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female Princesses Don't Pee


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III

"Come on Molly, let's go," Harriet cried, exasperated. 

"You and your friend need to piss off now, I don't care who the fuck you are," the overly zealous bouncer demanded. It was Tuesday night, and once again, Princess Harriet and her best friend Molly were at Circle, Edinburgh's lowest rated nightclub. 

"Yep, I'm trying," Harriet hissed, trying to stop her friend taking a nap on the sticky carpeted floor. "Maybe a little help?"

The bouncer grunted, and together, they lifted Molly off the floor. Within seconds, her and Molly were back on the streets of Edinburgh, freezing and drunk. "Here," Harriet grumpily passed Molly a bottle of water. 

It's fair to say the evening hadn't gone quite as planned. This was meant to be the night Harriet finally plucked up the courage to tell Lucy how she felt about her. And she'd come so close, they'd spent all of pre-drinks talking to each other, and they barely left each other's side on the walk to the club. Whilst she hadn't been brave enough to make a move, she definitely picked up a vibe that Lucy was interested too. Between the constant eye contact, the nervous hair touching and the closeness of their dancing together, Harriet sensed that it was only a matter of time before they kissed. It was in the queue for the toilets that things started to go wrong. Her best friend Molly had had too much red wine at pres, and decided to redecorate the wall next to the loos with a considerable amount of claret-coloured vomit. Now she was outside, and Lucy was very much inside. She didn't even get a chance to piss. 

"Come on then, let's get you home," Harriet held the hand of her drunk companion, making sure she didn't run off like she sometimes did when drunk. 

The walk to Molly's flat was about half an hour away, and Harriet lived a further ten minutes away. But with Molly in the state she was, Harriet sensed that the journey was going to take significantly longer. Bad news for Harriet's bladder. It had been a while since she'd used the loo, she did a safety wee at Lucy's flat before going to the club, but that was two hours ago. She'd been desperate for quite a while, but she held off going because she didn't want to waste a minute in Lucy's company. 

"How did it go with Lucy?" Molly asked. Or at least that's what Harriet thought she asked, her slurred speech becoming very difficult to decipher. 

"It WAS going really well, thanks," Harriet replied through gritted teeth.

"What happened then?" Molly asked.

"Oh you know, the usual, too scared to actually embrace my own sexuality," Harriet murmured. 

"Hey can we sit down again, I don't feel too good," Molly's face matched the colour of her white trousers. 

"Urghhh do we have to, I need a wee sooooo badly," Harriet protested. 

"Just piss down there," Molly gestured towards an empty alleyway. "I'll keep guard." 

Harriet looked around. It was pretty tempting. "First of all, I don't trust you to keep a lookout in your current state, given you've walked into about 12 bollards since we left the club. Secondly, you know I can't do that. All it takes is one person to see me, and suddenly there's a picture of me doing piss on every shit rag newspaper in the country, with some dreadful forced pun like "royal-wee" or something." 

Molly nodded, then proceeded to projectile vomit all over the pavement. Harriet tried to be sympathetic, keeping Molly's hair out of the way, and patting her on the back. She couldn't help but shift from foot to foot on the spot, as her bladder continued to protest. After Molly coughed up the last few bits of sick, Harriet passed her the water, and the two continued to walk. 

"How far is it? I'm busting for a piss," Molly complained. 

"Me too, just another few minutes," Harriet lied.

"Ah fuck that, I'm not waiting that long," Molly protested. Before Harriet could say anything, a dark patch appeared on Molly's crotch, slowly growing and spreading down towards her bum and legs. An explosion of urine crashed against the pavement, and Harriet now had to openly hold herself to stop a similar thing happening to her. "Ahhhhhh it feels so nice," Molly sighed, as the seemingly never stopping stream of piss kept on coming. Harriet squirmed uncontrollably on the spot, bladder ready to explode. Once Molly had finally stopped wetting herself, the two continued their walk, one with a very empty bladder, and one with a bladder full to the brim.

The next ten minutes were torture for Harriet, as the urine sloshed around her dangerously full organ. She'd never needed a wee so badly in her life. She hated being a royal so much. Here she was, in a position that every single girl at university will find themselves in, yet she was forced to wait for an actual toilet for her relief. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd watch her friends urinate in unusual places, whilst she had to just wait there, bursting. She'd seen friends piss behind bins, in bushes, on the hard shoulder, everywhere. She'd felt so bad for her brother's girlfriend, Grace, when she wet herself at dinner, as she knew full well how good your bladder control needs to be to survive in the royal family. After what felt like an age, she was at Molly's door. As she rang the doorbell, she pressed her hand against her crotch, in the name of suppressing the tidal wave inside her. A flatmate who Harriet didn't recognise opened the door. 

"Are you..." the flatmate asked.

"Yes. Molly's had quite a bit to drink, so just thought I'd check she got home safely. Can I..." Harriet asked, keeping her legs tightly crossed the entire time. 

"Has she pissed herself?" the flatmate asked, looking at the wet patch on Molly's trousers. 

"Yes. Please can I use the toilet?" Harriet begged, as she felt a drop of pee leak out. 

"I'm really sorry, Simon just got in the bath," the flatmate looked sympathetically at Harriet's obvious predicament. "If you like, I can ask him to get out?" 

"No no, it's fine, I'll hold it," Harriet lied. "Sleep well," she kissed Molly on the forehead.  

Once the door closed, Harriet wanted to scream. Her bladder was now causing her physical pain, all she could think about was her overwhelming need to urinate. Another spurt leaked out, leaving a spot the size of a 50p coin on the crotch of her light blue jeans. She simply wouldn't make it home. Almost crying from the burning sensation in her urethra, she hobbled towards the park opposite Molly's house. Was she really about to piss in public? She didn't have a choice, as a small trickle of wee started to run down her leg. She practically tore her light blue jeans off, pulled her panties down to her ankles and let the river run out of her. It felt so unnatural, Harriet had never peed anywhere but a toilet in her life before. At first, her bladder refused to yield, leaving Harriet in absolute agony. She finally relaxed enough to urinate, as an unholy amount of piss left her body. Not knowing how to position herself, her ankles and the cuffs of her jeans ended up getting hit by small flecks of wee, not that she cared at all. The relief was so great she wanted to cry, as residual pain in her bladder reminded her how much she'd stretched her limits. Some girls coming home from a night out walked past, but Harriet couldn't stop, not halfway through the greatest piss of all time. She ducked her head, and thankfully, the girls didn't seem to notice who she was. 

"Woooooo, yeah you go piss girl!" one of the drunker girls shouted, which made her feel strangely empowered. Harriet wanted to reply, but kept her silence to maintain her anonymity. Eventually, her bladder was empty. Unable to wipe, she pulled her panties and jeans up. Her panties were pretty damp with pee anyway. 

 

---

 

Harriet awoke, dying for a piss. She'd followed her normal post night out ritual of downing 2 pints of water before bed. It hadn't worked this time, her head still felt fuzzy, but her bladder felt as though it was going to explode. She slept naked, so searched frantically for something she could use to cover herself. An intense wave of desperation told her she didn't have time. Desperately hanging on to her crotch, she checked that the bathroom door was open, before sprinting across the hallway. Locking herself in and throwing her naked arse down on the porcelain seat, she sighed as she released a very full stream of urine. Whilst she had enjoyed her wild wee last night, it felt good to be using a toilet again. As she continued to void the 2 pints of water from her system, she took the opportunity to check her phone. A message from Lucy showed up, sent at 4:12am. 

"Hey had loads of fun last night, sorry you had to leave early! Had been looking forward to getting to know you some more 😏

A second text immediately followed: "omg ignore me I'm drunk sleep well and see you soon xxx" 

Harriet smiled. As she crafted a reply, a text came in from Molly.

"hey haz, thanks so much for looking after me last night, can't believe I pissed myself lmao. just saw this on tiktok, thought you'd probably want to see it..." 

Intrigued, Harriet clicked the link, watching open mouthed as an influencer in her 20s shared a story that was going to create a massive storm for the Royal Family. 

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IV

 

Mel Lancashire was a big deal. A very big deal. At just 22 years old, she already had 1 million TikTok followers, her own clothing brand, and had just been named on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list. A stunningly beautiful blonde, it seemed only a matter of time before everyone in the country knew her name. And thanks to the traction her most recent TikTok post was getting, that moment was going to come sooner rather than later. 

"Good morning guys and girls, hope you're having a great Friday!" Mel's northern voice serenaded Harriet as she opened the post Molly sent. "Boy have I got a story for you... so I was back in Hull yesterday, had a few meetings about a TV show I'm presenting - watch this space! - and I was invited to pop round to the new town hall for a reception with some very famous faces. Anyway, I'd been drinking coffees all morning, and was ABSOLUTELY BUSTING for a wee by the time I got to the hall. Like I was literally shaking I had to pee so badly, my bladder was causing me physical pain." Why the fuck has she sent me this? Harriet thought to herself. "So I waddled to the toilet, basically wetting myself at this point, finally sat my arse down on a toilet and AHHHHHHHHHHH... let me tell you, I have NEVER had moment as enjoyable as that. But then I heard someone else come into the bathroom, they clearly DYING to go. She was breathing really heavily, I could hear her dancing on the spot... and then..." the TikTok cut to a clip, a close up selfie of Mel's face reacting to the woman in the bathroom stall next to her, doing one of the most violent pisses anyone had ever seen. The woman in the video was moaning, and whispering "thank God", clearly massively relieved. "But you will NEVER guess who the mystery pisser was..." the TikTok cut to a selfie of Mel and Grace in the bathrooms, and Harriet audibly gasped.

 

"O fuck", read Harriet's reply to Molly. 

 

---

 

Grace couldn't believe it. Yesterday she was in Hull, now she was in Mauritius, drinking margaritas on a secluded beach. They had a full day of business tomorrow, but for now, she just wanted to unwind after the long plane journey. This was nice. It was just her and Thomas, no engagements, no phones, no holding her pee in for longer than necessary. Having said that, she was starting to feel the familiar urge in her bladder, as the margaritas made themselves known. But for now, she was enjoying her book too much. 

"Another round," Thomas asked, as Grace finished her second drink.

"Are you trying to get me drunk Mr Thomas?" Grace laughed. "Yes please!"

Whilst Thomas was getting the drinks, Grace tried to focus on her book, but her bladder was starting to nag. Frowning, she crossed her legs and put her book down. There were toilets in the hotel bar, but she was in her light blue bikini, and didn't want to put her clothes back on to walk through the lobby. Besides, it seemed like a wasted opportunity for some fun with Thomas. Wanting to make herself a bit more desperate, she downed the rest of her water. 

It took Thomas a while to come back with the drinks, so by the time he came back, she really needed a wee. She lay on her towel, shifting about theatrically as he approached, holding two more large margaritas.

"There you are big boy," Grace laughed. 

"Oh God, it's gone to her head," Thomas mocked, handing her a margarita. 

"Thanks babe," she took the icy margarita from him. "God, I need a wee so so badly." 

"Classic Grace," Thomas chuckled. "Sounds like someone needs a tickle." 

Grace burst into laughter as Thomas tickled her stomach. "Stop I'm gonna wee all over the towels," she cried, clutching her peehole desperately. "Seriously, I'm bursting." Eventually Thomas relented, but Grace now felt twice as desperate as before. She took another sip, as Thomas started kissing her neck, and started moving his hands along her stomach. His fingers meandered their way to the waistband of her bikini bottoms, before sliding their way underneath the fabric. He brushed through her wiry pubic hair, before slowly massaging her vagina. Grace was already wet, her full bladder stimulating her clit. She moaned as Thomas did the same with his middle finger. His cock was rock hard, and almost went off as soon as Grace started rubbing it. She felt as though she was going to explode, and as she came, a long spurt of pee soaked Thomas's fingers. Anxious not to soak the towels, Grace jumped up, startling Thomas. There was no chance of stopping the stream, so she just let it go in her bikini. Urine poured out of her, as her light blue bikini slowly turned a darker shade. Grace moaned as pee ran down both her legs, while Thomas sat there, open mouthed. Once she had finished, she ran into the sea to clean up, very quickly followed by Thomas.

 

---

 

The two were back in their hotel room, Grace sat naked on the bed, drying her hair post shower, whilst Thomas was in the bathroom. Her phone rang. It was Chris Thompson, the head of Royal Communications. 

"Hello?" Grace asked. 

"Hello Miss Harris. We need to fly you back to the UK right away. There's been some developments that you should be aware of..."

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  • 2 weeks later...

V

 

Victoria Henley-Brown stood on the hard shoulder on the M4, shivering on what was a particularly grey and miserable March afternoon. Her cameraman was midway through changing a tyre, allowing a stream of expletives to leave his mouth as the wind interfered once more. The beautiful brunette looked around anxiously; she was nervous, understandably as in a few hours, she was supposed to be reporting live on BBC One. 

"You know you can give me a hand if you want?" her cameraman moaned at the BBC's newly appointed royal correspondent, stood scrolling Twitter on her phone.

"Sorry hun, but I can't afford to get this coat dirty, it's Burberry," Victoria replied in an accent that had become ten times posher since her promotion. 

"Some would say this new job has gone to your head, but I think you're still the same down to earth girl you've always been," the cameraman moaned.

"Oh shut up Ben, jealousy isn't a good look for you," Victoria mocked. "How much longer is this going to take?" 

Ben felt the rage consume him, but managed to bite his tongue at the last second. 

"We should be good to go in a minute, it's not the easiest job to do by yourself," Ben grunted. 

"Good. Can we stop at the next services? I could do with a trip to the ladies," Victoria asked. Ben sighed. "What? Don't blame me, blame the large cappuccino I had at lunch." 

Ben put the wrench down, and looked at his watch. "Fine, we just about have enough time. But be quick. No washing your hands."

Victoria scrunched her face up. "You're truly vile, but I love you," she kissed him on the cheek. 

Minutes later, they were back up and running, 12 miles away from Reading services. 11 miles away from Reading services, the car started to struggle again, making a loud rumbling noise, before spluttering and conking out completely just as Ben had pulled into the hard shoulder. 

"What now," Victoria groaned. 

"Don't know, looks like the engines cut out. Of course my fucking car decides to breakdown twice on fucking train strikes day," Ben gripped the steering wheel tightly in frustration. "We should probably get out," he added, as a Ford Fiesta came perilously close to hitting the car. 

 

---

 

It had been about an hour since the AA were called, and Victoria was starting to get stressed. She was due to be live on BBC One giving an update about the latest royal family developments at 6:05pm. It had just turned 4pm and Waze reckoned they were about an hour and a half away from Buckingham Palace, assuming the traffic didn't get any worse. On top of that, she really needed to find a toilet, a situation not being helped by the freezing wind. 

"Urghhhhh I have to pee so badly," Victoria moaned, jiggling on the spot. 

"Me too," Ben shifted uncomfortably. After weighing up his situation for a few minutes, Ben decided he couldn't wait any longer. He darted to the grassy patch next to the hard shoulder, unzipped and pulled his cock out.  

"Ahhhhhhhhhh," Ben sighed as he urinated, feeling utterly relieved as his bladder deflated. The sound of Ben pissing was almost unbearable for Victoria, who blocked her ears and crossed her legs desperately. "Sorry," he sheepishly apologised when he came back.

"It's so unfair that men can just go wherever they want, when we have to hold it until we find somewhere proper," Victoria cried. 

"No one's stopping you. I can make sure no one sees you if you want?" he offered.

Victoria grimaced. She was tempted, as her bladder continued to fill at an alarming rate. But she resisted. Everyone had seen the video of Grace Harris on Twitter, peeing herself and wanking off the Prince on a beach in Mauritius. Sure, she knew she wasn't as high profile as Grace, but she also knew there are lots of voyeuristic creeps out there, and she didn't want to risk being caught pissing by some sick pervert with a smart phone. "I'll hold it," she reluctantly concluded. 

It wasn't long before the AA turned up, and Victoria danced around frantically as they fiddled about with the car. She longed to hold herself, or better still, release her pent up urine, but she instead smiled politely, focussing all her energy on not wetting herself. Eventually, the car was fixed and the two were back on the road, one with an empty bladder, and one with a bladder bursting at the seams. 

"Thank fuck," Victoria cried, hands fully dug into her crotch now that she was out of public view. "Now let's find those services before I wee all over your car." 

Ben's smile dropped. "I'm really sorry Vic, but there's no way we have time to stop. We're only just going to make it on time as it is, and that's assuming there's no more traffic."

Victoria wanted to scream. "I don't think you understand how badly I need to go," her face whitening. "I've literally not peed since I woke up."

Ben widened his eyes in disbelief "nah that's got to be bullshit."

It wasn't. Victoria was renowned in the business for having a bladder of steel. Before her promotion, she'd be sent all over the country, often to places with no easy bathroom access. She'd hold it for hours on end, and she wouldn't even think about it until she sat on the train home. Then it became a game to see how long she could hold it for. Sometimes she'd have to resort to using the train toilets, but most of the time, she'd manage to make it all the way home, before unleashing an unholy amount of urine in the comfort of her own bathroom. However Victoria was drinking much more than usual, as she was trying to battle a sore throat. And now she was on the verge of exploding. 

 

---

 

The next hour and a half was the longest of Victoria's life. Her bladder felt as though it was going to pop, and poison her body with urine. She'd searched desperately for some sort of container to pee into in the car, but couldn't find anything. "The one time you fucking clean this car..." she moaned at Ben. All her normal inhibitions were out the window, her hands had been jammed into her peehole for most of the ride, in the name of preventing an accident. They were finally in London, but Victoria was starting to panic. 

"I don't think I can do this," Victoria cried, her breath shortening.

"Come on, we're nearly there now," Ben tried to sooth his desperate colleague. 

"I'm absolutely bursting, this is torture," Victoria clutched her aching peehole.

"You'll be fine," Ben lied. In truth, he didn't know. He had never seen anyone this desperate for the toilet before, and he wasn't convinced that his front seat was going to be dry by the end of the journey. "You can present your piece, then we can find you a toilet." 

"I can't believe this is happening. I can barely think about anything else, how the fuck am I supposed to present live TV?" Victoria cried. Her bladder was swollen, and not at all well hidden by her white jumper. The top button was undone on her blue suit trousers, exposing her lacy white panties to Ben. Not that she had another choice though; she was convinced that she'd have already pissed herself if her top button was still digging into her dangerously full organ. It was now 6pm, and within minutes, she'd be reporting live to the country about the dramatic developments in the royal family. She just hoped her bladder could hang on. 

The speed bumps on the road up to the palace were hell for Victoria. With every jolt, it felt like 1000 knives were digging into her bladder, and at this point, she had no choice but to hold herself by slipping her hands through the waistband of her panties. One particularly violent speed bump was too much for Victoria, and a hot spurt of pee leaked onto her fingers. Clenching everything, she managed to stem the tide but she knew she didn't have long left. She was in physical pain at this point, to the point she was genuinely worried about whether it was medically safe to hold it this long. The car pulled up to Buckingham Palace, the lighting and microphones already in place. She felt the nerves again, and as she reluctantly took her hands out of her panties, her peehole almost gave up. Using all her might, she held on, but the next challenge was seconds away. As she stood up, she felt the entire weight of her bladder for the first time. The game was almost over, and a long streak of piss running down her legs reminded her how close to exploding she was. Doubling over in pain, she wasn't sure if she'd manage.

"Are you okay?" one of the lighting men asked. 

Victoria could barely walk, let alone speak. 

"She's just a bit desperate for the loo," Ben answered on her behalf.

"A bit?" Victoria growled. She waddled to her position, risking a flood with every step. Once in position, she couldn't stand still. She hopped on the spot, squirmed dramatically, contorted her body in whatever way possible to hold her pee.

"You're on in 30 seconds," Ben whispered. Victoria nodded and tried her best to compose herself. But when she stood still, the pressure built intolerable levels. A member of crew attached an ear piece to her, the task made more difficult by her inability to stand still "Vic! Trousers!" 

Victoria looked down, her trousers were still unbuttoned at the top, revealing her panties to the whole crew. If that was the most embarrassing part of the next five minutes, then she'll have done well. 

"We're joined by our new royal correspondent Victoria Henley-Brown, live from Buckingham Palace. So Victoria, a dramatic few days for the royal family, firstly with various videos surfacing on the internet of Grace Harris in a compromising position, and with this morning's announcement that her and the Prince are going to split. What do you make of it all?" the main anchor asked.

Victoria froze, it had been a while since she'd had to think about anything beside her desperate need for relief. "Well, erm, it's obviously a shock. But I think, erm, whilst the TikTok posted by Mel Lancashire was embarrassing for the royal family, the pictures taken of the Prince and Grace involved in, erm, intimate activity on the beach have been utterly humiliating for everyone involved. And I understand it must have been a difficult decision for the couple, but I think their relationship was untenable." Victoria barely stopped for breath, and could not stop shaking. 

"A lot of people are speculating that the Prince would have been forced into making this decision, what have you been able to find out?" 

"Well," another wave of intense desperation hit her, and she had to cross her legs to prevent an accident. "The palace themselves have yet to mention the split, and I understand that..." Victoria's bladder had had enough. Her heart rate spiked as she felt a warmth spread across her crotch. The relief was indescribable as the contents of her very, very full bladder emptied. Her face reddened as she tried to continue her report whilst wetting herself. "Ermmmm, Grace and the Prince cut short their time in Mauritius to deal with this incident..." She prayed that the camera wasn't showing her bottom half, but she was pretty sure everyone would have been able to hear the sound of her urine crashing against the ground below. The crew looked on in shock, as Victoria bravely tried to continue with her report. "Erm, and I believe a meeting was held with the Royal Family's Head of Communications earlier today." The relief was so incredible, it took so much effort for Victoria not to moan as ten hours worth of piss flowed out of her. The urine filled up her shoes, whilst a puddle grew rapidly underneath her. This felt like the longest pee Victoria had ever done, and it showed no signs of stopping. 

"Sorry, Victoria, we're having some issues with the sound quality, could you repeat that?" the anchor asked. 

"Ahhhhhh," a moan slipped out. "Ermmmm, yes, the Prince and Grace held a meeting this morning with..." 

"I'm sorry, we're going to have to cut you off there, we're getting some sound interference, apologies to the viewers back home who wanted an update on the news that Prince Thomas has split up with his partner Grace Harris." And with that, she was off air. 

"Oh fuckkkkkk," Victoria allowed herself to enjoy her relief as urine continued to cascade out of her body. Her trousers were absolutely drenched, and she was pretty sure she'd pissed all over her new Burberry coat. The crew looked away to afford Victoria a bit of privacy, but in truth, they'd seen it all already anyway. Eventually, the stream died down, and the post piss ecstasy died down. Now she stood there, covered in her own wee, humiliated and probably already a laughing stock on the internet. She wanted to ground to swallow her up. Tears welled in her eyes. 

"Hey hey, come on," Ben hugged the distraught presenter. "Let's get you home." 

"I can't believe that just happened," Victoria cried. 

"Never mind that. At least you've got a funny story to tell," Ben laughed. 

"That story is going with me to the grave," Victoria couldn't yet see the funny side. 

"Well I'll tell everyone then," Ben smirked, prompting a playful punch from Victoria. 

"You owe me a takeaway then, since you didn't let me stop at the services," Victoria allowed herself a little smile. 

"Oh go on then," Ben laughed, as they arrived at the car. "Now let's see if we can find a towel.' 

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VI 

 

"Are you still watching?" the black screen on the TV in Grace's old bedroom read, as she lay undressed in bed at 3pm for the seventh day in a row. Using what felt like all the strength she could muster, she chose "Yes and don't ask me again" option. She didn't need to be judged by a streaming service she paid £16 a month for. Well, her parents did. She took another gulp of the giant bottle of Coca-Cola that sat by her bed, next to the stacks of empty Dominoes, Wagamamas and McDonald's boxes. It was one week since the worst day of her life, one week since some scumbag took a photographs of her on that beach in Mauritius, one week since Prince Thomas broke up with her, a decision she was 99% certain that the Royal Family forced him to make. A week of constant trending on Twitter, endless email requests, countless DMs from sick perverts on Instagram. Another episode of Below Deck played. She thought about texting Thomas again, but then remembered he hadn't replied to any of her messages. He was on the news yesterday talking about England's bid to host the 2030 World Cup, smiling and shaking hands with various delegates. Why the fuck does he look so happy? Grace thought at the time. 

As she finished the 1.5 litre bottle of Coke, her mind was drawn to her increasing need to pee. She'd only peed once that day, when she was woken up by a bursting bladder at 7am. Even going to the toilet felt like a chore at the moment. The bathroom was downstairs, and that meant risking social interaction. At the moment, trips to the bathroom were reserved for absolute emergencies. Ignoring the discomfort in the bladder, she continued to binge Below Deck. Reaching for her phone, she saw the framed picture of her and Thomas she kept next to her bed, and her eyes welled up with tears again. The picture was taken before a big fancy dinner with the President of France, and Grace looked so beautiful. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she looked a shell of a person. Her hair was unkempt, her eyes puffy and her white vest top stained with tomato sauce. An email came through, this time it was the Love Island producers asking if she'd be interested into being on the next series. Grace couldn't help but smile for the first time that day. If only they could see me now. 

Another episode finished, and Grace conceded that it was probably time to brave the bathroom. She'd seen that Euphoria episode, the one where Rue's kidneys stop working because she's too depressed to pee. The Coke was now resting heavily in her bladder, and she was finding it difficult to sit still. Throwing a dressing gown on to hide her stained vest, she got out of bed for just the second time that day. She crept down the stairs, but immediately scurried back to her room as she heard the doorbell ring. It was her parent's friends, Pete and Jess, round for tea and cake. Her mum had spent the morning trying to encourage Grace to join them, but the last thing she wanted to do was to speak to someone else right now. Grace cursed her luck as she closed her bedroom door quietly behind her, bladder still full of urine.  

She watched another episode, to try and take her mind off of her now desperate need to pee. She lay on her side, fist firmly dug into her crotch, trying to contain the considerable amount of piss that was building up inside her. By the time the episode was done, she was dying to go, barely able to think about anything else. She hobbled to the door, clutching herself, and listening to see if she could still hear Pete and Jess. Jess's cutting laugh indicated that they were. She thought about just braving it and heading downstairs, but catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided that was a no-go. Grace assessed her other options.

1) Hold it until they left - Grace knew this was the most dignified option, but how long was that going to take? Pete and Jess were sometimes known to stay long into the evening, even when just coming round for a cup of tea. Besides, Grace was so desperate for a wee that she didn't think she could hold it much longer at all. 

2) Wet herself - she was already known for wetting herself, why not just play into it? But her floor was carpeted, and her towel was still in the bathroom. Her room also already smelt bad enough without having to worry about the smell of urine. 

3) Find a container to pee in - Grace knew straightaway this was the option she'd have to pursue, as the urine sloshed uncomfortably in her aching bladder. Clutching herself tightly, she knelt down to see if she could find anything to pee in. There was the empty Coke bottle, but aiming would be near impossible. All her packaging from her takeaways was made out of paper, so that was a no go. Just as she was beginning to give up hope, she remember she ordered a large Fanta from McDonald's. If she could find the cup from that, she'd be golden. After some frantic searching through her messy bedroom, she found it: the holy grail to ending her predicament. She danced desperately as she tried to undo her pyjama bottoms, whilst trying not to wet herself straight away. She eventually undid the knot, and pulled her bottoms down, revealing her very much unshaven pussy. She'd barely held the cup against her pee hole when there was a knock at the door. A slither of pee came out, but Grace managed to clench, and reluctantly pulled her pyjama bottoms back up. 

"Come in," Grace croaked, ignoring the pee that was now on the verge of leaving her body. 

"Hello love," Grace's mum wrinkled her nose at the smell. "We were just wondering how you're doing today?"

"I'm fine," Grace lied as a trickle of wee escaped, running down her leg. 

"Okay, we thought we might go out for dinner and we wondered.."

"No thanks," Grace interrupted, desperate to get her to leave her room as soon as possible. 

"I just thought I'd ask. Ooh let me just clean this up for you," her mum said, picking up some of the containers that lay strewn across the floor. Grace's heart dropped as her mum took the empty Fanta cup out of her hand, but she was grateful that she didn't notice the drop of pee inside. Another slither of urine left her body, reminding Grace she didn't have long.

"Are Pete and Jess still here?" she asked.

"No..." her mum started, but was interrupted by Grace dashing out the door, clutching herself as she ran in search of relief. As she ran down the stairs, she heard a voice downstairs. 

"Hi mum, hi dad. I'll say hi in a minute, but I'm absolutely gasping for a wee," shouted Grace's younger sister, Anna. Grace had completely forgot that she was coming back from uni. Normally she'd have been delighted to see her sister, but as she saw her sister hurry into the bathroom, she felt a sense of anger, and worry. Grace waited anxiously outside the door, but as she heard Anna's tremendous stream crashing against the toilet water, and her moaning in relief, she couldn't hang on anymore. Urine burst out of Grace, dramatically soaking her pink pyjama bottoms, and pouring onto the floor like a shower head. Grace sighed as her exploding bladder emptied, but her face reddened as her parents approached, dad avoiding eye contact, and mum looking very concerned. The toilet flushed, the tap turned on, and then Anna was outside the door, watching as Grace continued to wee herself.

"Hey sis," Anna laughed. "Is pissing yourself your personality now then?" 

Grace just cried. "Don't be so insensitive," their mum hissed.  

"Just trying to lighten the mood," Anna shrugged. 

Grace darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and released the rest of her pee in the toilet bowl, sobbing into her hands. Her phone buzzed. 

"Hey Grace, sorry for not texting this week. Can we meet up later? In secret... T x" 

 

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