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Found 9 results

  1. Does anyone here have any videos of a bulging bladder like showing it off? I find those really good (and impressive lol I've been trying to acheive that as well but thats a different story :p)
  2. The sun was obscured by tall, pine covered Vermont mountains. A dark blue 1988 Pontiac 6000 LE Safari crested a hilltop road, driving it was a skinny, blonde young man, in the passenger seat, his girlfriend. The car was silent, aside from the rhythmic clunking of passing over highway connection points. The young lady looked over at her boyfriend, breaking the past 20 minutes of silence with a very meek, almost inaudible “Hey..” The boy broke eye contact with the road, opting to look at the thick, jet black bangs of rich hair that utterly blinded his girlfriend. The two were a rather silent couple, in the four years of high school love-dovery they had experienced together, they always remained mostly silent. They would sometimes go weeks, or over a month without exchanging so much as a hum, but they never failed to spend some of each day in each other's presence. The contact of eyes to her felt like a wave of boiling heat, her soul flinched, and she grabbed her hair, holding it up to her face to hide behind it. Her face underneath was red as her own blood, something about his body language today, -something the two had become exceptionally skilled at reading- made her feel a sort of way. She knew what this way was, but refused to admit it to herself. “I have something to show you, I think you might like it.” she informed him, softly as always. Her boyfriend’s eyes were already affixed on the road again, which freed her from her flustered hiding place. She reached into the back seat, and grabbed her handbag. She reached inside, and pulled out a few items, all encased in brown paper bags. Twisting her body around like that had intensified a slight aching that had been in her lower abdomen most of the day, but it was still barely tame enough to ignore. She figured that she could wait a bit before bringing his attention to it. “I was looking at the Sears catalog a few days ago..” “Hm?” “...And, well- I saw something you might like..” The young man looked back at his girlfriend, her lips formed a shadow of a smile, but it was a smile. His eyes followed her perfectly thin arms until he caught a glimpse of what was in her hands. His eyes widened, and he snapped back to his relentless stare at the road, hoping to distract himself from what he had seen. Yes, he certainly liked it. He liked it a lot. It made him feel warm inside. The girl twisted around again to put the items back in her bag. Much to the displeasure of the mysterious aching in her body. She felt like she had spoken too much for the time being, so she opted to press her legs together, and rest her hands on the end of her skirt. She remained silent for the following 15 minutes, her eyes locked on to the thin, transparent denier tights that wrapped around her legs. She watched as they reflected, and became more or less transparent when the sun hit them at different angles every time the car turned. This reminded her that she needed to get more, as this was her last pair that wasn't ripped from how delicate they were. Suddenly, the boy’s Pontiac crested a rather pointed hill, giving the girl a brief feeling of weightlessness, then a sharp jolt of pain from the aching area. It suddenly felt a lot worse, almost as if her ignorance of it had kept the pain at bay all day, only for the sudden grasp of attention to make her realize how much it actually hurt! She grasped her skirt tightly, and ignored her desire to remain quiet for longer. “Sam?” she mumbled. “Jamie?” “May I please use the restroom?” “No.” “Okay.” It took her a second to realize what he had just said. She looked over at him. “What? What do you mean ‘No’?” “I mean no.” “But I haven't gone all day, the teachers kept denying me.” “I’m denying you too.” “Oh, okay.” It took her another second to realize what he had just said again. “But I need to go really badly.” She mentioned. “I am not going to let you, though.” She stared intently at her knees, pressing them tightly together, the skin around the contact points turning white beneath the shaded tights from the pressure. “Why?” “Do you want an honest answer?” “I’d like one, please.” “And you won’t get mad?” “I promise.” “And you won't find me weird?” “I won’t.” Sam hesitated for a second. Two seconds, actually. No, more like around a minute. He stared at the road the whole time, chills running up his spine. Jamie waited, her impatience growing slightly as her bladder was still waking up and realizing its true fullness. “Because, I think it’s cute when you have to pee.” Jamie tilted her head, curiosity overpowering her enough to distract her from her bladder. “Elaborate, please.” Sam hesitated for only a few seconds this time, “I think its hot when you really have to pee.” He sighed, stressfully. “To put it in simple terms, I have a fetish for women needing to pee.” “Huh.” She replied. This was possibly the most they have talked in a day, and it was interesting. But as the initial shock of intrigue faded, her bladder came right back, ready to chastise her viciously for ignoring it. She put her hands together like a knife, and jabbed it into her skirt. Sam applied a white-knuckled grasp on to the steering wheel of his car. The combination of what she purchased from Sears, and her current situation painted a very, very desirable picture in his mind. “Can I please use the bathroom?” “No.” “Is there any point in asking further?” “No.” “I understand.” Jamie responded, a twinge of curiosity still in her voice. After about an hour of silent driving, repeatedly interrupted by the swishing of Jamie’s tights as they rubbed together, becoming exponentially more frequent as they neared their destination. The Pontiac broke off of the main road, down a dirt path, and stopped at the edge of a small embankment overlooking a lake. From here, they could watch the sunset. Sam stepped out of the car, walked around the front to Jamie’s side, and opened the door for her. Jamie slowly stepped out, wobbling slightly when she was fully up. Her bladder really disagreed with this, it suddenly felt weighted, and it stung quite a bit. She immediately crossed her legs and hunched over, one hand on her knees, the other firmly against her crotch. “Is it really that bad?” Asked Sam. Jamie nodded. “Yes! I haven't used the bathroom since before I left the house…” She took a deep breath. “Give me a minute, I need to change into the new stuff.” Sam replied with a short “Ok.” and walked closer to the embankment, looking at the orange sunlight gleaming off the ripples in the lake water. No more than a minute later, Jamie walked in front of him, and in front of the sun. She appeared as nothing more than a silhouette at first. She was gorgeous, with sleek curves, flowing hair, it was truly a perfect sight. Sam's eyes were quickly drawn to one noticeable feature of her silhouette, her bladder was so heavily swollen and distended, it looked like she was nursing a slight pregnancy. Soon, Sam’s eyes adjusted to the silhouette, revealing that she was wearing a beautiful set of black floral lace lingerie. It consisted of a very well strapped bra that perked her chest up nicely, black shoulder length gloves with lacy sleeve tips, A waist garter that held up a pair of lace-topped thigh high stockings, underneath it sat a pair of lacy black panties, and the whole thing was topped off with a pair of 6 inch high heels. The lingerie stuck perfectly to her thin, but tall frame, but the true star was the swelling of her bladder. It bulged so much, it was quite obvious that a full day of drinks and waiting was sitting patiently inside of her. “Do you like it?” Jamie asked shyly. Nobody had ever seen much of her skin, and the floral lace meant that parts of her that were “Covered” were still able to be seen. Sam was astounded. She looked like an angel, and from his silence, she could tell exactly how much he loved it. She could also tell where he was looking, she broke her stillness, quickly knifing both hands into her crotch again, and hunching over. It took her a second to realize that her bladder was actually as swollen as it was, and that it was the reason he was looking there. She felt deeply embarrassed, but seemed to appreciate the fact that he was enjoying it. Even if it hurt so much that she had to put effort into not crying. Sam held out his hand, knowing she’d have to struggle more to hold it if she could only use one. “Want to hold hands until the sun sets? It would be pretty romantic.” That night, April 12th, 1988, a boy and a girl, deep in their teenage love, held hands as they watched the sunset. One was comfortable as he could be, with a slight smile on his face as the final gleams of sunlight disappeared from the hills, the other was almost naked, cold, frantic, and in excruciating pain. She couldn't stand upright enough to catch a single glimpse of the sun, as she was too occupied with pee-dancing the entire time. However, as soon as the landscape became dark, something clicked. It was like a button within her was pushed. Her bladder had swollen in just the right way to trigger something. Somehow, by some mysterious turn of events.. She liked it. Mari here, thanks for reading! I am working on a continuation to this right away. feel free to discuss or ask questions below! I'll be wearing an identical set of lingerie and heels to her as I work on part two, I wont forget the "bladder was so heavily swollen and distended, it looked(s) like she was(I am) nursing a slight pregnancy" either. That is an integral part of her outfit.
  3. Male desperation vignette(s) set in an ahistorical fantasy of the Ancient Middle East _____ When the sun rose over the desert, a shaft of light from a small window in the east illuminated the obsidian face of the River Goddess. She cast her grand, blank, imperious gaze over twenty young priests who were kneeling directly on the cold stone floor, their hands clasped behind their backs. They faced one another: ten on one side of the aisle and ten on the other. In front of each of them sat a round ceremonial pot. The River Goddess was a great lover of beauty, and the priests had clearly been chosen for their beauty, at least in part. They all had angular and lovely facial features, and their kohl-rimmed eyes could have broken the hearts of girls from the outside world. Their smooth skin came in all shades of honey and nut brown. The body and facial hair of their early manhood had been shaved off, while the hair on their heads was trimmed into short bobs, shiny with fragrant oils. They were slim but strong from their temple duties and spare diet. They wore white linen skirts that fell to their knees, plus intricate golden usekh collars set with lapis lazuli, garnets, and emeralds. Two older priests kept watch over them, monitoring but not intruding. The young men appeared still, but if you looked closely, you would see signs that they were profoundly uncomfortable, even abjectly suffering. Their jaws were clenched, their breaths sharp and shallow. The muscles of their thighs twitched. Their eyes darted pleadingly to the gold disk under the navel of the obsidian River Goddess up upon Her pedestal, checking to see if the sun had illuminated it yet. You would also notice that their bladders were cruelly swollen in their slender bellies, pushing out against the waists of their skirts like the bellies of women four months pregnant. Once a week, from the age of twenty to the age of thirty, the priests had to hold their water from dawn of one day to dawn the next. These young men had spent the previous day drinking cup after cup of a special herbal tea their elders prepared, and then the previous night tossing and turning in a disturbed sleep as the pressure in their bladders increased to bursting. An hour before dawn they had rolled out of bed, squeezing their penises and groaning in frustration, and hobbled to the inner sanctum in anticipation of relief. This, like different days when they had to deprive themselves of drinking water, was a tribute to the River Goddess. It was to demonstrate to Her that the people of the Kingdom understood that when water was not permitted to flow as it was supposed to, humans were simply undone. Thus the River Goddess knew Her worth. It was taboo for the priests to let out so much as a drop of piss before the appointed time. It was unthinkable. It was a transgression against the River Goddess that might cause a drought, a famine. They held it no matter how much it tortured them. While all of the young priests were anxious for the tribute to end, the one seated at the far left end of the line looked particularly miserable. He was the youngest, the most beautiful, and the least experienced with the more severe aspects of ritual in the Temple of the River Goddess. He was sucking air through his teeth and rocking slightly. His silken, tawny skin was bathed with sweat. Tears filled his long-lashed green eyes. The sight of his heavily distended bladder would move anyone to pity, but the River Goddess was not anyone. At last, the sun illuminated the golden disk on the belly of the River Goddess. One of the elder priests sounded a small gong, and the young priest on the right side closest to the Goddess hiked up his skirt, seized the pot before him, and started pissing into it, sighing involuntarily. The sound echoed in the stone hall. A perceptible ripple of anguish passed through the remaining nineteen, but none was so overwhelmed by the first priest’s splashing than the young man on the far left, who whimpered and grabbed himself through the folds of his skirt. They had been instructed not to squirm like this, but for the young man it was clearly a choice between disappointing the elder priests and angering the River Goddess Herself by voiding on the stone floor. One by one, the young priests were allowed to fill their ceremonial pots, the next in line not starting until his predecessor had finished. They proceeded in a stepwise fashion: top right, top left, next right, next left. Their streams were as fierce and strong as they could make them, both due to their own urgency and consideration for others who were waiting, but it still took each of them over a minute to empty. The poor priest on the far left had to tremble in agony for over twenty minutes, listening to his brothers pissing. He squeezed his thighs together and sat on his heels, kneading his cock and mouthing silent prayers to the River Goddess to please, please, please let the others hurry up and let him keep the seal on his bladder until they had finished. He was pale with terror; he sincerely believed that if he leaked a mere drop he would cause a drought and the children of the Kingdom would starve to death in their cradles. At last, at last, he heard the last of his brothers on the right side discharge the terminal spurts into his pot and set it down. He scrambled for his pot and managed to get the tip of his cock just over the lip before he exploded. “Oooohh, ooohhhh, ooohhh,” he cooed like a dove as he gushed all the pain and fear of 24 hours into the pot. The Kingdom was saved! After prayers were concluded, the elders transported the pots to the back of the sanctum for their own secret purposes. The other young priests crowded around to praise the youngest for his endurance, and to reassure him that it got easier with time. “Well, a little easier…” said one. “You almost learn to enjoy it…” said another.
  4. Between the Industrial Revolution and World War I, there was an explosion in cases of “female men” who took advantage of urbanization and its conditions of anonymity to pass for male. We don’t know how many there were, because for every female man who was exposed in the press there might have been dozens who successfully avoided detection. Historians frequently argue over whether particular female men should be considered transgender persons, proto-feminists seeking economic opportunities not available to women at the time, or butch lesbians protecting themselves and their lovers from scrutiny; such debates end in useless tangles of rhetoric and politics which merely serve to illustrate that while queer people have always existed, our current labels for categorizing them have not. Here we have an excerpt from a document dating from “the Gay ‘90s” that was discovered in an attic in Boston. Middle class housewife Polly M_____ lovingly describes her “female husband” Charles M_____, and relates his ability to retain urine for long periods to protect the couple from exposure. She recalls an incident where Charles was harshly tried in this regard. The anecdote offers a remarkable window into the intimate lives of this extraordinary couple. It may be read as a transgender story or a lesbian one, depending on the particular biases of the reader. - Dr. Jonathan D. Berrycloth, Professor of History ______ For the past ten years of our marriage, visitors to the apartment have admired our wedding photograph mounted on the wall. There is me, Polly, buxom and blonde and a tad younger and fresher than I am today in my white dress and veil, and my husband Charles in his wedding suit. He looks at the camera with his serious, clear eyes (which are gray, although the photograph of course cannot show this.) His dark hair is slicked down in the style of 1889. The camera angle is flattering to his high cheekbones and aquiline nose. His face is clean-shaven, perhaps a bit soft and boyish around the jawline and pretty cupid’s-bow mouth, but he still cuts a dashing figure - and lady visitors say so. What our visitors have no way of knowing is that I have a female husband. My beloved Charles was born a girl, and has the same parts as I! It might seem odd to you, reader, that I think of my husband as “he” and “him” even when I must turn his special monthly rags over to the laundress along with my own, but if you ever saw us walking on the promenade of a summer evening, with him dressed in a new suit and leading me upon his arm with the gallantry of a knight, you would find yourself questioning the meaning of “true sex” as much as I did during our honeymoon days! Charles is tall and lean of breast and hip, which might have hurt his marriageability had he remained in New Hampshire and been a young lady. As a man, it helps him avoid suspicion - especially when he is standing next to me, his very little woman! He has many clever tricks for attaining a most handsome appearance. He owns a band like a small corset that he places over his breast each day to flatten his teacup-sized paps. He also scrapes his face with a razor despite not having a beard, to create the appearance of rougher skin. He pitches his voice as low and sonorous as he can, not minding that this earns him a reputation as the quiet type. When the barber, the tailor, the cobbler, and the hatter complete the picture, he looks more a man than the boorish and stupid husbands of many women I have known. No one has questioned us, except when it comes to the appearance that I am barren. There have been distasteful comments among the neighbors about my supposed barrenness. Soon we shall have to go to the orphanage and find ourselves an unfortunate babe or three to raise. I think I should make an excellent mother. […] If you have a presumption that a female husband could not be a great lover, you are sorely mistaken! Charles has always approached his marital duties with great enthusiasm, and shows impressive cunning with the hands, the tongue, and certain novel objects obtained from Paris - cunning that I imagine is frequently absent in the proper male husband, who so crudely wields the blunt instrument God made for siring children. I admit I became frustrated in those newlywed days, because Charles would not allow me to reciprocate in marital joy. He would push my hands or head away from his charming pink muff and say, “No, sweet Polly. I don’t need it. Your pleasure is my pleasure.” […] I did not mention it previously, but among the curious aspects of physiology that have prevented the circumstances of my husband’s birth being exposed is his iron bladder. He need not take the risk of partially undress himself in the water closets at his office because he need not use them at all - he can retain water from morning to evening. There are times that I listen at the door of our water closet and am quite astonished at the volume he has held despite showing no signs of being in distress, whereas I would have been positively frantic trying to do the same. Indeed, without a corset squeezing him or the frequent opportunities for release afforded to most men, my husband has attained capacities well beyond the norm. I have never known him to risk the use of public facilities, even when an evening at the social club with his coworkers taxes him with hours and beer. On these nights he rushes into our abode quite in need after over twelve hours without release, but I never find yellow stains on his underthings to indicate any loss of control. I recall one of these nights early in our marriage, when he had been at the club drinking in hopes of building camaraderie with his then-new colleagues. I had taken cold cuts for my supper and then retired to the bath. I heard him bumble through the front door, then fling open the door to our powder room, yank down his trousers, and drop onto the toilet with a loud groan. He pissed furiously and blissfully for over a minute before realizing I was in the bath! He was horribly embarrassed, but I was not about to scold him after hearing the evidence of how much he needed it. In fact, I praised him for being able to keep so much water (and beer!) sealed inside to protect himself and our marriage. If I were in his place, my tiny toy bladder would fail us at every turn, just as it failed me at least once a week back in school. There have been occasions when my husband’s iron bladder has been put to the test. One of the most dramatic was the visit to the Gershwins’ place in the country. It was two years after we were married. The Gershwins were of a higher class than ourselves, and the invitation was a rare professional opportunity for Charles, as well as a social opportunity for me. We were to take a days’ journey out of the city to their estate and stay in a guest wing for two nights. There would be a formal dinner the first night, and a host of gentry leisure activities the next day. We mustered all the wiggle room in our household budget to prepare for the fête. I had my purple striped party dress altered to look more chic, and attached a whole stuffed snowy egret to my hat (how the times have changed - now that Mrs. Harriet Lawrence Hemenway has made a cause of saving the egrets, this would be considered the height of bad taste!) Charles had his own tailcoat and waistcoat altered and invested in a new tophat, white tie [bowtie], and gloves. He pooled his money with two bachelors who were also invited to hire a carriage. On the day before our journey, I found a notice on the board outside our apartment house stating that the city would be changing the waterworks to further guard against the cholera, and the water service would have to be interrupted at six o’clock the next morning. I set out pitchers for our breakfast and resolved that we would have to wake up very early the next morning in order to take care of any bodily needs before our departure. We had gone modern and sold off the chamber pot after getting our water closet. We did not wake up before six o’clock. Charles, of course, was completely sanguine about missing his chance at a morning elimination. He drank his morning coffee and read the paper without complaint until it was time to get ready. As I mentioned, I have always been a bit plump. If I wanted a wasp waist to fit into my altered dress, I was going to need Charles to lace my corset for me and pull me in tighter than I could ever pull myself. He obliged with an aplomb that I think a male husband would lack. He yanked my laces tighter and tighter, and on the final yank I squealed and helplessly jetted all the water I had accumulated during the night onto the floor. It made a puddle under my bare feet. I moved quickly to clean up, but Charles was not upset. By then he was used to my occasional accidents. “Ah, you look so beautiful!” he exclaimed when he saw me in my full party dress with hat and gloves. I beamed. At nine the bachelors came by with the carriage and we set out on our way. We were giddy with excitement. The bachelors had brought our lunch as Charles had discussed: cucumber sandwiches and a vat of lemonade that was watery from all the ice that had melted in it. We stopped to eat in a meadow around eleven. As it was warm and sunny, Charles and I each had three glasses of lemonade. We rode through long stretches of country and many precious towns once we departed from Boston. After we had ridden through the third town and heard its church bells announce the three o’clock hour, one of the bachelors asked the driver to stop so we could stretch our legs. I silently thanked Providence, as I was quite desperate to relieve myself of the lemonade and anguished from my corset squeezing my bladder and the jolting of the carriage on the rough road. Charles helped me down from the carriage while the bachelors stole into the bushes at the right side of the way, almost certainly to address the same problem. He then chivalrously guided me beneath a tree on the left side where I could spread my legs and lift my skirts. I am loath to admit it, but in my eagerness I began to void as I took the last three steps to the location he had indicated, feeling warm liquid trickling down my thighs. I was grateful that I was wearing the old-fashioned split drawers under my petticoat, and thus soiled nothing but the very tops of my stockings. Is there a greater pleasure than having a piss in nature, with your dear husband standing guard for you, when you are wearing a tight corset and your bladder is bruised from having been knocked about in a carriage for hours? It was so exquisite that I would have liked to water the ground for several additional minutes, just for the sensuousness of it. When we all got back into the carriage, I wondered why my husband had not relieved himself - especially since I knew he had gone without voiding in the morning. Then it occurred to me: he could not go with the other men and then drop his trousers. I asked him later if it had bothered him to stand guard for me when he had to hold it in. “It was my duty as your husband,” he said, “even if the splattering you made on the dirt made me briefly tremble inside the way the earth does before a geyser erupts.” I gasped when our carriage arrived at the estate an hour later. The gardens were sprawling and gorgeous, and full of Boston royalty strolling about in fabulous dresses and suits. In the center of the tableau I could see the Gershwins greeting their guests. I was dazzled and intimidated - these were the richest people I had ever seen or spoken to. The servants guided us to the refreshments and we all had tea and cake. Charles later claimed he was so nervous he had ten cups of tea to be polite. I ducked behind the hollyhocks and made a discreet little puddle, as had been customary for generations of ladies. It was not urgent, but I knew my toy bladder too well and could not risk becoming panicked again due to the tea. I had to concentrate on making an impression. Dinner was not until six, so we were invited to tour the grounds and the stables. Charles had me on his arm and presented me to his work superiors whenever we encountered them. I noticed that he was stiff with me, even unfriendly, but such was to be expected in the presence of high society people. We were informed of a striking feature of the Gershwin’s country place: they entertained so often that they had installed special water closets for their guests, one for men and one for women, located in separate corridors on opposite sides of the main hall for modesty. If I had known this, I might have left the hollyhocks alone. I noticed that Charles vanished for a moment shortly after we were enlightened in this regard, and I was happy for him. I idly wondered about the volume he must have been holding after a night and a day; even iron bladders have limits. When the dozens of guests were herded into the dining room in preparation for dinner, I could not help but admire him all over again. It is a woman’s weakness to see her husband dressed to the nines in a tophat, tailcoat, and gloves, walking tall and holding his own among the powerful. If I had lacked restraint, I would have announced to the other middle-class wives in attendance that that striking man there was my husband and they should envy me as much as they envied the Gershwins! What I did not know was that when Charles, by then bursting with tea and heartily yearning, had visited the water closet for men, he discovered to his dismay that it had multiple fixtures installed, all of them designed for men who needed less privacy than himself. He would have to retain through the whole of the three-hour dinner and then on indefinitely. “I was in agony during that dinner,” he later confessed to me, “I was so anxious to impress and terrified of making a mistake in my table manners, and I was absolutely dying to relieve myself, but I could not show any outward signs of discomfort no matter how my bladder ached. Every time one of the servants poured a drink, the stretched and weighty vessel would throb with the unbearable longing for release, and I could not even cross my legs to ease the pressure on the downspout. I thought that at any moment I would flood my trousers like a young child and humiliate us utterly. But I could not, and I did not.” In spite of all this, I observed only the most dignified behavior from Charles, the consummate gentleman. He did not squirm or make unsavory facial expressions. He forced himself to drink the correct amount. He was quiet, but so were the rest of us who were plucked from the middle classes and intimidated by the setting. After the dessert course concluded, the men and women retired to separate drawing rooms. I nipped over to the women’s guest accommodations beforehand. The water and wine and soup I had had at dinner had run through me. I admired the women’s accommodations, which consisted of two separate water closets with doors that locked situated within a larger powder room. Another good lady came by when I was there, and the walls were such that we could not hear one another. At smaller, poorer parties I have often struggled with my toy bladder and the embarrassment of entering a water closet with men present, so I was quite taken indeed with such luxury. Charles took his entertainment and conversation with the men. He would recall: “Oh, how they made me drink! The brandy was not as hydrating as wine, but its warmth spread through my body and tempted me to relax my muscles when I could not afford to. Seated on a settee as I was, I could not even have the relief of pushing my knees together without my discomfort being noticed. I was laughing along with jokes I couldn’t even understand in that state. It was like a nightmare that would not end.” I became quite swept up in the women’s festivities, and it was around midnight when I excused myself from a game of whist to admire the water closet again. I was surprised to discover my husband moving in the opposite direction toward the drawing room. He seized my arm. “Polly, how happy am I to see you. I was just coming to speak to you,” he whispered anxiously. “Why, dear?” His brow was furrowed and his hand on my arm was trembling. “Darling, I…I need to piss,” he said. “I thought you were able to go to the water closet before dinner.” “It’s not private enough.” “Oh my goodness!” I was horrified to learn that he had not had a chance to void since the night before. “And God, I need to piss so urgently,” he whined, “You must help me. I implore you. I am at the end of my tether.” I looked into his eyes and saw how he was in physical pain and panicking from the sense that he was near to soaking his trousers in front of wealthy and influential men. I had to find a safe place for him. “If I swooned, you could take me to our room. You can use the chamber pot there,” I whispered. “I…I am sorry to ask this of you - “ “It is done. Go back among the men and hold it in for one more minute. Be assured that I am on the case!” Obviously, it was much less of a disgrace to swoon in a wasp-waist corset than to have your husband wet his pants in another’s drawing room. I returned to the society of the women, took one look about, put a hand to my forehead, and then theatrically collapsed upon a divan. “Bring the smelling salts!” I heard a matron demand of a maid. I opened my eyes and rolled them around. “No, I need my dear husband’s assistance! He has tonic for my nerves in our luggage! Please fetch me my dear Mr. M_____!” Mr. M_____ was duly fetched. He flashed pleading eyes at me. “Oh, Mr. _____, I must have my nerve tonic and be taken to bed,” I loudly proclaimed. “If you’ll excuse me, my wife has had a lot of excitement. We need to be shown to our private quarters,” Charles said. The other women, wasp-waisted and mildly drunk on sherry, looked at us in uncomplicated sympathy. I made a show of standing up woozily. The butler was brought to escort us to the guest quarters; the way was long and winding through the house. Charles’ forehead was now shining with sweat, and he winced as he walked. He later said that he was half mad knowing that relief was near after 26 hours: “from the moment you mentioned the chamber pot to me my bladder began with a deep throbbing as if being squeezed by a hand every few moments. It came in waves. It was all I could do not to double over in pain each time.” As we ascended the west wing stairs he dropped for a moment into an involuntary curtsey. He had one knee hooked behind the other and his thighs clenched together; I was grateful that the butler was ahead of us and not behind. I had never seen my iron-bladdered Charles openly show distress before. He wound an arm back to grip his calf, feigning a charley horse cramp. At the same time, I swayed back and forth, continuing to feign faintness. We were like actors upon a stage in some absurd, vulgar comedy. “Well, I suppose both of you are quite fatigued,” said the butler. “We had a long journey, and my wife has nerves.” “My nerves are atrocious!” Charles grasped my hand hard when we reached the top of the stairs. It looked like he was leading me, still playing the nervous and foolish wife, but his grip was so tight I knew that it was he who sought support and reassurance. Finally we arrived at the corridor that housed the guest rooms, and the butler unlocked one of them. “Accommodations for Mr. and Mrs. Charles M_____,” he said, gesturing for us to go inside. When the butler vanished down the hall, I locked the door from the inside. Charles pulled upward on the waistband of his trousers as hard as he could and crumpled into a half-crouch, his knees folded inward, panting as if he had run a mile through the driving snow. His tophat tumbled off onto the floor. “Help me, Polly.” I dove under the bed for the customary chamber pot, only to find that it was not there! Was there some mistake? Had it been stolen? Were the Gershwins so thoroughly modern that they forced their guests to walk into the front halls and use noisy water closets at night? Despite keeping a modern home myself back in Boston, I was outraged. Would I have to order my husband to water the carpet like a puppy just to avoid injury to his kidneys? “It’s not here!” I wailed. “It’s…it’s…oh, oh, I must have a piss. I must, I must!” he jumped from foot to foot and grabbed himself between his legs. The poor thing! “Wait here,” I said. I had had a wild idea. “Oh, wife, I can’t wait any longer! Oh, I’ll burst, ohhhhh,” he moaned pitifully, grimacing as he pushed his hands yet harder against the much-stressed dam. “Please try,” I whispered as I hurried into the hallway. I tiptoed back to a side corridor I had seen a few minutes before and discovered my prize on the buffet table: a medium-size China vase filled with cut hydrangeas. I took the flowers out and emptied the water behind the buffet, then rushed back to the room with the vase half-hidden amidst my skirts. I found poor Charles shaking with his back against the wall and his legs crossed, eyes shut tight, gulping air. There were tears upon his cheeks. I kneeled before him and nudged his legs apart. He whimpered as I unfastened his suspenders and pulled down his trousers and undergarments, exposing his quivering thighs and cunny. Above this I beheld the astonishing sight of his distended bladder protruding from his abdomen. It looked like a round, ripe melon peeking out beneath his waistcoat. “Please, wife, please…” he begged me. He cupped the swelling with his hand and bent his knees. I positioned the vase and said: “now, dear.” There was a tense moment before he could release, but then a hot golden torrent burst forth from his quim with a great hiss and splashed into the vase. I could feel the force of it through the porcelain! He rolled his eyes back and moaned deeply. Oh, how he pissed that night! I could not believe he had endured being so very full without ruining his new suit. His stream rushed and rushed, longer and thicker and fiercer than any I have ever been able to summon under the most dire of circumstances. I continued to hold the vase, happy to attend to the cessation of my husband’s agonies. At last the majestic river slowed to a trickle, and Charles pressed on his lower stomach, now flat once again, to make sure he was empty. His cheeks were flushed. His shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh my darling Polly, that’s much better. I was suffering so that I thought I would burst and die from it,” he sighed. I noticed that there were dewdrops suspended in the curled hair along the outside of his little muff. In a moment of daring, I took my handkerchief and dabbed the drops away. He laughed at the ticklish sensation. I looked into the vase and gasped, as it was half full! He must have voided two quarts [~1.9L]! Thankfully, there was still room for me to relieve myself as well - my own needs had become unexpectedly urgent upon watching my husband’s performance. He was quite amused when I lifted my skirt and started adding my waters to his. “If we must defile this vase, we shall do it together,” I said, as the tinkling sound filled the room. “Ah, but whatever are we going to do with the vase?” he asked. “Allow me.” I crept out of the door to the guest room, checking to see if the coast was clear. Then I scampered on swift but silent feet to return the vase to where it had been, placing the cut flowers in with our waters! I believed that when the smell or wilting of the flowers inevitably led to the discovery of the mischief in the morning, it would surely be blamed on some drunken boor and not anyone so prim and quiet as my husband. It was the naughtiest thing I ever did as a grown woman! After I retreated to the room, my husband wanted to make love. We had to be very quiet indeed. It was quite memorable, because it was one of the only times in ten years that he has allowed me to pet him between the legs for his pleasure. It was as if the experience of holding his water for such an excruciatingly long time had softened his defenses. I have fond memories of that night and the soft, velvety texture of his quim, which I get to touch so rarely, and which is smaller, pinker, and daintier than my own in a peculiar contrast to the general masculine cut of his jib. In the morning, the vase was empty and cleaned. A servant must have found it and disposed of its contents without comment. An announcement was made at breakfast: our hosts apologized for the absence of chamber pots in our rooms the previous night, and any inconvenience this may have caused. It was the fault of the servants. The pots were being replaced at that very moment. Charles and I were silent conspirators for the rest of the meal, exchanging a lot of smirking looks as Mr. Gershwin droned on and on about croquet and the discovery of gold in the Klondike. I noticed that Charles stole away to our room several times that day. He whispered to me that his bladder was “exhausted.” I felt so sorry for him, and yet so impressed by what he had accomplished under duress. Not many people can say they have gone from nine one night to midnight the next without passing urine through sheer determination. Thankfully, he sustained no lasting damage to his system as a result of this test, and was able to keep his cunny sealed tight for the duration of our return journey two days later.
  5. Burstin

    Snowy Day Holding

    After a busy Christmas at work I was grateful to have the weekend off, we didn’t waste any time and headed up North to see family. We left immediately after I finished work on Friday night and planned to travel back late on Saturday evening. We were surprised at the amount of snow we found when we got there, it took longer than expected to arrive and we were exhausted when we finally made it after 11pm. We said hello to the family and headed straight up to bed, collapsing under the duvet and barely stirring until morning. We were woken early by my nieces and nephew bouncing around on the bed; I needed a wee so it wasn’t the most welcome of wake ups… It’s a good thing they’re cute! They then led us by the hand downstairs to breakfast, I still needed a wee but it wasn’t too urgent so I sat and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with the family, catching up on their Christmas and enjoying spending time with the kids. We then headed into the living room and exchanged presents, it was a joy to see the children opening their presents and playing with their toys. I helped my sister in law take the wrapping paper out to the recycling bin and was taken back once again by how bitterly cold it was, it took my breath away and I rushed back inside to warm up by the fire. The plan for the day was a simple but fun one; we would head out to the local park with our sledges and enjoy playing with the kids in the snow. I had been worried about being warm enough but when I opened the last of my presents I was thrilled that my niece and nephew had bought me a onesie so I decided to wear this underneath my clothes to keep me warm! We headed back upstairs to get dressed, there was someone in the loo so I headed straight for the bathroom and jumped into the shower, I had a bit of a wriggle as the warm water reminded me of my need for the loo, I contemplated peeing in the shower but decided against it as it wasn’t my bathroom. I wrapped a towel around me and dashed across the landing to our bedroom; I quickly dried myself and pulled on my underwear before popping my onesie on and zipping it up. I decided to wear jogging bottoms over the top of them, with a big hoodie and then my coat. Two pairs of socks completed my outfit and I pulled on a pair of wellies to keep my feet dry. I still needed a wee so decided I would go as soon as I left the bedroom, as I did so however I found that everyone was waiting for me downstairs and my nieces and nephew were shouting me! I decided to wait until we went somewhere for lunch, I could easily hold it. We headed out, the children were so excited and my boyfriend loved showing them how to sledge, we had snowball fights and made snow angels but were all a little cold and rather hungry by lunchtime. We headed off towards the local pub for lunch, it had a roaring fire and we chose a table fairly close to it so that we could thaw out a little. We treated them all to lunch and my brother and sister in law enjoyed the break from the children while my boyfriend took them to another table to do some drawing. They drew a snowman and were keen to build one, my nephew thrust my coat at me and dragged me outside by the hand, we walked across to the park and I helped the three children start a huge snowball, they loved rolling it around the field. I was beginning to really need the loo now and secretly hoped someone would come out and take over so I could head back to the pub and use the loo, my breakfast orange juice had joined with the large glass of water and pint of local cider that I had enjoyed with lunch and they were all now weighing heavily in my bladder on top of whatever I had drunk since I last relieved myself around 6:30pm before leaving work! I kept glancing across towards the pub hoping to see someone coming across to me, eventually to my dismay I saw the whole family heading across the field… I knew that there was no way I would head back to the pub and hold everyone up so I resigned myself to holding it again! We carried on building our snowman and having snowball fights before taking the children up the hill to carry on sledging, we carried on until it went dark, by which time the children were exhausted and all fell asleep in the car on the way home. My nephew woke when we got home and rushed over for a cuddle, we sat on the sofa and he climbed on my lap placing his head on my chest, before we knew it he was asleep and I was once again trapped unable to relieve myself, and with my nephew straddling my lap he was pressing down on my now fairly uncomfortably full bladder. My sister in law made the most incredible hot chocolates and we sat around the fire sipping away at the huge mugs of sweet milky chocolate. My bladder felt as though it was bursting, but somehow the hot chocolate and the lovely cuddle from my nephew must have lulled me to sleep… I woke up a considerable time later, hours in fact to find that my brother and sister in law had also dozed off and my boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. My nephew was still crushing my poor bladder, and with the addition of the hot chocolate it felt as though it was bulging so hard that he was pushing it through to my back. I tried to move but he kept stirring and I didn’t want to wake him, so waited until my boyfriend reappeared and asked him to carefully lift him off me, we took him up to bed and tucked him in still dressed. I desperately needed a wee but there was someone in the toilet so I headed back downstairs, my boyfriend had my coat ready and was saying goodbye to everyone when I got downstairs, he had loaded the car whilst I had been asleep and it was now late and snowing badly so we needed to head back. I glanced back upstairs and saw that the toilet appeared to still be in use, presumably by one of the children so reluctantly hugged everyone and headed out to the car. As we reversed off the driveway I announced “I am DESPERATE for a wee, can we stop at the earliest opportunity please?”, my boyfriend was a little perplexed as to why I hadn’t gone before we left my brother’s house but once I had explained my predicament he was amused. My bladder was so full that I could barely stay still, I searched the roads for anywhere to stop, a fast food restaurant, a public toilet, a petrol station, but there seemed to be nothing, and we were travelling at snail’s pace thanks to the snow so getting anywhere was taking forever. When we eventually hit the main roads it wasn’t much better, an hour passed and I wasn’t any closer to relief. There was a pain low down in my bladder that just couldn’t be eased, and waves of urgency swept over me causing me to fidget terribly until eventually there was no respite and I had to resort to holding myself and scissoring my legs to try and hold on, I begged my boyfriend to try and find somewhere to stop but knew that there wasn’t anywhere, I checked the sat nav on my phone for anywhere that might afford me some relief but all I could see were fields and long roads of nothingness. Another hour passed and I was now so desperate that I begged him to stop anywhere that was safe and had a little privacy, after 15 minutes even privacy wasn’t important and I was just desperate for him to stop before my bladder exploded… I was frantically bouncing around in my seat trying to hold it, the moment he eventually stopped I almost dived out of the car and pulled down my trousers before realising I also had my onesie on! There was no way I was getting completely undressed outside at the side of the road, which would be the only way of removing it so much to my dismay I had no choice but to limp back to the car and lower myself back into the seat. Bouncing was now too painful so I resorted to a slight wiggle and sitting bolt upright to try and give my bladder enough room and prevent squashing it, I clenched my pelvic floor and tried to hold back what now felt like an ocean of pee, with almost 2 hours until we got home there was no way I would be able to make it. My bladder was hugely swollen and bulging out of my abdomen, it was rock hard and aching terribly, every couple of minutes a wave of cramping pain added pressure to my already solid bladder causing it to feel like a bowling ball in my belly before relaxing slightly and repeating the process minutes later. Each wave felt worse than the last and many had made me leak as they tore through me with such ferocity that the pain forced me to relax my muscles momentarily. Eventually the pressure pain was constant and I was whimpering with agony as my poor bladder squeezed with all its might, I tried absolutely everything to hold on and pressed both my hands into my crotch to buy me some time, my boyfriend knew that I was at the absolute edge of my abilities and that I just couldn’t hold it any longer, as if by magic a small layby appeared, just wide enough for a car and seemingly hidden from the road by thick hedges and trees, he pulled over and I jumped out of the car once again, holding myself as he helped to remove my hoody and unzip my onesie, I had already kicked off my wellies in the car so I tore down my trousers and onesie and stepped out of them. I began to pee immediately and quickly squatted down as an enormous stream of pee hissed from me and disappeared into the deep snow. I could see steam rising from between my legs and knew I was melting a patch beneath me with the heat of my blissfully escaping stream. I moaned in pleasure as my bladder began to empty and the pain subsided, after what felt like forever (I am reliably informed it was no more than a couple of minutes) the stream slowed to a trickle and eventually stopped. It was only now that I suddenly realised that I was completely and utterly naked apart from my bra, peeing into the snow in freezing temperatures. I could no longer feel my feet which had been buried deep in the snow, so needed a hand getting up and carefully walking across to the car. I placed my onesie on the seat and pulled on my joggers and hoodie and wrapped up in my coat, I glanced across to see that there was a patch of lush green grass in amongst the white snow, I had cleared a sizeable circle of snow which was still steaming slightly with the heat of my puddle rapidly cooling amongst the freezing snow. I wrapped my painfully frozen feet in my hoodie and turned up the temperature on the car heater as I settled back into my seat, as I looked back out of the window I was surprised to see my boyfriend taking advantage of the stop to release his own sizeable pee into the snow just behind my clearing. Finally we continued our journey, both feeling decidedly more comfortable and vowing that in future we would both ensure that we definitely used the loo before leaving to drive home in the snow.
  6. I just wanted to say hello to this amazing community! I've been member here for so many years but I've never had the courage to posteanything myself. In order to contribute this community and hopefully meet nice people to talk about this uncomprehended fetish we all have. I made this during a hold yesterday, I would be grateful to know your oppinion about it. thanks for your time I will post more if people like it J IMG_1208.MOV
  7. This is both a search and opinion article. First question is, what are the bound2burst videos (besides to pee or not to pee) that you believe are 100% real pee holding accidents even though technically "staged." Which ones are or look the genuine most real to you. I refuse to buy anything less from them. In general whether you find the video you can post it here, or lead me in the direction of where to buy it, or even just talk about the most genuine pee holding accidents you can find. I'm not talking about ones where they stand there open legged peeing going "oh my god I can't hold it" with a fake tone, but the ones that try to hold it until the point they can't. Even if you don't have or can't find it describe it. I want to share ideas and see what people come up with related to this topic. All are welcome! I'm just looking for the absolute best of the best.
  8. http://fantasti.cc/user/hoofhearted/videos/upload/Sexy-college-girl-wetting-in-her-bathtub-standing-up/2593/ I just love the way she moves and how much she had to pee !
  9. Hopefully this hasn't been posted before! One of the best I've seen... http://vk.com/video205986464_167985697
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