This is closely based on a true story. Although I had the experience, I didn't write it up since I'm not much good at it. I sent the details to David and asked him to turn it into something readable, and this is what he came up with. It's close to what actually happened, which is great.

      The story is about my girlfriend Jill. She's a nice girl, but not into desperation stuff. I've never asked her to hold her pee for me, and I don't think she would do it willingly if I asked her. But - I've read some stories on the internet over the past couple of years about blokes getting their wives and girlfriends into situations where they got desperate for the loo, sometimes with the result that the girl would actually end up wetting herself. I've always longed to witness one having an accident like that in public, but I never have. So I thought I would try to create a desperate situation for Jill. I never in my wildest dreams thought it would go the distance. Here is her experience for you to share, and thanks again Dave. -- Jeremy W.

Setting Her Up

      Jill and I had made plans to do some Saturday afternoon shopping, with her calling round at my house for lunch before we set off. She turned up wearing a thin, ice-blue, toll-neck sweater. a short black skirt with pin-strips, and a pair of black two-inch heels. I was surprised because this was essentially her office attire, the kind of clothes she wore all week, and she normally liked to dress down at the weekends and slob around in jeans and tee-shirts.

      Jill is a pretty girl with shortish brown hair cut almost in choir-boy style. It suited her clear complexion, and helped to accentuate her alluring blue eyes. She also kept her figure trim by eating sensibly and working out, making her the kind of girl that always turned men's heads. I couldn't hardly believe that I had been lucky enough to land her, and was often nervous when other men paid attention to her in case she suddenly realized her mistake and went off with one of them instead. Just my natural insecurity showing through I suppose, because we had been together for six months now and so far she showed no signs of wanting to move on.

      As if reading my mind about her clothing, Jill explained. "Sorry I'm late. I had to go in to work this morning because Amy was off sick. I only finished twenty minutes ago, so I haven't had time to go home and change. Is that alright?"

      "Of course," I said, feigning amusement at her concern. Under the circumstances, I rather wished she had taken the time to go home and change into some jeans, in view of the kind of shopping expedition I had planned, but I could hardly tell her that. "Anyway," I resumed, "you're not late. Lunch is ready, and I've just brewed some Cappuccino."

      "Great. I'll just pop to the loo first, if that's alright," she announced, already on her way to the bathroom.

      I couldn't think of any excuse to stop her, so I had to let her go. I was not unduly worried about my plans to get her desperate while we were out, however, because I had an ace up my sleeve.

      Several months earlier, my mum had been prescribed some diuretic tablets to help her with a water retention problem following a bout of flu. According to the dictionary, these tablets work by exciting the discharge of urine. Of course, one should not give such drugs to people for whom they are not prescribed, but I couldn't see the harm in surreptitiously feeding one or two of them to Jill to promote excessive urinary excretion.

      To handle the problem of getting her to take the drug unawares, I had ground up the tablets into an extremely fine powder. I poured two teacups full of Cappuccino, and was just sprinkling the powder onto the one intended for Jill when I heard the loo flush. There seemed rather a lot of powder, and fearing that she might notice if it was too prevalent, I only added half of it to her drink. Besides, I wasn't sure how much a healthy person could take. The prescription instructions read two tablets to be taken twice daily, but since Jill didn't actually have a water retention problem, that might have been a bit excessive.

      I folded up the packet and slipped it behind the coffee pot, then added a squirt of foam cream to both cups just as Jill came bouncing back into the room, all smiles and apparently raring to go. I handed her the drugged Cappuccino and she immediately took a sip and came away with a cream moustache. "Hmmm, just what I needed," she declared. "You're a gem, Jem," she added, making her usual joke.

      "You're a pill, Jill," I joked right back, the expression so laden with meaning I had to stop myself grinning for fear that she would suspect something was amiss.

      We sat at the table and ate our chicken salads, she with half a baked potato and me with a whole one. Jill punctuated her food with an occasional sip of Cappuccino, pacing it so that she emptied both plate and cup at the same time. "Any more Cappuccino?" she asked.

      "Of course. I always make a bit pot when I know you're coming round."

      "Meaning?"

      "Meaning you're a Cappuccino addict."

      "Okay then, call the vice squad. I'll come quietly." She held out her wrists as if waiting to be handcuffed, and I had a sudden vision of her dancing around the bathroom, her wrists locked behind her back and she struggling to unzip her jeans, her frantically-clawing fingers just an inch short of being able to reach.

      Jill must have noticed something in my expression, because she asked, "Penny for them."

      "Actually, the going rate in 10p these days."

      "Oh, come on. Your thoughts couldn't be worth that much."

      The banter continued as I took her cup and went to refill it. As I poured the Cappuccino, my eyes fell on the packet I'd quickly tucked behind the coffee pot after administering half its contents to the first cup. Then the devil got into me. I took up the packet and flipped it open. It was dangerous to introduce the stuff with Jill just a few feet away behind me. If she spotted what I was doing, the game would be up.

      As luck would have it, for me at least, she didn't notice. I opened the fridge, took out the foaming cream and squirted another dollop into her cup. It floated on the surface of the Cappuccino, rotating lazily and once again concealed my misdeed. I handed the cup back to Jill and watched her get stuck in.

      After several sips, she gave me an interrogative look. "You not having any more?"

      "Uh, no. That's all there was."

      "Oh, you should have said. We could have shared it."

      "That's alright. I know how much you like it."

      "You're so sweet," she told me, and I experienced a sudden pang of guilt. I reassured myself that it wasn't really doing her any harm, other than maybe embarrassing her in public when she got caught out in need of a loo.

      An hour or so from now, or perhaps sooner, poor Jill would be dying to go to the loo, but she wouldn't be able to find one, because I had already scouted out the root we were going to take.

      In fact, it was the discovery, made just yesterday, that the public loos right in the centre of town were closed for renovation, that had initiated my entire plan. Knowing that Jill would almost certainly want to go clothes shopping, I walked the short distance along Chapel Row to the high Street, and conducted a quick survey of Jill's favourite shops. As far as I could tell, none of them offered lavatory facilities to their customers.

      The biggest problem was shopping malls. Those places always had loos, but while they had successful invaded almost every town and city in the country, they had not moved in here yet. That just left the usual, unaccommodating boutiques and shoe shops, the statutory half-dozen jewellery shops, and a Happy Eater fast food establishment. The latter was the only flaw in my plan, because it would certainly boast facilities.

      I was about to accept that I would only be able to keep Jill away from public loos only until the Happy Eater solution occurred to her, when I noticed a large sign on their door and went closer in order to read it:

      WE REGRET THAT THIS BRANCH OF THE
HAPPY EATER WILL CLOSE AT NOON ON
SATURDAY 15TH MAY 2005.
YOU CAN STILL ENJOY OUR SERVICE
AT MARKET STREET BRANCH. THANK YOU
FOR YOUR PATRONAGE DURING THE EIGHT
YEARS WE HAVE SERVED YOU.

      Market Street. That was right across town, a twenty-minute walk. I gave thanks to whichever God was watching over me and went back to work with a distinct bounce in my step. I'd already been planning to make use of the leftover diuretic tablets at some point, and tomorrow, Saturday, looked like being the perfect opportunity.

      Jill seemed quite relax, still sitting at the dining table and browsing through the newspaper. I started to grow nervous, wondering how long before the effects of the pills started to become apparent. An hour? Less? It seemed wise to get the show on the road. "Ready to go and blow the dough then?" I asked cheerfully. Jill grinned and set down the paper at once.

      "Does a duck quack?" she asked.

      "Among other things," I said. "Do you want to drive, or shall I?"

      "No," she shook her head. "We'd spend half the afternoon stuck in traffic and looking for places to park. Let's just take the bus."

      "Fine by me," I agreed, thinking that the absence of a car would give her one less recourse when she started getting desperate for the loo. It was mean and cruel, but I was determined not to suddenly get a conscience and spoil what could be a very stimulating afternoon.

      Ten minutes later, we were running for the number 15 bus that would take us to the town centre, a fifteen minute ride. Jill took the window side of the seat and chatted about her morning at work while absently watching the passing houses.

      When we got off at the east end of the High Street, I noticed Jill pause for a moment and glance around. It was a casual enough action and one which I would probably have missed had I not been waiting for it. She was, I'm fairly sure, calculating when the nearest loo was located. I didn't say anything, and seeing that I was waiting for her she brightened immediately and led us in the direction of Hancock's Shoes.

      "I've been meaning to get some new pairs for a while, but I never seem to find the time to go shopping these days," she said as we traipsed along the pavement in the direction of the main shopping centre.

      "A big relief for my wallet," I quipped.

      "Oh, as if you ever paid for my stuff," she retorted.

      We entered Hancock's and Jill went to the aisle displaying shoes in her size, and set about selecting a batch to try on. I waited, casually looking over the designs on display which ranged from stylish to outright ridiculous, at the same time keeping a peripheral watch on Jill. I watched her slip on a pair of shoes and parade up and down in them a few times, then take them off and move on to the next pair. After about ten minutes of this, I noticed that her catwalk parades included a few extraneous moves such as bending her knees as she stood admiring the footwear in the mirror, and once I saw her twist the right shoe round on the heel so that her knees met, as if she were briefly pressing her thighs together. I wondered if these little embellishments were triggered by the first twinges of a rapidly filling bladder; I certainly hoped so.

      Jill finally selected two pairs of shoes and made her way to the pay desk to join a short queue of three. While she waited her turn, I noticed that she had become fidgety, tapping the toe of one shoe on the floor, and then a minute later switching to the other. She seemed unable to keep her legs still for more than a few seconds at a time. There was no doubt in my mind now that she needed the loo, and since Chapel Row was only a few shops down the street from Hancock's, I knew exactly where she would go next.

      By the time her turn came, Jill was standing with her legs crossed waiting for the credit card machine to authorise her transaction. She signed in the window, waited for her receipt and then turned and made a quick exit to the street. When I caught up with her, she said, "Right, next stop, the loo."

      "Already?" I said, feigning surprise. "We've only been here about twenty minutes."

      "I know, but I was really dying in there," she whispered conspiratorially. "I'll only be a minute. There are some public loos down here," she added, turning into Chapel Row as predicted. I managed to walk half a pace behind her as her heels tapped out her progress along the narrow street, enabling me to glance down at her shapely legs. I love the way a girl with nice legs makes a skirt move in such a seductive way, tugging the rear panel tight across her bottom each time she takes a step. I was starting to get a seriously hard erection, knowing that between those shapely hips lurked quite a full bladder that was getting rapidly fuller all the time, thanks to the double dose of diuretic. I inserted my hands into my front pockets in an attempt to conceal most of the bulge, cursing myself for not wearing a longer jacket to make my arousal less apparent.

      We were about half way along the Row and almost within sight of the loo when Jill glanced across at me with a slight frown. "What are you doing?" she asked.

      "Oh, just admiring your carriage," I said, lifting my eyebrows suggestively.

      "Don't you ever think of anything else?"

      "Of course. I thought about washing up a week ago last Thursday."

      "Well, I don't think my carriage, as you put it, can be all that elegant at the moment," she said. "I'm hobbling a bit because I'm really dying for the loo. I'm glad it isn't far."

      I didn't say anything as we approached the public lavatories. Jill had her head down and didn't seem to notice the sign at first, not until she was almost at the door to the ladies in fact. Then she stopped in her tracks, staring at the red lettered posting on the door in disbelief. "Oh no. They can't be," she protested, referring to the two-week closure for renovation. As if believing the notice to be a hoax, she actually went right up to the door and pushed on it. Of course, it was locked.

      "Oh, that's just great!" Jill declared, a sharp edge creeping in her voice which I translated as a sign of panic. "Now what am I going to do?"

      I gave the appearance of considering this for a few moments before venturing, "Some of the shops must have loos for customers. Don't you know of any?"

      Jill thought about it and then shook her head. "You're thinking of department stores. Boutiques and the like don't have them."

      "Well, there aren't any department stores around here," I pointed out, quite unnecessarily. Jill rolled her eyes.

      "Well spotted, Einstein," she snapped irritably. "That really helps."

      "Woah!" I raised my hands as if to ward off an attack. "No need to bite my head off," I told her, trying to sound a little annoyed instead of groaning in ecstasy at the way her legs were constantly on the move even though she was no longer walking.

      Jill closed her eyes for a moment, then said apologetically, "Sorry. I'm just in a lot of pain because I really need the loo."

      "I know," I said. Feeling that it was time to appear to play the good guy, I added, "Isn't there a cafe or something...? I know, the Happy Eater. They'll have a loo you case use."

      "Oh, of course," she said, sighing with relief. "Why didn't I think of that? It's a good job you're here," she added as she started back along the Row, the sound of her hurrying heels bouncing off the narrow walls. If only you knew, I thought.

      On the High Street, we passed the usual assortment of jewellers, shoe shops, boutiques, more jewellers, none of whom offered relief to their paying customers. Jill was walking with noticeable stiffness now, bending slightly forward as if she were about to break into a run. She didn't say much, probably devoting all her energies to not losing control of her bladder.

      After five or six minutes, we approached the Happy Eater. I noticed a frown gathering on Jill's brow as she surveyed the premises. "It looks dark inside," she remarked. "God, I hope they're not closed this afternoon."

      "What, on a Saturday," I said, telling her what I knew she wanted to hear. "Not likely." I admit it; I was trying to offer false hope to make the disappointment even more acute, in the hope that it would make it still harder for her to hold on.

      Jill halted in front of the sign informing her that the establishment was closed, permanently. She stood on the pavement with an anguished expression, shaking her head and starting to look truly worried. "This can't be happening," she declared in a loud, tense voice, no longer seeming to care what other pedestrians might think. "I'm dying for the loo and everything seems to be shut. Where the hell am I supposed to go if nothing is bloody open?"

      Seeing several people turn their heads to look at her, I said to Jill, "Calm down. We'll think of something."

      "How the hell can I calm down?" she retorted, leaning her body farther forward and crossing her legs. "It's really serious. I can barely hold it now."

      I shrugged and said, "Well, I can't think of anywhere else to try."

      "Neither can I, but I've got to find somewhere. I can't go on like this much longer."

      Unable to stand still, Jill turned and started walking back the way we had come. Her path took her past the bus stop where we had alighted, and this seemed to trigger the idea of going back home. She walked to the edge of the pavement and waited for a gap in the traffic, clearly intent on going to the bus stop on the opposite side where the timetable would tell us when the next bus was due. The traffic flowed past in an unbroken stream, however, and Jill quickly took to pacing back and forth along the edge of the pavement. She was clearly bursting for the loo.

      At last, the traffic lights further down the street slowed the traffic and Jill dashed between cars to the accompaniment of several blasting horns. I followed her at a run and caught up with her at the bus stop where stood consulting the timetable. I was just a few steps away when I saw her raise her left foot and briefly tuck the toe of her shoe behind her right knee, turning her leg inwards so that her thighs made contact.

      "Damn!" she said as I joined her. "The next bus isn't due until 2:20." I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only just after two. Since the buses ran every twenty minutes, we had evidently just missed one. I gave silent thanks to the Gods who really seemed to be favouring me in my evil mission, while giving poor Jill a hard time.

      Without warning, Jill started walking off down the pavement again, moving at a fair clip so that I had to break into an ambling run to catch up with her. "Where are you going?" I asked.

      "I don't know," she admitted. "but I can't stand there for twenty minutes waiting for a bus." Her words were coming in sharp, staccato bursts, and she wasn't even looking at me. She seemed entirely focused on avoiding pedestrians whose slow progress might obstruct her. "Something must be wrong with me," she was saying, her voice only just loud enough for me to hear over the clamour of the city. "Perhaps I've got a virus or something. I've never been caught out this badly before." I didn't know how to respond so I stayed silent.

      We were approaching a crossroads and I noticed that the little red man was flashing, telling people not to start crossing the road. By the time we reached the curb, the cross traffic was beginning to move. Jill looked as if she might actually try to run across in front of it, but if she were, she changed her mind at the last second. She tried to stand still as she waited for the lights to change back in our favour, but she couldn't do it. Within seconds, she folded her arms and began bobbing up and down, her lips opening and closing as she mouthed a silent chant.

      Thinking about how her body was dispersing fluid, thanks to the influence of the diuretic tablets, I imagined all that liberated liquid streaming towards her bladder. The mechanism was probably similar to drinking about three pints of beer and then getting that sudden, undeniable urge to pee that has to be satisfied and satisfied quickly. Jill had drunk the drugged Cappuccinos an hour ago now, and assuming that they started to work gradually at first, becoming increasingly effective as they were absorbed into the bloodstream, her condition must be worsening in leaps and bounds. Whatever she might have managed in the way of holding on under normal circumstances did not apply here. Her system was behaving like a runaway train with no brakes. For the first time, I began to seriously entertain the notion that Jill might actually be forced to wet herself in public.

      Then came the ironic twist. I suddenly started to feel sorry for her, and almost regretted getting her into such a humiliating situation. My conscience smote me again, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that the effect of witnessing her accident would probably be enough last me a lifetime.

      The cross-traffic stopped and the light changed from red to green. Jill was first off the mark like a horse taking the early lead in a race. She strode across the street without even pausing to see if I was still with her, head lowered as if she would headbutt anyone who got in her way. Again, I had to trot to catch up with her. "Slow down," I said as I reached her again.

      "I can't," was all she said by way of reply. I could see her face in profile down, and realized that a tear had slithered down her right cheek. She was at the end of her tether and it was all my fault. I was in turmoil, simultaneously wanting to help her but also wanting to see her wet herself uncontrollably. The altruistic side of me won out and I offered her fresh hope.

      "I think there's a park down here a bit further," I said. "Maybe you can find a loo there?"

      "Priory Park," she said. "I know. That's where I'm going." She fell silent as we approached another crossroads. People were just starting to cross, and Jill quickened her pace to get there before the lights changed and halted her progress again. I didn't think she could endure another delay.

      We managed to cross the road just before the traffic started moving, and I realized we were probably only five minutes away from Priory Park now, so fast was Jill marching. I wondered if she even stood a chance, because once there she still had to walk to the centre of the park to reach the loo. That last hundred yards would probably test her endurance, and I hoped it was a test she would fail.

      As it turned out, however, I never got to find out. We passed a health food cafe which neither of us had even known was there, and seeing it, Jill made a beeline for the entrance, saying to me as she extended a hand to push open the door, "Order some tea or something. I'm going straight to the loo."

      The place was pretty crowded with hardly any free seats. I was about to point this out to Jill in the hope of persuading her to resume her journey to the park when she hobbled off towards the TOILETS sign at the back of the room, her heels tapping loudly on the wooden floor as she went. Watching her go, I felt disappointed, cheated of my prize having come this far, but that was life.

      Resignedly, I went to the counter and order tea and scones, then sat down at a window table recently vacated. The tea and food arrived before Jill returned, and as she approached the table, I noticed that she looked very red in the face. She made to sit down and winced for an instant as her backside made contact with the seat.

"What's up?" I asked.      

      Jill's face turned scarlet as she whispered, "I weed a little before I could reach the loo, so my knickers are a bit wet."

      "Oh dear," I commented. It was a lame response, but I was too busy coping with the way my dick was pulsing to worry about stringing coherent sentences together.

      "After we've drunk our tea, I'd like to go home," she went on. "I need to shower and change."

      "Okay," I agreed, watching expectantly as she began sipping down her mug of tea.

      "I don't know what's wrong with me," she confided in the same, low whisper. "I had to sit on the loo for about two minutes before I stopped going. I haven't had that much to drink today, so I don't know where it's all coming from."

      "I expect you were right earlier. You've picked up a virus of some kind."

      "Whatever it is, it's making everything work overtime."

      I nodded anxiously, trying to convey concern. Jill emptied her mug and I reached for the still half-full teapot. "More?" I asked.

      "Um...I'd better not. I don't want a repeat performance on the way home."

      Nevertheless, I was fairly sure we were going to get one.

      We left the cafe after another ten minutes, and started back in the direction of the bus stop where we had alighted. The walk took us a further ten minutes, and as the stop came into view, Jill said, "I don't believe this. I need the loo again."

      "But I thought you said you spent two minutes...?" I began, not troubling to complete the sentence.

      "I did. That's what I mean. I can't need to go again so soon, but I do. Oh Jem, what is the matter with me?" I shook my head in apparent bewilderment, aware that I could never risk telling her.

      We arrived at the bus stop where half a dozen people were already queueing. Jill and I both consulted the timetable and learned that the next bus was due in a little under five minutes, and then joined the queue. Jill spent those five minutes chattering on about nothing in particular, probably to help take her mind off the discomfort she was experiencing around her abdomen again.

      The appointed time for the bus to arrive came and went, and by the time it was running five minutes late, Jill was almost running on the spot. "Oh, come on," she complained while keeping her jaw clenched, making her look angry. I glanced down at her legs and watched her wiggling her right knee, the heel of her right shoe tapping on the pavement.

      "It can't be much longer now,' I soothed, but it didn't do much to pacify her.

      "I should have brought the car instead of relying on public transport," she complained. "It never runs on time." She closed her eyes and squeezed them hard shut, briefly accentuating the faint crowsfeet just beginning to form at their corners. When she opened her eyes again, she turned a pained, almost accusing expression on me. "I can't stand here any longer. Let's go."

      She had taken only a few steps along the pavement in the direction of the whole foods cafe, perhaps intending to use their loos again, when I called after her. "Here it comes."

      She stopped and surveyed the road behind her as if not quite sure that I was telling her the truth. Seeing that the bus was indeed on its way, she came back and resumed her place in the queue. The bus crawled towards us through heavy traffic, with Jill avidly following its progress as she stood there hopping from foot to foot. The poor girl was desperate to pee again, and I was growing extremely excited. I hoped I wouldn't shoot my load, because it was going to be a powerful, burning experience when it came and I wouldn't be able to hide what was going on.

      The bus finally pulled up at the stop and people streamed off. The people at the front of the queue waited for them to all get off before starting to board, introducing another short delay that had Jill bending forward and actually putting a hand between her thighs. It wasn't high enough to lift her skirt, for no matter how desperate she became I knew she would never grab her crotch in a public place. She must have been longing to do just that, however.

      When we boarded the bus and moved towards the back of the vehicle, it soon became apparent that there were no free seats, which meant of course that we had to stand. When she had passed as far along the central aisle as she could go, Jill turned and reached for the overhead handrail, her tense expression betraying her torment. Unless someone gave up a seat for her (which wasn't likely), or someone got off en-route, she was going to have to stand there with a full bladder for the next quarter of an hour. Worse still, the bus would have to keep stopping and starting at traffic lights and request stops, which meant that Jill's poor bladder would receive regular jolts that would make her task of holding on even harder.

      As predicted, the bus stopped and started at frequent intervals, and each time Jill looked anxiously around for any hint that someone was going to vacate a seat near her. At the third or fourth stop we came too, a young woman did leave her seat, and Jill made for it at the same time as the old woman who had been standing behind her. I knew Jill was absolutely desperate to sit down, and wondered if her dire urge to pee would overwhelm her manners. It didn't; she offered the seat to the old woman and turned back to face me, her left hand gripping the overhead rail again. Her expression told me as plainly as any words that she couldn't take much more of this.

      By the time the bus finally approached our stop, after twenty-five minutes of inching through traffic, Jill was unashamedly wiggling her legs, the toe of first one shoe and then the other hammering on the metal floor with a resounding click. She was bent forward a little at the waist too, and I'm sure she would have given anything to unbotton the waistband of her skirt just then. She slipped past the other standing passengers and reached the doors just as they opened. She descended the steps smartly and hurried off along the pavement in the direction of my house. I thanked the driver as if he had deliberately taken forever to drive from the town centre to here, and then hurried off after Jill.

      "I'm not going to make it," she said in a strained little voice as I drew alongside her.

      "Of course you will," I encouraged her, wondering how literal was her prediction.

      "I'm already leaking," she announced with uncharacteristic frankness. "I can't hold it."

      "But you're almost there."

      "I know, but I'm tired from holding it earlier. I don't have the strength to fight it."

      So that was it; fatigued muscles that wouldn't cooperate. The pressure from inside her bladder was so great that her urine was already squeezing its way past her taut schincter musles.

      "Just one more minute and you'll be standing in my bathroom," I promised. "You'll make it," I added by way of encouragement. She offered me a grateful if pained smile, but it vanished almost as once as she drew in a sharp breath, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain shot through her.

      "Oohhh!" she gaspsed, abruptly stopping and bending forward, shifting one knee in front of the other. "I can't go on," she said in a frightened moan. "If I move it will all come out.'

      "You can't just stand here," I said, but she didn't move. All she did was to shake her head. She began to sob, and my heart went out to her. Without even thinking about it, I stepped up beside her and put one arm across her bent back, the other behind her thighs, then I lifted her off her feet. "I'll carry you," I said, rather uneccessarily by this time since I was already doing so.

      She squirmed, twisting her head from side to side, both hands now plunging between her thighs and sliding beneath her short skirt. "Ohhhh!" she yelped. "I can't hold it. Put me down."

      I ignored her and just kept moving, now only three gates away from the entrance to my garden. "Just hold on," I told her, but I wasn't sure she even heard me over the moans now escaping from her.

      Part of the problem was that I had picked her up, turning her body from near-vertical to horizontal, which must have shifted the urine inside her bladder and set up a series of shock waves. Add to that the jolts from my heavy steps as I bore the weight of two bodies, and I was probably actually making things worse than if I'd left her standing where she was. This way, of course, she would pee all over me if she lost it, something I hoped and prayed would happen after being deprived of seeing her wet herself earlier on.

      "Put me down," she implored again, obviously thinking along the same lines as myself. Again, I just ignored her and kept going, my mind completely preoccupied with the buldging bladder nestled between her hips, so close to giving way under the enormous weight of pee pressing on her sphincter, screaming for release. "Jem, please!" she pleaded again as I approached the gate.

      "You're going to make it," I insisted, shifting her weight so that I cold reach the gate latch with my fingers.

      "I won't," she said, the words almost lost in the squeal of anguish that simultaneously escaped from her. "I'll wee all over you if you don't put me down."

      "It's alright," I said, lifting the latch and quickly kicking the gate open with my foot. I noticed Mrs. Wilson next door nosing out of her kitchen window. The old bat never missed a thing. News of our arrival home like this would have travelled the length of the street by tomorrow.

      I hurried along the garden path towards the front door, aware that I would have to put Jill down on the step in order to retrieve the door key from my front-right jeans pocket.

      "Jem, please put me down now!" she begged, actually banging a fist against my shoulder this time. "Please. I'm going."

      "No," I said quickly. "You're so close."

      "Oh! oh! Ooooh!" she squealed as I took the last few steps towards the front door.

      Only when I stopped walking did I hear the hissing sound coming from beneath her skirt. Her legs were kicking and squirming as she tried to climb out of my arms, but I went on holding her. Moments later, a wet patch began to spread across the front panel of her skirt, while from beneath her I caught the splashing sound of pee hitting the concrete door step. "Put me down," Jill whimpered this time as she sat there in my arms, her face crimson with embarrassment because she was, pretty obviously, unable to stop wetting herself.

      "It's alright," I said softly as tears streamed down both cheeks and she buried her face in my shoulder.

      In a choked voice, she asked, "Why didn't you put me down?"

      "Sorry," I said, unable to think of anything else to say, because at that moment, my ejaculation was just beginning. I tried to stay relaxed and quiet as the sperm burnt its way to the surface and sent spasms of pleasure through my body, but of course I couldn't hide it, especially not from Jill whose body was in contact with mine.

      She lifted startled eyes and searched my face intently. "Did you just cum?" she asked incredulously. There didn't seem any point in denying the obvious, so I nodded a silent yes. "But..." Jill resumed, then stopped, clearly puzzled. At last, she managed to find the word she was looking for. "Why? Why now?"

      I set her down, bending to plant her heels on the step and noticing that pee was still running down her legs. I raised my eyes to her skirt and saw that it was now soaked. Then I looked up at her face and discovered that, while she might still be red with embarrassment, she was determined to get an answer from me. "Jem?" she prompted, her tone suspicious. Had she deduced that I had been in some way responsible for her humiliating experiences that afternoon?

      "What?" I asked innocently as I straightened up. She regarded me for a few moments, and I could see she was working something out. Jill was no fool.

      "You wanted me to wet myself while you were carrying me, didn't you?" Again, I nodded in mute acknowledgement. She, on the other hand, stood there shaking her head. "It's obvious that that's what you did, but I don't understand why."

      Neither did I really, I thought but did not say aloud. I looked down at her skirt and legs again and saw that the flow of pee had stopped, and that her skirt was wringing wet. It had finally happened; I'd seen an attractive girl wet herself in a public place, if one can consider one's own front door step to be public. I had also spent an amazingly enjoyable afternoon watching her struggling around the town with a full bladder, unable to find anywhere to relieve herself until it was practically too late. She had wet her knickers a little before she could reach the loo in the cafe, which had been exciting enough, but the crowning glory was to actually cradle her in my arms as she completely lost control, just moments away from my own bathroom.

      I glanced down at myself and saw that the front of my jeans was also wet, where Jill's pee had sprayed through the back of her skirt and gone all over my legs. Evidently seeing where my attention was focused, I heard her say, "I wish you had put me down when I asked you to."

      I still didn't speak, and after a short pause, Jill resumed, her manner suddenly testy. "Alright. If you're not going to answer me, perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me indoors so that I don't have to stand out here letting the entire neighbourhood see that I've wet myself."

      "Um, right," I agreed, and fumbled the key out of my pocket. I unlocked the door and she preceded me inside. She waited for me at the bottom of the stairs.

      "Why did you do that?" Her body language suggested that she was becoming angry, probably fueled in part by the embarrassment she must be feeling at having peed all over me as well as herself.

      "I um...I don't know really," I said rather incoherently. "I...I thought I was helping."

      "You were seriously turned on," she corrected. "Did you enjoy it, then? Watching me hopping around in agony?"

      "No," I said quickly, then recanted. "Well, yes, sort of."

      "Well, did you or didn't you?"

      "Alright, yes. It...it turned me on."

      "That's disgusting."

      "Sorry," I said, not wishing to spoil the atmosphere by arguing with her.

      Shaking her head as if she did not understand me at all, Jill turned and climbed the stairs, closing the bathroom door behind her. I went through to the kitchen and pulled the top off a beer, aware that I had some explaining to do, and that I had better make it good.

      Even though Jill was ticked off, however, I was fairly sure she would get over it in time, although she would probably be ultra-cautious about all things pee-related from now on. For the moment, though, I didn't care. I felt too overwhelmed by the experience of seeing her wet her skirt to worry about anything. Instead, I raised the beer can in a silent toast to my mother, without whose water retention problem and subsequent prescription of a diuretic, the best afternoon of my life would not have been possible. Here's to you, mum.