London tube an escalator ride can take a minute or two…) she rushed ahead of the group, turned round in feigned surprise to see that the rest were standing on the stairs way above her and proceeded to walk back up, against the direction of the escalators. Then she stood there, her thighs closely together, but her feet resting on different stairs, bending forward until her nose almost touched the shoes of the one riding above her. After the escalator ride, they had to find which line to take and which platform. Amy couldn’t stand still and walked up and down in front of the map as the others consulted it. Unfortunately, Amy, as the leader of the group was the only one with a sound sense of direction and seemed to know her way around, so the others asked her for help. (I had the impression that another one of them was getting desperate as well). She pressed her legs together and made a pained face. I was able to hear everything, as I was now standing around a corner, less than two yards away from them. She kept saying things like “I need to go” and “I really need a loo.” When one of them asked her to tell them where to go, she hobbled up to the sign. I had expected her to double up, but instead she reached for her jeans, tugging as she straightened up. She was trying to pull her jeans into her crotch in a desperate attempt to hold it back. After wriggling around like that for a minute she said, “The green one, down there,” nodding in that direction. Now, the tube stations in central London do not have any toilets, and no really secluded spots where a girl could squat; especially not on a fairly busy night like this. Amy seemed to know this, as she didn’t attempt to look for a loo, but I could see her looking at everything that promised to offer an opportunity for her to pee. However, there was nowhere, and the girls told Amy to be patient, the train will be here any minute. Another one, a somewhat plain and freckled redhead, shorter and much slimmer than Amy, wearing darker jeans that were quite a loose fit, admitted the she was bursting too. Her words were “I just want to let it go…all that cheap red wine goes straight through me.” Amy was almost beyond desperation. She had walked down to the platform with the top button of her jeans opened, tugging desperately at them. From time to time she had slowed down and slowly moved forward, her legs half crossed. She walked up and down the platform for about five minutes when they arrived. From the beginning, she hadn’t cared whether others were aware of her situation or not. Now she wasn’t ashamed of openly holding herself. Also I noticed that her expression was changing from that kind of “God–I–have–to–go” show some girls put on, almost making fun of their own situation, to real desperation, reflecting the pain her bladder was giving her. I heard her saying “If nothing happens in the next five minutes, I’ll just have to go here” “Don’t, Amy, please.” The others were now trying to keep her from publicly pissing in that half secluded (but still plainly visible) area on the end of the platform just before the tunnel starts. “Please.” She was holding herself, stooping and bending forward until her bum almost reached the ground. The red–haired one, who was desperate too, was talking to her. The others thought that she was (as her situation was similar) the best person to persuade her NOT to relieve herself publicly. Then another one had an idea. The gates must have been closed by now so nobody, they figured, would be there if they went back towards the entrance again. “We’ll miss the train…” said another one. Amy, who had been the most talkative of them, was becoming more and more silent. She would shiver from time to time, and I could really see the color of her face changing once in a while, as if she was blushing. For the first time I witnessed a “holding technique” I had never seen before. She pressed both her hands into her crotch, but not one over another. Her right hand reached between her legs from the front, while the left came from behind, holding the other hand and pressing both palms against her crotch, while pulling her arms upwards, and rubbing from time to time. Another couple of minutes passed until Amy reached that final stage of desperation: She was now sitting on her heels. At first she was just kind of sitting on her right ankle, bouncing rapidly, grabbing her crotch every now and then. Then she changed into a crouching position, resting her weight on her right toes and ball, thus pressing her heel firmly into her crotch. From where I was standing I unfortunately couldn’t see her back or crotch closely, but she hadn’t pissed herself yet apparently. However, the redhead was nearly as desperate and trying to hide her embarrassment by behaving a little too childishly, occasionally giggling and crossing her legs or even holding herself for a few seconds. As no one paid any attention to her “antics,” she walked over to Amy and begged her to come with her, “just to find somewhere, you know, anywhere we can go.” Amy actually had to clear her throat before speaking and her voice was shaking. “I can’t. God I’ll…(groan) …piss myself if I… move.” The redhead, who I had heard called Linda, looked at her and said nothing. Amy wasn’t kidding or hopping around childishly. Then she muttered something like “…just a sec” and stood up, both hands between her legs in that peculiar double handed holding style of hers. They seemed to consider going right to the end of the platform and peeing there, but there were too many people and the lights were too bright to make this a viable situation. The started back towards the escalators, but Amy hadn’t gone far when she had to stop and twist her legs together as well as holding her crotch. “It’s not good,” she wailed, “Walking makes it worse, I can’t hold it much longer.” This delay was the last straw for Linda, who first crossed her legs tightly, then pressed her hand between them, as if she could feel a leak coming on. I wondered if either girl was going to be able to walk far enough to find anywhere to pee, but before they could get any further, the train finally arrived. “What can we do, we must get the train, and it’s the last one.” Amy still seemed to be aware of their circumstances, while Linda was concerned only with easing her bladder. “How long is the journey? Oh God, I don’t think I can wait any longer, I must go NOW!” Seeing their hesitation, the other two more or less dragged them on the train, ignoring their protests of not being able to move etc. The train was crowded, and they had to stand in a group just inside the door. I had followed them on the train, and was standing close to their circle, looking over the shoulder of the girl on Amy’s left and facing Linda. I hoped I was blending into the background, and that they would not recognize me as having been around earlier, but my desire to see exactly what Amy and Linda were doing made me risk getting as close as I could. They were all facing inwards and this enabled both Amy and Linda to hold their crotches, their legs plaited as tightly as it was humanly possible. In fact the tube was so crowded that unless you were standing close to them, you could not see that they were holding themselves. Amy and Linda were both almost in tears with desperation, and Amy was groaning that now she was standing up she couldn’t wait any longer, emphasizing this by pulling both her hands up into her crotch even harder, turning them over so that the side of her hands were pressing against her pussy, and then moving them about in a small circular motion. This was another new holding technique, which must have been more effective in containing the incipient leak, presumably applying maximum pressure where it was most needed. The other two girls now realized just how desperate the situation was becoming, and the taller looked at the map on the train wall and told Amy that it was only 4 stops to Earls Court, and there was sure to be a loo there. Amy was virtually speechless with desperation, and was moaning between clenched teeth, muttering things like “Oh this train, every jolt hurts so much… I want to piss so much. Oh please, I must go… I can’t wait any longer, I’m going to die.” Linda’s condition seemed to have improved now she could hold her crotch all the time, and she was still capable of coherent thought and speech. “Four stations, that’s going to be more than 10 minutes.” she gasped. “I am not sure that I can last that long, I’m absolutely desperate, I’m going to do it down my leg soon.” Two more stops passed, then the third station, where there was some delay, and the doors shut and then opened again several times. Amy now had her eyes shut and was shaking with the effort she was making to hold back her pee. She was still using the ‘front and back’ holding technique, her right hand turned so the side of her hand was pressing against her pussy, and it looked as if she was pressing with every ounce of her strength. She had now completely undone the zip of her jeans, presumably to try to reduce the pressure on her bursting bladder, but as she appeared to be wearing a large pair of ‘control’ panties, these must still have been exerting agonizing pressure. Because she was constantly holding her crotch, it was difficult to see clearly, but her bladder did not seem very swollen, particularly considering how much beer she was holding. The control panties were doing a good job flattening her stomach, but must have been causing terrible pressure in her bladder. As the train finally moved off, she just managed to gasp “How much longer? Oh God, I’m going to explode if I don’t pee soon.” Linda was still surviving with just one hand holding her crotch, her legs twisted tightly together and bending forward slightly, and more aware of what was going on round her. Their imminent arrival at Earls Court station brought on another problem. “Can anyone remember where the loos are at Earls Court station?” she appealed to the other girls. “There must be some at a station that size, but I can’t remember ever seeing a ladies’ room. Oh please hurry, I can’t hold it much longer.” Anticipation was making her need more urgent. “We’ve always used the back entrance, the loos are bound to be at the other end, the main entrance. We had better get some change ready, it’s not going to be a free one.” “Ten pence, a pound, I don’t care how much, I’ll pay anything so long as I can pee in the next minute,” groaned Amy. “I can’t let go, can someone please pay for me and I’ll give them the money after. “It’s only five minutes to our hotel, we might as well go straight there and save the money,” said one of the other girls, either unaware of Amy’s state of absolute desperation or wanting to prolong her agony. “I can’t, I’m not sure I can even manage to walk off the train. I’m in absolute agony, literally every second it takes to get to the loo is vital.” Amy was now holding her crotch with both hands from the front, and doubled over to emphasize just how desperate she was. I had been standing close enough that I could see and hear all that was going on, and I sensed that the evening was reaching its climax. I knew that there were no toilets anywhere on Earls Court station, and that the girls going to what they called the ‘main entrance’ was the worst thing they could do, as it would prolong their journey to their hotel and take them away from the ‘take away’ food shops that might just have allowed two desperate girls to use their toilet. Also, the two entrances to Earls Court were on different roads, with no easy way between the two. If they had not used the ‘main entrance’ before, the girls were not going to find it easy to find their hotel. I was in for a 5–mile walk home if I got off at Earls Court, but I was not going to miss the end of this for anything. As they got off the train, I saw that while both girls were frantic to pee, they were suffering in different ways. Linda was almost running up the platform, un–ashamedly holding her crotch, presumably unable to contain herself unless she did. She turned back to the other three, following more slowly, and mouthed “Quick! Hurry up! I can’t wait,” then sat down while they caught up. The reason they were going so slowly was that Amy could hardly walk she was so desperate, the pain of her distended bladder making her take short steps almost on tiptoe, and the other two girls had to help her along. Seeing that there was no chance of getting Amy to hurry, Linda had rejoined the group, but continued to plead with them, particularly Amy, to hurry. “I can’t wait much longer, it’s so bad I can’t hold it any more… I’m going to wet myself, I can’t help it… please, please hurry… Quick! Where’s the loo? I’m going to do it any second…” she was in a truly terrible state, and I was expecting to see a wet patch appear between her legs any moment. Not many people had got off the train, so I had no problem seeing all this, walking slowly just behind Amy and her helpers, staggering slightly to give the impression that I was drunk and not interested in the girls’ antics. Probably the only one who might have recognized me was Amy, and at that moment I don’t think she was aware of anything except the pressure in her bladder. The steps up from the platform were almost too much for Amy, but the other two girls virtually dragged her up them, encouraged by Linda, who was holding herself with both hands and still pleading them to hurry before she wet herself. Now they were at the main entrance concourse, and the moment of truth, when they found there were no toilets at the station. Linda was already looking frantically around, appealing to the others to help her. “Where are they? I can’t see a loo anywhere. There must be one, oh where is it?” Not getting any directions from her friends, Linda was trying to run, while still holding her crotch, round the concourse, presumable thinking that the ladies’ was hidden in some way. One of the others took the more obvious approach and asked the only visible porter, who, with the true off–hand attitude of a London Transport employee, told her the were no passenger toilets on the station, and that it was impossible for passengers to use the staff toilets, no matter how urgent their need, then adding that an all–night petrol station on the Brompton Road had the nearest toilets. I knew roughly where this was, but given the girls’ lack of local knowledge and the state of Amy and Linda, it might as well have been on the moon for all the good it would do them. Outside the station, Linda was holding herself with both hands, her legs plaited together, somehow still managing to hold back her pee, though not for much longer it seemed. “Quick! I must find a loo, what am I going to do?” she appealed to the others, “Oh please help me find somewhere. You know what I’m like, when I want to go this badly, I just can’t hold it back. It’s no good, I can’t wait any longer, I’ll have to go in the gutter, and anywhere is better than wetting myself.” The station entrance was on a busy, well–lit road, and even Linda was not prepared to squat and pee there. I had been hanging about, as if waiting to cross the road, until I saw what the girls were going to do. Linda had seen a side road about 50 yards away, and was hurrying towards that, though she was slowed by having to hold her crotch, and several times stopped and twisted her legs together, as, presumably, the urge to pee became even more intense. I had abandoned all caution about being noticed, and was following her at a fast walk, trying to keep up, but she was way ahead when she turned into the side road. As I turned the corner Linda was between two parked cars, struggling to undo her jeans while still holding herself with one hand. I kept walking along the pavement towards her, and it seemed that she was too desperate to care who saw her, because as I drew level, she pulled down her jeans and panties in one move and crouched down, letting go a blast of pee while she was still half standing. I had to keep walking, though much slower, as she was now crouched right down and could not see me, and I could hear the force of her pee hitting the road, an absolute torrent, though it did not last long. Unable to resist seeing (and hearing) the end of this, I ducked into a dark basement entrance, hoping that there was nobody at home who would see me, pretending to be looking for my keys. I was only just hidden in the shadows when Amy staggered round the corner, holding herself with one hand in the ‘conventional’ way now she had to walk. Linda had just finished her pee, a mighty torrent that had not lasted long, and stood up, pulling up her jeans, and called Amy over, telling her that no one would see her peeing. “Just don’t tread in my puddle,” she ended with a giggle. Amy needed no encouragement, and was pulling down her jeans as soon as she was between the cars, gasping: “Oh thank God! Oh, at last I can pee,” as she crouched down. I could not see her any more, but it seemed she was able to hold in her pee until she was crouching right down, then I heard the splatter of her pee on the road, nothing like the force of Linda’s torrent, but she just went on and on. All three girls were standing on the pavement, ‘keeping guard,’ and when one said “Hurry up, before someone comes,” she replied “I can’t stop, I was absolutely bursting, it’s going to take me at least five minutes to empty.” It might not have taken quite that long, but she did seem to be peeing for ages, possibly the longest pee I have ever witnessed. As she did up the zip of her jeans, she held her stomach, groaning something like “It still hurts so much I think I must have strained myself holding on so long. I don’t think I have ever been so desperate in my life. It’s a miracle I didn’t explode– I wanted to go so badly.” Thankfully, instead of carrying on down the road, when they would have seen me hiding in the shadows, the girls decided to go back to the main road and get a taxi to their hotel. As they walked away, I saw Linda feeling between her legs from behind, as if she was checking whether her jeans were wet. It was too dark to see if there was any wet patch, but this did indicate to me that she must have come very close to wetting herself, maybe even leaking in her panties. I had a 90–minute walk home, but it was well worth it, as I have never witnessed such a prolonged or intense desperation situation with any girl before, let alone two of them. I would loved to have been able to measure the volume of Amy’s pee, or even see the size of the puddles they produced, but it seemed more prudent to slip away before I was spotted.
Paul Tester ( Email Welcome )