So Bad It Hurts

Kathy came home very late, ran in the door and right past me, ignoring my angry questions as to where she’d been. I ran after her as she beelined for the bathroom. I insisted she stop and explain herself. But she was in the bathroom, already tugging her panties down and her skirt up, pee squirting from her cute little bottom even before it touched the toilet seat. In the quiet bathroom the hissing sound seemed as loud as the brakes on a bus. She closed her eyes. She looked very drunk. “Oh, I didn’t think I was going to make it,” she said. She parted her legs slightly, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. Through the narrow gap between her legs I could see her stream shooting straight forward, nearly horizontal, rising and falling slightly, looking like it might almost even be cresting the top of the bowl, and sizzling as it struck the porcelain. I continued to try to question her. She continued to noisily relieve herself and ignore me. She was drunk and obviously feeling quite bratty. She had on the barest trace of lipstick, but it appeared smudged. She’d been out drinking with girlfrends, but I was wondering if she hadn’t found a willing male to entertain her in a parked car for a while before coming home. “The bars closed an hour ago. What were you doing?” I asked. “I was talking,” she finally deigned to answer. “With some people.” She continued peeing noisily. “Why didn’t you come home if you had to go so bad?” “I was having fun,” she said. She’d been having so much fun doing whatever that she’d managed to hold a prodigous and probably painful quantity of urine. The hissing was finally diminishing into trickling sounds, interspersed still with some stronger squirts, and then finally stopping. She wiped herself, stood up unsteadily, and headed for the bedroom. It was obvious that it wasn’t going to be worth trying to talk to her any further in her drunken state.
The next day there was a rather stony silence around our apartment. I was mad at Kathy for coming home so late, and for what I knew not what else. She was mad because I was mad. And she had a bit of a hangover, adding to her dour demeanor. By around noon, though, she’d had some lunch and was obviously feeling better. “Why don’t you get dressed kinda nice,” I said. “I want to take you out this afternoon. We’ll make up. We’ll go to some nice places.” She was suspicious of the change in the winds, but it never took much to convince to go out and do some drinking. I asked her to put on a skirt, and to try to look a little bit classy as I wanted to go to some more upscale places. I also suggested a “no panties” day. She’d been too drunk to screw the night before, so she was actually pretty receptive to this idea. Kathy is a very pretty, petite little Asian girl, rather Americanized in her personality though, and she looked darn sharp when she was dressed and ready. Sexy in that not–really–trying–to–be kind of way.
We drove to an area that had a number of nice pubs, adjoining an older residential neighborhood. We went into a brass rails and ferns kind of place and got a table in the sun by the front windows, where we could watch the people walking by. After we each had finished our first beer I told her that I forgave her, but that as her punishment for the previous night’s behavior I simply wanted to see proof that she had as much fun with me as she did with the people she was with the night before. “You must have been having a pretty darn good time if you could hold it like you did,” I pointed out. “I was having fun and wasn’t thinking about it at first,” she said. She was being a little guarded again. Something had happened besides a little parking lot conversation after the bars closed, I was sure of it. “God, did I have to go though,” she added. “I thought I was going pee my panties.” She laughed. “I barely made it.” “Well let’s see if you can ‘make it’ today,” I said. I explained the challenge. Her punishment would be that she would not to use the bathrooms at all during our little pub crawl that afternoon. And she would also augment the beer she was drinking with some glasses of ice water. “I want to see that you’re having enough fun with me that you can ‘not think about it’ as you say,” I explained. “Whatever,” she said. “You’re nuts, you know it?” There was a little more of that brattiness. But the waitress was back. “A couple more pints, please,” I said, “and a glass of ice water for the lady.” The waitress smiled at Kathy. “I do that too, honey. It’s good for the skin. Sure makes you have to go, though,” she said, leaning forward in a characature of the universal posture of full bladder discomfort. She laughed and said she’d be right back with our drinks. When the drinks came I told her to finish the ice water completely before starting on her beer. She complied but not without a fair amount of stern prodding. But by the time she’d finished the second beer she was generally of much more sunny disposition. Another round of beers and ice water came and we talked and laughed. She was beginning to show some small signs of needing the toilet. She was sitting up straighter, and was occasionally recrossing her legs. She was midway through her beer when she finally asked, “Why can’t I go pee? I’m having fun with you, I swear I am. But I’d be having more fun it I could go potty. Please?” “Well you’re definitely not going to get to go here,” I answered. “Just try not to think about it,” I said mockingly. “We’ll be going to another place after we finish these beers and then maybe I’ll let you go.”. This gave her some hope, and she was quick to down the remainder of her beer, while I lingered over mine. By the time I finally took my last swallow she was visibly uncomfortable. She had twisted her napkin to shreds, was bouncing her leg, and shifting position frequently. “I hope you’re enjoying this,” she said. “Would you please, please hurry? I’ve GOT to pee. I’ve had almost twice as much to drink as you. I HAVE to take a piss.” She hardly ever used the word ‘piss’ but she said it this time with urgency and irritation. Finally I got up and escorted her out. She stood up carefully, and began walking leaning forward slightly. “Unnhhh,” she moaned, “please let me go here before we leave,” she implored. “C’mon, you’re having fun aren’t you?” I asked tugging her towards the door. “Try not to think about it.” We stepped outside, but instead of continuning down the main drag where the pubs were, I steered us around the corner and down into the residential neighborhood. “Where are we going?” she asked urgently. “We’re going to get a little fresh air,” I said, “before we stop in for more drinks. You’re having fun aren’t you?” She became quiet. My own bladder was reminding me with an insistent ache that I’d had three pints of beer myself. I could imagine she was in quite a bit greater discomfort. We walked to the end of the block and rounded the corner onto a still smaller side street. “If you really have to go, I’ll let you go a little right here,” I said. “Are you insane?” she said. “On a public street, in broad daylight?” “OK, if you don’t want to that’s fine.” We continued walking. Coming to a small alley I turned down it. “I’ve got to take care of a little something here myself,” I said. I unzipped and lifted my cock out. I began relieving myself on the side of a dumpster. She stood by, jiggling and pressing her hands against the pubic region of the front of her skirt. I sighed loudly to emphasize the simple joys of relief, sweet relief. “Do you want to go here?” I said. She looked hesistantly up and down the alley. “Maybe,” she said. She paused, and then continued, “Yes. I’d go here.” She began to fiddle with her clothes. “Well sorry,” I said, pulling her hands away from their task. “If you have to go bad enough, you can still go out on the street, but that’s all.” She looked furious. She pulled her hands free of mine. “Come on. Let’s go out on the street like a brave girl,” I said. “Unless you want to wait some more…” We stepped out of the alley. She was walking very slowly, looking around. “I’m about to wet myself,” she said. “Please don’t make me do this. Please.” She was pleading. “Now honey, it won’t be that bad. Do it real quick. No one has come along here. No one will see you,” I urged her. “In fact, I think you should lift up your shirt while you do it so I can see your pretty titties while you pee. Or… we can go get some more drinks and you can hold it until we’re done at the next bar. You’re NOT going in the bar no matter what,” I emphasized. We walked on a little ways in silence, here lips white and thin and pressed together. And then she gave in. “This is crazy, this is crazy, god I have to piss,” she said in a rush. “I MUST go pee, I’m gonna pee in my skirt, I going to wet myself, I HAVE to piss.” She stepped close to a white fence, dropped into a partial crouch, lifted her shift a bit allowing her breasts to peek out, and immediately began gushing. Again I was amazed at the angle of her pee. There seemed to be so much pressure it was emerging forward and up. After only a ten seconds or so of this gusher I interrupted loudly saying, “A car! Get up!” There was no car, but she still somehow managed to squeeze off her flow and straighten up, looking around anxiously. She realized what I’d done, and was immediately irritated, gesturing to her inner thigh where a few stray drops of pee ran down to her bare knee. “Look what you made me do! That wasn’t funny at all!” She looked around, and began to squat again. I grabbed her arm, saying, “No, that was enough. I’m sure you feel much, much better now. C’mon, let’s go get some drinks.” I pulled her along the street with her protesting and complaining, and in a few minutes I was ushering her into another rather lush little water hole. We found seats at a small circular raised table in the middle of the lounge area. I ordered a Pepsi for myself since I needed to be able to drive again pretty soon. And I got a beer for her, accompanied again by a glass of ice water. And since she was still pretty cranky I also got her a shot of her favorite, Bailey’s Irish Cream. She gulped that down with no urging and seemed in a better mood, benefiting for the modicum of relief she’d had and the warm influx of alchohol from the shot. I ordered her to down the ice water before the beer, though. She did this quickly this time with no protesting. “No problemo, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll hold it as long as you say. I’m having a lot of fun with you.” Maybe it was that feeling of being superhuman that often accompanies a certain stage of drunkeness. “I’m a big girl and I can hold my pee,” she said saucily, tossing her head. “I’ll just hold back my pee in my sexy little pussy as long as you want.” She turned on the bar stool, simultaneously recrossing her legs so as to flash me a little view of her sweet little patch of fur. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I could see it still glistening from her recent bit of very public relief. Her lighthearted mood continued, shifting towards rowdy even. She was getting quite drunk and her bladder had refilled rapidly. She was squirming visibly, but she was being silly and flirtatious. I chided her to behave and sit still. “I have to pee a little bit again,” she said. “But I’m holding it in. It just makes me a little wiggly, that’s all.” She bounced her knee, and leaned forward, thrusting her breasts out. “Wiggly!” she said, looking down at her chest as her titties jiggled from her antics. “Wiggly jiggly,” she repeated, bouncing even more vigorously. But ten minutes later the mood had changed. She had grown dark and sullen and quiet. She was squeezing her hands, pressing her nails into her palms so that they left little marks. She opened her mouth as if to speak. I think she was going to ask for permission to use the restroom, but she stopped herself and said instead, “I want another shot.” “You’re a little too tipsy already, honey,” I said. “I want a beer then.” “No, no more beer. You need to sober up a little. I’ll get you another ice water if you want.” She shook her head emphatically no. She pouted. She leaned forward. Her lips were slightly parted and I thought I heard her groan. “Are you OK?” I asked in my most caring tone of voice. “Kathy has to pee again,” she said. She was talking about herself in third person as if not acknowledging it was really her that needed to go. “Kathy really needs to go potty.” She said this in a sort of cute little girl voice. “Kathy needs to go pee–pee really, really bad.” “You said you could hold it, didn’t you?” “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I think Kathy is going to have a little accident here.” She leaned even further forward, and then grabbed my hand. She seemed to snap out of it. “Please, I’ve GOT to go,” she said, earnestly. “I don’t think I can keep it in.” She was rocking slowly and making something of a spectacle of herself now. “OK, come on,” I said pulling her to her feet. She gasped as she stood up. She walked out into the daylight in little mincing, careful steps. The bright sun and urinary agony seemed to sober her up a bit. “We’ll get in the car and then I’ll take to you someplace where you can pee,” I said. “How far to the car?” she asked. She was no longer angry, or questioning why she was in this predicament. She was just focused on one thing and one thing only. “I have to go so bad it hurts,” she said, squeezing my hands tightly. We walked about a block and then she stopped. “I don’t think I can go on,” she said her voice sounding strained. She seemed near tears. “I’m losing it. I’m going to wet myself right here in the street.” I bent over and slipped and arm under her knees and picked her up. She was a petite little thing and I carried her easily the remaining half block to the car. I opened the door for her and helped her in. She groaned quietly and she settled into her seat. I got in, started the car. I drove us quickly towards a more industrial region. There were a number of factories here, all deserted on this late Sunday afternoon. I pulled in to one of the parking lots and drove to a far corner of it. “What are you doing?” she said. Her hands were pressed hard against her pussy. She was looking around frantically. It was probably deserted enough that she was considering trying to hop right out. “Here’s the deal. If you’ll take off all your clothes, I’ll let you get out here and pee,” I said. “But you have to be completely naked.” “You are crazy,” she said. But there was no further argument of hesistation. I helped her undress, with her taking her hands from her pussy only as long as necessary to get her shirt and bra off. Her whole body was trembling. “Oh, I’ve leaked a little bit,” she said looking down. From between her fingers her slit glistened wetly, a few drops clinging to her downy black hairs. “It really hurts, really hurts,” she added panting. I could clearly see the bulge in her lower abdomen where her extremely distended bladder was swelling visibly above her pubic bone. “Keep it in your pussy,” I said, raising my voice. “Just hold it in. I don’t want you to get my car seat all wet.” She gorgeous sitting there naked, fighting back nature with her every fiber, squeezing her pussy muscles tightly in a losing battle to control the pressure. She started to try to open her door and get out. “No, not yet,” I said. “I want to feel how full you are.” I pulled her towards me and kissed her. I put one hand down and slipped it between her tightly clenched legs. “Now hold on tight and take your hands away,” I said. She yielded, and I gently slid my middle finger into her soaking wet pussy. There’d been a little leakage all right. She groaned. With my palm against her abdomen I could feel the firm bulge of her bladder on the outside, and from the inside with the tip of my middle finger I could feel the rock hard bumpy texture of her excruciatingly strained bladder muscles. And I kept my hand pressed hard against her urethral area to help stem the tide. She groaned again, loudly. “Does that feel good?” I asked, rubbing the tip of my finger gently but firmly against the tortured inner wall of her bladder, crushing her clit with the fleshy part of my hand, and lightly resting the heel of my hand against the rise in her abdomen as well. She only moaned in response. I kissed her again, and bent down and kissed her breasts. She groaned. She was moving her pelvis, grinding herself against my hand, both for the agony and the relieving, controlling pressure it was providing, and mixed with the white hot need to pee was the additional beginning ache of sex need. She rode my hand like this for several minutes, but then began whispering in my ear, “Please, please, it needs to come out. The pee needs to come out of my horny little pussy. It hurts so bad. It hurts. Oh god, please let the pee come out. I have GOT to piss.” I pulled my hand back just a little and immediately felt a bubbling warmth. She could feel that she was leaking and she squealed quietly and arched her pelvis hard forward seeking the restraining pressure of my hand again. I kept my hand in place, pressing harder. She continued to grind. A minute later again she whispered, “It hurts, it hurts so bad. My tummy hurts I have to go so bad. Please. The piss needs to come out. PLEASE!” I did not relent. I pressed harder against her little pee hole, preventing her from leaking any more. The inner wall of her bladder was so hard it was difficult to believe it was only liquid that it contained. It was so distended it seemed to have almost no curvature. And as I stroked her tortured bladder through the top wall of her vagina she made higher pitched and more urgent moaning sounds. “Please let go,” she panted, “it has to come out. It hurts so bad. Oh god, it HURTS!!” She was still grinding against my hand but her body was shaking. “Ok, honey, I’m going to let you go, but you’re going to have to control it just a little bit more,” I whispered back. “I’m going to take my hand away and let you get out and go, but you have to try to keep it from going all over the car. But I don’t want you to use your hands. Do you understand?” She nodded, slowing but not stopping her grinding. “Ok, now concentrate,” I said. I started to slowly withdraw my hand. I felt something warm seeping up from beneath it. “Concentrate!” I hissed loudly. “I am!” she said. “I’m trying.” I slowly pulled my hand away, leaving her sitting with legs slightly parted. As I watched, a visible fresh welling up of urine appeared in her slit and formed a tiny trickle. It was not a squirt or even a visible flow, but like a little spring forming in the dewey softness of her pubes. “I’m trying, I’m TRYING,” she said softly, writhing slowly. “Now get out, and go over by that sign,” I said. “You can use your hands if you need to in order to walk.” She grabbed herself with one hand, and pushed the door open with the other. She only stood partway up, knees partly bent, bent over at the waist, and hobbled over to the the sign. I saw a few drops escape even her clenched fingers and fall on the ground behind her. The geyser burst from her as she dropped the rest of the way into a squat. It arched an incredible distance across the vacant parking lot. I went over and stood by her and watching in amazement and lust as her stream of white hot pee shot 20 feet out before splattering in a widening puddle. She peed and peed and peed, and finally after what seemed like minutes finally tapered off, and stopped. But she still didn’t get up. “I held all that in my cute little pussy,” she said. She smiled at me weakly but proudly. And then she started to trickle again. “And I’m still not quite done.” The trickle turned into another small stream and died away again. “Oh god I feel better,” she said. She still hadn’t stood up. She started peeing yet again, this time just dribbling. “I’m not done yet,” she giggled. Another long pause. One last weak trickle ran down her slit, and she stood up. “I’m all better now,” she said brightly. “You were wonderful,” I said. “You were amazing. And now I’m dying to fuck you.” “And I’m dying to fuck you, too,” she said. “All that rubbing made me very horny.” We climbed back into our little car, folded the seats down, and proved that where there’s a will there’s a way, even in a small car. “Hope you you learned your lesson,” I said and I thrust into her. “Oh yes,” she said, “I’ll never stay out too late ever again,” she said coquettishly and I ground against her horny clit. “I’m going to be really, really good.”
Sean.
The accompanying images come from www.giga–jp.com from the YH–13 series. Unfortunately they’ve taken down their free picture sets. I’ve never ordered their videos–– can’t quite bring myself to pay for this goofy stuff. But they look like they’d be good. It would appear that they really make their models work hard for their shoots. No wimpy little trickles from those girls! Plus they also seem to capture a bit more drama in their pics than many of the other WS photographers on the ‘net. This particular girl had such an amazing stream, with such a unique angle and range that I decided to come out of retirement and write a little fantasy about her. Hope you enjoyed. If anyone actually gets this video, I’d love to hear a recap.