The Highway

Driving on the highway, only 50 mph, and I thought I was going to KILL Tom. He’d started bitching a few miles back about getting off the highway to use a bathroom. It kept getting worse, and soon he was talking about nothing else.
“Come ON, Paula, I really have to go! Get over, already!”
“YOU make the freaking traffic thin out so I can get over, and I’ll get us to a bathroom. Dammit, I have to go too!”
I was a little cranky.
Trying to navigate on the highway is usually easy, but there had been a ball game, so there were about triple the amount of cars as usual, all jockeying for position. We’d been stuck in the far left lane for about 5 miles.
“Please oh please, get me to a toilet,” whined Tom, as his squirming got worse. “I really have to go. I’ve never had to go this bad.”
I really didn’t know Tom that well – we had a few of the same classes at the community college – but I liked him. He was about 5’11”, a little beefy, but not fat, with a round baby face and round glasses to match. His brown hair sure looked soft, and he smelled nice. We were always cracking each other up, and flirting. This was our first time out together socially, and though the bar was fun (turned out he could dance!), this portion of the evening was not going well.
Since I was the designated driver in our little party of two, I’d only had a beer and a half, while Tom had downed at least five, without going to the bathroom once. I did have to go, but not bad at all. I knew I’d be fine, whenever we got to a restroom. I was exaggerating my need, though, to keep Tom company. I kept forgetting to squirm and bitch, though. Not that he was noticing.
“C’mon Paula, please, get over. I am NOT going to piss my pants.”
“Damn right you’re not – I just got this car detailed. You ruin my seat; you’re buying me a new one. You can hold it. Just think about sex. You can’t pee if you’re hard, right?”
“I’m beyond that, seriously.”
“Can’t you just pinch the top closed?”
“Christ, you know nothing about men.” But he moved his hand to his lap, and from what I could tell, started squeezing his balls. His other hand was gripping the inside of the door. I could see that those knuckles were white, even in the dark.
He started looking back over his shoulder ever 2 seconds, looking for a break in traffic, and his squirming got worse. “NOW! No, wait. Now, go. No, don’t.”
“Tom, if you DON’T stop that, I’m going to smack your ass. I’m NOT going to get us killed because you have to pee. Hold it, piss your pants, whatever, but stop freaking me out. I think our lives are a little more important than your fucking bladder. God!”
That shut him up for a minute or two, and I was able to move over one lane. Two more to go, then we could exit.
“I’m sorry, Paula, I really am, I’ve just never had to piss this bad.” He seemed to have a death grip on his balls. He moved his other hand over to squeeze his cock through his faded jeans. His brown hair was falling over his face as he scrunched his whole body around his bladder. He glanced at me, giving me a glare off his glasses, and whined, “Seriously. Please. I won’t get us into an accident, but it’s getting worse by the second.”
“I’m really trying, Tommy, but I need you to chill, ok?” I was starting to fear that he was going to hurt himself; he was gripping his cock so hard. He couldn’t keep his hips still, wiggling from side to side, and muttering, ‘no please, no please, come on, no please’ to himself over and over.
We moved over one more lane, but I’m not sure he noticed. He was alternately holding his breath and blowing it out hard, and he started rocking back and forth so much that he was moving the car a little.
“Please don’t let me piss my pants, please don’t let me piss my pants, PLEASE!”
“Hold on, just a few more minutes, we only have two lanes to go, then we can find a fast food place right off the highway.” I was really starting to worry about him. I really didn’t want him to start crying or anything.
“Ok, that’s good, ok.” He was breathless. He went back to his prayer, “please oh please no please come on please no come on,” and then suddenly tensed so hard that his ass came off the seat. “NO!” he bellowed, as I changed lanes. He scared me so bad that I almost went out of the lane into the car next to us. I decided not to yell at him though; I could tell he was in great pain.
“It’s coming out, I can’t stop it, it’s coming, I’m pissing!” he wailed, as I moved to the far right lane. We had a quarter mile to the exit. “No no no no NO!!” I stole a glance over and saw a VERY wet spot spreading very slowly. “Grip it, Tom, come on! You can stop it!” I really didn’t want my seat pissed on. I was able to finally move over to the far lane.
He tensed harder than I thought possible, and held his breath. “Come on, stop pissing, stop it, stop it, and stop pissing your pants.” After a few minutes of his litany, he finally breathed to me, “It’s stopped, I stopped, but look, I pissed! And now I have to go worse! SHIT! Paula hurry!”
His lap was glistening in the streetlights, and I could tell he had a spot about the size of a dinner plate. We reached the exit, and luckily, there was a McDonald’s right off the highway. Of course, we hit the light right before the McDonald’s. I opened my mouth to apologize, and looked over at Tom. Even in the dim light I could tell his face was bright red. He was holding his breath, his cock, and his balls. As I looked back at the light, I caught a glimmer from his lap and knew that his bladder was betraying him again. He began to mutter again, “stop stop stop stop pissing stop stop stop it, make it stop.” At least it was only still trickling. I thought there might still be hope for my seat.
As we pulled into the parking lot, Tom started freaking out. “I really can’t fucking stop it! It’s just coming out. Why can’t I stop it?” He seemed to be fascinated by his crotch, he wouldn’t or couldn’t look away from the spreading wet spot.
I stopped the car, and told him we were there, and he seemed to come out of a trance. He looked around, at the other cars in the parking lot, and then looked at me. “I can’t stop pissing Paula, and I feel like I’m going to explode any minute. I can’t get out of the car with all these people around. I can’t have people seeing me pissing my pants.”
“Ok, I’ll pull around the back, and you can just unzip and finish pissing, and no one will ever know, ok?”
I thought he was going to cry with gratitude. I started the car again, and of course had to wait while a car went behind us.
“NO!!!” Tom screamed and gripped his cock even harder. The flow was increasing. I finally pulled out, and pulled behind the restaurant. Unfortunately, the only place with no cars was full of streetlights. I pulled up to the darkest spot I could find, and his hand was already on the door handle. As soon as I stopped the car, he opened the door, but couldn’t move. “Ok, ok, stop pissing. Come on, stop it, come on” he kept trying to talk his body into obeying him. Finally he moved one foot out of the car, one hand on the door hand, the other still on his soaking wet, dripping cock. He moved his other foot, and stood up, facing the inside of the car. He crossed his legs, HARD. He couldn’t undo his pants with only one hand, but as I reached to help, he yelled, “FUCK! Goddamn it, I’m pissing, I’m pissing!” I stared at his crotch as the dam finally burst. Rivers of piss started pouring out of the front of his jeans, and all he could do was stand there, holding his cock, on hand on the top button of his jeans. The pee poured over his hand, wetting his pants from the outside as well as the inside. I was frozen; I didn’t know what to do. Both of us were silent and still, as his pee exploded out of him.
After what seemed like five minutes, the flow trickled to a stop. He just stood there, looking at his hand, still gripping his limp penis.
He uncrossed his legs and finally looked around. Thankfully, there was no one around. I didn’t know what to say to him, I was sure he was totally embarrassed. I started to reach around to the back seat for the blanket I keep there, for him to sit on.
He finally looked at me, gave me a sheepish grin, and said, “That was the best feeling I’ve ever had!” I laughed along with him, relieved that he wasn’t going to be all dramatic and ashamed.
“God these jeans feel heavy, though.”
“No wonder! They’re holding about a gallon of water!” We cracked up.
“You can sit on this blanket, but I don’t know if it’s going to keep the moisture from my seat.”
“Tell ya what,” he said with a glint in his eye, “why don’t I just take them off. I’ll put them in this bag.” He pulled a plastic bag from the back floor seat (I keep bags everywhere; I have dogs).
“That’ll work,” I grinned at him. Still looking around, he unzipped his sodden jeans and slipped them off, along with his soaked underwear – or maybe he wasn’t wearing any – I didn’t see them, that’s for sure. I got a familiar tingle in my crotch, and squirmed just a little to push my jeans against my clit.
He peeled his wet clothes off, and wrapped up in the blanket. I decided that I’d hold it until we got back to my place. “I’ll wash your stuff at my place, ok?”
“Thanks, that’d be great.” He seemed uncommonly pleased with himself…
As we drove off, my full bladder intensified the tingle between my legs, which was already quite sharp, knowing that I had a cute, half naked man just a foot away from me.
As for what happened next…? Tell you later.
Pidddles