The Motorway Part 5

Amy.
Amy was quietly proud of her huge bladder, and while she did not openly boast of her capacity, she liked to show off, by casually dismissing the chance to visit the loo, saying “No thanks. I don’t need to do that.” When Joan had called at Amy’s house that morning it had not been co–incidence that she had been offered several mugs of tea while they were waiting for a lift to the coach departure point. Naturally Amy had not been for a pee before leaving, nor had she offered Joan the chance. Amy knew that Joan usually needed to pee far more often than she did, and was surprised that she did no ask to use the loo before they left She might have hoped that Joan would suggest a ‘last minute’ pee, so she could dismiss the idea with “No thanks, I don’t bother with that, I’ll be OK.”
Amy liked Joan as a friend, but could not help feeling superior to her in many ways. She had a much better bladder, and it was usually an embarrassed Joan that was looking for a loo first when they were out shopping together. Amy, the same age as Joan, had kept her figure better, and had no need of ‘firm control knickers’ to make her figure look better. To emphasise this, Amy was wearing tight–fitting, stone–coloured stretch leggings, which hugged her trim figure closely. On the motor–way, Amy had been feeling the first warning signs of a full bladder; it was nothing serious, but an increasing discomfort from her bladder area, suggesting that it was filling faster than expected and that if she was sensible she would take any chance of a pee. But she knew that she had such a large bladder, that, come what may, it was certain that Joan, after all that tea, would be dying for a pee, and Amy, never wanting to admit that she ever needed to pee, could tag along with Joan, and pee without anyone knowing how much she had been wanting to go. Amy noticed, with some pleasure, that Joan was, by then, sitting with tightly crossed legs and occasionally squirming about as if she was dying for a pee. Nearing the service area, an aching fullness in her abdomen told Amy that she could not ignore any chance of a pee, and she had been hoping that Joan, by then clearly in some need of a pee, would ask or demand that the coach made an emergency stop. It never occurred to Amy that she ought to ask the diver to stop; her bladder was full, and still filling fast with all the tea she had drunk. She should have remembered from the shopping trip the previous year, that traffic going into London was likely to be bad and it could be some time before they reached Oxford Street. But Amy was far too proud to ever think of suggesting a stop. When the coach was stuck in traffic in London, her abdomen throbbing, and her bladder feeling as heavy as a sack of cement, she was regretting not doing more to encourage Joan to get the coach to stop. Finally at Oxford Street, once the coach had stopped, neither Joan nor Val, who Amy had not suspected of wanting to pee, were making any attempt to hide their obviously urgent need to get to a Ladies, so Amy could pretend to be helping them when it was her own bladder comfort that she was concerned with. Despite the feeling that she was holding half the Atlantic Ocean in her bladder, Amy managed not only to remember the way to the Ladies, but to help Joan, who was nearly incoherent with desperation and making a frightful exhibition of herself behaving like a desperate child, openly holding herself. Didn’t Joan have any pride? Thought Amy. Didn’t she have any bladder control? Surely nobody would behave in such a way unless they were actually wetting their knickers, and Amy, with her enormous bladder could not conceive that any adult could not make herself wait if she had to. But even Amy was human and though she might boast of her capacity and control, that morning she had pushed herself near to the limit. Fully in control, with no need to hold herself, like Joan and Val, she was still suffering the pain of a bursting bladder. Waiting for Joan to catch up was not consideration for Joan, but necessary as she could hardly manage to walk, so full was her bladder. Every step she took was sending a painful jolt right to her bladder. She might be able to wait, but walking to the Ladies was becoming beyond her. She did not need to hold between her legs to keep back her pee, but she still needed to hold her throbbing, swollen abdomen, trying to ease the pain that walking was causing. Sitting on the coach with her legs tightly crossed, she had not realised how full her bladder was. Standing up, and walking towards the Ladies had suddenly made her more desperate than she had ever expected. She remembered from the year before that it was a long walk to the Ladies; all the more fun, to see Joan and others, like Val, struggling to make it there, but she had never expected to be so desperate herself. Her poor bladder was stretched to the absolute limit, and it was taking every ounce of her fantastic control to hold her pee. As she dragged Joan into the Ladies, Amy had been intending to make Joan wait even longer if that was possible, (If Joan could manage to wait? It would be good practice for her to be made to wait, to hold her pee, a bit longer.) Being ahead of her in the line for a cubicle, Amy would be first to pee, and the pain from her swollen bladder area suggested that she would pee for at least 5 minutes. Amy could take malicious delight at the thought of Joan having to wait all that time, with the additional torture of hearing Amy peeing at full bore, emptying her enormous bladder.
It was Joan’s very obvious desperation and distress as she tried to control herself, pressing between he legs with all her strength, that made Amy feel guilty, and let Joan pee first, and, not a moment too soon. As Joan ran into the cubicle, Amy had a great view of the obvious and embarrassing wet patch on the back of her skirt. Had Joan actually wet herself, either in the coach or on the way to the ladies? Thought Amy, suddenly feeling guilty. She had never intended that Joan should have been so desperate; indeed, she had never considered that Joan might no be able to wait, even if desperate. Wetting their knickers was not something that adults like Joan, or Amy, ever did. This train of thought was interrupted as Val staggered into the Ladies and joined the end of Amy’s line. As Val had been holding herself since she had got off the coach, it was no secret that she was near the limit of her endurance, and in the line she was doing everything physically possible to hold back her pee; both hands were pressed between her legs which were so tightly crossed that she was almost kneeling She was groaning in deperation and shaking ass she attempted to press even harder to keep back the torrent of pee that was demanding release. “Please, please hurry up! I can’t wait much longer!” Val was beyond caring, making no secret of her desperation. When she had staggered into the Ladies, she had been just about hanging on, thinking that if only she could wait another few seconds she would be in a loo and peeing at last. the sight of the line of women waiting to pee was almost too much for her, and she was now fighting with all her strength to hold back her pee. ‘You’ll have to really hold on now,’ thought Amy, who after waiting so long and with her bladder so full, was nearly as frantic with the anticipation of the wonderful relief that was so close, if only Joan would hurry up. As she saw the door of Joan’s cubicle begin to open she last all sense of pride, and with one hand pressed between her legs, (something she thought she would never have to do in public,) she pushed the dithering Joan aside in her panic to get to the loo. Once inside, Amy was ashamed of her weakness, both in pushing into the cubicle, and in having to hold herself as she did. Shaking with desperation, sh forced herself to stand ‘normally,’ only her legs pressed together a concession to her desperation. And then forced herself to slowly and carefully bolt the cubicle door. Then with equal, and unnecessary care, unzipping and pulling down her leggings. Finally she had to admit to her desperation, and near loss of bladder control, by collapsing onto the toilet seat, pulling the gusset of her thin skimpy bikini knickers to one side and, at long last, let the pent up flood of pee gush pour out. Her enormous bladder was full, but not stretched to bursting point, so she peed a long, steady stream that seemed to go o for ever. “Val, You’re in for a long wait,’ she thought as she savoured the relief. ‘My bladder is so full I’m going to be peeing for at least 5 minutes to empty it. I am going to enjoy every second of that while you suffer in the line.’
Val. Val was not a particularly attractive blonde, but she had worked at maximising her assets, accepting that she was not a beauty, by wearing tight jeans, so tight that they clung to her like a second skin, revealing the outline of everything underneath, and having the attitude that she was always ready for some fun. Thus, she was never short of male attention, and always had a regular boy–friend. He current companion, Ron, had been persuaded to accompany her on this shopping trip mainly because he hoped fro some fun on the coach journey. He knew that Val was always ready for a drink, and had brought a few cans of he favourite cider liven up the journey. Though he would no admit it, he quite enjoyed Val’s antic when, after a few drinks, she need to pee. She seemed not to have a very big bladder, and he was amused by her squirming about, sometimes pressing a hand between her legs, when she wanted to pee. ‘Behaving like a school–girl,’ he called it, and he knew it annoyed Val, when he called her names like this. Sneakily, Ron wondered if Val might be persuaded to drink more cider that was good for her, particularly if the coach did no make a ‘comfort stop’ on the way to London. Val had started the day with an annoying hangover that two mugs of black coffee and some Paracetamol had not completely cured. Not wanting this to spoil a fun day out, at the start of the journey she had gratefully accepted a large can of cider from Ron, her current boyfriend, and companion for the day. After drinking this she had started to feel better, so, foolishly, she had drunk another can soon after the coach started. This cured her hangover, but, not feeling very bright that morning, she had not considered how foolish and risky the combination of black coffee and cider might be on a coach journey. Once on the long stretch of motorway with no service areas, she soon became aware of her mistake and soon she needed to pee quite badly. Not wanting to be the first in her group to admit to wanting a loo, (she was becoming fed up with Ron’s comments about her needing to pee as often as a little girl,) she had quietly crossed her legs and clenched her bladder shut. Ten minutes later, she was most definitely bursting for a pee, and regretting wearing such tight jeans. Ron might like them, but he did not have to suffer them pressing on her full bladder area. Not only could she blame Ron for the pain from her tight jeans, but, she remembered, he had offered her the cider that was now clamouring to be let out. Then made her want to go more by announcing that he was “bustin’ for a piss” and suggesting that Val should go and ask the coach driver to stop at the next Service Area. Much as Val also wanted to stop, she was not going to be Ron’s messenger boy, nor was she going to admit to being the ‘little girl who wanted to go wee–wee,’ so she told Ron that ‘he should ask the driver himself if he wanted to stop’ If her hangover and need to pee had not been such a distraction Val might have seen this as the chance for a loo stop she so badly wanted. Had she been fully alert, she could have gone to the driver and loudly enough for others to hear, asked him to stop at the Service Area so her boy–friend could have a pee. Once they had stopped, it would only be natural for others to take the chance for a pee. Val could ease her bursting bladder, and Ron would be the one looking stupid; not only did he need to pee, but he had to get his girl–friend to ask the driver to stop. This was easy for Val to think of later, but at the time she had been so stressed by her bladder pain, that all she did was to tell Ron that she was no his mother, and that if he wanted a pee stop he should be a ‘big boy’ and ask the driver himself. This was more than Ron’s pride would allow, he was a man and he could hold his piss; it was a dumb blonde like Val who should want to pee and have to make a fuss and get the driver to stop. Val, trying to ignore her own need to pee, refused to ask for Ron, and was even taking some small pleasure in knowing that Ron wanted to pee. She was convinced that Ron, who had drunk several cans of beer and cider, would have to pee, and she was not going to admit to needing to as well. The result was that Ron refused to move and Val was bursting, crossing her legs tightly, as they passed the only Service Area. She tried to take some pleasure from Ron needing to pee, perhaps more than she did from the way he was crossing his legs and kept squeezing the bulge in his jeans, but Val had never been turned on by male desperation, nor did she like the feeling of her own bladder bursting with pee. The tight jeans she was wearing to make Ron happy, were only adding to her discomfort; when she crossed her legs, as her bladder pressure demanded she did, her jeans were only pulled tighter across her stomach, and put more pressure on her bladder area, that was beginning to hurt as she filled with pee. There wasn’t any other way she could sit that did not pull her jeans tighter, and make her want to pee badly, urgently, so badly that she wanted to press her hand between her legs to help her wait. She dare not do this, in case anyone saw and made fun of her, so the only thing she could do was to squirm about on her seat until she could sit on her foot. Once she was in the right position, nobody would notice what she was doing, and her heel was pressing between her legs, every bit as good as if she was holding herself. Her jeans were still hurting, tight across her bladder, but at least she could push down on her heel, which really helped her wait. She tried pulling her jeans up as tightly as she could so this put more pressure between her legs and, she could convince herself, made her need to pee less urgent and intense. Silently, she glared at Ron; if only he had been more of a man, and made the coach stop at the last Service Area, she could have peed then and now be sitting in comfort. Then she directed her anger to the backs of the driver, and the organiser sitting in the front of the coach. Hadn’t they realised how important it might be for some passengers to be able to pee during the journey? Why hadn’t they stopped at the Service Area? Ron groaned, and pressed on the front of his jeans; “ I really needed o stop there for a piss. We had better stop somewhere soon or I’ll have to go on the floor.” (Ron had noted that Val was sitting on her foot, something she normally only did when she was desperate for a pee, and he had been hoping that she would have been forced by her bladder to demand a comfort stop at the services.) Val tried to ignore this; she did not care how badly Ron wanted to pee: it wasn’t helping her wait, and there did not seem to be any chance of finding a loo on the road once they had passed the Service area, and were off the motorway. If Ron was to make a big fuss about how much he wanted to pee, and even threatened to go on the floor, the driver might well stop and let him pee against the wheel at th side of the road. Fine for a man, particularly in daylight, but no help for Val, and she desperately, desperately wanted to pee. Once on a previous coach outing with Ron, she had squatted by the back wheel in a lay–by, but that had been at night, and she had been forced to do that; literally it had been pee in the lay–by or in her knickers. That had been in the open country at night, this was London suburbs in daylight, and, desperate though she was, she was not even considering a roadside pee. She was sitting on her heel as hard as she could make it press between her legs, but even that really did not do a lot to help her wait. The coach had to stop at a proper loo, Val was thinking, she absolutely had to pee! Her bladder was reaching bursting point, and even sitting so hard on her heel, she was not going to be able to wait for ever, nor even for very much longer. Her jeans were hurting her badly, pressing on her bladder area, and she must let some pee out soon, or she would be in agony. What could she do? She was already trying everything she knew to help herself hold in her pee. She could not find any way of getting her heel to press any harder between her legs, so she tried again to pull up her jeans so they were tighter between her legs. Somehow she must find someway to keep back her pee. She had only one thing left to try: undo her zip. That might be less pressure on her agonised bladder area, and thus a less desperate need to pee, and anything that helped with that was going to be welcome. Hoping that nobody would see her, Val pulled her zip down as far as she could. Unfortunately that was not far enough to ease, or even lessen her desperate need to pee, because her jeans were so tight that she wanted, no needed, to undo her belt and waist band, and that was impossible without standing up and letting everyone on the coach know what she was doing. Despairingly she tried to pull the zip further down, but it was jammed halfway open, showing her black bikini knickers but not easing her need to pee. Val pushed her hands into her lap, partly trying to cover her knickers, but more in the hope that she could, unnoticed, press her hands between her legs, and ease her ever–increasing need to pee. Was there any hope of reaching a loo quickly? If only Ron was to demand a stop and the coach immediately stop at a public loo; if only there was a public loo where they could stop. She would ask, beg, the driver to stop, no even pretending that it was Ron that needed to pee. What else could she do? Was she going to have to sit in the coach, on her heel, and trying to with all her strength to hold back her pee, until she burst and wet herself? A sudden urgent demand from her bladder almost caused Val to release and involuntary spurt of pee, and in desperation she tried to press her hands between her legs, but her heel was already pressing there. Nearly frantic, hardly able to stop herself peeing, Val pushed her fingers between her heel and her crutch. The extra pressure , directly against her pee–hole, did ease her need to pee, but her fingers were being crushed between heel and pelvic bone, and that hurt too much for Val to endure for long. Once she felt she had her pee under control, she went back to sitting on her heel and clenching her bladder shut with all the strength she could mange. There did not seem to be any chance of stopping at a loo now, as Ron, sitting with his legs crossed, looked to be back in control and able to last out until Oxford Street. Val, somehow, had to find the strength to last out as well. What else could she do?? For a brief, mad moment, she considered releasing a little spurt of pee into her jeans, in the hope that it would ease the pressure in her bladder, but the thought that this actually meant that she would be wetting herself, brought her to her senses, and with a gasp and a shudder, she managed to hold on. If she once let some pee go, she was scared that as she was so desperate that she would not be able to stop. With sudden clarity, she realised that her tiny, bikini knickers were not capable of soaking up even a tea–spoonful of pee and that the slightest leak would end up as a wet patch between her legs, and that her skin–tight faded denim jeans would show this so clearly that everybody would know that she had wet herself. The vision of a wet patch between her legs was so clear, and so awful, that she clenched herself shut and pressed down on her heel, resolved that however desperately she wanted to pee, and however much her bladder hurt, she would never, never, allow a single drop of pee to leak out. If her need became too desperate, too urgent to survive only sitting on her heel, she would put her fingers between heel and pee–hole; it would hurt, but surely then, pressing so hard, no pee could ever leak out. They were driving through London now, so they had to be nearly at Oxford Street. Val had no idea where the coach would stop, but it had to be at a proper coach park, with a public loo. By this time she was reaching the point when she felt she could not possibly wait any longer, and was pressing down really hard on her heel, so hard, she hoped that she would be able to hold her pee a few minutes longer. If there wasn’t a loo at the coach park, then there would be other coaches parked, and she would be able to creep away and squat between two coaches and pee; she was that desperate that she had no illusions about how frantic she might be when she had to walk, with no help from her heel pressing between her legs. Almost gritting her teeth with the effort, Val somehow held out until the coach reached its destination, only to find that there was no coach park with somewhere she could pee, but that they had stopped at the side of the road, and everyone had to get out quickly before the coach got a parking ticket. Ron was pulling her to her feet, hardly giving her time to do up the zip on her jeans, and that was triple desperation agony for Val. Doing up her zip put more pressure on her bursting, swollen, bladder; standing up she didn’t have the pressure from her heel between her legs; and simply standing up and walking made her want to pee more urgently. She had to walk sideways off the coach, keeping her legs crossed as she walked, and once on the pavement, she felt she simply could not hold back her pee another second unless she pressed both hands between her legs. It was a case of hold herself or wet herself, so she was shamelessly holding with both hands. She turned to face a shop window, hoping that nobody would see that she was holding her crutch in absolute desperation. There was only one thing that she wanted, only one thing that she could think about: Toilets! Ladies Toilets! Where were the toilets? She had to find then quickly, very quickly, because she was not going to be able to wait much longer. This was not how Val had imagined their stop would be, she had been so sure they would stop near some Toilets and she would not have had to walk far. Not that she could walk far; she was so desperate she was very near to bursting and peeing in her jeans, and it was only by holding herself with both hands pressing as hard as she could did she think she had any chance of waiting until she reached the Toilets. They were stopped at the side of a busy road, so there was not even the possibility of squatting between two parked coaches. All Val could do was cross her legs and press, press, with both hands between her legs, and pray that she could press hard enough to hold back her pee a few minutes longer. Now she was standing up, her jeans zipped up, so tight across her bladder area, the pressure of her pee was almost too much to hold back. Thankfully, somebody seemed to know where the Toilets were, and was starting to lead the way. Val did not know how far, but somehow, she had to force herself to hold her pee until they reached them. She staggered to the subway entrance, hardly able to walk she was so desperate, only to find more torture as she had to walk down a flight of steps. She could only manage this by walking sideways, keeping her legs crossed, and still holding herself, but if this was the way to the Toilets she so desperately wanted, she had to keep walking. Val managed to walk as far as another flight of steps, going up this time, and almost impossible for her to climb in the state she was in. She collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, legs twisted in desperation, both hands pressing between her legs, trying with all her strength, and only just managing, to hold back her pee. She turned to Ron, who had been staggering along behind her, both hands in his pockets, trying to press on his cock and hold back his pee. “Please, Ron, help me up these stairs, I can’t walk any further, carry me, please. I’m in agony I want to pee so badly.” Val was so desperate to get to the Ladies that she wasn’t too proud to ask Ron for his help. “No chance! I’m breaking my neck, I can hardly walk myself, so you’ll have to hold it.” Passing the crouching, desperate, figure of Val, Ron walked up the steps, and then, as if to show his superiority, ran up the last few steps. It was only his gasp of “Oh hell! I can’t hold it much longer!” and openly clutching his cock, that revealed that he too was frantic to pee. Denied any help from her boy friend, Val had to crawl up the steps, and groaning with the effort it was taking to hold her pee, she collapsed onto the seat, doubling over pressing her hands between her knotted legs, forcing her agonised bladder to hold her pee until she could reach the Toilets. To her disgust, Ron, having seen a signpost to the Toilets he so desperately needed, was running into the distance. This sight was torture to Val whose whole body was screaming to be allowed to pee. She would have given anything to have been able to run like that, reaching the Toilets quickly, but instead she had to stagger, hand pressed between her legs, after the retreating figures of Amy and Joan. Every step she took was agony, each step seeming to jolt right to her bursting bladder, so she was walking on tip–toe, trying to ease the pain, and strain on her distended bladder. Grimly, she told herself that she Had To Wait, Had to hold in her pee until she reached the Ladies Toilet. Val could not understand how the other two women could walk so fast, when they had to want to pee as badly as she did. “Oh please, not much further!” Cried Val, nearly in tears at the sight of more steps to walk down. She was pressing between her legs as hard as she could, and every muscle in her body was tensed with the effort of holding in her pee, yet she was afraid she was not going to make it to the Toilets. Half–way down the steps she was about to collapse with desperation, when she saw the entrance to the Ladies, and with a final gasp of “Quick! Quick!, I can’t wait any longer,” she tried to run the last few metres to the Ladies. Val was thinking that at long last she had finally made it to a Toilet before her bladder burst and she wet herself. ‘Just get through the door and into a cubicle, and I can pee,’ she thought, only to be brought up short by the sight of each cubicle door firmly shut and with a line of women waiting. She had never expected this, it was a nightmare, and all she could do was to join the nearest line and double over pressing both hands between her knotted legs. She was so near, and still she could not pee. The thought of a pee had made her want to go even more urgently, and despite pressing with all her strength, and clenching her bladder shut, Val was on the brink of wetting herself. Pressing as hard as she could wasn’t enough; she was desperate beyond being able to wait and she felt that there was nothing she could do to hold back her pee any longer. Val was crying out “Please! Please! I can’t wait any longer!” but nobody in the lines was taking any notice of her, and obviously, nobody was going to let her cut to the front. “I can’t, I can’t,” Val was crying, as she tried to press even harder between her legs, tried to twist her legs together more tightly, doubling over in a last frantic attempt to wait. Somehow she had to hold back her pee, but the pressure was now unbearable. There was nothing else she could do; she could not wait any longer. She was going to pee in her jeans, down her legs, wet herself; she could not hold back her pee any longer. So near to the toilets, at the front of the line, and the door slammed shut in her face. She had to pee! She wasn’t going to be able to wait any longer, even pressing between her legs with both hands. Suddenly, nothing else mattered to her except having a pee. Her bladder was agony, stretched to bursting point, she was pressing between her legs with all her strength, and every muscle in her body was fighting to hold back her pee, but that wasn’t enough. However hard she tried, she was not going to be able to wait any longer; she could feel her pee staring to leak from her bladder, and she was about to wet herself. She didn’t care any longer, nothing else mattered; she had to find somewhere to pee; anywhere would be better than doing it in her jeans. She could not get into a cubicle, so she would have to pee on the floor. She was inside a Ladies, so it wouldn’t matter who saw her. With a gasp of “I must!” she staggered to the darkest corner of the Ladies, and shaking with the effort she was making to hold in her pee, tried to pull down her jeans and knickers. Even such a simple action was beyond her ability, so desperately did she want to pee: to undo the belt of her jeans, stretched tight across her bursting bladder, she needed both hands, yet she also needed one hand pressed between her legs to hold back the flood of pee that was about to burst from her bladder. She struggled vainly to undo her jeans with one hand, and then, overcome with the urgency that she needed to pee, had to use both hands to undo her belt, rip open her jeans, and pull the tangle of jeans, tights, and knickers down to her knees. Val was using every ounce of her strength in one last, frantic effort to hold in her pee, now she did not have her hand pressing between her legs, but her situation was hopeless, her bladder full to the absolute limit and beyond human control. She did not have the strength to hold back the torrent any longer, and as she pulled down her knickers, her body gave up the agonised struggle to control her bursting bladder. Frantic, knowing she was losing control, Val tore her clothes down, clenching every muscle in her bladder to try to hold back the flood. She was starting to squat, but she had hardly bent her legs when the torrent of pee burst out of her. The noise of this high–pressure stream hitting the stone floor of the Ladies drew everyone’s attention to her, but she was far beyond caring. The orgasmic pleasure of relief, after holding her pee for so long, was so good that he did not care about anything else. Oh the relief! She had been holding for so long, that nothing mattered to he except the relief as her pee blasted onto the floor. She didn’t care it half the coach party were staring at her in shocked amazement. She was peeing at long last, and not in her knickers! Never had she wanted to pee so badly, and she was not capable of stopping even if she had wanted to. At last the torrent of pee died away to a normal stream and then finished. Utterly relieved, Val stood up and began to sort out the tangle of clothes round her knees, pulling up her tights, knickers and then jeans. To her shame, she had splashed the back of her jeans with the initial blast of pee that she had not been able to control. Only then did the full horror of what she had done hit her; she had been peeing on the floor of a public Ladies loo, in full view of so many of her friends and acquaintances on the shopping trip. Mortified, she blushed red, and tried to stammer an apology. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I was dying to go. I’d been waiting so long I couldn’t stand it any longer.” This only drew more attention to her, and a group of strange women who had just entered to Toilets were glaring at her as she tried to zip up her jeans. The flood of pee was running across the stone floor of the Ladies towards a drain at the centre, and her shame was completed when she discovered that in her panic to pull her jeans down, she had broken the zip. She had been dying to pee, but now, zip gaping open, showing her tiny knickers, and wet pee stains across her bum, the shame of her appearance was no compensation for the relief she felt. Not bothering to wash he hands or even comb her hair, she ran out of the Ladies and back towards the shops, hoping that she could disappear in the crowds.
Author’s note: This, at long last, and not before time, I hear readers saying, concludes the ‘Motorway’ series. I apologise for delay in concluding it, and never again will I send in part complete stories. I’ll write the whole thing in one go and then send it to Ger.By: Paul Tester