The Scan

The instructions in the letter from the hospital were quite clear. “Drink at least 2 pints of water before you attend for Ultrasound scanning, and do not relieve yourself until after the scan. It is important for good results that your bladder is full at the time of the scan.”
Kate was a normally healthy, slender 18–year–old, but she had been having trouble with pains in her abdomen, and the doctor had referred her to the hospital for a scan to see if anything would show up. Now she looked at the letter again. The appointment was for 10:30 a.m., so she didn’t need to leave the house until at least 10, the hospital was only about 15 minutes’ walk away.
On the morning of the appointment, the alarm clock rang shrilly, waking Kate from a pleasant dream. She got up and had breakfast as usual. Just before 10 she remembered the 2 pints of water she was supposed to drink. She hastily downed them, and set off. By the time she reached the hospital, she was feeling a mild need to pee. She found the ultrasound department and went to the reception desk. The receptionist looked at her letter.
“We’re running late this morning, but you should be seen by 11 – when your number comes up on that display, you go can go in. Now you have to drink 3 cups of water from the dispenser over there.”
“But I drank a lot of water before I came out,” Kate said.
“Doesn’t matter,” replied the receptionist, “you have to drink here too.”
Kate took the numbered ticket and went to the dispenser. She saw the receptionist watching her. She carefully didn’t fill the cups full to the top, as she already needed to pee and now would have to wait an extra half–hour at least. The receptionist didn’t seem to notice her subterfuge.
Kate went to a chair and sat down. She picked up a magazine and began idly leafing through it. Before very long, her bladder began to send increasingly urgent messages. She looked at the number on the display, which didn’t seem to have moved for ages. 37. She looked again at her ticket, which was number 44, and suppressed a groan. At this rate, she thought, I’ll be lucky to get through by lunchtime. As if in reply to her unspoken thought, the display buzzed and the number changed to 38. A middle–aged woman got up and went through the door. Kate was holding onto her pee all the time now, and it was getting uncomfortable. She glanced around the room and could see several other women showing signs of discomfort. One, a plump girl about Kate’s age, was continually fidgeting in her seat. An older woman was sitting opposite, apparently quite relaxed.
“I’ll bet you didn’t drink 2 pints of water before coming out,” thought Kate as she shifted in her seat.
The plump girl was wiggling her legs rapidly now, alternating with bouncing up and down in her seat, and then crossing her legs tightly, then going back to wiggling them. Kate felt sympathy for her, as her own need was getting ever stronger. The plump girl got up abruptly and began to pace up and down the room. Suddenly the display buzzed again for no.39, and the plump girl darted through the door – the middle–aged woman came out a few moments later and went straight to into the toilet. Several pairs of eyes watched her enviously.
Another 10 minutes passed. Kate leaned back in her seat, stretching her crossed legs out in front of her, and squeezed her thighs tightly together. Her fashionably tight jeans were pressing on her swollen bladder and not making it any easier to hold on. The need to pee was getting worse all the time. Suddenly, the door burst open and the plump girl came running out, and dashed into the toilets. The sign buzzed again for no.40, but nobody got up. After a minute, it buzzed again – the receptionist looked up. “Number 40, please!” – but no one replied. The receptionist picked up a phone, spoke into it briefly and then pushed a button, the sign flicked to 41. The calm looking woman got up and strolled into the treatment room.
After about 10 minutes she re–appeared, along with a nurse – they walked to the water dispenser and the nurse watched as the woman downed 4 cups of water. “You’ll have to wait at least half an hour now” said the nurse, and nodded to the receptionist. The sign buzzed for number 42. A thin, grey–looking woman got up and walked slowly through the door. Kate reproached herself silently for her feelings of self–pity about the state of her bladder, as the woman was obviously seriously ill, but that didn’t make Kate’s problems any easier; her bladder was straining against her jeans now, and it was almost impossible to hold on. To her embarrassment, she had to start wiggling and squirming like a schoolgirl to keep control. By the time the grey–looking woman came out, some 15 minutes after she’d gone in, Kate knew she was in trouble. The contractions in her bladder were more frequent now and getting painful. Number 43 went in, “only a few more minutes, come on Katy, you can do it,” she said to herself silently, but her bladder didn’t seem to be listening. In desperation, she undid the button at the waist of her jeans. Her normally flat tummy was bulging with the volume of her overloaded bladder, but undoing her jeans made it slightly easier to hold on. The relief was short–lived, however, within 5 minutes she was on the point of losing it. She tried all the tricks she could think of, but the urge was too strong. She got up, and like the plump girl earlier, began to pace up and down the waiting area, although the need to keep her thighs close together meant she could only take fairly short steps. After what seemed an age, the sign buzzed and the magic 44 showed on the display. Kate walked carefully to the door, dodging the woman coming out, and went in.
The nurse came over to her. “Ok, take off all you clothes except your underwear and lie on the examination couch, on your back.” Kate began to undress, hopping on one foot to pull her jeans off as she almost wet herself. She crossed her legs tightly as she pulled her blouse off, then shuffled towards the couch. “Up you go,” said the nurse. Kate tried to climb onto the couch but her bladder threatened to let go, and she squeaked in alarm.
“What’s the matter?” asked the nurse.
“I’m absolutely bursting, I haven’t peed since this morning.” said Kate, as she shifted rapidly from one foot to the other.
“Well, at least we’ll get a good scan,” said the woman technician who was operating the scanner, with a smile.
“You’re more likely to get a flood,” said Kate, with a forced grin. Kate sat on the edge of the couch, and swung her legs up. She lay down on her back and rubbed at her crutch, until she had herself back under control.
“It’ll soon be over,” said the nurse. “Now, we have to put this gel on your tummy so we get a good image.” Kate gasped at the coldness of the gel on her swollen abdomen, and almost lost control. She squirmed, straining her aching sphincter to the limit.
“Okay,” said the technician, “lie still now, and it’ll soon be over.” She commenced moving the scanner head back and forth over Kate’s abdomen, working downwards from her chest. Soon she reached the area of Kate’s overstretched bladder, bulging like a ball inside her. The waves of pressure as the scanner moved across it were too much and to her shame Kate felt a small dribble of pee escape. She gritted her teeth and gripped the sides of the couch until her knuckles turned white. She was determined not to let any more escape, but the pressure was too much for her tiring sphincter, and a small spurt came out. The nurse pulled a length of green paper towel from a dispenser and pushed it between Kate’s legs. Kate blushed with embarrassment but the nurse said, “it’s OK, the couch is waterproof. We get this quite often.”
Kate made a desperate effort to hold on, but after another couple of passes she felt another squirt of pee. Then the scan was over, and she rubbed herself frantically to stimulate her exhausted sphincter.
“Looks like a good scan, well done for holding still,” said the technician. “OK, you can get dressed now.”
Kate slid off the couch and hastily pulled on her jeans and blouse. However, there was no way she could fasten her jeans over her swollen bladder; she pulled the zipper up about halfway but that was it. She began to walk towards the door, but found that she had to take short, mincing steps in order to keep control. She wedged one hand between her thighs, past caring now what she looked like “Just another few seconds, come on Katy, try,” she exhorted herself under her breath. She was through the door now, and hobbling across the waiting area “I probably look like a 5–year–old schoolgirl,” she thought, and at that moment her struggling sphincter let out a squirt of pee for about 2 seconds before she could stop it “Nooo…” she said aloud, and made a dash for the toilet. Small spurts of pee were escaping every few seconds now, and she couldn’t find any way to stop. Her knickers were getting soaked and she felt a trickle running down her legs by the time she’d got into the nearest cubicle. Tugging her jeans down as she got through the door, she felt the pee start to flow continuously into her knickers. She collapsed on to the toilet and peed for what seemed like ages. Finally, the flow ceased. She pulled her jeans off and examined them– somehow, she’d managed not to get them wet except for a small damp patch right in the crotch. She threw her knickers in the bin and put her jeans back on. She left the hospital and began the walk home.
Her bladder was still aching from the abuse, and within a few minutes she felt a renewed need to pee. It didn’t seem possible, after the amount she’d done only 10 minutes ago, but her abused bladder didn’t seem willing to expand. She tightened her still–aching sphincter and hurried along as fast as she could. By the time she turned into her street, she was getting the familiar waves of pressure in her overworked bladder. She tried to run, but the pressure was too much and she had to slow to a walk again.
The steps up to the front door were torture, but she made it without losing any pee. She fumbled for her door key and managed to get the door open. Once inside, she once again undid the waistband of her jeans, and pushed her hand down inside them to hold herself. She started up the stairs to get to the toilet, but by the third step she almost lost it, and she pushed one finger between her lips and began to rub herself. As she struggled slowly up the stairs, a trickle of pee leaked out. She rubbed faster, but her sphincter wouldn’t tighten and once more small spurts of pee began to escape. She pushed one finger into her peehole, trying to block it, but the pee just leaked around it. Suddenly, her control gave way and the pee began to flood out. Her brain sent frantic messages to her sphincter, but for a few seconds nothing happened.
Finally she managed to slow the flood to a trickle, although she couldn’t stop it altogether. She realized she’d reached the end of the road, and began a panic stricken dash up the remaining steps and into the bathroom. She got through the door and the trickle of pee began to turn into a flood as her overused sphincter gave up the unequal struggle – there was no time to get her jeans down now, the only thing she could do was to try and minimize the damage, so she jumped into the bath and stood there with pee pouring down her legs. She felt a strange, almost sinful pleasure at the flow of hot pee, and almost without volition her hand, still inside her jeans, began to rub her suddenly engorged clitoris. Although still a virgin (which some of her friends couldn’t understand) she was no stranger to the delights of masturbation, but this was different. The flood of pee subsided and she felt an increasing tension in her lower body, then almost before she realized it, she experienced one of the most satisfying orgasms of her life.
As she stripped off her soaking jeans and cleaned herself up, she wondered where this new discovery might take her…
By: Watcher