Wetting stories

Driving with her bladder bursting

In September 2000 I had reason to take a taxi ride to Nottingham which I was told would take approx 3 and a half to 4 hours from where I lived.

It was a very spur of the moment thing and I had no time to plan for the trip, so there wasn‘t anything I could do about the fact that the rather salty bacon I‘d had for breakfast had led to my drinking almost 6 cans of diet cola as well as my usual "can‘t do without" 3 or 4 mugs of tea, which, had I known I‘d be going on this journey, I most certainly would NOT have drank.
But I had no time to worry about that, I had to leave right away!
I got in cab and I soon found out the driver‘s name was Dave. He wasn‘t bad looking I suppose, mid 40s, he was the chatty type but I wasn‘t in the mood for conversation and I guess with my irritated and rather abrupt ‘yes‘ and ‘no‘ answers, he got the message and continued the drive in silence.

I sensed he thought I was rude, but I didn‘t care. About half an hour into the journey I began to feel the need to pee, but I was too shy to say anything, especially with the way I‘d been so abrupt with him earlier, so I had no choice but to sit and hold it and hope it wouldn‘t get worse.
I was wearing tight black jeans because I had had no time to change into something more comfortable, but during the next half hour my need rapidly increased at an alarming rate and I really, really needed to go badly now.
Well, I‘m not a driver, but I know enough to know its illegal to pull over on a motorway, I tried not to fidget but I couldn‘t help it I was desperate for a pee. Dave noticed my anxiety and asked if I was all right, not wanting to confide in him I said, "yes I‘m fine thankyou." Although in reality I was anything but all right, my desperation was rapidly getting so intense and I was frantic with worry, the last thing I wanted to do was to show myself up in front of a stranger whom I didn‘t like very much and whom I‘d be confined in the car with for the next couple of hours! That would be uncomfortably embarrassing. But I was bursting, my desperation was so intense that it was either say something to him, or he‘d see something on the floor of his car before too long - of that I was in no doubt.

"Is there anywhere on this motorway we can stop for a few minutes?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.
"Why, what‘s up?" he replied, irritated.
As much as I wanted to, I just couldn‘t admit it, I just couldn‘t.
"I want to buy a magazine to read." I replied, trying so hard to hide the frantic desperation I was feeling.
"Well OK then," he replied, "I could do with a coffee, there‘s a service station about 60 miles ahead."
60 miles! I felt both a mixture of relief and anxiety, relief that we would be stopping before Nottingham, but I knew I couldn‘t hold on for another 60 miles, no way.
I was almost in tears with worry, the waves of intense desperation were getting too much and I could no longer act normal, I was having to hold myself and fidget. I couldn‘t sit straight on the seat, I no longer cared if he noticed or not, I was way past caring, all I was concerned about was desperately trying very hard not to wet myself.
"Now what‘s up?" he asked again, "do you need to go to the toilet?"
"Yes, I‘m sorry," I whimpered, "but I‘m really desperate."
"Well just hang on," he said crossly, "the service station is only about another 40 miles up the road."
"I don‘t think I can, I‘m sorry." I sobbed as another strong wave overcame me and I had to hold my breath to regain control.
"Well you‘d better!" he snapped, "I‘m tired of having to have my car seats cleaned because you girls have got no self control."
I found that by sitting right on the edge of the car seat and undoing my jeans, it gave me a slightly better hold, I was able to hold my crotch firmly with both hands and cross my legs at the same time, and as long as I kept intense concentration and not take any deep breaths I knew I had some chance of making it --- but it was only that - a chance. I kept it up for 10 minutes but then I felt an urge I couldn‘t control, I knew I was loosing it when I felt quite a long spurt of pee escape through my tightly clenched hands, it was enough to drip onto the floor, fortunately Dave didn‘t notice and I held tighter, but when it happened again after a few moments, I knew I‘d lost the battle.

"Ooohhh no! NO!! I‘m sorry, oohh no! I can‘t hold it any longer!"
I cried as the drips turned to a stream and slowly but steadily, a large puddle appeared at my feet, as every last drop from my bladder seeped through my panties and jeans.
The relief of an empty bladder was indescribable, Dave just looked annoyed, he slowed his driving down and when we eventually got to the service station he slammed the door and said, "I‘m going for a coffee, you get yourself cleaned up, I‘ll give you 20 minutes then we‘re on our way again."

The situation had turned me on so much that I went into the restroom and rubbed myself to a wonderful climax. The I cleaned up as best I could. The rest of the journey was completed in silence, I guess he was really mad with me. I really hope you enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it.



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