The Power Outage

It was a cold, wet, stormy night. The house was warm, though, the wood–burning stove defied the wind and rain outside.
Ellen had been sitting near the fire. She’d also had several mugs of drink during the evening; but now it was bedtime, past bedtime in fact. She went to clean her teeth and pee before going upstairs – there wasn’t space upstairs for a bathroom, which meant that getting up in the night for the toilet could be a chilly experience.
Once in her pajamas she quickly got into bed. For a while she read a book, but soon she felt sleepy, so she put the light out and went to sleep.
Some time later, she woke up, for no apparent reason. The wind was still howling outside, and rain lashed against the window. She snuggled under the blankets – she felt a mild need to pee, but she soon suppressed it and went back to sleep. At some point she began to dream. She was in school, and she needed to pee, but it was lunchtime and you weren’t supposed to go ‘til the end of break.
Inexplicably, she was then walking through the local town. She still needed to pee, but the toilets were locked. The scene shifted again, now she was walking up the lane to her house, and this was a dream of a memory – the day she’d decide it would be fun to walk the last half mile, but had been bursting to pee – by the time she was half–way home, she could hardly walk, and she’d had to go into one of the fields to pee behind the hedge. In her dream, she went into the field and squatted as she had in real life, but when she thought she’d finished, she felt another rush of pee, and then another – alarm bells began to ring in her subconscious and as her over–full bladder finally got the message through that something needed to be done she woke up abruptly. Her bladder was on the point of letting go and she tightened her sphincter, crossed her legs, squirming – for a few seconds she thought she was going to lose it, but the spasm began to die down and she regained control.
The night was pitch dark, so she reached out to the bedside light, wanting to see what time it was. She clicked the switch, but nothing happened. Pointlessly, she clicked it again and again, and then realized that probably the storm, still raging outside, had caused a power cut. Then she thought of her small torch, in the drawer beside the bed. She turned over onto her tummy and reached out, opened the drawer and began to feel for it. The pressure on her tummy made her bladder start to squeeze again, and she had to squirm and struggle to contain the urge – finally, she found the torch and switched it on. The yellow light was an enormous relief after the inky blackness. She looked at the clock, 4 am. She turned onto her back, but the urge to pee kept recurring every few minutes, so she couldn’t get back to sleep; worse, the contractions in her bladder were getting stronger, and she was having to struggle quite hard to hold it in. Reluctantly she decided she would have to go to the toilet. She switched the torch back on, thinking as she did so that the batteries in it hadn’t been changed for ages. The light was quite dim, but enough to see by. She got out of bed and stood up, the cold air hit her and the need to pee became desperate as the weight of her tummy pressed down on her bladder; she wished she wasn’t so overweight, but wishing didn’t help her control the desperate urge to pee. She crossed her legs, with one hand wedged into her crutch, and fought hard for what seemed like ages to contain the flood of pee that threatened to escape. Finally, the pressure eased a bit.
She wanted to run for the toilet, but she knew that if she tried to she’d lose it altogether. She couldn’t even walk normally; the need to keep her thighs pressed together meant she had to take short steps. She reached he stairs, and started down – every step was torture, and she expected to lose it any moment. She reached the half–landing, and shuffled along it, but now the torch was starting to die. Down the next step, and the next, and the torch faded out to a useless dull red glimmer. She put it down on the landing behind her, and carried on down the stairs, trying to keep her thighs as tightly together as she could. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs her bladder was contracting painfully, and she felt her sphincter weakening perceptibly. She put her hand inside her pajamas and rubbed her crutch but it hardly seemed to make any difference, until she stopped – she felt a few drops leak out and hastily started to rub again.
She made it through the sitting room without losing any more, but by the time she got into the kitchen her aching sphincter couldn’t contain it, and a squirt of pee leaked out in spite of her frantic rubbing. She tried to hurry, but she felt another squirt against her hand. She stopped; she knew the toilet was only about 10 feet away, on the other side of a door, but she had to try and regain some control before she could move again. She pressed herself hard, then crossed her legs and clamped her thighs around her hand until it was painful. Another spurt of pee escaped, and the pressure in her urethra made her bladder contract violently. She pushed her other hand between her legs and did a sort of half–curtsey, but another, larger spurt came out. She was crying in pain and frustration now, and began to shuffle desperately forwards in the darkness. Her overloaded sphincter was weakening rapidly now, and a 2–second squirt of pee came out, forcing its way between her fingers. Finally, she reached the toilet, but before she could get her pajama trousers down, the pee started to flow again, and this time she couldn’t stop it. After a few moment’s struggle, she gave up and collapsed onto the toilet seat as a flood of pee poured into and through her pajamas, soaking them completely, but she didn’t care any more as the relief was so intense.
By: Watcher