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holdit247

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Blog Entries posted by holdit247

    This meeting was not going as I wanted. My important supplier and her team on the other side of the table was taking the piss with her incessant demands. I'd made far more money from my business interests in the time we'd been in the meeting than we were arguing over or than she would make all year, for that matter. So I was having none of it. Time to take the piss out of her.
    It shouldn't be too difficult, we'd been in the meeting for 4 hours and I thought I'd counted her drink five cups of tea in the first two hours. My PA knew my tactics when meetings didn't go well. I mirrored the 'bladder diplomacy' so famously used by middle eastern government negotiators against western prime ministers and presidents. So while one of my team was counter arguing some point I texted my PA to request a fire alarm drill.
    All the people in the meeting, and many others from the executive floor and all the other floors in my company's office building dutifully tramped down to the ground floor and gathered in groups at our designated rendezvous points. Acting unfazed I tried to continue the meeting and was sure now that my opponent did indeed need to pee. She wasn't exactly fidgeting but her body language was stiff as though she was trying to control it and hide something. One of her team whispered to her and disappeared in the direction of the local coffee shop, presumably to relieve himself. She made no attempt to follow but looked annoyed.
    Mrs Ozwald. Niamh to her friends. Petite, ruthless, charming and gutsy in equal measure, but no match for my intellect, business skills or deep pockets. Her red Celtic hair was one of her better features, in fact physically she had a lot going for her.
    This could be interesting, if she thought maybe I needed to go too (unlikely, I was far too well trained) was she looking for a battle of wills? My wonderful PA appeared, as I'd trained her to do, to offer to go and buy us drinks while we stood outside continuing the discussion. I asked for the largest cup of tea the shop sold, leaving Mrs O no choice but to choose a large Cappuccino. I knew my PA would come back with a small drink for me on some pretext that they'd only had one large take away cup so had opted for the guest over me.
    We continued with the business of the meeting while we waited to be allowed back inside. Mrs O was less rational, less impressive, and losing the argument as time went on. I knew now I had her. Time for the kill, she probably just wanted the meeting to end, so she could relieve her aching bladder. I offered a deal worse for them than we had been edging towards, but with signing right here right now. Her whole team seemed to need to go badly now, though she'd drunk the most of all of them. Between sentences she was now pacing around our group where we stood in the car park, she was obviously unable to hide it or keep still. I hadn't seen a grimace or curtsy yet but it was just a matter of time.
    My PA gave me a subliminal signal and in response to my nod came over, whispering "The team are wasting money now, we need to let them back in." I agreed. Bladder diplomacy wasn't working here.
    Back in the office most of my team and hers used the toilets on the exec floor before we reconvened the meeting. To my shock Niamh didn't. We were alone in the meeting room for a moment. Then she came out with a killer counter argument to my offer. I hadn't seen it coming and to be honest had underestimated her. She was bursting but still wanted to do the deal in her favour even at the expense of holding longer. She looked me in the eye. "Your games won't work with me Stewart. Give me what we're asking for. Its a reasonable price and reasonable margin, and the business case for you stacks up whatever you spend. You like doing business with us and you clearly like sparring with me. Shall we send our teams home if you want me to stick around so we can settle this?" She made a mighty effort to stand still but her knees swayed a little and her bum twitched. I could take her on alone, rising to her implied challenge, and get the deal completed quickly given her supreme desperation.
    I nodded and pushed her. "We'll lock ourselves in here until we're agreed?" She didn't hesitate. Now she was downright impressing me. Her commitment to business over her own comfort or even embarrassment reminded me of me when I was starting my business.
    We sent our teams away, my PA refreshed the drinks in the room and Niamh pointedly poured herself a cup of tea while looking me in the eye. Her pouring hand was shaking but she started to drink it. I had a water.
    For the next hour we had an intellectually stimulating negotiation, sitting across from each other. I swear she had her hand grasping her crotch under the table but I couldn't tell for sure. And it didn't matter, her strong and incessant fidgeting in the swivel chair kept me informed of her growing bladder. But she really was impressing me with her grasp of how my business could benefit from hers, all delivered despite her impressive hold: 5 cups of tea in the first two hours of the meeting, a huge cup of coffee outside in hour five, and another 90 minutes here now with another standard cup of tea.
    I'd made my mind up. I went round to sit next to her, to soften my next statement but also find out if she was holding herself. And yes, her hand slid away as I sat. Her fidgeting increased. I told her that I needed negotiators like her in my business, so I was going to offer to buy hers to get her on my team. Her eyes gleamed. I asked how much the offer needed to be for her to choose to sacrifice her own business and freedom, to work for me.
    She actually gritted her teeth as she replied. Then, thighs clenched together, she stood up and walked to the window, staring out but squirming with her back to me. Her desired figure was inflated above the business's worth but I could afford it and justify it. My reply was simply "Ok. Let's shake on it and go to dinner to celebrate. You can share your negotiating tips with me." We duly shook, and a gentleman's word is his bond in my book so that was that.
    -----
    She did pee before we left, as did I. Over a boozy dinner we laughed, I learnt a few things, as did she, and I was staggered to discover that her winning negotiating technique was learnt from an Arab business school. She turned bladder diplomacy on its head, and found that she could be much clearer headed and persuasive with a full bladder than when comfortable. She said that outside during the fire alarm standing had got the better of her, but sitting again she had got her ability back.
    My driver dropped her home then me. I marvelled at my new recruit's technique, which beat me and impressed me in equal measure. My business gained a lot from her full bladdered negotiations on my behalf from there on, and I must admit occasionally I'd interrupt her meetings at their later stages just to enjoy seeing her squirm. I don't know if she ever knew of my own techniques.
  1. [All events, places, names and medical conditions are made up and the behaviour suggested herein, especially overdosing prescription meds, is not advised or condoned]
    It had been getting worse for weeks when I finally went to the doctor. He'd taken a urine sample and run a few tests and told me in the meantime to drink only water or cranberry juice. When that had turned up nothing immediate he sent me for an ultrasound, for which I had to arrive at the hospital with a full bladder which I'd enjoyed, and insisted on heading home without relieving myself when they were done with the tests. I hadn't made it home without masturbating under my short summer dress on the tube though. Happy times.
    Today the latest results had come in and it didn't bode well that his secretary had rung me to come in for an emergency appointment. Cryptically she'd asked me not to pee or drink anything before arriving. That was fine with me, I didn't need to go.
    Sitting in his consulting room I was surprised I felt nervous when I saw the Doctor's grave face, but tried to hide it. He had a diagnosis and was here to make me better I told myself. I could handle that.
    "So what is it doctor?" I asked eventually as he was looking forlornly at me.
    He sighed. "You have a very rare condition, so rare I've never seen it before in my whole career. It didn't occur to me to test for it but the lab drew a blank with my requested tests so added one for this. In the meantime the ultrasound showed the same result. Your kidneys are malfunctioning, due to a constriction of the ureters that empty the urine they produce to your bladder. It's called Retroperitoneal Fibrosis. It's potentially dangerous, as it can lead to kidney disease and all the complications that brings."
    I wasn't sure if he was pausing for breath or to let me ask questions, so stayed stum.
    "Its treatable with a minor procedure, under local anaesthetic and using keyhole surgery. Normally we'd work on the ureter from the outside, as the obstruction is caused by fibroids growing near it, but in your case we need to open it up first. It's a bit like angioplasty where a balloon is used to enlarge a blocked blood vessel in the heart. However it's imperative that you don't pee until the operation. We need the pressure in your bladder to back up along the ureters and keep them open otherwise we can't insert the stent."
    I was getting excited now. This sounded good.
    "So I will get better? So when's the appointment Doctor?" I asked.
    He shook his head. "Yes, it's easily treatable but serious if left untreated. I've tried all over the country, the first slot I can get you is Thursday, in Orpington of all places. There's a shortage of the specialists needed. So ridiculous as it sounds you can't pee for the next 44 hours."
    I think he expected me to respond negatively but I couldn't. I just couldn't. "Well my record hold before now is 35 hours so that sounds ok." My grin was clearly disconcerting him as he appeared to ignore what I'd said.
    "We'll admit you to hospital where the staff will help you hold your pee. We'll prescribe drugs to suppress the feelings in your bladder. We'll... Hang on, what did you say?"
    I smiled and nodded, as if to say he'd heard right.
    He went beetroot red. "Are you into watersports?"
    "Well, omorashi to be precise." He looked blank so I went on "The denial of urination for sexual pleasure Doctor." I decided to push my luck. "Have you ever tried it?"
    "That's not of concern here," he muttured. "Holding urine deliberately can be bad for you young lady, it can cause bladder infections amongst other things."
    I interrupted "Check my notes doctor, I've never had a UTI. Could it be the cause of my condition now?"
    He rummaged at his keyboard and then nodded. "Ah yes, so you haven't. But no, various genetic or medication causes are attributed to Retroperitoneal Fibrosis, but peeing too often is more likely to cause this. It doesn't sound like it will be in your case. When did you last pass urine?"
    I told him it was a couple of hours before his secretary's phone call. "So that's what, 5 hours ago?" he asked.
    "Give or take," I nodded.
    "You must need to go by now then." He said it matter of factly, as a statement, not a question. I shook my head which served to fluster him. "Well take this prescription to the pharmacy and start taking the pills immediately. They will help suppress the nerves in your bladder and thus make it easier to hold on to begin with. I'll arrange for an ambulance to pick you up from home at," he checked his watch for the third time since I'd said I hadn't peed for 5 hours, "4 o'clock this afternoon?" I nodded. It would save me the cost of hospital parking. "You'll be admitted to the local hospital for the time being, and transferred sometime on Thursday to Orpington where the Urologist will perform the procedure. I must impress upon you, do not drink anything until you are in hospital and your fluid intake can be measured and controlled, and do not eat any moist foods, especially wet fruits like melon. Both these measures, while unsafe long term, will help avoid you overfilling before the procedure."
    Well that was like a red rag to a bull, and as soon as I got to the pharmacy I bought a 1 litre bottle of water and downed it while waiting for the prescription. I took quadruple the dose of the Oxybutynin pills to spice up my hospital visit, washing them down with another litre of water.
    The ambulance picked me up as arranged, by which time I'd only waited 7 hours, a trifle compared to my daily routine never mind any of my regular big holds. I chatted to the gorgeous paramedic who sat in the back with me, doing my best to boast that after 7 hours I didn't need to pee. He evidently wasn't into holdit but seemed to like my cleavage. I gave him my number as he wheeled me into the ward I'd be on for the next day and a half, and tried to kiss him on the cheek after he'd handed my notes to a nurse and checked I was safely on the bed.
    The nurses were lovely. They seemed very concerned for me that I would be "so uncomfortable" not being able to pee. None of them seemed to understand that being instructed medically not to pee was turning me on. I tried to explain that for a lot of this enforced hold I'd be completely under control and enjoying myself. But they didn't believe me. They just kept saying how badly they had to pee by the end of a busy shift and none of them seemed to like it like I do. However when I mentioned sex with a full bladder they started to take notice. The seven on my ward all formed a pact to try it out that night, by going home with their bladders full after a 12 hour shift and seducing their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands or whatever.
    The next day 3 reported difficulty orgasming, 3 had loved it and one had enjoyed it so much she hadn't peed afterwards and had instead begged her boyfriend for sex again this morning, when she was so desperate she had no ideas how she was still holding on. But she smiled to her colleagues all gathered round my bed that she had never had sex or an orgasm so intense, and she swore to me then and there to never have sex again without "drinking lots first."
    Meanwhile I'd been holding for 24 hours now and never before found it so easy. My 2 litres of water were definitely in my bladder, it was bulging to prove it, but I barely needed to go. The Oxybutinin was clearly helping. The nurses had never seen anyone so in control of such a full bladder.
    The day passed without incident, in fact it was boring, being allowed only sips of water and dry foods. Well, I suppose one nurse asking me to masturbate her because she admired my fetish and wanted to try it was less boring, but being straight I declined. For now.
    I secretly drank another huge drink when I went to the hospital shop during the evening, but was only just finishing the bottle as I got back to the ward. It was the empty bottle in my bedside bin that gave me away, another 2 litres in and nowhere for it to go! The nurse who found it was the one who'd held for the whole night and she chided me publicly but winked as she left, taking the empty bottle with her to remove the evidence. I saw her later drinking the same size bottle as she did her rounds.
    I was enjoying my fullness and slight sensation of needing to pee as I drifted off to sleep.
    Now I'd woken up on the morning of my operation, 47 hours since my last pee and bloody bursting. The pills had stopped helping and I'd drunk way too much. As I lay writhing on the bed my favourite nurse arrived. I asked if she was off home soon, clutching myself the whole time. It turned out she'd swapped with a colleague and was now doing a double shift. "I haven't peed since starting my evening shift last night, and you know I drank that water. I want to be as good as you at this," she tells me, hopping discreetly from foot to foot. She'd also put her name down to accompany me in the ambulance booked to take me to Orpington.
    I was way beyond my usual hold now, two hours until the operation, half an hour before the ambulance and totally beside myself, really struggling. I told her so. She offered to make me cum, to help, as it had her, but instead I tried gingerly to get out of bed to go and pee some of it out. She hit the alarm button and other nurses from the same shift ran over to restrain me. They knew I enjoyed it and reminded me as much to distract me. In the end I had to be restrained like a mental patient to stop me going to the loo. I never thought I'd be medically prevented from peeing to this extreme. The thought turned me on as much as the physical sensation worried me that I'd leak and wet myself soon. Not something I'd done as a teenager or adult but this felt like I'd have no choice.
    I was kept restrained, with a double dose of the pills, as the ambulance transfer proceeded. I have never been lying down with such bladder strain while being driven along Britain's uneven roads, but in other circumstances I'd recommend it. I'd never been driven under blue lights and sirens because I needed to pee! Right now all I wanted was either to pee or for my boyfriend to penetrate me.
    At Orpington they bumped me up the OR schedule when told of my predicament, and I was given the pre-meds almost upon arrival. Drowsily I asked the nurse accompanying me how she was doing. "Bursting like I never have before but I'm holding it till we can both go home," she said. It was nearly enough to turn me.
    But the surgeon was properly hot. Delirious with desperation and the drugs by now I begged him to satisfy me with my biggest hold inside me, but he declined. Something about medical ethics. He offered to catheterise me while I was still under local anaesthetic but I refused to sign that form. He said doing so might render me incontinent for a few days whereas if I waited till I could pee naturally after theatre it was likely my capacity would be permanently improved as a side effect of the treatment.
    Not being able to feel anything, sedated and with a local, while a doctor stuck instruments inside me to access the ureter, was weird. I could see and touch my distended bladder, which was so big that I couldn't see what the surgeon was doing, but I couldn't feel any sensation of needing to go.
    After the op which apparently was very successful because I had such high pressure in my bladder and ureters, the whole surgical team urged me to pee, so I did try, honestly, but the anaesthetic had locked me up. I asked my tame friendly nurse how long that might last while we waited for an ambulance to take me home. She estimated only 20 minutes, which would be fine under blue light transport but the journey would be a bit longer at London's typical pace.
    Thank the Lord, the same hot ambulance paramedic turned up to collect us, and we chatted on the journey. The nurse told him her situation, and mine. She was squirming constantly, sweating and generally being a right turn on even though I'm straight. It was 11:30 when I felt the first twinge as the drugs wore off, 50.5 hours in. We were in the ambulance in a traffic queue and the sedation rapidly reduced. I knew i couldn't hold it in any longer and told them both. With a look at each other, my gorgeous paramedic held a bed pan beneath me, well, 3 in turn in fact. The nurse, face scrunched up in pain as she heard me pee, told me each one held 2 pints so I estimated that pee at 5 pints. 2.8 litres. She only managed one and a half bed pans, starting as soon as I'd finished. 3 pints was still respectable for a first time measurement I told her, but she was disappointed. What the hot paramedic thought I never found out as we arrived at home soon after. Bugger, to coin a phrase.
    [No similarity to any persons or places is intended]
    "Morning darling!" I rolled over and kissed her, my pee holding goddess. "It's valentine's day so I've booked us both the day off work," she looked surprised so I was glad her colleagues had kept it secret, "and we're going to have some fun. It'll be a holding day for you like you've always dreamed of, do you want to pee now before we begin?" She shook her head and kissed me.
    "Ok, on your head be it. I've bought you a 5 litre bottle of water, and you have to drink it all, as slowly as you like. I'm going to lock you in the spare bedroom while you do. Choose your clothes for the day now, and take them in there with you. You mustn't drink it too quick or you'll give yourself health problems. Can you do it, and do you want to?"
    "Anything for you, this sounds like a treat," she responded. "What should I wear?" We settled on casual skinny red jeans and a floaty top. She'd already drunk getting on for a litre by the time I locked her in, with some breakfast too. Not that she'd be hungry once all that water was sloshing around waiting for her kidneys to deal with it.
    I pottered around the house tidying up and getting things ready for later, and it wasn't until two hours after I'd turned the key on the spare room - which had no en suite - that she hammered on the door to let me know she'd drunk the water.
    "I've almost drunk it all," she said, holding up the massive bottle with a small volume left at the bottom. Well, perhaps a litre left. "My stomach feels horrible, I really don't want any more." She looked amazing, with an empty bottle in her hand that I knew was all inside her, her beautiful figure and quiet smirk on her face.
    "Ok, listen carefully," I warned. "We're going out. You won't be able to pee until we get back. I'm not telling you everything about what we're doing, but if you want, you can wrap yourself in this cling film to sweat off as much as possible. It might be uncomfortable and restrict your movement, but it's up to you if you want to risk holding all that instead."
    She looked incredulous. "What on earth are you going to do to me?"
    "We're booked on a Ryanair flight with no toilets, I was careful to select the destination based on their published policy of removing toilets to accommodate extra seats. Cling film won't show up on airport security scanners, I've checked."
    She looked tearful. Maybe I was pushing it too far already. "Where to?" she asked.
    "Dublin, we'll have valentine's lunch there then come back," I replied. "How're you doing by the way?"
    "Bloody bloated stomach, that's the worst thing. Knowing how full I'll be later is the only thing stoppong me throwing it up to relieve the pain," she said.
    "So you want to be full, fuller than you've ever been?" I queried.
    "Oh yes, you know I want to be worse every time we play," she replied.
    I left her to decide what to do with the cling film while I dressed, leaving the door unlocked this time, trusting her implicitly. She surprised me with a cuddle when she was ready and we headed out, driving to the airport. Unfortunately at the airport we were randomly selected for extra security screening and subjected to the full body x-ray thing that supposedly makes all passengers safer. I heard the security guy ask her to stand still while he scanned, and knew the water was doing its stuff. I'd made sure that we allowed plenty of time for security so we had to wait quite a while for our gate to be announced, during which time Mel refused to sit down. We had to shop shop shop to let her keep moving and hide her already pronounced fidgeting.
    Sitting on the plane she opted for the window seat and leant her head on my shoulder. "This is amazing, I've never felt so exhilarated about a hold before. It's making me really nervous but the cling film is helping, you come up with the weirdest ideas," she whispered.
    "How are you doing darling?"
    "It's hugely full, it doesn't usually happen this quickly but there's just so much water in me. It's fine though, feels fantastic and not urgent at all. I feel like I could last all day."
    "Despite the fidgeting?" I gesticulated at her squirming in the confined seat.
    "It's involuntary, you know that. You're worse than me for fidgeting when you're desperate!" she retorted.
    I changed the subject. "What did you do with the cling film then?"
    "Like you said, wrapped it around my body and thighs to encourage sweating, and that is definitely happening. It's a bit uncomfortable, both the constriction from it being there and the sweat is trapped by the film, but I can't imagine I'd have made it all day with 4 litres in me otherwise. I doubt I'd be sitting here on a plane with no loo in fact. Even I'm not daft. And I also wrapped some around myself really tight, so I won't have to hold myself when it gets that bad. I've got a nice tight, and if I'm lucky waterproof too, layer to keep it all in. You're in for a treat dear!"
    Wow, she wasn't going to go all day. I'd intended to let her pee during lunch in Dublin, knowing she'd be more than hydrated enough to be bursting again when we eventually got home. Maybe I should have told her that this morning! I was rock hard now, and the seatbelt was annoying my erection.
    I wriggled to free myself. "Er, are you sure? You haven't peed since last night sweetheart, and it's already," I checked my watch, "11:30, lunch is booked at 1:30, the flight back is 7pm giving us some shopping time before we have to check in. You won't be home before 10ish and if you don't pee before my 'treat'," I emphasised that using my fingers to make imaginary quote marks, "it'll be midnight before you go."
    She grabbed my hands as I made the gesture. "I didn't pee last night, I pretended by flushing so you'd think I had, but was holding it for a nice full bladder sexual marathon this morning before work. You know, a valentine's treat for us both." She shrugged her shoulders. She could tell from my expression I wanted the stats. "I peed before leaving work yesterday, 6 ish I guess."
    Looking at her hand clasping mine, quite hard to be honest, I knew she was worried whether she could do this. "How do you feel about the hours ahead?"
    "I told you, it feels great, so full and like my muscles are being forced to expand by the volume. That'll happen a lot more I hope!" Her sphincter was clearly easily coping for now, my goddess. She really couldn't sit still though.
    When we had landed, walked the seemingly never ending corridors of Dublin airport and had gone through a mercifully short passport queue we hopped on the city centre airport bus. My girlfriend just sat quietly watching the world go by, but clearly now struggling to hold with will power alone. I wasn't surprised with over 18 hours in her, plus in the last 5 hours 4 litres input which her kidneys would be working madly to force into her now super full bladder. I'd planned to make her struggle through our romantic valentine's lunch and then let her empty before we toured the city shops, topped her up with a few beers, and headed back to the airlitresA. t best she'd only pee 2 litres After lunch, leaving another 2, plus the lunch drinks and beers to make her even worse before we got home.
    When we reached our table in the posh restaurant Mel wiggled her eyebrows at me. We'd been seated at the furthest point from the toilets, with a whole restaurant of loved up tables for 2 for her to walk through if she had an accident. Great I thought, more incentive for her to wait like the good girl she always was was. As she'd decided to go for all day, who was I to argue.
    We ordered champagne and water to drink, as alcohol can be so dehydrating. It was not particularly because of our fetish but we always drank a glass of water with every glass of alcohol. Over the course of a fabulous lunch when Mel didn't stop moving for one second, we got through two bottles of champagne and two of mineral water. We had a huge amount of fun flirting and being like any other couple in the restaurant, except that my girlfriend couldn't sit still or even, apparently, breath freely. Towards the end of the meal, 8 hours since she'd started consuming the 4 litres, she was gasping every so often and bending forward in her chair. It was mid-afternoon, with quite some time before our flight home.
    I asked if she dared leave the restaurant and available toilets behind. "Oh yes," she nodded eagerly. "I may be embarrassingly fidgety, but it still just feels superb. Full, expanding and under control. There's no urgency at all. I want it like this more often!" That got my mind wandering.
    Shopping was unsuccessful because we were so completely distracted. Every time one of us tried to stop and look at something in a shop Mel's complete inability to keep still made us either go red or break down in giggles. Whenever I thought we were out of other people's earshot I wanted to know how she was doing. Something weird seemed to have happened, she'd drunk more than she usually did but was coping much better than we'd expect and enjoying the desperation much more. As far as I could tell this was because she felt full but under control, at least as regards leaking was concerned. She definitely couldn't control the fidgeting which was getting extreme. Her reaction was that at least she was burning calories!
    Having abandoned shopping we had one pint each in a pub but chose to leave because other customers were staring at Mel. She was sitting on a bench under a window, with her feet curled up under her and with her whole body bouncing rhythmically. She looked more gorgeous than ever to me at that moment. I couldn't get my mind off the fact she'd drunk so much.
    Standing (in my case) and squirming (in her case) outside the pub we tried to decide what to do to kill the time before we needed to be back at the airport. If you've ever been to Dublin airport you'll know it's not got the best shopping ever, and sitting drinking for hours didn't seem a good idea. I had to drive after all. We headed to the bus stop walking slowly to avoid too long standing still in the queue, which would embarrass us both at this point. The journey was uneventful apart from Mel's increasing fidgeting.
    At the airport, security were again being particularly careful. By the time we got to the front of the queue I could tell Mel was beginning to struggle. Presumably her pint of beer wasn't helping. She started sweating, bending at the waist, twisting her legs and being blindingly obvious. The security chaps couldn't help but notice. They must have been bored and looking for something to amuse them. They claimed the machine was malfunctioning and asked Mel to stand still while they manually scanned her with one of those handheld devices, but because she was beyond standing still they claimed they couldn't trust the result and insisted on a 'personal' search. Mel protested but they assured her she could remain fully clothed. I relaxed at that point but poor girl, she couldn't. We were taken to a private room where a female official searched Mel. She paused on her thighs, probably feeling the cling film as an unusual texture, and at that moment it became obvious we might be in more trouble than I'd anticipated. Mel shot horrible looks at me as she was clearly bursting now, still sweating, starting to involuntarily gasp and so admitted as much to the security team.
    "Look, I have got to go to the loo," she began.
    "We can see that, just wait until we've strip searched you and then you can go," one of the men replied. "Do you want him to leave while we conduct the search?"
    She shook her head. "No, let me go now please. I don't mind someone coming with me to check I don't throw anything I just have to go now or I'll, well, I, erm. You know." At that one of the men looked at one of the others and winked.
    We were taken into a smaller room with just two female security officers, and Mel was asked to strip. She looked at me for help, but I couldn't figure out what to do. So she did, starting with her top half. When she inevitably revealed the cling film around her body the ladies stepped back in horror. One radioed a colleague. The other asked "Are you concealing any sort of weapon or explosive under that?"
    I was transfixed by the largest bladder bulge I had ever seen. My petite girlfriend must have grown from a [uK] size 6 to a size 14, how on earth she'd kept her skinny jeans done up all day was a mystery. Her bladder was poking over the top of her jeans like a fat man's belly.
    Presumably not thinking entirely straight out of pure desperation, Mel replied "Only my bladder, that feels explosive!" They both took another step back and stared suspiciously at us until six men came in, bodily picked Mel up and laid her on the floor, pinning her arms and legs down so that she couldn't move. "Stop it!" she pleaded, but it was obvious we were beyond that. They'd have to complete their search before they realised we weren't hiding anything.
    I decided I'd better man up. I cleared my throat "Is smuggling nearly 5 litres of water, a bottle of champagne and a pint of beer a criminal offense?" Two of the security people looked at me but the rest continued to debate how to remove Mel's jeans without letting go of her legs. I spoke louder. "We're just indulging our fetish, she drinks as much as she can and then the cling film is to help her sweat it out," no-one was listening to me now, even Mel who was screaming to let her pee. My voice faltered "And she holds the rest until we get home. Haven't you ever tried that?" I knew before the words left my lips the last question was a huge mistake, but sometimes that's just how life is. Your mouth gets ahead of common sense.
    Eventually they gingerly inched her jeans off, leaving her in her bra and very brief panties. It was valentine's day so they weren't exactly modest. As a result, the cling film around her nether regions, to stop her leaking or needing to hold herself, was visible. The men just stared. The women weren't much better. As we looked Mel evidently realised that she had to prove what I'd said, and let go. Not much could come out with the cling film around her but as she'd not peed since the previous day it was yellow enough to be seen. She made a monumental effort to clamp it off again and shot my another angry look. To their credit the security team didn't flinch when she peed.
    Eventually though the senior one, holding her right arm, asked a question. "Why did you do that?"
    She replied very quickly, and through gritted teeth - try stopping the flow with that much inside you and after such a long hold - "To prove to you what my stupid boyfriend said. I've been holding it about 24 hours, I've drunk everything he said, sweated a lot off to be fair but been struggling to hold it for hours. For pleasure. The cling film was a stupid prank to spice up our fantasy. Please let me pee!"
    "I've never come across this situation before. I'll have to x-ray you first, then we can let you on your way if you're telling the truth. The x-ray machine is the other side of the building, so we're going to have to put you on a trolley and cover you while we wheel you over there. We can't let you dress and walk yourself for security reasons."
    Mel grimaced, and after much shuffling a trolley was squeezed into the crowded room and she was lifted on to it, then handcuffed and ankle cuffed to it. A sheet was placed over her and then we headed off, me tagging along.
    A thought occured to me, so I asked "If we are a perceived threat, why aren't you taking so much notice of me?"
    The whole team's faces changed, and it was their turn to look uncomfortable.
    ----
    And so it transpired that after a lengthy court case, in which every detail of our fetish was examined by the defendants' barrister, we were awarded 250 thousand euros compensation for sexual harassment by that security team. It turned out they had indulged their own fetish for detaining the many young women desperate to pee that passed through the gate line for several years, but we were the first to find them out. Never had holding it paid so handsomely.
    Had we made it home to make love with all that pee inside her? No, but we joined the mile high club in our own unique way, and then Mel got to pee before we returned to our seats. If only we'd carried a measuring jug on as hand luggage!
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