Amanda stayed the night. It felt so strange lying in bed with the mother of the woman I had once planned to marry, but she possessed a voracious appetite when it came to sex; so long without it, I suppose. Mind you, it had been a few months for me, so with our mutual desires burning brightly, we didn't get much sleep.

      I awoke the next morning to find the bed empty. For an awful moment, I thought that Amanda had departed without saying goodbye, perhaps feeling ashamed of what we had done. But then I heard her voice coming from downstairs, and after listening for a moment, I realized that she was holding a one-sided conversation. She was on the phone.

      A few minutes later she came up the stairs carrying two mugs of tea and sat down on the bed beside me. "Good morning," she beamed, her eyes travelling up and down my naked body appreciatively. She was wearing some green silk pajamas, retrieved no doubt from one of her suitcases.

      "Hello, Mrs. Robinson," I said. It gave her momentary pause before she got the joke.

      "Ah yes," she said as she set down the mugs and then poked me in the ribs with one finger. "Less of your cheek, young man," she cautioned.

      "Sleep well in the end?" I asked.

      "Like a log," she answered.

      "No, I think I slept like a log," I said, glancing down at my groin.

      "Mmmm," she nodded in approval. "I'm sure a Scotsman could successfully toss that."

      "Yes, and it's all your fault," I informed her. "It hasn't relaxed properly since I picked you up yesterday." She merely smiled at this remark, so I reached for her knee and closed my fingers around it.

      "I fancy doing some shopping in London today," she announced suddenly. "I gather my car won't be ready until tomorrow, so I wondered if you'd like to take me, in exchange for lunch?"

      "Sounds great," I said, glad that I had the entire week off. I had no idea how long Amanda was planning to stay, so I wanted to make the best of having her around.

      "Good. I'll get ready," she said cheerfully, nimbly hopping up and making for the bathroom. I took myself off downstairs, made some toast for breakfast as I drank my mug of tea. When I heard Amanda vacate the bathroom, I went up for a shower.

      When I emerged from the bathroom myself, I found her in my bedroom with one of her suitcases open on top of the bed. She stood there in a beautifully-tailored white trouser suit and white heels, the ensemble finished off with a white scarf coiled artistically about her neck. The trousers followed her curves to perfection, emphasizing Amanda's stunning figure. I was tempted to cast aside the suitcase, throw her down on the bed and ravage her, but felt that might imprudent since she was preening herself ready for the trip up to the smoke.

      She turned and gave me an electric smile, raising her eyebrows at the towel I had hooked around my waist. "Going like that?" she asked.

      "Think they'll let me into the Ritz like this?"

      "I don't see why not," she said, then after a pause, added, "Do you want to lunch there, Dave?"

      I regarded her for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not she was joking. "Are you serious?" I asked finally.

      "Perfectly."

      "Lunch at the Ritz. Now that would be cool."

      "Right, I'll call and see if I can reserve a table. They know me so there shouldn't be too much bother about it. You'll need to wear a suit though, or at least a jacket and tie. It has a formal dress code."

      What it is to have money, I thought.

      We were on the road just before ten, me actually wearing a suit for the first time in about a year. I felt vaguely shabby against Amanda's beautifully-tailored outfit, but it couldn't be helped.

      The M2 was clear and we were on the outskirts of London by eleven. From there on it, things moved more slowly, but we still managed to reach Piccadilly and the Ritz Restaurant by twelve thirty, the time Amanda had reserved for us.

      Lunch was out of this world: For me, it was the Ballotine of Rabbit and foie gras with truffle dressing followed by butter poached lobster; for Amanda, the Piccata of Veal Viennoise, no starter. We also drank a bottle of Arnoux '04 that cost more than our two meals put together.

      After lunch, we made our way across to Knightsbridge and Harrods, where Amanda bought herself a rose-embroidered skirt and some Marjolaine pajamas. Then she turned to me and said, "Right, your turn." She led me to men's apparel and started pointing out shirts and sweaters she thought would look good on me.

      "Amanda," I said conspiratorially when I was fairly sure none of the other shoppers could overhear me, "I can't afford these prices."

      She looked at me in surprise. "Of course not," she said without guile. "This is my treat."

      "Good God. Are you sure?"

      "Of course," she said, grinning now. "It's the least I can do after last night."

      She made this statement boldly without showing the slightest concern for who might hear her or what they might think of her if they did. It was, I realized, the kind of confidence that only plenty of money can cultivate.

      By the time we were finished, I was the proud owner of two new pairs of shoes, five shirts, three sweaters and some pretty stylish underwear. I had even been measured for a new suit which came with a four-figure price tag. Amanda didn't turn a hair. I assumed she had done very well out of her ex-husband, Martin. The guy was certainly a prick, so more power to her.

      By around five o'clock, we were spent out--which is to say exhausted. As I waited for Amanda to pay for the last items, I began looking around for a toilet - I didn't want to start the journey back needing to pee. When she rejoined me, I asked Amanda where the gents was located. "Next floor down," she said, clearly familiar with the layout of the store. "Actually, I could do with a visit to the ladies. All that wine and water building up at the dam."

      We made our way to the lifts, even though we were only descending one floor. As luck would have it, we were the only two to step on board, leaving us briefly alone. As the lift descended, Amanda said, "Of course, if you want me to wait until we get back to your house, I will. At least, I'll try."

      Before I could answer, the doors opened and we stepped back into the world of scurrying shoppers. I noticed the discrete sign some fifty feet away from the lifts, announcing the presence of the Ladies. I stared at it for a few moments before turning back to face Amanda. "Would you really do that?" I asked her. "Wait, I mean?"

      She nodded. "You did the same for me last night," she answered. "I've always wanted to make a man wait for hours like that, and you were a good sport about it. So yes, I'll be happy to return the favour."

      I blew out my cheeks, hardly knowing what to say. In the end, I managed, "I'd love it if you would."

      "That's settled then. You go to the loo and I'll wait for you."

      I looked around and found that the sign for GENTLEMEN was located on the opposite side of the vast room, a hundred a fifty feet away from where we were standing. The sneaking suspicion crossed my mind that Amanda could feasibly dash off into the Ladies while I was gone. As if perceiving my doubt, she looped her arm through mine and walked with me, grinning in amusement. At the entrance to the gents, she gave me a little shove and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be here."

      I gave her a grateful smile and stepped inside the male sanctum. I hurried through having a pee and washing my hands, still unable to shake off my doubts that she would break her word. I emerged in less than ninety seconds to find her standing where I'd left her. There was no way she could have crossed the room, taken a pee and got back in the time.

      "That was quick," she observed. "Afraid I might sneak off to the Ladies while your back was turned?"

      I felt my face redden, and she laughed happily before giving my arm an affectionate squeeze. "Silly boy," she said. "You should know by now, I'm a woman of my word."

      We returned to the lift and descended to the ground floor, stepping out onto the Brompton Road for a two-minute walk to Harrods' very own valet car parking facility. They think of everything!

      Ten minutes later, we were back out on the congested streets of London, making our way slowly east towards the M2. It was slow going, especially because rush hour was now very much underway, and we may little progress during the first half hour.

      Amanda, who had been sitting beside me with crossed legs but otherwise looking relaxed as she chatted about her plans for the house in Winchester, finally paused and made a soft noise in her throat. She simultaneously uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the opposite way, then began waggling her raised foot. "Oh dear, I think I might have underestimated my need for a loo."

      "Sounds good to me," I teased.

      "No doubt," she flicked me an amused glance, then looked serious again. "The trouble is, the traffic's very slow and it's going to take a lot longer getting back to Wycliffe than it did to drive up here." She paused before asking, "Would you consider letting me break my promise and stop at one of the motorway services when we're on the M2?"

      "Absolutely not," I said. "A promise is a promise."

      "Oh Dave, I can't sit still even now."

      "I noticed."

      "So I can't possibly hold on all the way to your place."

      "Of course you can," I insisted.

      "But that's going to take hours," she protested, waggling her foot more vigorously.

      "Yep, at least two," I agreed.

      "Oh... I'll never make it."

      "Please try," I said, reaching over the placing a hand on her thigh. "I'd really appreciate it."

      Amanda hesitated, then took hold of my hand and squeezed it. "Alright," she agreed finally. "I'll do my best, but I can't promise anything. My bladder's baldly swollen."

      As we moved on from one red traffic light to the next, Amanda resumed chatting but somewhat less fluently than before. I could tell that her need to pee was distracting her. I snatched frequent glances at her legs as she crossed and re-crossed them every few minutes, her right hand absently rubbing her thigh.

      It took another twenty minutes before we finally joined the M2 and I was able to take the Rover up to a steady eighty. Amanda was now squirming in her seat, bobbing her knees up and down and pressing her hands down on her lap. She was rubbing her thighs together and I could hear the soft rasping sound as her trouser legs brushed against one another. Eventually, conversation almost ceased, and she provided little more than mono-syllabic answers to any questions that I posed.

      At last, her composure broke. "Oh Dave, I have to go to the loo. I really do. You must to let me use the loo at the next services."

      "Sorry," I began. Before I could add anything else, she jumped in.

      "Oh please. I'm begging you. I'm incredibly desperate to go. If you don't stop for me, I'll have to wet myself."

      "Wouldn't be the first time," I pointed out. "I'd rather make you go on waiting."

      "Please, Dave," she pleaded. "Oohh, please. Pleeeaassee! I'm almost bursting."

      "I can tell," I said. "and it is a truly amazing thing having you sitting in here with me in such dire straits. I'm sorry, Amanda, but I'm not stopping."

      "Oh! You swine!" she gasped loudly, her temper flaring as she was forced to face the prospect of holding a very full bladder for at least another hour.

      I didn't say anything, and after a minute her hand strayed onto my leg. She gave my thigh a gentle squeeze as she said softly, "I'm sorry. That was nasty."

      "It's okay," I told her. "I know you're in a lot of pain and its making your irritable. I just...don't want this to end yet."

      "I know. I'm doing my best, Dave, I really am, but I'm incredibly desperate."

      She suddenly began to let out a series of short, sharp breaths that terminated in a low moan, at the same time rubbing her thighs vigorously with both hands. I couldn't help but snatch frequent glances at her antics which, not surprisingly, were giving me a chronic hard-on, partly from the knowledge that she was nursing a bulging bladder, but also because of the rather elegant way she moved as she struggled to maintain control of her bladder. The woman was just so damned sexy.

      While I was reveling in Amanda's chronic desperation, I had to concede that the poor woman couldn't possibly make it to my home before she disgraced herself. I felt a little mean, and despite the fact that I would lose the opportunity to watch her struggle in vain to wait, I couldn't really go through with it.

      That was why, when I passed a sign announcing the next services were only a mile ahead, I moved into the slow lane and prepared to leave the motorway. She was so engaged in the fight with her bladder that she didn't even seem aware of what I was doing to begin with, not until I steered the Rover onto the exist ramp. I smiled at her surprised expression. "You can go to the loo," I told her.

      "Oh God," she breathed, pressing her thighs harder together and bending forward to take a little of the strain off her tortured bladder. "Thank you," she breathed, almost too quietly for me to hear. "Thank you so very much."

      I drove all the way over to the entrance to the services and let Amanda stagger out before moving away in search of a place to park. In my mirror, I watched her literally hobble towards the entrance, bending her leg as she was forced to wait for some kids to get out of her way before she could get inside and make a dash for the loo.

      I sat waiting for about ten minutes during which my erection finally began to subside. I was tempted to finish the job, but didn't dare with so many people parking cars all around me. As the time passed, I was beginning to wonder where Amanda had got to when she startled me by tapping her knuckles of the passenger's window. As she got in, I noticed that she was carrying a bag from the shop which she placed on the floor between her feet.

      She sat there looking at me, then let out of huge sigh. "I can't tell you was a massive relieve that was." When I shrugged, she smiling benignly. "You're very sweet, you know. You could have just kept going, even though you could see I would never make it to your place before I wet myself." "Yeah," I agreed, thinking back to the occasion last Christmas when I'd collected her from the railway station. She'd already been nursing a bladder fit to explode picked her up, and had been so desperate that she'd wet herself on the car seat during the short drive to her house. It had been incredibly stimulating for me, and still there was seldom a day when I didn't give it at least a passing thought.

      "But, you did stop and let me have a much needed pee. I'm sure, given your interest in these things, you'd like to know that I couldn't quite get into the stall before I started to go, so my knickers are now rather damp, to say the least. I mopped them with toilet tissue as best I could; nevertheless, they are still uncomfortably moist. Anyway, when I did finally manage to get my knickers down, I sat on the loo for more than a minute gushing pee like you wouldn't believe. It came out so fast that I thought I was actually filling up the toilet. If I'd done it in here, the floor would have been awash."

      I nodded gratefully. "Thanks for sharing the details," I told her, and I meant it.

      "Ah, but," she resumed, "I haven't finished yet. I really appreciate you letting me go, so I thought I would repay you by buying this." Here, she produced a two-litre bottle of spring water from the bag and broke the seal on the cap. "I'm going to drink this entire bottle, right here and now in front of you. I would imagine that by the time we reach your house, I'm going to be climbing the wall for the loo again."

      "Good God, Amanda, are you sure?" I asked, hoping that she was. "That thing holds two litres. That's over three pints."

      "I know," she said just before she began to drink. My penis became rock hard inside my trousers again as I watched her gulping the stuff down. After about twenty seconds, she paused and looked at the bottle. "It is a lot, isn't it?" she commented.

      "You're telling me," I agreed. "If you drink all that, you'll be in trouble again long before we get to my place."

      "That's the idea," she said. "I just couldn't hold the last lot for long enough, but I should manage this for an hour or so."

      "Well, if you're really sure," I said doubtfully, praying that she wouldn't change her mind.

      "Least I can do," she replied, and resumed drinking.

      It took her about a quarter of an hour to empty the bottle. She screwed the top back on and threw the empty container over onto the back seat, then leaned back, one hand rubbing her stomach. "Oh, I feel like an overfilled balloon," she remarked. "I'll be glad when it starts to work its way out of my stomach."

      "Not for long, I suspect," I said.

      She grinned at me, leaning over and running her hand across my abdomen, just missing my erection. "So what happens when you get me home?" she asked. "Handcuffs and a desperate dance outside the door of the loo?"

      "That will do for starters," I said.

      "Okay, as long as it culminates in a night of unbridled sex, I don't mind what you do to me."

      "Be careful," I warned her. "I could quite happily keep you chained up and waiting for the loo all night."

      "Naughty boy," she whispered contentedly. "Just make sure you keep my mind off it if you do."

      I was in seventh heaven. I couldn't help a little pang of regret that this relationship with Amanda couldn't go anywhere. What would happen, for example, if I married her and became my ex-fiance's step-father? It didn't bear thing about?

      I kept up a good speed until we turned off the M2 towards Wycliffe, and then had to drop down to around forty. The last fifteen miles were going to take half an hour or so, which I didn't mind at all. I'd noticed that Amanda had started tensing her muscles, a sure sign that the huge quantity of water she'd imbibed was starting to make its presence felt. "How are you doing?" I asked her.

      She looked over at me with a weak smile. "If you want to know if my bladder is becominging uncomfortable," she said, "the answer is a resounding yes."

      "Well, it could hardly be otherwise after drinking two litres of water, could it?"

      "I suppose not. Actually, the sensation of needing the loo is building up very rapidly. Can you put your foot down a bit more?"

      "Not in this traffic. You'll just have to cross your legs."

      "Most amusing," she said, and did precisely that.

      Hoping she wouldn't object, I reached across with my left hand and began rubbing her thigh again. She glanced down for a moment, then rested her own hand on mine. After a minute, I just let my hand rest there, which was when I became conscious that her thigh muscles were quivering. A minute after that, she started bouncing her knees for the first time, still keeping her legs crossed.

      "Ohhh," she gasped quietly. "I can't believe how quickly its building up. My bladder really feels like its full again."

      "That's great news," I teased.

      "I'm sure. Oooooh! Oh! Oh! Oh!"

      She quickly uncrossed her legs and began banging her knees together, her hand going to her crotch for the first time and pressing through her trousers and knickers. Things were obviously getting serious.

      I did the conversion in my head: one litre was about 1.7 pints, so she had literally consumed around three and a half pints of water in less than fifteen minutes. The human bladder can only hold around two pints in extreme circumstances, usually when one is asleep and the kidneys temporarily reabsorb some of the urine; when awake, a pint and a half is the usual limit. Amanda had really overdone it in terms of capacity.

      I knew from experience that drinking two pints of beer was enough to send one scurrying to the loo fairly soon afterwards. True, alcohol did relax the muscles and accelerate the usual process, but then, wasn't water considered a natural diuretic? Anyway, Amanda had downed almost twice as much liquid as that, so it was hardly surprising that she was already straining at the leash.

      Still ten minutes from my house, Amanda noisily sucked in air through clenched teeth, her eyes closed as both hands shot between her legs, clamping down on her crotch. "Oh God, I can't believe this. I'm bursting again! And so soon after the last time. I don't think my muscles will hold out for very long."

      "You have to wait," I insisted. "And don't forget about the handcuffs."

      "Oh Dave, I'm not even sure I can make it to your place, let alone let you handcuff me."

      "Come on, you promised. I've helped you on both occasions you've been desperate in the last twenty-four hours. This time, you have to hold it."

      "Ohhhh!" she gasped in blatant frustration. Then, after a pause during which she rubbed her crotch vigorously, she nodded and said, "Alright. I'll hold it. Somehow."

      "Thanks Amanda. I really appreciate it."

      "You'd better," she said, suddenly releasing her seat belt and massaging her abdomen. "Oh God!" she gasped, "everything down there is so tight."

      "Just another few minutes," I coaxed, trying to encourage her.

      "I'll never make it, Dave. I really am about to explode!"

      "You've got to," I insisted.

      She merely groaned at this news and began swinging her crossed legs from side to side.

      Those last minutes on the road were sheer torture for her. I could see that she really was engaged in a frantic struggle to avoid wetting her trousers, not to mention the car seat. By the time I turned onto my road, Amanda literally was climbing the walls just as she predicted. She laid a hand on the door handle as if she might open it and leap out at any moment, her legs working furiously in a last, valiant attempt to hold on. I'm not sure if I'd ever seen anyone quite that frantic for relief.

      I turned into the driveway and pulled up outside the closed garage door. Amanda was out like a shot and making from the front door. She couldn't get in until I unlocked it, so I don't know why she was rushing ahead, except of course that she was out of her mind with desperation and probably unable to think rationally at this point.

      I climbed out rather more sedately, and leaving the shopping on the back seat, I approached the front door. Amanda stood on the step lifting one knee and then the other--left, right, left, right--in rapid succession. She was alternately sucking air through her teeth and gasping noisily with the strain of controlling her bladder, so that she sounded as if she were tunelessly singing along to some piece of rap, which is probably the only way one can sing along to that stuff.

      "Oh, Dave," she squeaked at me as I approached, her voice tiny, almost lost in the chorus of grunts. "Please." That was all she said.

      I inserted the key into the lock and turned it. Amanda had the door open in a second and was walking stiffly towards the stairs. I hurried to catch up with her. "Handcuffs," I said as I followed her up the stairs, admiring the curve of her bottom and thighs through her trousers.

      "No. I can't," she said, quickening her pace. "I'll wet myself."

      I sped after her and caught her at the entrance to the bathroom. "You promised," I reminded her, grabbing her left arm and marching her towards the bedroom. She resisted, literally digging in her heels. I pulled harder, making her stagger after me until we reached the bed. Maintaining my hold on her, despite her frantic pulling to get away, I opened the door of the bedside cabinet and took out the key to the handcuffs.

      It wasn't easy unlocking the bracelet still attached to the bed frame with Amanda tugging to free herself. "The more you fight, the longer you'll have to wait," I pointed out.

      "As soon as you put those on, I won't have a hope of reaching the loo," she countered.

      "Maybe, and maybe not," I said, still struggling to insert the key into the lock.

      "Oh, oh Dave. Please let me go. I'm starting to wet my knickers."

      At last the key slotted in, and I managed to turn it. I snatched up the handcuffs, turned to face Amanda, and pulled her sideways to spin her around. I caught her right wrist and slapped the bracelet on, closing it tightly in my haste. She gasped a little as it pinched her, and she did her best to keep her other wrist out of my reach. I surprised her by slackening the tension on my grip so that she almost lost her balance and her free arm flailed to help her recover. I took the opportunity to seize her other wrist and pull it round behind her back. "No!" she yelped as she realized I had the upper hand, quite literally. She fought like a wildcat to stop me locking the second bracelet, but after a few more seconds I managed it.

      That was it. She was standing in front of me, wrists chained together behind her back, dancing on the spot as she tried not to pee herself. I had her now, and she knew it.

      "Alright. Help me!" she demanded, clearly at the limit of her endurance. "Take me to the loo and help me with my clothes."

      I led her to the bathroom, and once inside, closed the door and let go of her. She squirmed and tapped her heels as she waited for me to unzip her trousers and pull them down, followed by her knickers. Instead, I turned and unzipped my own trousers and began to pee into the pan.

      "Oh! You pig!" Amanda squealed, her voice quivering with stress and panic. "Stop it! Oh God, please stop. You're making me--oh! I--I can't--oooooh!"

      "I'll just be another minute," I said over my shoulder, taking in her frantic dance of pure desperation and feeling a rapidly growing desire to ejaculate. Was that possible while peeing? Surely not, but I felt as if I could.

      Amanda sucked in air for several seconds, then said as she exhaled, "I can't wait any longer. Please let me go. I'm starting to wet myself."

      "Nearly done," I replied, adding to her torment by taking my time.

      Amanda leaned against the wall and raised her right knee, turning her leg in towards her stomach. "Oh no. Oh no! Oh God! I'mmm--oh!" I glanced at her strained face; her eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets. She was on the brink of losing it.

      At last, I zipped myself up and turned to face her. Again, she expected me to unzip her trousers, but instead I slid opened the door to the shower unit, grabbed her shoulders and made her step into it. "What are you doing?" she shrieked, trying to turn back towards the toilet.

      "Go on," I urged. She complied, mainly because I was pushing her and she would have lost her balance if she hadn't. I stepped in after her and embraced her around the waist, pulling her hard against me. She squealed in agony as my erect penis pressed on her abdomen. I felt her knees banging against mine as she frantically wiggled her legs in a final bid to hold on.

      "Ooooh!" she gasped loudly as I rammed my solid penis still harder against her. "Sssstooopp it!" she squeezed out.

      "You have to hold it a bit longer," I ordered, but this time she shook her head and screwed up her face. Crowsfeet appeared at the corners of her eyes, and in a strange way they made her look cute.

      Amanda's breaths were coming in sharp bursts as she made one last desperate attempt to hold on, but I could tell she had no strength left. The pressure must have been truly awful; more than three pints of water and nowhere for most of it to go expect into her poor, distended bladder. It had to feel like a volcano all pent up and set to erupt.

      Amanda's body spasmed, and a moment later I smelt the sharp tang of urine. Then I heard the hissing sound coming from between her legs as her pee jetted into her knickers and trousers. She tried to pull away from me, but I held on to her tightly as she stood there uncontrollably wetting herself. Wetness spread across the front of my legs as she continued pissing herself, her urine spraying everywhere. The ragged rasp of desperation fading from her breaths as she let her muscles relax and the tremendous pressure inside her began to abate.

      While she was still peeing, I kissed her, long and hard, pulling her even more firmly against me. My hands strained down to her bottom, and gripping her cheeks, I felt that her trousers were wringing wet. I squeezed, knowing that if I had done that when she was still holding back her pee, it would have forced her to start going. Now, it only served to make her empty out completely.

      "You are a very bad boy," she whispered in my ear after our lips had parted. "I seem to have spent the last twenty-four hours with a perpetually-full bladder."

      "And I've enjoyed every minute of it," I informed her unnecessarily.

      "Mmmm," she said. "The question is, would you let me do the same to you again?"

      "Try me and see," I said.

      "I will," she agreed. "I most certainly will."