Brad and Carrie's Day Out

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Accidental & Deliberate Wetting, and Masturbation.
Carrie and Brad were a happy couple in their late twenties, their strong marriage made stronger by a great sex life.
Carrie was slim and fit; she’d been a swimmer in school. She was small–breasted with a tight butt and gorgeous natural blonde hair. Brad was taller and more substantial, oftentimes looming over her, but she was the more forceful personality; Brad was a gentle soul, but with a mischievous streak.
Carrie was not terribly pee–shy; she’d grown up with three brothers, and when they’d been small they’d routinely peed in front of each other. So Carrie was never overly concerned about anyone seeing her peeing. She was, however, terribly reluctant to tell anyone that she needed to pee. On one unfortunate car trip with her family, they’d gotten stuck in traffic and Carrie had been caught short. Eventually, after much whining and fidgeting, she’d crawled into the back of the family minivan and peed on a blanket they kept back there. Her brothers had harassed her mercilessly both during and after this occasion, and as such Carrie had grown up with the resolve to a) never reveal she had to go and b) build up her bladder capacity. She succeeded at both. It never occurred to her to measure, but she could hold for hours on end rather than admit her need.
Both Brad and Carrie loved driving through the mountains. One day, back when they were still just dating, they’d taken a trip through the hills, and Carrie had realized that she needed to pee. She decided to hold it rather than tell Brad. They’d driven for hours and hours, however, and finally she’d had the choice of breaking her resolution or soaking the seat. At her frantic appeal Brad stopped the car by the side of the road. Heedless of cars passing, Carrie jumped out, whipped down her pants, and peed a torrent into the grass. To her surprise Brad drove them straight to an empty campground and began caressing her. They had fantastically intense sex right there in the car.
On the way home, Brad explained that he’d realized early on that Carrie needed to pee and began taking the long ways around to see how long she would go without asking. In the end her desperation and her urgent roadside piss had gotten so aroused that he could barely drive straight; he couldn’t wait to fuck her and had to get it off right there.
Carrie admitted that the sex had been great, and also acknowledged that letting go after hours and hours of holding had been a very nice feeling too –– one she was used to, but not to that degree, and never before in such a sexual way. They’d agreed that they had to do it again sometime, but Carrie laid down the rules. One, they wouldn’t ever talk about it. She’d never confess to needing to pee. Two, if she asked to stop, for whatever reason, they’d stop. She didn’t intend to wet her pants. Lastly, the sex would wait until they got home. Peeing outside was one thing; sex was another. Brad, clearly excited enough to accept any conditions, had cheerfully agreed.
So when one fine day Carrie proposed a mountain trip, and Brad agreed instantly.
Brad dressed for the trail with hiking boots and shorts, but Carrie suspected that they would mainly stay in the car. She wore light, loose pants, a blouse of similar material, and no underwear. She didn’t need a bra for support and the panties might get inconvenient at the wrong moment.
It was about a half–hour drive up the highway to the mountains, but it could take as long as a half–hour more before they got to the real off–roading and remote trails they liked, especially for the kind of games they planned on playing. As such they both used the bathroom before setting out. Brad looked slightly disappointed, but Carrie meant to prolong things a bit. She also meant to enjoy the scenery before they got on to the sweaty parts. To assuage his feelings, however, she made a point of filling a two–liter bottle with water in front of him, and then turned to him and asked, “Taken care of your water, hon?”
Brad grinned, and said, “Are you sure that’ll be enough for you? Why don’t you pack some soda, too?”
“Soda just makes me more thirsty, you know that.”
“Yup,” he said cheerfully.
She smiled, thought about how much he liked it, and packed four cans of Dr. Pepper. The caffeine would help fill her up. Then, thinking it might make her very thirsty; she also filled a couple of other bottles with water. Her bladder ached with anticipation, but the rest of her ached for something more: the deep passion of the sex with Brad that they’d have that night. She did love making him so happy and horny, but she also had a fairly deep appreciation for the sex herself.
They left the house at about 10:40 in the morning, and by 11:45 they got off the interstate and began winding their way further into the mountains. The sun was bright and the car was warm, so Carrie had already broken out her first bottle of water –– one of the small ones, not the 2–liter monster. Then she tossed back a Dr. Pepper with their tailgate lunch at about 12:30, and another to wash it down, and then finished her first bottle of water to deal with how thirsty this made her.
By 1PM the water and the soda had begun to make their way through her. A little after 1 they forded a stream in their SUV, splashing through the mud so violently that it spattered on their windshield and all over the hood of the car. It also bounced Carrie’s bladder rather fiercely, and Carrie said, “Let’s not do that again, honey; it’s not good for the suspension.”
But when Brad steered the car back onto smoother paths the urge eased a bit. By 2 Carrie had moved on to her third Dr. Pepper and her second water bottle, and guessed she had a little less than a liter of fluids in her. She was fairly full, but not uncomfortably so –– yet. That would come soon, she knew from long experience. She kept the last Dr. Pepper and the big 2L bottle in reserve. That would put her over the edge, so she decided to choose her moment more carefully.
“Let’s head home in about an hour, okay honey?” she said at 3. This was as close as she would come to admitting the need. The day was getting very hot; fortunately she was sweating a bit, but she was also increasingly thirsty, and had started to dip into her 2L bottle. She guessed that she would pee at 4 or 4:30, and then they would head back for a long afternoon and evening of hot sex.
“Fine by me,” Brad said. “But I’m gonna take a pit stop now. Need to go?”
Carrie glanced at him. Surely he didn’t mean to end it so soon. Her look confirmed it: he wanted her to wait longer. Well, she could oblige.
“No, I’m fine for now.” She really was; her bladder was full, but hardly overflowing. With her bladder strength she could last until 4 easily. She did look the other way when Brad pissed, however, and was grateful that he’d gone out of earshot. She decided to take small sips of water until 4, then chug the last Dr. Pepper and wash it down. That would have her bursting by 4:30 or 4:45.
At 3:30, however, Brad glanced down at the gas gauge and said, “Dang, we’re gonna need some gas soon. We’d better head back.”
Carrie raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t in the playbook. But gas was gas, so she didn’t say anything. Brad got them out on the main roads by 4 and found a small country gas station.
“Need to use the ladies’, sweetheart?” Brad asked.
Carrie smiled. “Not me.” But she held off on the last Dr. Pepper. As it was, she was starting to have to shift in her seat a bit.
They headed out to a new section of their mountains, but for some reason Brad kept mostly to roads with heavier traffic. Whenever Carrie mentioned that maybe it would be nice to push further in, Brad said something about going to a waterfall. Carrie knew the one he meant: it was a big one, and a popular tourist destination. They’d been there several times, and it never changed. What was the point of going back? And when they pulled into the parking lot (at about 5) she saw there were huge crowds today with no place for a private pee. There were, of course, plenty of restrooms, but that wouldn’t arouse Brad nearly so much. Moreover, the sound of the falls was not exactly music to her ears at this point.
Brad suggested that they take the hour–long hike to the bottom of the falls. She objected, saying she wasn’t well equipped for such a long walk (read: she’d have to pop a squat on the trail). Brad was insistent, however, wanting to get some exercise, and Carrie agreed to at least go to the trailhead and back while Brad ran down a little ways and then back up.
At 5:20 or so Brad headed down the trail a little ways, leaving her to sit on a bench beside the path. He promised he’d double back in ten minutes and they’d go home. Carrie perched on the edge of the bench, beginning to get worried. So far she’d managed to hold it without great difficulty, but now she had to shift position about once a minute. With her long training in holding it, she guessed she could last until 6:30 or so. The road home would be nearly that long, since they were now well south of the highway, which they usually followed. Carrie wasn’t really worried about wetting herself, but it had been seven hours since her last pee and she’d really filled up by then. Anyone without her bladder capacity and stamina would have been in serious trouble long before. She was worried she’d have to stop someplace along the road and use a gas station bathroom, ruining the sex as far as Brad was concerned. And she wanted Brad to be happy.
5:40 came and went, and no Brad. Carrie began to wonder if he was doing it deliberately by now. He had definitely broken the pattern; perhaps he was changing the rules. Well, she could change the rules too. She decided to wait five minutes more, then duck into the nearest bathroom, piss a little, and then drink the last Dr. Pepper and the remaining water on the way home. She’d arrive bursting, but she’d let him watch her use the toilet at home, and then the bed would be right there. Problem solved.
At 5:45, with still no sign of Brad, she jumped up and began to walk in quick but careful strides to the nearest bathroom, but just then Brad came up the trail and called to her. They headed back to the car, negotiated their way out of the parking lot, and were on the road home before 6.
Brad did not seem to be in any particular hurry; they poked along in the slow lane for a while. Carrie alternated sips of Dr. Pepper and water, crossed her legs, and kept an eye out for the exit signs. She’d once held her urine for nearly 11 hours, but that had been with less liquid in her and the last two hours had been pure torture –– not something she’d willingly put herself through again. As she passed the eight–hour mark she began to wonder if she could make it back to the house, and stopped drinking the soda. She had to take a few more sips of water to kill her thirst, however.
As 7:45 came Carrie realized that Brad was taking the long way home, and decided that enough was enough. “Aren’t we going the roundabout way, sweetie?” she asked, as if it didn’t matter at all.
“I suppose we are,” Brad answered, as if he hadn’t been doing it quite deliberately for the last several hours. “Why? Do you need to stop?”
Carrie hesitated, and then realized what he was up to: he wanted her to ask to stop. He wanted her to break the rules. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“It’s just I’m getting kind of hungry.”
“Well, we’ve got a few snacks in back still,” he said. “And you’ve got a lot of water left.”
If she drank that, she expected she’d have about 15 seconds before she emptied her bladder right onto the seat.
“Well, I can wait. I’d just like to get home.”
Brad nodded and kept driving. As they got near the critical interchange, however, he wasn’t in the right lane.
“You need to be one over, love,” Carrie prompted him. Her legs were pressed together pretty tightly, and she was considering sitting on her heel. Shit, the clock on the dashboard said 8:10. She’d been holding it for ten hours! In fact, there was no possibility of hiding it any more; she was bursting. She tucked her heel under her. “Change lanes, honey. Now!”
“Huh? Sorry, I was distracted.”
Of course he was, Carrie thought. He must have been aware of how long –– and how much –– she’d been holding. His cock must be as solid as iron. He did change lanes, although she was sure he’d been trying to deliberately miss their exit. As they made the turn, a sudden surge of pee made a break for freedom, and Carrie had to grab her crotch and press tightly to fight it back. God, this was getting to be sheer torture; she had probably less than five minutes before she wet herself.
“Do you need to pee, hon?” Brad asked.
Carrie gritted her teeth and said, “Yes. Yes I do. I’m not going to make it home. Stop at that gas station where we get off.”
Brad smiled, but said nothing.
“Look, Brad, you’ve had your fun,” Carrie said. “I’m about to explode here. Get me to a bathroom now.”
They got off the freeway at 8:20, almost exactly the ten–hour mark for Carrie’s hold. But rather than turning in at the gas station, Brad kept right on driving.
“BRAD!” Carrie shrieked. “I’m not kidding! I’m gonna wet my pants!”
“You can hold it,” Brad answered calmly. “I know you can. You’re so good at it.”
“Brad, my bladder is beyond full.” She pulled up her shirt to show him her swollen belly. “I’ve probably got three litres in there right now. It has to come out right now.”
“You can’t make it back to the house?”
“No. I’m gonna wet myself in a second.”
Brad nodded. “Hang on just a little longer. I’ve got an idea.”
They drove straight past another gas station. Carrie reached over and punched him in the side. “Why didn’t we stop there? You’re breaking the rules, Brad! When I ask, you pull over. That’s what we agreed on.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m horrible,” Brad said, clearly unrepentant. “Here we are.”
They turned off the road into a do–it–yourself car wash. It was coin–operated; there wasn’t even an office– and definitely no bathroom. “How’s this gonna help, Brad? I need a toilet. Right now.”
Brad said nothing, just parked the car in the stall. “We kicked up a lot of mud up in the hills,” he said, getting out. “Figured we could wash it down before we headed home…”
“Brad,” Carrie said, opening her door so he could hear her, “I need to go to the bathroom. I can’t wait any more. Do you understand?”
“You’re a big girl,” Brad said. “Close the door, honey, I’m starting to wash now.” He was as good as his word, starting to spray down the far side.
Carrie knew enough to shut the door, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with this, so she jumped out of the car. The movement sent another fierce spurt racing for the open air, and she had to jam one hand between her legs and bend over double to hold it back. But she managed to get the car door shut with her free hand. The crisis momentarily past, she hobbled around the car, but as soon as she saw Brad spraying down the mud–splattered patches she had to bend over again. The running water was sending an unmistakable signal straight to her groin.
“Brad,” she said, as firmly as she could manage while bent double and bobbing a little with the strain, “I am going to wet myself right here, right now.”
Brad turned to face her. She looked up from her desperate position and saw the fervent hope in her eyes. “Sweetie,” he said, “You are so amazing… I expected you to wet yourself an hour ago. I love you so much. I can’t wait to make love to you.”
“Thanks, honey,” Carrie said, “but it’s coming out. I can feel it right now. I really don’t wanna wet my pants.”
“You can just squat right here,” Brad said. “There’s a drain in the floor right next to you.”
“That’s one of the busiest streets in town, Brad! Peeing in the woods is one thing, but squatting in front of half our city? No, I can’t do that.”
“Then I’ll help,” Brad said, and sprayed her with the hose.
The first impact made her gasp, and spurt. She felt the water pouring over her, and felt the pee beginning to rush out around her restraining hand. “Brad, stop,” she said, “I’m not wearing underwear, and this shirt gets see–through…”
“All the better,” Brad said. Something in her voice made her look up again. He was rubbing the crotch of his shorts. “C’mon, sweetie. Just let it go.” He sprayed her again.
That was enough to trigger a much bigger spurt this time. But as the water from the hose soaked her clothes, Carrie realized there would be very little to distinguish the wet patch at her crotch from the wet patches everywhere else.
“Okay,” she said, tentatively. And then she straightened up and parted her legs.
A torrent poured out of her, a mad rush. It was blissful, almost orgasmic, to let go after ten hours of holding three and a half cans of caffeinated soda and nearly three litres of water. A pure river was running into the crotch of her pants.
“Hey, sweetie, can you stop it?” Brad asked. “I can’t tell what’s the water and what is the pee.”
“Stop it?” Carrie asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Just squat down next to the tire, pretend you’re washing the wheel, and pull your pants down. I want to see your stream.”
Carrie did her best to oblige, but cutting off the flood rushing out of her was almost more painful than holding it in to begin with. She managed to cut it down to a trickle, long enough to squat and slip her pants down. She was very glad she hadn’t worn panties in that moment. The period of trickling lasted about two seconds, and then it was a full rush again.
“Holy shit,” Brad murmured. “You would not believe how hot you look right now, lover.”
Carrie grinned up at him. “Careful that thing doesn’t go off in your pants, hon. I want you to save that.”
“Can’t,” Brad said. “I’m about to cum…”
“Then get over here,” Carrie said. He obliged. She unzipped his pants and stroked him twice; he poured out a flood of his own, much smaller than the one she was still making.
“Brad,” she said, taking the hose from his limp fingers and washing her hands with it, “You’re a very bad boy for breaking the rules, and a worse boy for cumming without me. So you’re going to have to pay.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Brad murmured. “That was so God awful hot, I can’t apologize… what did you have in mind?”
“This,” she said, and turned the hose on him.
It was a water fight in several senses of the word.
By: Weasel